#(seriously take ten seconds and ask yourself how something like that hurts you)

[dokyumms]

make it right

pairing: the8 x gn 14thmember!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1k

cw: arguments, making up, minghao is mean, the beach has nothing to do with the fic i just couldn't find any other pics.

a/n: another request finished! will begin writing a long fic soon... be scared... but enjoy this for now my kings even tho the end is kind of bad

it started off as an innocent, simple practice day.

sure, you were struggling a little, but you cut yourself some slack for being sick the day before.

"okay! let's cut it off here, good job everyone!" the choreographer announced with a quick reminder to hydrate and some other stuff that you tuned out. when he finished, everyone said their thank yous and started packing up. you too, began to gather all your belongings when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

turning around, you smiled to see that it was minghao.

"need something?" you asked, getting up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder.

"no, i just noticed you were having trouble on that dance break earlier. would you want to stay back a bit? i could help." he offered.

to be fully honest, you just wanted to go home; your body ached and you were still partially recovering from your fever. but on the other hand, you didn't want to seem lazy, so thinking it wouldn't take too long, you drop your bag on the floor.

"sure, a couple runs wouldn't hurt," you replied, walking toward the center of the room.

"you're not going yet?" chan asked as he made his way to the door.

you shook your head, "just need to fix the dance break, shouldn't take more than 20 minutes,"

he nodded, a little unsurely, but after seeing that minghao was there with you, he left.

however, those 20 minutes soon turned to 45.

you wiped your forehead with the back of your sleeve, catching your breath. "one more time?" you asked, though the exhaustion in your voice made it sound more like a plea than a suggestion.

minghao was already hitting 'play' on his phone, muttering, "if you can actually get it this time," under his breath.

you could barely hear him, but the comment made your stomach twist. you understood his frustration, everyone was getting this except you- and you were supposed to be one of the best dancers in the group. so, determined to get it right, you focused as the music started again, filling the empty space between you two.

but just as you felt the dance break begin, something was off. your timing, your footwork- something. and before you could fix it, minghao had already stopped.

"seriously?" he ran a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his voice. "do i need to slow it down again? how are you still messing it up?"

the words stung more than they should've. you clenched your jaw, taking a slow breath. "i just need a second, okay? i'm trying."

"we've done this like ten times already, were you not paying attention to anything i said?"

"wow, thanks for the encouragement."

"the music video filming is coming up. if you mess up this much during it, we'll be there all day."

"you think i don't know that? maybe if you stopped nitpicking every little thing, i'd be able to focus."

"i'm 'nitpicking' because i care about this routine. unlike you, i actually want us to do well."

you were taken aback, going silent for a second.

"what? so you think just because i'm struggling means i don't care? why do you think i'm still here?"

minghao doesn't respond, so you kept going,

"i could've went home you know, i don't even need to be here at all! we both know that with maybe another day, i'd probably get it, but you said you'd help me, so i stayed and what do you do? forget it. i'm going home."

and with that, you packed up your things again and left, leaving minghao stunned.

you didn't think he'd show up to your shared apartment that night, probably crash with jun or something, but then you heard the door creak open.

keeping your eyes closed, you intently listened to minghao shuffle around, open a couple drawers, then leave.

huh, so he only came back for clothes? but then you heard another door close and rushing water only a minute later.

well, guess he was really deciding to stay over after that. you sighed, sitting up on the bed.

should you apologize so you both don't have to sleep angry? but you were definitely not apologizing for that. ugh, you hated trying to sleep next to a mad boyfriend, especially a mad minghao.

you considered just leaving the apartment and sleeping over at jeonghan's place, but you heard the shower turn off, so you plopped back into bed, shutting your eyes.

the door opened again, you tried your best to look like you were asleep, but you couldn't tell if it was working. you heard him sigh before saying, "i know you're awake,"

you don't even question how he know, "what about it?" you shot back, almost grimacing at your tone.

opening your eyes, you expected for minghao to shove you off the bed or ask you to move, but instead, an apology came from his mouth.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i really am. you were right, i was the one who offered to help, but i didn't and i'm sorry. i'll sleep on the couch, but i came here to apologize." he said, looking around the room as if he was a little kid apologizing to his mom.

you didn't respond, wondering if you should milk a little more from him. minghao would normally never apologize this early, being the stubborn guy he was. so when he turned around, you stopped him.

"wait- you mean it?" you asked. he nodded in response.

"okay, and?"

tilting his head, he tried to think of what else to say before sighing in defeat.

"and you're the best thing to happen to me, so i owe you dinner for the next week..."

"and?"

"you gotta be joking- and because i love you, i'll buy you that stupid $300 bag, now move so i can sleep,"

you complied, moving over so he can slip into bed. "you're impossible," he mumbled,

"and you're mean," you teased back. he chuckled lightly before wrapping himself around you. "i said i'm sorry," he whined.

"hmm, make it up to me?" you asked, puckering your lips at him. "no." he deadpanned, but after your face fell a little bit, he kissed you.

"no, don't make me buy you something else. we make the same salary, you know?"

"eh, you still get more gifts at fan signs than i do, but i'll let it slide." you replied, giving him another kiss before he nuzzled his head into your neck.

[pedriache]

Could you write something for jobe. Maybe you guys gets into a fight and you’re surrounded by his family all day. They seem to notice the tension but doesn’t say anything but at some point or after a comment from him you break down and leave to be alone in your room. Leaving everyone shocked and surprised by the situation since you guys are very private. Maybe it could be during Christmas or a holiday?! Anyways if you want to. Thanks !

Never is a promise — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Gn!Reader

Summary: After an argument and some back handed comments during a Christmas dinner, you’re left humiliated and upset, and you realize never was a promise Jobe apparently couldn’t keep.

Word count: 830

Disclaimer/s: arguing, yelling, & angst, ends happishly!

A/N: tbh idk where i was going with this

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you hiss, trying to keep your voice low enough as to not disturb his family that was in the next room.

Jobe lets out a low groan. “Yes, it is!” You’d been arguing for the past ten minutes all because you didn’t mention a job promotion to him before your family.

“Listen, Jobe. Seriously, it’s not a big thing! All it gives me is a higher income, other than that it’s not a big deal! Let it go.” You rub your temples, “can we please just go back to the table? This is embarrassing.”

The boy rolls his eyes, pushing his body away from the counter. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He speaks through clenched teeth, glancing to the kitchen door before striding his way through it.

You follow after him, forcing a smile onto your lips as you take your seat beside your boyfriend. Tension flows throughout the dining room, everyone was on edge. It wasn’t like Jobe’s argument with you was subtle. It had started at the table before you had excused the both of you into the kitchen.

“So! How do you like the food?” Denise asks, a wavering smile on her face as she looks in your direction.

You mirror her expression, fork playing with the food on your plate. “Good! Thank you.” You nod, taking a bite although you had no appetite whatsoever.

Silence again. Deafening silence.

“So this promotion—“ Your lips clamp shut, eyes darting to your boyfriend. His jaw clenches tightly, a laugh of disbelief escaping his lips. You loved the woman, but she did not read context clues well.

“Yeah, tell them all about it.” He says sarcastically, eyes finding yours in a heat of annoyance.

That was your final straw. Your eyes flutter to the ceiling, blinking a few times to calm yourself. You slowly stand up, “I need to go take a breather!”

The second you left, making haste to your bedroom, Jobe’s parents, and Jude, look his way with disappointment evident in their faces. “Mate…” Jude sighs, “come on. It’s Christmas.”

Jobe takes a quick glance to the Christmas tree a few feet away, lips pursing tightly. “Stay out of this, Jude.” He was more annoyed at the fact that this was all happening in front of his family, than the original reason you were even fighting over.

Meanwhile, you were sat on your bed, hands rubbing your thighs as you took even breaths. You knew you should’ve told him. But in your head, the promotion wasn’t a big deal. It was small and nearing meaningless, but apparently not to Jobe.

He’d never gotten mad at you. He’d been upset sure, but mad? That was a reaction you had not expected. At the beginning of your relationship, a whole year and a half prior, he’d promised he would never hurt you, never raise his voice. And he hadn’t. Until now. ‘Never’ is a big promise, and you knew you shouldn’t have held it to such a standard.

The soft click of the door opening and shutting had your head snapping up, “What’re you doing?” Your eyes narrow slightly.

Jobe leans against the doorframe, chewing on his cheek. He lets out a long breath, hand running over his face. “Listen—“

“It’s fine.” You snap. You didn’t want to argue, just wanted it to go away. You wanted to enjoy the holiday, to pretend anything even happened.

Too busy staring at your hands, you only notice Jobe sat beside you when the bed dips and your body slips closer to his. Your thighs touch, but you are quick to scoot over. Your boyfriend sighs at the movement.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just wish you told me these things! They’re important to me, and you never tell me things anymore. I mean, it’s not just the promotion.” He clears his throat, “I don’t want to argue with you. I don’t want to fight and ruin the holidays.”

You look back to Jobe, “right. Okay.” No apology from you, which Jobe’s jaw ticks at, but he doesn’t say anything.

“So, we can go back? Talk about this later?” He suggests, playing with the strings of his hoodie. He doesn’t make a move to stand up, though.

Standing up off the bed, you nod. “Yeah, sure.” You begin to walk away, but you’re stopped when Jobe’s hand wraps loosely around your arm, pulling you back into him. His arms securing around your torso, keeping your back flush to him.

Held in his arms, Jobe’s head rests on your shoulder, placing a soft kiss there. “I’m sorry I got upset.” He murmurs, giving you a quick squeeze, which you reciprocate reluctantly. Your hands resting on his arms.

“I know.” You huff, “i’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the promotion.”

Jobe hums into your neck, using his index fingers to turn your chin in his direction. He gives you a dimple showing smile. “I love you, always. Even when I am upset.”

Now you were a little less angry with the whole situation, those few small words meaning more than a petty argument. “I love you too, idiot.” You add, giving him a playful scowl.

Likes , comments , & reblog’s are all appreciated. Let me know if you want tagged in any of my posts <3

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Scoot over

frat boys x reader x Ruhn Danaan

a/n first time writing for cc don’t come at my neck.

summary: you had a long and shit day and come home to your friends ready to take care of you. One in particular.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You parked your car by the house entrance. Noting the two cars already parked there. Light was streaming through the downstairs windows. A sense of ease instantly washed over you. The day had been long, and you would be lying if you tried to deny that you hadn’t been looking forward to seeing your stupid roommates. Yet you stalled for a moment. Giving yourself an extra minute for composure, you breathed out a deep sigh before stepping into the cold night.

The bickering caught you by the entrance. And even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell that it had to be serious. The view you were greeted with was far from what you imagined, however. Here they stood. Declan was nose-deep in his phone, ordering Flynn around as the male tried to stir whatever that was sizzling in the pan. Even if this felt more like an unsupervised toddler discovering cooking.

“What are you two doing?”, you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. A string of curses rang through the room. The two must have been seriously invested if they didn’t hear you come in. “Urd spare me," Dec sighed, placing a hand on his chest. “Fucking hell, I could have burned myself, woman," Flynn grunted, reaching for the spoon that had found its resting place in the sink. "Sorry, sorry, I thought you were solving world hunger, with all that noise and not trying to tame a house fire," you said, finding it endearing that the two even tried to make food when it had been your responsibility for a hot minute.

“You look like shit," Flynn pointed out bluntly, and Dec was quick to wack him on the back of his head. "Geez, thanks; you do know how to flatter a lady," you sighed, lifting your bags onto the kitchen island. “He’s been single for ten years; don’t expect him to still know what a lady is," Dec chirped, rounding the table to walk closer to you. “Fuck off, you have been single for way longer, dude," Flynn grumbled back, making you let out a slight chuckle.

But it was Declan’s amber eyes that pierced through you now. “No, seriously, what’s up?” A guy might be head first in his technology, but nothing ever slipped past him when it came to his friends. But it didn’t hurt to try, right? So you plastered on the best fake smile you could. “Nothing, nothing; you need help with that?” You pointed to the stove. Earning a loud no from Flynn. “First of all, rude. We can handle a pan. Second of all, you do know that we see through your bullshit?” You simply nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. Dec had become somewhat of a brother to you over the years together. There had always been something special about him. Something that screamed home.

“Do we need to call Ruhn?”, he asked softly, already reaching for his phone, but you stopped him with a shake of your head, “Will you vouch for our balls because I don’t want them on a Christmas tree?” His words managed to get a slight chuckle out of you, but you knew that it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Leave your shit here," Dec said, yanking the bags with food over the table. “Yeah, go upstairs and take a bath or something," Flynn chirped in. You knew that even with his back turned to you, he could sense the shift in you. “A support hug before you go?” Dec extended his arms out to you, and you instantly felt the same burning sensation rising. So you shook your head no, quickly wiping a couple of the tears away as you muttered, “I might start sobbing if you get close.”

Ruhn had been in a piss-poor mood all day. There wasn’t a single thing that hadn’t made him annoyed. His father, of course, graced him with a cherry on top as he sent Ruhn to the other side of the town to finish some of his dirty work. Yet all he wanted now was to smoke himself into the oblivious. Lay down, and not move for days. A sharp pain shot through his eyes as the sound of his phone ringing filled his car.

“What?”, he grumbled the moment he picked up. He was hoping the two hadn’t gotten into any trouble because he would probably leave them to their own devices just because he was in a piss-poor mood. “Y/n got home," Flynn’s voice was barely audible through the sizzling. "Great!", Ruhn grunted, but he already knew it. Had seen the notification of your car passing through the gates. “And she’s not feeling well." That was enough to make all the racing thoughts halt for a moment. “What do you mean?”, Ruhn asked, already starting his car. That last meeting could get fucked, for all he cared.

There was some grumbling on the other line until a much-smothered voice filled Rhun’s ears. “I think something really upsets her, or she’s just in one of her sad moods," Dec muttered, “She nearly cried, and she doesn’t cry." That same tightness clenched Rhun’s chest. Why today, when he was by the outskirts? When he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “I’ll be back as soon as I can," he tried to say, sounding unfazed. As if this only concerned him because you were roommates. But if he had managed to slip past Flynn’s radar, Dec had been on him for years. "Dec," Ruhn called out right before hanging up. "Yeah," his friend muttered. “You look out for her till I get back," Ruhn’s voice was barely a whisper, as if, by saying it any louder, he would chase it away. As if someone would wish bad will on it. “You got it, prince," Even if he couldn’t see it, Ruhn was convinced that Dec had the stupidest grin on his face. “Fuck you," he added before hanging up.

You didn’t bother to go downstairs. The bed was practically calling to you. Dec and Flynn found you between the sheets. And to your luck, neither one commented on the fact that it was Ruhn’s bed that you were lying in and not your own. After forcefully feeding you their noodle concoction, that wasn’t half as bad for the first attempt. The two had taken a guard dog position on either side of Ruhn’s bed. Talking about the most random stuff and, even without your noticing, chasing away all the bad thoughts one by one.

“So then I told him to fuck himself sideways," Flynn was on his fourth story for the night. Debriefing the last meeting he had. “I bet he loved that," Dec snorted, his hand absentmindedly moving up and down your ankle. “The old fuck just went on a rant about how that would be impossible to perform," Flynn huffed with a laugh.

And then, as if on cue, the energy in the room shifted. Growing heavy before it faded away. The sound of the rushed footsteps was hard to miss. You had barely managed to turn your head towards the it when the door to the bedroom swung open. “Out you two," the voice filled your senses even before Ruhn’s frame came into view. The two males snorted. "Okay, daddy issues; don’t yell," Flynn muttered, earning a middle finger in return. Dec gave your leg a couple of taps. “You finish that," he said, pointing to the bowl that still had some pasta left. “Will do," you muttered, giving him a slight smile.

As soon as the door was closed, Ruhn’s eyes met yours. "Hey," he breathed; he was breathing way heavier than usual. So he had either ran or been worrying ever since the two snitches told him about you. "Hi," you muttered in return. Watching him quickly undo his shirt before he yanked it over his head.

“Oh wow," you said, “you’re undressing quickly today." Ruhn let out a snort as he reached for his belt. His hands didn’t even tremble as he undressed. “You never complained about my speed before," he shrugged with a smirk. Reaching for his discarded clothes before throwing them across the room.

“Scoot over," he said, gently nudging your shoulder. “Get in from the other side," you grumbled. You had already warmed his side of the bed. “Scoot your cute ass over," he said, more like an order, and you knew him too well to not obey. It didn’t matter where or in what shape you two were. He was always sleeping on the side closer to the door. Even in his drunken or high state, if you two ended up in the same bed, this thing of his never faltered.

“My shirt?”, he chuckled as he moved closer to you. The territorial male inside him was clapping hands from joy at the sight of it. The warmth of him already making your body shiver in anticipation. His scent wrapped you in a cloud of happiness, followed by his strong arms that snaked around your middle. Fingers reaching just slightly beneath the material to meet your naked skin.

“I just wanted to feel you; it’s stupid," you breathed out as he nuzzled closer to you. Leaving a tender kiss on your shoulder blade here and there. “You should have called me," Ruhn said firmly. “You’ve been busy," you said quietly, turning just a bit so you could see his purple eyes. “Never too busy for you," he said. He didn’t miss a beat with his words, and you knew that they came straight from the depths of his heart. If there was one thing that he was great at, it was looking over the people he cared for.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, he asked after a moment of silence. "No," you said. “But do I need to kill somebody because...", Ruhn pushed slightly. “I'm sure those two downstairs are waiting for that too, so get in line," you breathed, reaching out to brush your fingers over his tattoo. Let your brain get lost in him. The warmth of him. The beat of his heart. The breathing. You didn’t even feel the tears running down your cheeks, just the way Ruhn’s arms tightened around your middle, bringing you even closer to him.

“It’s okay, let it out," he muttered against your ear. “I’ve got you gorgeous," his lips brushed against the side of your face. “It’s just a bad day," you hiccuped silently. “We all have those, baby," he said tenderly, his fingers moving to brush through your hair, massaging your scalp softly. Slowly dragging you into the tired, slumbery space. Your hold on him had loosened before you flinched slightly, wrapping your arms around him once more. “Will you stay with me?”, you turned back at him once more, your heavy eyelids drooping. A warm smile spread on Ruhn’s face, “I won’t move an inch, baby”, he muttered, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

[yandere-fics]

♡ Rayna's Rules For Her Little Sister ♡

(She phrases her rules grossly. Big sister is not capitalized on the rules on purpose while Little Sister is because that's how Rayna would write it. Little Sister is more important afterall.)

♡ Little Sis must kiss her big sister in the morning before leaving bed. ♡

♡ Little Sis must sleep in her panties and big sister's shirt so they can be pleasured by big sister the moment they wake up. ♡

You found out the hard way that this was a rule she took extremely seriously when you left bed one morning as she was still dead asleep only to be jumped by her ten minutes later shoving her tongue down your fucking throat. After that you quickly realized it was just better to give her the kiss in the morning and hope she didn't take it too much farther. Didn't guarantee you were safe from having her tongue down your throat though, like right now when she got a little bit over excited you kissed her first and was humping your leg as she kissed you, her semi hard cock leaking all over your leg because she insisted the both of you sleep almost nude.

"Call me big sis please?" She whined as she moved your panties to the side and slid her limp dick back and forth trying her best to work herself up for intercourse. Most mornings she wasn't able to get hard enough and would settle for her fingers in you and then would go off to her office for work. Today she seemed like she wasn't giving to leave until you came on her dick though.

"Ugh fine… please fuck me big sis?" It was quicker if you just called her that. She let out a groan cumming prematurely and shooting all over your panties and shirt. She frowned when she realized she didn't actually get to be inside you, beginning to move her hips once again to try to get herself worked up, without cumming this time. You supposed today was not going to be a work day for her.

♡ Little Sister is only allowed to masturbate with big sis watching and big sis will step in if it looks like little sis needs help. ♡

♡ Big sister reserves the right to deny Little Sister anything they ask for if it turns out they didn't consider going to big sis for help first. ♡

You were not planning on following either of those, after all what Rayna didn't know couldn't hurt her so as long as you hid things from her well enough you assumed you wouldn't have to listen. You assumed wrong because at every turn Rayna knew you had attempted to do something for yourself and failed and every time she would tell you she wasn't going to help you for a few hours since you hadn't asked her, instead forcing you to sit on her lap until she felt you'd reflected enough and then would get up to help you with whatever it was you wanted. This time she had caught you trying to masturbate and had decided she needed to edge you for a bit which evidently was quite painful for her when you could feel her hand twitch against your thigh every few seconds before reminding herself she wasn't supposed to be helping you. You usually didn't like asking Rayna for things because it made her too over excited butttt… you had been sitting on her lap horny for about thirty minutes now and you really just needed to get off soooo…

"Big sis, please touch me?" That was all it took to get her to set you on her office chair and start eating you out ravenously.

♡ Little Sister must not make friends with anyone, their only company should be big sis. ♡

♡ Sometimes big sister has to do things that Little Sister is better off not knowing about, please don't ask. ♡

You knew you weren't supposed to be asking Rayna about what happened to the house staff since they were replaced so often but this was the fifth personal maid you had that you got along with somewhat who had been replaced. Plus you were having a nice week with her and had followed all the other rules so she probably wouldn't mind if you asked just this once, right? Every time you tried though she would attempt to shift your attention away from the topic, darting her eyes around and growing increasingly agitated. You really wanted to know though so you were pushing your luck just a bit.

"My songbird, if you keep asking about the staff members I will make sure there's no staff left for you to care about." That shut you up fast.

♡ Big sister loves Little Sister more than life itself, remember that. ♡

[pandalandalopalis]

Devil May Cry Wolf - Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader [Chapter Nineteen]

Masterlist Previous Chapter

Story Synopsis: The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.

The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.

The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.

Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.

You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.

Chapter Synopsis: It's finally the night of Tony's party. What's a bit of flirtation between friends? And what's this, an unexpected guest?

Part 2 - Chapter Nineteen: The One with Tony Stark's Party

“Natasha.”

Bucky had remained in knots and guilt and memories he wanted to forget but knew damn well he did not deserve to unremember since the mission with Y/N and the Widow in the wolf mask last week. But there were things he needed clarity on and he knew only one person who could answer his questions.

Natasha still had her bags in hand when Bucky said her name, having just returned from her own solo mission. “Hey,” she greeted.

“[I need to ask you something],” he said in Russian, wary of any nearby ears. It wasn’t like it was a secret, but he still wanted this conversation to be private.

(Bucky couldn’t stand Steve telling him “It’s not your fault” another damn time. He didn’t know how to make Steve understand. Taking away the blame didn’t take away the hurt. It couldn’t undo the pain he caused.)

He watched the gears turn behind Natasha’s eyes as she picked up on the seriousness of this conversation. She placed her bags on the floor and walked over to him. “[What’s up?]”

He didn’t know how to say this — didn’t even know if she knew . Bucky had no memories of training someone that looked like her in the Red Room, but then again, his memories were still spotty. He remembered training the girls in the Red Room but he didn’t remember every moment of it. On the other hand, Natasha never mentioned knowing him as the Winter Soldier, not past the mission she was assigned to where he shot her. “[Do you know about . . . the Winter Soldier in the Red Room?]”

Some recognition flooded her eyes. “[I do.]” The admission was full of pity, and it grated on his ears. “[The other girls in the Red Room would talk about the Winter Soldier like he was a ghost story, but an older Widow told me the truth. That he used to train the girls. That he was . . . harsh.]” 

Bucky knew her choice of words were meant to soften the blow. He was sure that harsh didn’t even begin to cover it.

“[But they pulled him out — you, out— around the mid ‘70s, almost ten years before I was even born. So if you’re asking if you trained me, the answer is no],” she finished.

“[There was an ex-Widow that showed up during Y/N’s undercover mission],” Bucky said.

She nodded. “[Yeah, Clint mentioned.]”

“[She brought up the Winter Soldier in the Red Room. The way she talked to me . . . she had to be one of the girls that I trained.]” Bucky’s jaw flexed. “[That I hurt.]”

Natasha gave him a sympathetic look, but said, “[I think I might know who she is. With the wolf mask and the teleporting . . . if I’m right, she’s the first Widow to escape the Red Room.]”

Bucky blinked. He knew that was no easy feat. 

Natasha continued, “[She’s the only one to do it before I did, and before I shut the whole thing down.]” Her eyebrows pulled together a fraction of an inch, like she was thinking. “[The girls in the Red Room called her the Wolf Widow. Something to do with killing and skinning a wolf out in the tundra. I thought she was just a story. The people who trained us maintained that no one had ever left the Red Room — that it wasn’t possible. So it became just a . . . tall tale. A myth. But the way they’d tell it, she was special. She had the ability to disappear and reappear somewhere else.]”

That lined up with the woman in the wolf mask. She was a teleporter.

“[And one day she just disappeared for good],” Natasha went on. “[The story always sounded like a fairytale, but now . . . Too many coincidences. The wolf mask and the teleporting — and she was probably trained as a Widow back when the Red Room employed the Winter Soldier. I’d like to believe that means we can trust her, and Y/N was in safe hands the whole time, but . . . a lot of ex-Widows become mercenaries. That’s all they know.]”

Bucky thought about what the Widow had said, about making a promise not to kill. How she would have killed him if it wasn’t for that promise. And her added comment in Russian, the threat made to him — “[Maybe I still will.]”

And maybe he’d deserve it, if she did.

Bucky took in everything Natasha was saying about the Widow’s identity, but in the end, none of it really mattered. It didn’t change anything. He still hurt her. He still hurt so many of them in that Red Room.

His thoughts must have been clear on his face, because Natasha said, “[None of that is your fault, Bucky.]”

He closed his eyes for a moment. He was so sick of it. He was so sick of hearing that when he couldn’t make himself believe it.

Bucky finally opened his eyes and gave her a hard look. “Tell that to the little girls I hurt in the Red Room.”

‘Twas finally the night of Tony’s glamorous party and you loved having an excuse to dress to the nines and have every eye in the room on you.

Well. Almost every eye.

Matt was tying his bowtie when you arrived in his apartment. You paused to look at him. Although you’d seen him many, many times in a suit, there was a different vibe about the tuxedo he wore. Something just a bit more polished and sophisticated. 

He looked good.

“You clean up nice, Murdock,” you finally said, approaching him. You found your hands absentmindedly replacing his to fix his bowtie.

“So they tell me,” he replied. “I’d return the compliment, but, y’know.”

Bowtie neat and tidy, you lowered your hands and gave a dramatic sigh. “It is quite the tragedy that you can’t see how good I look right now.”

“Yeah. I bet it is.”

You blinked at him. His tone wasn’t teasing or sarcastic. It was soft. Low. Genuine. Something like . . . an admission. It brought out an unexpected warmth from within you. 

Y/N’s raised heart rate brought a stuttering out of his own. Matt didn’t mean to say it . . . like that. He’d meant it — He was sure she looked beautiful, and like many things in his life he wished he could see it for himself. But he didn’t mean for it to sound like. . .

Like a tone one wouldn’t use with a friend.

It just . . . came out that way.

And it had an effect. On her.

He was trying not to think about the way that was suddenly making him feel.

You pushed at the strange fluttery feeling in your chest and reminded yourself of your particular choice in dress — There were other ways Matt could appreciate your attire without seeing it.

Suddenly, Y/N was taking Matt’s hand and placing it on her waist.

A thousand thoughts began running through his head, all connected to the accidentally un-friend-like tone he’d used to compliment her, the way her heart beat faster in response, and it couldn’t help but cross his mind that she might—

The thoughts quieted as he felt. Stroked his hand gently over the fabric at her waist, her own hand still keeping him there. His head tilted as he came to a conclusion. “Is this silk?”

“Mmhm,” she confirmed. 

His stuttering heart slowed. She was just showing him the material of her dress. Of course that’s all that was. He’d let himself get carried away with his thoughts. It was the romance of the evening that got to him — the fancy clothes and the fancy party. It brought up strange feelings that surely had no place in any other context. 

(And yet he had meant it. He knew that she was beautiful. Not based on anyone describing her to him or others’ physical reactions to her. In his heart he knew she was beautiful. Always had been; always will be.

But he wished. He wished he could see how beautiful she was tonight, dressed in her elegant evening wear. In some secret part in his heart, he wanted that movie moment. The one where the main character sees his date in her dress for the first time. Where he gets to experience that moment of awe in the presence of a version of her beauty he never witnessed before now. Selfishly, Matt wanted that.

Platonically, of course.

Of course.

Of course.)

“Nice choice,” Matt finally said, his hand still on her waist, his thumb brushing over the liquid fabric.

“I thought it might be more comfortable for you.”

And something warmed within Matt at her admission. That she went out of her way, that she took in account his touch sensitivity and chose a dress based on his preferences.

“Thanks,” he said softly. And then, because he was curious, “What colour is it?”

Matt felt Y/N reach up and take his glasses from him, putting them on her own face. “One guess.”

Red. Her dress was red, like the red tint of his glasses.

And Matt found he could not help himself, for an oddly possessive sort of satisfaction had settled in his chest.

Matt’s hand remained on your waist, even when you moved your hand to take his glasses from him. It was warm —hot, even— like a brand on your body through the thin silk. It was that damn sober sensitivity again. You didn’t know why it was affecting you like this. Even the rhythmic stroke of his thumb on your waist was damn near dizzying.

“Y’know, someone told me those glasses are red, but they could be an ugly lime green for all I know,” Matt joked.

You scoffed, taking off the glasses and carefully sliding them back on Matt’s face. “Be rest assured I would never willingly wear ugly lime green. Now Barbie pink on the other hand. . .”

A breath of a laugh left his nose. Then, “Well. I’m sure you could make any colour look good.”

You blinked at him again. Matt had been getting bolder with his flirtations lately. To be fair, you used to flirt with him quite shamelessly. It didn’t mean anything, it was just a bit of fun. But he just never really . . . responded before. And now he seemed to be upping his game, not only in what he was saying but in the way he said it, low and suggestive with a cocky half-smirk.

It was just . . . teasing among friends. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t done a thousand times before. And if you hadn’t been sober, you would have flirted back and felt nothing.

The touch sensitivity from your sobriety, it was getting your wires all crossed.

Matt didn’t want to look too closely at why he was still deriving satisfaction from her warmed skin and uneven heartbeat.

“Touch still feel different now that you’re sober?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” you blatantly lied.

Matt squeezed your hip suddenly and a small involuntary yelp left your mouth in response. 

Oh you’re gonna pay for that.

Next thing you knew, you were engaging him in a light bout of sparring that ended up with him on the floor on his back and you sitting on top of him.

“You’re going to tear something,” Matt protested in defense of his tux and your dress.

“You started it,” you threw back childishly.

Matt’s hand slid under the slit of your dress to squeeze you high on your thigh — it had his desired response of another small involuntary yelp. You smacked his hand hard.

He pulled it back immediately with an, “Ow!”

“Serves you right,” you said with a breath of laughter. A breathed laugh left Matt’s mouth as well. 

And then there was silence, the only sound in his apartment being the now slightly laboured breath that you both shared. You felt Matt gently wrap his hands around your ankles, his thumbs tracing absentminded circles on your skin.

And then you became very, very aware of Matt’s warm body between your thighs and the fact that your panties were the only thing separating your bare skin from touching his clothed lower half.

The resulting feeling was . . . odd. You’d wrestled with him as children and even many times as adults but it never quite felt like . . . this.

Oddly . . . unplatonic.

There was something suddenly very dangerous and uncharted about the position they found themselves in. This was not the first time Y/N had sat on top of Matt like this, her weight in his lap, and yet he could feel that this was very different from all the times before.

But this was not just a woman sitting in his lap. This was Y/N, his childhood friend, the closest thing he had to family — and he wasn’t about to let one uncharacteristic moment of tension muddle all of that.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said to you softly.

Right. Touch sensitive sobriety. Crossed wires. That’s all it was. 

The spot where Matt held your ankles chilled as he let go to let you stand. Then you held out your hand, and he took it to help himself up.

Matt grabbed his folded white cane from the counter. “You know, if you ripped this tux you’re going to have to pay for it. It’s a rental.”

His teasing pulled a smile out of you and you shook your head. When Matt made his way back to you, you unconsciously reached up to straighten his tie. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

Matt took your arm and you headed for the door. You couldn’t just teleport the two of you into Avengers Tower, so you’d have to go the old fashion way and take a taxi.

As you took the elevator down, you thought of something. “Oh, I’m going to have to remember how to pretend like you’re blind.”

“Wait, I’m not blind? Oh, my God, it’s a miracle.”

You snorted. “Smart-ass. You know what I mean.” Matt could practically function as a seeing person with his heightened senses, but you needed to act as if those heightened senses didn’t exist. Which meant narrating for him — “They’re reaching out for a handshake” “They just nodded” etc. — as well as treating his surroundings as if he truly could not perceive them.

Matt grinned at you. “I’ll never forget the time you tossed me a ball and it hit me in the face.”

You pulled up the memory, from a school recess in another life. “That was mean, Matthew,” you said, although there was a smile on your face.

He chuckled. “I couldn’t catch it, I’d be outing myself.”

“You made me look like an asshole.”

“No, you made you look like an asshole.”

And you couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you shook your head. “Jackass.”

Matt’s grin widened.

The party was already in full swing by the time you and Matt arrived, Matt still on your arm, the both of you looking damn fucking good and colour coordinated. Like a matching set.

Steve spotted you and called out your name, hurrying over. You’d told him ahead of time that you were planning on bringing Matt. He thought it was a good idea; he’d wanted to make a better impression on Matt since the first time they met went so poorly. You knew Steve still had a lot of guilt for what happened with the torture thing.

You greeted Steve with a kiss on his cheek, arm still attached to Matt.

“You look beautiful,” Steve commented. 

“Thank you.” You gave him a smile, then turned to the man on your arm. “Matt, you remember Steve, right?”

“I do.” Matt could tell Captain America was extending his hand for a handshake, but Matt kept his hand to himself. And maybe it had more to do with not wanting to shake it than it did with keeping up pretenses. He still had mixed feelings about Steve Rogers — for the mess that happened when Y/N was kidnapped and tortured because the Avengers could not keep her information safe enough; and for the friendship he kept with the man who traumatized her. 

Matt felt Y/N squeeze his arm. “Handshake,” she whispered.

However.

He also knew Y/N had deep-seated trust issues and so allowing someone into her life was a big deal for her. If Y/N thought he was good enough, then maybe that would have to be good enough for Matt as well.

Matt extended his hand and felt Steve grasp it for a handshake. And Matt shook it, maybe squeezing just a little too tightly.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Steve said.

“Who would miss a glamorous party thrown by Tony Stark?” Matt replied.

“Did I hear my name?”

Another man joined them, and Matt recognized his voice from the news. 

“Is this the childhood friend we’ve heard so much about?” Tony Stark asked, and this time Matt held out his hand to allow Tony to shake it.

“Are you talking about me to the Avengers?” Matt asked Y/N, some satisfaction flitting through him at the idea. 

“Only the terrible stuff,” Y/N teased.

“Y/N, you didn’t mention your friend was the Matt Murdock,” came a third male voice that Matt didn’t recognize. “Bruce Banner. I kept up with the Punisher case; that trial was riveting stuff.”

Matt shook his hand. “Not exactly my finest hour. We lost that case, if you remember.”

“But you attempted to do the impossible. I respect that.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Didn’t the Punisher escape prison?” came a fourth male voice that Matt did recognize. He sensed him reaching out his hand. “Clint Barton.”

Matt’s jaw worked as he shook Clint’s hand. He still remembered the vitriol with which Hawkeye spoke about Y/N the last time they met. 

Well. The way he spoke about the Wolf of Hell’s Kitchen the last time he met Daredevil. Semantics.

“We should probably be doing something about that, right?” Clint directed to the woman who had joined him at his side.

“That’s a little below our pay grade,” the woman commented. She reached out her hand. “I’m Natasha.”

Matt had already recognized her voice as one of the Avengers who was there when Y/N was kidnapped. He shook her hand. “Matt.”

“I bet you have a lot of embarrassing childhood stories about our Y/N here,” Clint commented. “She’s so tight-lipped about her personal life.”

That happens when everything she’s told you about herself is a lie. “Maybe get a few drinks in me and see what comes out,” Matt joked. By Y/N’s continually relaxed state at his side, he knew that she trusted him not to say anything to jeopardize her identity as the Avengers’ mild-mannered medic. 

“Speaking of!” Tony piped up. “Drinks.” He started pointing around the circle. “Bruce, gin and tonic; Clint, beer; Nat, martini; Steve, I think Thor has some of that Asgard stuff; Y/N, Manhattan; and what’ll it be, Counselor?” he ended on Matt.

You tensed. You had hoped you could get away with asking the bartender for a virgin drink without anyone else knowing. It wasn’t like admitting your sobriety threatened your cover with the Avengers, but at the same time . . . it was a big thing to admit to all of them. It could change the way they all looked at you. Change the way Steve looked at you.

But. You felt Matt’s hand squeeze your arm. And with him at your side, you felt a sudden burst of confidence. 

“Actually, Tony, could you make mine a virgin?” you asked.

“What’re you driving tonight, Y/N?” Tony joked, given that you lived at Avengers’ Tower.

Here we go. “No, actually I, um . . . I’m two months sober.”

Matt smiled to himself, proud of Y/N both for standing her ground in her sobriety and for giving up this truth about herself. He knew it couldn’t have been easy for her.

You had prepared yourself for judgmental stares, but the reactions were mostly 1/4s part confusion, 3/4s parts compassion. Although, Steve’s eyes you avoided, fearing his judgment the most.

Tony gave you a nod. “Well. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Make mine a virgin, too,” Matt said. “I am driving tonight.”

There was a chorus of chuckles at Matt’s joke, and you were glad for it, knowing that Matt was directing the attention off of you and your newly admitted sobriety.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” Tony said, heading off to the bar.

You felt Steve touch your waist, and you finally looked at him.

“Mind if I take Y/N off your hands for a dance?” Steve asked Matt.

Matt almost wanted to say No, only for the way that Y/N’s body had tensed and her heart rate had increased. Not only had it been a big deal to admit her sobriety to everyone, it seemed it had been a big deal to admit it to Steve. Judging from his physical reaction to her admission, she hadn’t told him. 

But Y/N’s head turned to him and she said, “It’s okay,” low enough that only he would be able to hear it. 

So Matt said, “I suppose that would be alright,” as if it was a joke that he had to think about it, and not a reality.

A hand curled around Matt’s other arm. “Don’t worry, he’ll be in good hands,” came Natasha’s voice. 

And Matt had to let go of Y/N to allow her to go off with Steve.

A slower dance was playing, and Steve held your hand and placed his other at your back once you got to the dance floor. You rested your free hand on his shoulder, waiting for the conversation you knew you couldn’t avoid.

Steve had been surprised to hear that Y/N was “two months sober” — He knew nobody said it like that unless it was an accomplishment. It wasn’t that he was judgmental of her, but rather he was again faced with the realization that he did not know Y/N as well as he thought, or as well as he should. They’d been dating for a little while now, yet she was still so closed off when it came to the important details of her life. The uncomfortable details. Steve wanted to be the person for her that she could tell anything to, even if she was afraid to say it — but he was afraid that they’d hadn’t reached that point yet.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, making an effort to keep judgment out of his voice.

She seemed to shrink a bit under his gaze. “I was embarrassed,” she admitted. “I didn’t want you to think any less of me because of it.”

“I could never think less of you,” he said, hurt that she would think that way. That he made it seem like he would be so shallow. “I think it takes a really strong person to look at their choices and know there needs to be a change.” She seemed to avoid his eyes, so he followed, “Can you tell me about it?”

She looked back up at him. She paused in that way he’d grown to appreciate, loving the way she thought through what she needed to say before saying it. 

(You were deciding how much truth to admit. How much of your real self to leak through into the lie.)

“I just realized I . . . was not sober more than I think was healthy,” Y/N explained.

A realization hit him. “Was it because . . . of what happened?” The kidnapping. The torture. Steve hated thinking about it. 

But after pausing for a long moment, Y/N shook her head. “No.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation, a pit growing in his stomach.

“It’s not something . . . that I like to talk about,” she finally said, and after enough silence Steve realized that she wasn’t going to say anything else.

It hurt him to think that there were things in her past that hurt her enough that she couldn’t say it out loud. And while it frustrated him that she couldn’t talk to him about it, he understood why. There were things in his own life he hadn’t talked to her about yet, things that were hard to voice. Going through Bucky’s death. What it was like to wake up in a different time, to lose everything he had when he went into the ice. Peggy. But one day Steve hoped that . . . that could change. “Well . . . I hope that one day, I can be the kind of man you can trust to talk about it.”

She searched his eyes for a moment, then gave him a small smile. “I hope so, too.”

But in your heart you knew. You could never tell him the full truth.

A couple hours or so into the night, everyone was ready for their next round of drinks, so Y/N went off to the bar. The other Avengers had already dispersed from their table to dance or chat with others, which left just Matt and Steve alone together.

“Look, I know you don’t like me very much,” Steve said suddenly, when Y/N was out of earshot.

Matt was surprised he would bring it up, but not surprised that’s what he thought. Steve didn’t exactly make a very good first impression on him. But Matt followed, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I let your friend get hurt. I wouldn’t like me very much, either.”

Well. At least Captain America was self-aware. “I trust Y/N’s judgment,” Matt said honestly. “She’s very careful about who she lets close to her. If she’s decided you’re okay, then that’s good enough for me.”

Matt sensed Steve sitting up in his seat. “What do you mean she’s careful about who she lets close to her?”

Matt cringed at his error. “. . .I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Is this about her ex?”

“Her ex?” Matt’s eyebrows knitted together, trying to think who Steve could possibly be talking about.

“A few months ago she mentioned something about an ex coming back into her life — how she found out he wasn’t the man she thought he was. It seemed to really bother her that she was wrong about him.”

“Ah.” Russo. So she gave Steve a sanitized version when that was going on. “She told you about that, huh? Look. Y/N hates being wrong about people.” He let just a little bit of Daredevil into his voice to finish, “Don’t let her be wrong about you.”

Steve was steady. “I won’t.”

And, finding his heartbeat unwavering, Matt found that he was inclined to believe him. Y/N was right about what she said — this was a good man. It relaxed something in him to know that Y/N was in good hands, at least.

Ignoring the mess that’s all the lies and her former plan to kill his best friend, that is.

“Y/N told me about your accident,” Steve said next. “How are you doing?”

“Ah, good,” Matt said honestly. “I know it happened at a bad time. She said you two were on a date.”

“Well, it’s never a good time to have an accident.”

Matt gave a light chuckle. “No, I guess not.”

“She was really worried about you, you know.” He did know, but it was nice to hear it from someone else. “Look, I know that . . . you’re like family to Y/N. I mean, you’re probably the closest thing she has to a brother.”

Matt’s eyebrows twitched together a fraction of an inch.

That description felt . . . off. He supposed one could describe them that way, having grown up together and being each other’s only family, and yet — it felt wrong.

Matt really didn’t want to look further into why that was.

“What I’m trying to say,” Steve continued, “is that Y/N is becoming someone that’s important to me. And I want to get along with the person that’s important to her.”

Weird feeling or no, Matt could tell that Steve was making an effort. And he appreciated that. So he nodded. “I agree.”

Matt could hear Y/N’s incoming footsteps before she arrived at the table. “I hope you two weren’t talking about me too much,” she teased, setting the drinks down and taking her seat between Matt and Steve.

Matt reached out, for lack of a better term, blindly, for his drink for a moment before Y/N realized and slid his glass right into his hand.

Baby, she mouthed, allowing his hearing to pick it up without voicing it aloud. Matt suppressed his amused smile the best he could.

Y/N sipped her drink, then made a small noise of discontent not loud enough to flag Steve’s attention. Matt tilted his head, inhaling through his nose and opening his mouth slightly to taste the contents of her drink.

Ah. “Licorice?” he asked her. She’d never been a fan of the flavour. She must have ordered a drink without knowing that that would be in it, or maybe the bartender messed up her order.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Silently, Matt allowed himself to abandon his completely blind pretense for a moment to take her drink out of her hand and replace it with his own.

She smiled as she raised his drink to her lips. “Thank you, Matthew~”

Matt could not suppress the smile that came to his lips. There had always been something about her saying his full first name that he liked, even when they were young. It was only every once in a while, but it always felt significant. If her voice had been his favourite sound, then her saying his full name was his favourite of her spoken words. 

He’d had the thought before . . . wondering if that’s why he liked how Elektra had called him Matthew. Maybe it reminded him of Y/N. Maybe it reminded him of her when she’d been gone from his life. When he still missed her so deeply it hurt. Suddenly here was a woman who only referred to him by his full first name, and it’s like he had a piece of Y/N back. He spent years holding on to any crumb of her he could find, any thing that reminded him of her even a little bit. And he knew, the first time Elektra called him Matthew, that he’d found part of Y/N in her.

Matt didn’t know why he thought of that now. This wasn’t even the first time this night that Y/N had called him that. Maybe it was how she said it in front of others. (In front of Steve.) It was an indication of the connection they both shared. The history. The closeness.

But Matt left his thoughts when he could tell Steve was confused by the drink-swap. “She hates licorice,” he explained.

“I don’t hate licorice, I hate black licorice flavour,” Y/N further explained. 

“Ah, that’s right,” Matt said with a grin. “You had a habit of stealing my Red Vines.”

The sound she made was incredulous. “When did I ever steal your Red Vines?”

“Every time I got them from ages ten to sixteen.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I really am not.”

“Steve.” She turned to him. “You believe me, don’t you?” Matt could hear her batting her eyes at him.

Steve made an indecisive noise, then said, “I think I’m gonna side with the lawyer on this one.”

Matt smiled as he could only imagine the dirty look Y/N must have been giving the Captain. “Mean.”

The conversation flowed for a while. Y/N laughed at something Matt said, twisting in her chair to likely shoot some smart reply — when her breath caught. It was subtle, going unnoticed by Steve, but Matt tilted his head to catch her slow, painful exhale.

He opened his mouth and tasted copper. Dammit. Her stitches must have ripped.

It was from a couple nights ago. Things got a little dicey with a guy with a knife and Y/N got a deep slice in her abdomen that Matt had to stitch up. 

“Hey, Y/N, do you mind showing me where the restroom is?” Matt asked.

“Sure, of course.” She stood, her slight shift in breathing the only indication of her pain. It was masked well enough from Steve, but not well enough to evade Matt’s superhuman hearing. 

Y/N took Matt’s arm and began leading him across the room, where eventually they exited out into a small hallway.

As you led Matt to the bathroom, you hoped it would give yourself a chance to check your stitches and make sure they hadn’t ripped. You weren’t sure what the hell you were going to do if they did — Maybe you could teleport back to your apartment, stitch it up yourself, then teleport back? You could even time travel back a few minutes to make up for the lost time. 

Ever since you’d got sober, your time traveling and teleporting had been getting stronger and more precise. No more off-shooting by a few hours — you could get it down to the fucking second now.

You were pretty sure you had all the necessary supplies for a quick stitch-up, though it had been a while since you last stocked up; you usually went to Matt’s apartment for—

You were so completely in your own thoughts that it threw you off guard when Matt suddenly grabbed your arm and towed you into the women’s bathroom. You barely had a chance to ask what he was doing when he locked the door — then crowded you in with your back to the sinks.

“Lift your dress.”

Everything within you went liquid suddenly at his tone, the demand in it, the way he just pulled you in here without another thought— What was happening? Was Matt really . . . doing this? Right here? Right now? You couldn’t think past this haze that had washed over you, your mind dizzy and your head spinning. You gaped at him. “. . .What?”

“You tore your stitches.”

The breath that you didn’t realize you’d been holding released in a rush. “Oh. Right.”

Matt’s eyebrows knitted together as he took in her raised heartbeat and warmed skin. “What?” And then that strange satisfaction returned to him as he put two and two together. “Did you think I brought you in here to ravish you?”

If you said no it would be a lie, so instead you asked, “Who says the word ‘ravish’ anymore?”

“Your boyfriend is right out there.”

You fought to explain yourself. “Yes, well you were being very . . . domineering without explaining what you were doing.”

His head tilted. “You like that kind of thing?”

Damn him. Damn him for upping his flirtation game. Why couldn’t he have done this back when you were unsober and unfeeling? Now every upped heart beat and uneven breath felt like an admittance. 

Sober sensitivity. Crossed wires.

“No comment, Counselor,” you breathed.

He gave you a half smirk. “Lift. Your dress.” His head tilted the other way. “I’d ask you to pull it down but I know you’re not wearing a bra.”

The audacity of this man— You were infuriated that you couldn’t seem to come up with a better comeback right now. Skin tingling, you squeezed his shoulder, gritting your teeth to smother your amusement. “You are testing my patience tonight, Matthew.”

The ‘Matthew’ softened something in him, and he pulled back on the teasing. “Yeeeah, I knew that one was too far.” In a gentler tone, he appealed, “Let me see. Please.”

His soft change in tone relaxed something in you and you exhaled, trying to get your body to calm down.

You leaned back against the sink and lifted your dress up, up until your abdomen and lower half were bare, just below your breasts. You held it with one hand while the other hand propped up against the wall beside you. The air chilled your warmed skin, and your heartbeat began to slow again.

“It’s a good thing I wore red,” you stated in reference to the beginnings of the bloody mess on your stomach.

Matt soaked a paper towel and kneeled on the floor to begin cleaning the cut. His hand braced on your hip as he passed the damp paper over your stitches, your teeth gritting at the twinge of pain that followed.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

You stared at the ceiling as he worked. “I’m not sure what you plan to do about it without a needle and thread here, unless you plan to heroically rip a strip off of your rented tux and tie it around my wound, like we’re in some kind of—” You chose that moment to look down at him, and your words stopped when he pulled a packet of gauze out of the inside of his jacket pocket and shook it at you with a look of half amusement. 

You almost laughed. “Why do you— You just have that on you?”

He smiled. “Foggy made me start carrying them around with me everywhere I go, just in case. I got them from Claire. Turns out they come in handy.”

“Well, thank you, Foggy.”

The packet of gauze came with its own tape around the edges for ease of use, so Matt carefully placed it over your cut and smoothed it down to stick. “That should hold until we get home and I can stitch it again properly.” He took the edge of your dress from your hand and gently rolled it back down your body as he stood.

“Thank you,” you said genuinely. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

“Well, you could’ve always feigned womanly issues if you got caught dripping blood,” he joked.

You cringed, all warm feeling leaving you in a rush. “Right.”

He clocked your reaction. “What?”

Shit. “I . . . really didn’t want to have this conversation here. Now.”

Matt’s eyebrows pulled together. “What conversation?” His eyes widened. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No, Jesus.” You took a breath. Guess we're doing this now. “I . . . can’t get pregnant. And I don’t have periods anymore. That’s what happens when the Red Room gives you an involuntary hysterectomy.”

“What?”

The concern on Matt’s face had tripled and his upset made you uncomfortable. You didn’t want to talk about this. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “It’s really not so bad. I never really wanted kids anyway, and I don’t have to deal with my period every month. It’s kind of convenient. No pain. Saves money.”

None of this alleviated the expression on Matt’s face. “Why would they do that to you?”

Three guesses, was what you would have said, back when you weren’t sober and you felt nothing and you liked saying things that would shock people. But you didn’t want to shock Matt — you didn’t want to talk about the reason at all.

“Less maintenance, I guess,” was what you gave him instead. “The Red Room doesn’t have to deal with their assassins getting their period every month. Less supplies, less interruptions. Less issues.” It wasn’t a lie, that probably was part of it. It just wasn’t the main reason.

(No pregnancies.)

But Matt’s face still hadn’t changed, that crease between his eyebrows remaining. 

“Look, it’s fine,” you attempted to placate him.

“It’s not.” His hand gripped the sink beside you, that crease furthering. 

“I know,” you confessed, your voice breaking on the word, and it took everything you had in you not to completely shatter here, in the bathroom of Avengers’ Tower while Tony’s party continued outside and Steve continued to wait for the two of you to return. “But you can’t do this here, I . . . I can’t do this, here.” You reached out and brushed your thumbs between his eyebrows, as if you could smooth out the crease there.

She used to do that when they were kids. 

When he was angry or upset. She would touch his face, run her fingers over his eyebrows. As if doing that would make it go away. The anger or the hurt or the pain.

It gave him such a sudden feeling of homesickness that he wanted to throw up. Or punch his hand through one of the mirrors. All of them.

Can you be homesick for a person?

Of course he knew the answer.

He’d felt it for twenty years.

“Please.”

But hearing her broken voice, tasting the salt in the moisture that began to gather in the corner of her eyes, Matt found the will to reel it in. The anger and the hurt and the pain. The new reminder of what she’d been through, the new piece of it that she hadn’t told him before. 

He breathed steady through his nose and allowed the crease between his eyebrows to disappear. “Okay,” he said softly. He let go of the sink and gently squeezed her shoulder instead. “Okay.”

Matt ensured that there was no one around to notice the two of you walking out of the women's restroom together, and so you both headed back to the table where Steve was still sitting. You took a deep breath and put on a smile.

Steve noticed Y/N and Matt finally heading back over and he gave her a smile. At the change of the song, Y/N let go of Matt to grab Steve’s arm.

“Oh, I love this song. We should go dance.”

But Steve remained in his chair. “Why don’t you take Matt for a dance?” he suggested. “I mean you dragged him all the way out here, he might as well get something out of it.”

He wanted to make up for his bad first impression. Maybe this would help him get on Matt’s good side.

Y/N turned back to Matt, and after a moment he held out his hand. She took it.

“We’ll be back,” she told Steve as she began to walk away, towing Matt behind her. “Maybe ask Natasha if she wants a dance!”

Steve looked around and found Nat fully engrossed in a conversation with Clint. Luckily, Bucky took this moment to slide into the chair next to him.

It was a slower song that played — “Two Ghosts” by Harry Styles. When you finally got onto the dance floor, Matt put his hand on the small of your back, and you hooked your hand around to hold onto his shoulder. Your other hands remained joined as you began to sway slowly.

Matt was again grateful for the silk under his hand as he held Y/N close to him. And a thought briefly passed him by. That her first thought when choosing a dress was him.

“Y’know what this kind of reminds me of?” Y/N asked.

“What’s that?”

“The high school dances we used to have.”

Matt smiled and chuckled. “I wouldn’t let Tony Stark hear you compare this place to a school auditorium.”

He could hear a breath of laughter leave her nose. Then, “I missed Homecoming. I even got a dress, too.”

The words were said casually, but the meaning behind them was not. Matt could hear her heart beginning to beat loudly in her chest, and he knew that despite the casual tone, she was remembering the reason she couldn’t go.

She had disappeared not long before the dance was supposed to happen.

���So, who did you end up taking?” you continued, as if it didn’t matter, as if you were just making light conversation. “Was it Julie Gardner? I overheard her talking about wanting to ask you to the dance.” God you hoped it wasn’t Julie Gardner. You remembered that day, overhearing her in class. You’d wanted to throttle her. Which was of course a totally normal and not at all possessive reaction to overhearing someone wanting to ask out your best friend. 

Matt seemed to take a moment to answer. “I didn’t go.”

You frowned. “What? Why?”

Because I was going to ask you to be my date.

It was part of a larger truth that Matt didn’t know if he would ever tell her.

“I couldn’t go without you.”

Your feelings were . . . mixed. On one hand, it made you sad. It hurt whenever you had to think about how Matt grieved you. But on the other hand . . . it was kind of a nice reminder. That Matt didn’t just forget about you.

Still, you said, “You could’ve gone. I would’ve wanted you to go.”

The half smile Matt gave you was not happy. “That’s what Father Lantom said, too. But you’d been so excited to go. I knew that if I went . . . I’d feel your absence that much more. And I just couldn’t.”

It squeezed at your heart. This further confirmation — the idea that at one point in his life, Matt had refused to go on without you. 

You felt tears beginning to prick behind your eyes again, but you didn’t want to cry, not here. So you rested your cheek on Matt’s shoulder, your hand gripping him harder there. You felt him squeeze your hand; felt him hold you to him that much closer.

And as you swayed, you listened to the lyrics of the song.

“We're not who we used to be

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.”

Once, what felt like a lifetime ago now but was not even a year past, he’d sat with her in the basement of Clinton Church as two people who were the furthest thing from the children who’d known each other as they could get. Matt had been . . . hollowed out. What remained of him were bloody knuckles and the things he did in the dark. And Y/N had been this person who saved his life when he didn’t want it, who walked like the girl he lost and talked like the girl he lost but was violent and traumatized and angry. So angry. Or maybe that was him. Maybe it was both of them. 

And yet . . . they’d found their way back. Maybe they still weren’t the same people they were as children, but . . . having her here with him now, he felt the closest to the person he used to be than he had in a very, very long time. 

Because it was her. Bruised. A little bit worse for wear. But her underneath all of that. Everything he lost; and much, much more than he deserved to have back.

Part of you still didn’t know if it would ever stop hurting.

And you still felt like a ghost standing here, your body dead and remaining trapped in the Red Room. In the red room. 

But . . . with Matt, you . . . felt again. He made you want to feel again. And the person he knew was still dead and gone but at least . . . a shadow remained. An echo. A ghost that didn’t know how to move on. Who would haunt him for as long as he would let her.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

Steve watched Y/N dancing with Matt, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, and he felt . . . uneasy. “Do you think I should be worried?”

“Worried?” Bucky’s eyes followed Steve’s across the dance floor. “Ah. No, c’mon, man. They grew up together when they had no other family. It’s like you and me.”

“You and I have never danced like that.”

“We could if you asked.” Steve was not amused by the joke. “C’mon, Steve.”

“I really like her, Buck,” Steve finally admitted out loud. He wasn’t sure he’d ever move on from Peggy. But now here she was. The person who made him want to . . . figure out how to love again.

“Then put your faith in her,” Bucky said.

Steve knew Bucky was right. And he knew he wasn’t being fair, comparing his own relationship to the person that Y/N grew up with — it just scared him. The idea of letting himself feel that again. 

But then Steve looked up as a familiar song began to play — it was some up-beat, energetic tune from the ‘40s; he couldn’t remember the name but he recognized the melody. And along came Y/N with a big smile on her face, Matt in tow. She let go of his hand as they reached the table, then grabbed Steve’s.

“Alright, Captain, time to show me your moves.”

She pulled him up and he let her, a smile brightening on his face, and they headed to the dance floor so he could show her what he remembered. 

Bucky left the table to join in on the dancing, so Matt was left alone in his seat.

He listened to Y/N laugh, dancing with Steve, and the sound she made should have made him happy — and it did, in some ways, but it also felt. . .

Strangely painful.

There was that ugly feeling again, sitting on his chest. 

He should be happy for her. He was happy for her.

He was. . .

Concerned. Right? Because of the lies and the complications and the messy inevitable end. . .

He was just worried.

And yet.

It didn’t feel like worry in his chest.

It felt possessive.

He didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t want to look at why he felt this way.

It was just. . .

He just got her back, that was it. He was just finding it difficult sharing her time. Wasn’t more than that. Couldn’t be more than that.

Matt could ignore the feeling. He could ignore it. 

He could.

He could.

He could.

“Hi.”

Matt’s head tilted as he took in the woman standing in front of him. He’d been so focused on Y/N that he hadn’t noticed her approach.

“Do you want to dance?”

The music had taken on a slower quality, like it had when he and Y/N danced. 

Maybe this would help alleviate the heavy, ugly cinder block pressing down on his heart. He gave the woman a smile. “Sure.”

“You’re not a bad dancer, Rogers,” you complimented as the music began to slow, and Steve brought you back to him to begin a sway. 

“My mom taught me,” he responded. “She said it would help me find a wife.” This made you laugh. “She said women like a man who knows how to move his feet.”

“Well she wasn’t wrong,” you said. “What was she like? Your mom?”

“She was the best,” he said with a smile on his face. “My dad died in the War before I was born so it was just me and her. She raised me all by herself.” His smile faltered a bit. “She died when I was eighteen. Tuberculosis.”

“I’m sorry,” you said gently.

He shook his head. “It was just me and Bucky after that.”

That uncomfortable dissonance rang through you again. It was always hard to think of the Winter Soldier having a life before he was the monster that terrorized your nightmares. A monster was never a child. A monster was never a friend. He was always a monster. 

If you could still taste the blood in your mouth and still feel the bruises and broken bones, then you refused to see him as anything else.

“Do you mind if I ask you what happened to your parents?” Steve asked then.

“Car crash, when I was nine,” you answered simply. That was always the cover. The truth had always been too unbelievable to explain, even when you were a kid. Disappearing out of the back of your parents car, in 2014, and reappearing on the street in New York, in 1992? That sounded insane. “Oh, my parents are still alive, but I technically haven’t been born yet at this time and so they wouldn’t know who I was even if I went to go find them.” Doubly insane. Only Matt ever knew the truth. Only he ever believed you. Although without his superhuman hearing, maybe he would have called you crazy, too.

“Was it hard, growing up without parents from that young?”

“Yeah, but . . . Matt made it easier,” you said with a small smile. “And I mean, whatever happened in the past . . . I’m here now. Maybe everything happens for a reason, right?” You wanted to get off the subject of your past. The more you dived into it, the more holes could open up. 

Steve seemed to sense you wanting to change the subject, so he just nodded and said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“You know how to do a dip?” you asked, further diverting the topic of conversation.

Steve let go of your waist to lead you away from him, still connected by hands, then he pulled you back in a spin, and dipped you down low — his hand found its way under the crook of your knee to bring your leg up to his hip.

You laughed. “Not bad, Captain.”

He brought you back up and you let yourself rest your cheek on his shoulder as he swayed you once more. And you realized something.

Your sober sensitivity was suspiciously . . . absent. Steve had had his hand under your knee and the two of you had been practically hip-to-hip and yet you felt . . . normal. It still felt good but not like. . . 

There were no uncontrollable heart palpitations or hot skin. No dizzied mind or liquified limbs. It was more like . . . before. Before the sobriety. You felt in complete control of your autonomy and your reactions. This was nothing you hadn’t experienced before and so none of it was particularly . . . remarkable.

But that wasn’t a bad thing, right? Maybe the sensitivity was lessening. Maybe you were getting used to it. Or maybe it had something to do with being in public, with everyone around you. 

Whatever it was, it was still Steve. He was still a good-looking hunk of man and he was still a good man. Nothing more to know than that.

A sound caught your attention and pulled you from your thoughts.

It was Matt’s laugh.

You searched for the source, not finding him at the table but rather on the dance floor like you were — dancing and chatting with a woman you didn’t know.

Suddenly you were fifteen again and overhearing Julie Gardner saying she planned to ask your best friend to go with her to Homecoming.

And the first thought in your head was: What the fuck is she doing dancing with my date?

And that felt like a weird thought. 

But you felt . . . icky.

Watching someone else dancing with Matt. Watching someone else making Matt laugh. Watching someone else taking up his time and attention.

Making Matt laugh was your job. And Foggy’s and Karen’s, of course.

And did she have to look at him like that? She’d just met him. She didn’t know him.

Your skin felt hot and prickly, and not at all in the good way. And there was something knotted in your chest that you didn’t know how to untangle.

Steve pulled back a bit to look at you. “Hey, you okay?”

You blinked at him. “Yeah, why?”

“You just seem a bit tense.”

You were tensing. You forced yourself to relax. “Yeah, I just think some of those crab cakes didn’t sit well. I think I might actually go to the little girls’ room, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You gave him a parting smile and let go of him, heading to the outer hallway where the restrooms were.

In the women’s bathroom, you took a moment to run some cold water and splash some over your neck. Look at yourself in the mirror.

Matt is a grown man. He can dance with a stranger if he wants to. You're his best friend, not his warden. He doesn’t need your approval for every woman that catches his interest.

Oh. Are you still his best friend? Isn’t Foggy his best friend now?

Ohhhhh let’s not open that door right this second.

You took some paper towel and dried your hands and the back of your neck, feeling better than you did before. Then you headed out of the bathroom

and felt tense all over again.

You and Bucky Barnes were alone in the hallway together.

“Hey,” he greeted.

You fought down your fight or flight like you did every time you found yourself in his vicinity. You gave him a tight smile as you made to pass him. “Hey.”

But Bucky moved in front of you to stop you. You shoved hard at the rising panic and kept any emotion off your face. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

“Okay,” you replied. Fuck, fuck, I’d rather be anywhere than here right now—

“Look, Steve likes you.”

“I hope so,” you said with a smile, like that information was obvious. You’d been dating for about a month now, after all.

“No, I mean he really likes you,” Bucky emphasized. “Like I haven’t seen in a really long time. There was this girl before he went in the ice, I don’t know if he’s told you about her yet, but . . . I didn’t think he’d ever move on from her. But he’s moving on for you .”

You couldn’t focus on how sweet that was when all you could think about was how easy it would be for him to hurt you right now. Even kill you. Secluded hallway, no one around—

“Look, I know you don’t like me.”

You blinked at him. That threw you off guard. You thought you’d been careful enough hiding your true feelings. “Bucky—”

“It’s okay; you don’t have to try to deny it,” he said. “Honestly, I . . . I don’t blame you. I know what I am and what I’ve done. I know that’s hard to get past. Maybe it’s not really fair to ask anyone to get past it.”

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about her. The Widow who’d confronted him. What she said about hurting little girls in the Red Room. Out of everything . . . that was the most heinous. Out of all the killing and the harm that he had done, hurting children was the worst of it. That didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. So he certainly couldn’t ask to have it from Y/N.

“My point is, if you think you’re holding back from Steve because of me, please don’t,” he continued. “I’ll . . . I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll try not to be around as often. Just . . . I want Steve to be happy. And I think he could be really happy with you.”

You stared at Bucky’s face. His eyes looked empty. He looked sad.

For once, for a moment, it wasn’t fear you felt. It wasn’t apprehension. It wasn’t hatred or anger or pain.

You thought about what you said to him, behind the mask of the Wolf. 

He had listened to what you said. It had resonated somewhere with him.

And you felt. . .

You felt. . .

Bad.

He deserves it, doesn’t he? For what he’s done to you. For what he did to other Widows. For the people he’s hurt. 

But that thought didn’t make you feel better. 

He hurt you. You were going to kill him because he hurt you. He’s the last. The only person left who knows how to make you afraid. You were going to kill him to give you peace. And the price you paid to keep your soul is that you will never truly rest because he’s still alive. He should be sorry. He should stay out of your way. He should feel guilty for what he’s done.

And yet you could not make your thoughts and your feelings agree.

You felt like your chest was being squeezed.

But you said, “Okay.”

Something splintered in Bucky’s expression. Like he thought you still might try to deny it, even though he told you not to. Like he thought you might have refused his offer. Like he thought you might have soothed his conscience. 

Like he wasn’t sure, until right now, until you just confirmed it, that you really did hate him.

He hung his head, nodding, his jaw working. “Okay,” he echoed.

You wanted to get out of here.

You wanted to stop feeling like this.

He deserved it.

He hurt you.

He haunted you.

He stole your sleep.

He stole your sanity.

He stole your childhood.

You looked at his face and you remembered why you were a ghost. Why there were too many dead little girls in the Red Room.

And so you turned. And you left.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Bucky rubbed his hand over his face.

It wasn’t like he expected her to say No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do that, you’re a little intimidating but I know you’re not a bad person.

Maybe.

Maybe he did. A little. In the smallest part of his heart, maybe he hoped she would say that. Hoped she would prove him wrong.

But what the fuck was he expecting? He was the Winter Soldier. No amount of atonement would change that. Change what he’d done.

He continued to rub his face, feeling worse by the second. Maybe he should take a sabbatical or something. Or go on one of those solo missions with Natasha. Somewhere far away. 

But who the fuck was he kidding. He could never go far away enough to escape what he—

Suddenly someone slammed into him. 

Bucky opened his eyes to reach out and steady the person. Did they trip? He didn’t even hear them come into the hallway—

The person lifted their head. He recognized the wolf mask, clear as day.

The Widow.

Bucky’s eyes grew wide, a million thoughts racing. “You. What are you—”

“DUCK!”

The Widow shoved him down into a crouch and his body followed, if only out of surprise and confusion. When he straightened, he saw the bullet hole in the wall in front of him, about level with where his head had been.

Bucky whipped around to face his attacker, finding a figure standing in the shadows of the hallway, arm outstretched and smoking silencer gun in hand. It was too dark to see their face, but it looked like they were wearing a mask, too.

The Widow shoved in front of him, putting herself between him and the figure.

Was she—?

Protecting him?

“God you’re boring,” the figure said. Their voice was distorted, like they were using a modulator. “You should have killed him a long time ago. You’re pathetic.”

Bucky stared at the Widow’s back, wondering what the fuck was going on, and why, despite everything she said to him, despite the venom and the pain in her voice, despite the threat, “[Maybe I still will.]”, despite all that he’d done to her — why was she putting herself between him and the barrel of a gun?

And then he noticed. Her heaving breaths. And her blood dripping onto the floor.

She was injured.

“Let’s finish this,” the snarl ripped from her mouth, the same vehemence in her voice as she used a week ago with Bucky — and the Widow launched herself at the figure.

And before Bucky’s eyes, they both disappeared.

You watched Steve and Natasha engage in pleasant conversation in front of you as you sat at the table. You added your own thoughts every once in a while, a laugh here, a clever comment there. But suddenly you felt Matt’s hand grab your thigh.

Your attention turned to him, eyebrows raised in amusement — but concern overtook you when you saw the look on his face. His eyebrows were scrunched together and his head was twitching, tilting in that way it did when he was listening.

“What is it?” you whispered.

“Something’s wrong.”

You were about to ask him what, when suddenly Bucky was approaching the table. He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper into his ear. As Steve’s expression became grave, you turned to look at Matt, who’s own expression mirrored Steve’s as he listened.

Steve stood. “Okay, we need to start getting people out of here,” he instructed. Bucky leaned in to fill in Natasha, and she got up and left the table. 

“What’s going on?” you asked.

Steve looked past you at Matt. “Can you take Y/N back to her apartment in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Okay, you really didn’t appreciate being talked about like you weren’t there. You stood and stepped over to Steve’s side of the table. “What’s happening?”

Steve put his hands on your shoulders. “Someone just took a shot at Bucky. It’s not safe for you to stay here tonight.”

“What?” What the hell? You noticed the other Avengers were starting to usher people out to elevators and emergency exits, trying to keep people calm and not cause a panic.

“The Widow that was with Daredevil during your undercover mission, she was here,” Steve added.

Wait.

Hold on.

Freeze frame.

“What, what do you mean?” you blurted.

You were the Widow that was with Daredevil. But you were here. With everyone else. So who the fuck—

Fuck, fuck — You really did not want to have to deal with a Future You situation—

Oh no. New problem. “The Widow shot at Bucky?” you asked. You could not care less about Bucky’s safety but if your future self was out here making the choice to go back on your word and kill him — that was another thing en-fucking-tirely.

You didn’t even want to look at Matt behind you. 

“No, the Widow saved my life,” Bucky corrected.

You whipped your head to him. “What?” What the fuck? What the fuck?

“There was someone else shooting at me, I don’t know who,” Bucky explained. “They wore a mask and had a voice modulator.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— What the fuck WHAT THE FUCK—

“Did you see what the mask looked like?” Matt asked, voicing the important questions as your own mind stalled and whirled and drowned in those brain chemicals that released during panic.

Norepinephrine, you remembered. Like that was helpful right now.

Bucky shook his head. “It was too dark to get a good look. What I do know is, the Widow risked her life to save me. Then they both disappeared, but they could still be in the building.” His attention found you again. “Steve’s right. You should really get somewhere safe.” Bucky’s face was grim.

You continued to stare at him with wide eyes, not processing.

Then you felt someone grab your arm. “I got her,” came Matt’s voice.

The next half an hour came in flashes. Matt, with his white cane out, led you out of the building, 

into a taxi, 

rode with you back to his apartment, 

then got you upstairs and inside.

Within the safety and security of Matt’s apartment, you finally broke. “What the actual fuck.”

Matt shrugged off his tux jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Mask and a voice modulator?” He tore off his bowtie and put it with his jacket. “It would have to be a big coincidence for that to be anyone else.”

You were both on the same page. Fox Mask.

But right now you were less concerned with the childhood nightmare child trafficking ringleader and more preoccupied with what the fuck your future self was thinking.

You paced Matt’s apartment. “This isn’t— This can’t be— There is no universe where I would be saving Bucky Barnes’s fucking life.”

Matt caught you by the hips and he urged you down onto the couch. “Sit down.”

“And I sure as hell wouldn’t risk my fucking life to do it.” Matt left as you rambled, then returned with his first aid kit. “Deciding not to kill him is not the fucking same thing as saving his fucking life.”

“Lift your dress,” Matt instructed.

You were so worked up and distracted that you simply removed your entire dress over your head rather than just pull it up, leaving you in just your panties and your breasts bare in Matt’s apartment. “Why the fuck would I even want to waste that opportunity anyway? Dead is dead and I wouldn’t be the one fucking doing it.”

Matt pulled the gauze off your wound and you gritted your teeth, then hissed softly when he swiped some disinfectant over it.

“Ow. I— Oh, my God.” The realization washed over you like an ocean of clarity, and it was so stunning that you had to stand.

“Nope.” Matt’s hands were on you again, and he pulled you back down, keeping one hand on your hip to pin you to the couch.

“It’s not me.”

Matt paused getting the stitches and his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“It’s not me,” you repeated. “That’s it; that’s the answer— That’s the answer. It’s not me. The person in the wolf mask. The person who just saved Bucky’s life and the person I saw with Fox Mask outside of Clinton Church when I was a kid. It’s not me.”

Matt’s mouth was in a tight line. Then he continued with the stitches, grabbing the needle and thread and holding it to your skin. “You think someone is going to steal your mask?”

You tried to keep your breath even as Matt punctured the skin, sliding the needle and stitching through. You winced at the pain. “Would have to be, yeah.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not me. It can’t be me.”

Matt continued his work, and you gritted your teeth, breathing through your nose now. “That still doesn’t explain the time travel,” he said. “Or them disappearing out of Avengers Tower.”

You didn’t have an explanation for that one. “It can’t be me, Matt.” He finished by breaking the thread with his teeth, his mouth close to your skin, yet you were too worked up to think about it. “If it was me, then it was me who saved him, and if I saved him, then I—”

Forgiveness was not an option. You agreed not to kill him, but this was something else entirely. To forgive the Winter Soldier? To forgive the Red Room?

No. No. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Forgiving would be like forgetting everything that was done to you and you couldn’t forget. You couldn’t even choose to forget, that was your curse. 

You would always remember. And so you could never forgive.

Tears began to fill your eyes. “I can’t have been the one to save him, Matt, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay,” Matt said softly, his hands gently squeezing your thighs. “Just take a breath.”

You did as he asked, letting your head fall back on the couch, forcing breaths into your panicked body and trying to calm down.

Matt let her remain like this for a few minutes, until he could register her heart rate beginning to slow back down. 

Only then did he ask, “Do you want to borrow a shirt or something?”

Y/N’s head lifted from the couch, then her chin dipped down like she was realizing her state of undress for the first time. “Is my nakedness bothering you, Matthew?”

Bothering is not the word I’d use.

It shouldn’t be different. Her in his apartment in practical underwear and a sports bra versus her in panties and no bra. The context wasn’t any different (assessing and addressing injuries), so how he felt about it shouldn’t be any different, either.

But. Despite the lack of seeing on his part, there was still something to be said about having a topless woman in his apartment. And he was having a somewhat uncharacteristic reaction to having Y/N topless in his apartment. 

And. When he was stitching her up, he realized that her panties were made of silk, same as the dress. And that led him down a rabbit hole of an entirely different line of thinking that had everything to do with the earlier thought he’d had about the dress: She was thinking of my preferences when she picked it out.

(The silk panties just matched. That was it, that was what you were thinking of when you picked it out.)

‘I thought it might be more comfortable for you’ took on an entirely different meaning now.

So Matt breathed a chuckle, trying not to let her see the way she affected him. It was times like these that he thanked God that others did not possess his skill to measure heartbeats and skin temperature. “I just thought you might be cold. But you’re free to put your dress back on if that’s more comfortable. Or, stay . . . like this. . .”

You thought about it and decided he was probably right. “Do you have a sweater I can borrow?”

He gave you a smile and left for a moment to return with a zip-up hoodie. It was the blue one. 

As you put it over yourself, Matt unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt and sat next to you. “Why would Fox Mask want Bucky dead?”

“How many reasons do you want me to give you?” Someone wanting Bucky dead was not the surprising element here.

“I know why you wanted to kill him,” Matt said. “But why does he?”

You sighed through your nose, annoyance and that familiar anxiety brewing uncomfortably in your chest. You took Matt’s glasses from his face and put them on yourself, letting the world wash in red for a moment. “Just one more fucking thing we don’t know about Fox Mask.”

Matt could tell she was spiraling again. So if he had to give her something to distract her. . .

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Why do I look better in your glasses than you do?” You kind of wished you had a mirror right now.

“Well, I’m sure you’d make anything look good.”

That flirtatious tone had returned, and it washed over your skin, trailing goosebumps where it travelled. You stopped counting how many times you’d given him an annoyed yet amused look tonight. “What is your question?”

“You picked out your dress for me, right?”

“The material, yeah.”

“Sure.”

You waited. “. . .Is that your question?”

“No.” More waiting. Then, “I just couldn’t help but notice what else you’re wearing that’s made of silk.”

What else you were wearing. . .

Oh this motherfucker. That familiar heat returned, and you pulled down his glasses to the tip of your nose to stare at him in incredulity. “I am going to throw something at you.”

“You picked it out.”

You in fact had not had this thought when you picked out the underwear. It matched; that was the extent of it. You shifted your body to face him better on the couch. “What is it that you’re asking me?” You kind of wanted to hear him say it. If he was going there, he might as well go all the way there. 

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m asking you.” His head tilted. “Are they red, too?” he asked, although that was not the question you were both referring to.

Your skin scorched a bit more because, damn him, they were. And you hadn’t had this thought before but you were definitely having it now. “No,” you said, even though you knew he’d sense the lie.

He chuckled and the sound continued to warm you. His smile and his breath. His proximity. You used to beg for moments like these in the Red Room.

An image of a fox staring at you through a chainlink fence cooled all of that.

You shifted away from Matt, unable to prevent the anxiety from returning to you. You took off his glasses and played with them in your hands, staring through them down to the red-washed carpet below. “I know what you’re doing.” He was trying to keep your mind off of what happened tonight. And it worked, for a moment at least.

“Asking you if you picked out your underwear for me?”

You smiled for a moment as he voiced the question, but you couldn’t keep yourself remained in the little game. Your smile faded, along with any thoughts of red silk panties. “Tonight just brought up more questions and we are not even fucking close to answering any of them.”

You heard Matt sigh, and felt him shift to match your posture, his arm touching yours. The room was quiet for a moment, and then, “Maybe it’s about sending you a message.”

“What fucking message?”

“That he knows you,” Matt said, and you looked at him. “Maybe he knew that Russo wanted revenge on you for what you did to him. Maybe he knows that you planned to kill Bucky. Sending Russo to kill you and trying to kill Bucky could be ways of showing you that. That he knows things about you that you think no one else knows.”

“To what fucking end?”

“To scare you.”

Matt wished he could give her more — he wished he had tuned in to what was going on in the hallway with Bucky and Fox Mask sooner than he did. But the party had been busy and noisy with everyone having their own conversations and music playing and there was just so much going on that by the time Matt had realized something strange was happening in the hallway, Bucky was already heading back inside. And so there was nothing else Matt could give Y/N besides theories. Just theories. What a waste of extra senses.

You set Matt’s glasses on the table then leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “Well. I hate to fucking say it, but it’s working. I was scared when I was a kid, and I’m scared now.”

Matt’s arms hooked around your waist and he brought you into his chest. You let him, and you pressed your face into his shoulder.

“Do you remember what I promised you?” he asked.

Promise me we’ll find this guy, you had said. Promise me we’ll beat him. Even if it’s a lie. Promise me.

“I asked you to lie to me to make me feel better,” you mumbled. “Doesn’t count.”

He squeezed you. “I didn’t lie.”

You dug your fingers into his back. “That’s not something you can control.”

“I don’t care.” You pulled back to look at him, and Matt’s hands settled on your waist. “I don’t know what this guy wants with you, but he’s not going to get to you.” Determination carved his features. “I’m not going to let him get to you.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”

And so, because it was him, because it was Matt, you let go of your control. And you let yourself believe him.

Your face fell back into the crook of his neck, and Matt turned his body so he could lie back on the couch and let you lie on top of him. 

And after what felt like a long time, your heartbeat calmed, your breathing slowed, and you both fell asleep.

A/N: Matt 🤝 Wolf when it comes to emotionally cheating on their blonde significant other with their vigilante partner

I forgot to put this comment on the last chapter but I feel like in another universe Wolf and Karen are the coworkers that start dating and Wolf is the one who has an emotional affair with her vigilante partner with a complicated shared past when Matt comes back into her life.

As always, these super long chapters are hard to edit so I appreciate any feedback and support!! Especially any theories...?? Love u all!!

Oh oh! And here are some sneak peak chapter titles (subject to my whims of fancy of course): Chapter Twenty: The Devil’s Avenging Angel Chapter Twenty-One: The Entrance with the Orange Light Chapter Twenty-Two: The Sky Chapter Twenty-Three: Friendship Bracelets Chapter Twenty-Four: In Another Life Chapter Twenty-Five: Marionettes Chapter Twenty-Six: the red room Chapter Twenty-Seven: Headlights

Tag List: @splat1371 @stupidiout100 @coff3e-and-biscuits @caswinchester2000 @waywardsister1111 @ummvengers @asongofmarvelanddc @1971marauders @krazy-katt-lady @flowercrowns3438 @takethee @lov3vivian @burn-crash-rqmance @readers-posts @badbishsblog @xoxabs88xox

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Wardrobe Malfunction

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 1.6k TYPE: Humor, Clothes Swap NOTE(S): For the purposes of this situation, reader is on the shorter side, and also because I feel like they have the evil of a short person in their soul. Also, same Y/n character as Dog Walking, but you don't need to read that to read this at all!

Despite whatever airs you put on, you like wearing your Bastard München uniform. Mostly because it makes you feel like a big shot professional, which appeals to your sense of self-importance.

You don’t think much of it when you slip on your shirt, but soon enough it becomes apparent to you that something is off. It feels wrong, too loose. And it’s falling down way lower than what you’re used to. You take a few seconds to scrutinize it in between owlish blinks, although the emboldened logo on the front doesn’t aid you in figuring out this mystery.

The easy way to check comes to you soon enough, and you lift your leg to see a traitorous ten in the corner of the shorts instead of your number. A look of horror takes over your face… No… You’re going to get Kaiser’s cooties. He is contaminating you with his germs.

You can already feel them loosening after the movement, and once you put your foot back down, they immediately slide off. With a huff, you grab them from the floor and resolve to strut up to the crux of your dilemma.

When you approach, Kaiser has his back on you, and you immediately notice the big eight, and the wrong name accompanying it. Ness is struggling to fit into the shirt he got, and while his jersey isn’t too ill-fitting on Kaiser, it’s too short, leaving him to fumble with the hem to try and hide the exposed part of his waist.

“It’s just like the pants, I can’t put it on,” Ness cries.

“What do you mean, you can’t put it on?” Kaiser asks before taking a handful of fabric and yanking down with too much force. “See, you can put it on just fine.”

“I can barely move! This is ridiculous-”

Oh, you see how it is now. Are they stupid, though? How have they been talking for so long without pinpointing the problem? You sneak behind Kaiser and reel in your arm before smacking him on the back with the shorts, exerting all of your might.

He lets out a grunt of pain you believe is overdramatized since it can’t have hurt that much, shoulders jerking up. “Whoever did that, I will fucking curb stomp y-” and then, after he whips around and sees you, the threat dies down on his tongue.

“Your dirty pants, sir,” you say in a fake fancy voice before throwing them at his face.

Kaiser flings them away on the bench, narrowing his eyes at you with this weird mix between taunting and adoring. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re so cute right now. Let me see.”

With this new positioning, Ness seems to finally realize what happened, too, because he says, “Wait, Kaiser, that’s… m-mine.”

Ignoring him, Kaiser steps around to examine you, and his ugly grin that you can’t stand grows even wider somehow when he reads his name. His name that’s on you because you’re wearing his jersey. “Holy shit.”

“You look like an imp.”

He disregards you with ease, too — you have to admit he’s good at this ‘only hearing what he wants to hear’ stuff — and opens his locker to rummage through it. Ness says, “You’re- you’re wearing Kaiser’s? That’s so unfair.”

“Yeah, and you’re wearing mine. Stand proud. You’re blessed. Millions would kill to be in your place. Everyone’s gonna wear this merch in the future, but you get the real thing.”

“You seriously live in la-la-land, it’s unbelievable.”

You spin your finger in the air, seeming way too pleased with yourself. “Do a little twirl for me, I wanna see how it looks on you all around.”

“I will NOT be doing that,” Ness denies with a huff. He’s so uptight when it comes to anyone who’s not Kaiser. Someone would’ve thought you have gangrene or that you asked him to clean roadkill off the street or something with the way he’s acting.

What Kaiser was searching for in such a rush turns out to have been his phone, you come to find out when he starts taking pictures of you without even a modicum of shame. Multiple of them, if the repetitive pressing he’s doing is indicative of anything.

“Don’t point your phone at me, you sick fuck,” you say, reaching out to cover the lens.

Your efforts go in vain, since he just lifts it up high where you can’t reach and continues. “No way. You’re just way too cute right now. I mean, shit.”

Mocking you aside, there’s this thinly-veiled wonder on his face, and it’s making you want to vomit because of course he’d be the type to get a kick out of stupid shit like this. He’s so fucking lucky, too, it’s pissing you off. Among the three of you, he’s the only one who’s kind of in presentable condition.

Once you come close to swatting the device out of his grasp with a jump, Kaiser presses his palm to your face and shoves you away, keeping you at an arm’s length. Then he diverts his attention to Ness, snapping photos of him now and laughing. “You look stupid as hell.”

“Nooo, Kaiser, don’t! Stop!” Ness says, red-faced, to absolutely no avail.

He even takes a few steps back and does a bad job of covering his stomach with his hands while inching towards the bench, which… he makes a genuine attempt at ducking under. This doesn’t deter Kaiser from continuing his paparazzi session or whatever it is that he’s doing, nor does it conceal Ness from view.

You detach your cheek from Kaiser’s hold and announce, “Don’t worry, Ness, I’m gonna save you from the vile pig,” before you take an unnecessary leap and stick your fingers where the shirt is riding up, tickling his sides.

This startles him enough to let go of his phone (the apparatus of evil), sending it flying. You at least have enough decency to catch it, since you’re not really above letting it shatter either. Then you start scrolling through it with the intention of deleting the photos.

It doesn’t take Kaiser long to recover from your attack, and when he does, he reaches out to you. You assume he’s just trying to get his phone, so you kind of twist around to try and prevent him from doing so, but what he does is much worse.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him before collapsing his stupid ass on the bench (which, at this point, has witnessed many horrors), leaving you to sit on his lap. Then — as if this isn’t offensive enough already — he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re such a touch-starved freak, it’s actually appalling.”

“You probably won’t look this good in your life ever again.” You roll your eyes at the stupid comment, and he starts tapping the screen along with you, and he even has the nerve to snicker. “I needed to be opportunistic.”

“Whatever, man.”

The weird battle results in a lot of random apps opening and closing, until eventually the gallery comes up on accident. With a feeling of triumph, you slap his hand away, so he won’t get in your way anymore. There you see the long string of pictures depicting Ness’s progression towards hiding under the bench, which, in your opinion, would make a great slideshow. Next are the images featuring you, where you’re looking up at him and struggling to even graze the phone, swiping your fists at thin air. Wow, you never thought you’d see your Great and Almighty Self from such a… pitiful perspective.

Before you can mope about how vertically challenged you are, however, something else catches your eye, and you burst out laughing, borderline dry-heaving from the acuteness of it. “What-”

Kaiser flusters and snatches his phone out of your fingers before pushing you up and away from him. This, for better or for worse, doesn’t wipe your memory or make you unsee the comically large amount of shirtless mirror selfies he has accumulated.

Despite your stumbling, you don’t fall. “How did you always manage to make the exact same pose and exact same expression in every single one of them?! Seriously. That’s spine-chilling.” You pretend to wipe a tear, even if it’s not that funny.

Kaiser doesn’t respond and turns around to toss his phone back to wherever he got it from. Ness — whose presence you kind of forgot about — deems it safe enough to stand up and reemerge. He asks, “What? What did you see?”

“His shrine of himself,” you say. “By the way, I think he’s a stripper.”

“I’m not a stripper,” argues Kaiser as if there was a possibility Ness might believe you.

For the first time, it’s Ness who is pretending Kaiser didn’t say anything. “Did you delete them?”

“No.”

He slumps, disheartened.

You make your way behind him. “Alright, let’s switch back,” you say, rolling up the material of your jersey. Surprisingly Ness accepts the help without any complaints and just accommodates you with a high raise of his hands.

You’re nearing the biggest problem area — his shoulders — when Kaiser deems it fit to intervene. “Ness, bend over. You’re taking too long.”

He does as told and Kaiser, for some godforsaken, idiotic reason, hooks his fingers inside of the collar. But you don’t see that since you’re trying to focus on your part, so instead you just comment on his willingness, “Slutty.”

“S-Shut up- Oh my god, don’t pull like that, what if it tears?!”

“It’s not going to tear.”

This exchange alarms you somewhat, so you shift your gaze to Kaiser, and what greets you is the sight of him tugging on the collar, trying to hoist it over Ness’s head. Your eye twitches. “If you damage mine, I’m gonna make good use of yours. Naturally what I mean by this is that I’ll use it as toilet paper.”

“It’s not going to tear,” repeats Kaiser, yanking harder. Apparently your collective lack of faith in him is vexing him.

… You hear a rip.

___

Happy valentine's day (I wrote this yesterday i was with my boyfriend today lol. He's american so he thinks valentine's day is a real holiday)

[i-amm-mj]

Convenience - Katsuki Bakugo x Reader - Angst

Part 2 here!

You just rejected Katsuki Bakugo´s marriage proposition after 3 years of relationship in front of a full restaurant... The reason? You know he doesn´t love you, at least not as much as you love him.

And you know that because he mentioned twice that he hasn´t contemplated marriage on his short-term plans. The first time he mentioned it, you both were having breakfast. He said he didn´t want to get married, not before he got to the Top 3, and right now he were the fourth, but his agent and the press have been pressuring him to get married and start a family because Deku, the Number Three hero already did, which was helping him to get the approval of the citizens. “There´s nothing better than a man of family to protect civilians” they had said. 

You are sure Deku got married because he wanted to. Everyone noticed how in love he was with his wife when he started to cry after seeing Ochako in the beautiful dress you and the girls helped her choose. And you are sure of what Katsuki thinks too... You know him too well to know that the explosive blonde would never waste the opportunity to compete with Deku and show him that he was better than the “fucking nerd”... and as a girlfriend, you were good with it. You admired Katsuki and were proud of him for being so compromised with his dream. You just never thought that he would use you to achieve it and it hurted you... it hurted you so bad that when he kneeled in front you, you started to cry, but not because of happiness, your crying was a product of sadness. 

In other conditions, Katsuki proposing to you would have been the happiest moment of your life and you would have accepted him without any doubt. You really wanted him to be the man next to you at altar and the father of your children, but it seems that to him you are just a ladder to help him escalate the ranking, and you were not going to take it. You had dreams too, you wanted to do things by and for yourself and he didn´t considerate that at all... so you just left the restaurant without saying a word and headed straight to your apartment to cry even harder to your bestfriend... 

“Are you sure you are not overreacting?” your bestfriend asked through the phone “I mean... you´ve been together for 3 years now...” But no, you weren´t overreacting, you heard him yourself, but you didn´t want to remember the second time he mentioned it and his hurtful words. 

It was one week ago, when you finished your shift and headed to his office just like any other day. His secretary had gone home a few minutes before so there weren´t anyone to announce your presence. When you were ready to enter his office you stopped, there were voices coming from it. You recognized Kirishima and your ex-boyfriend´s.

“C´mon, man” Kirishima said “It´s not that bad. The press said that i look ridiculous in swimsuit and haven´t take it so seriously, they say shit all the time about everyone” 

“Those fuckers have been up my ass for four months since that nerd and Ochako got married...” Katsuki groaned “They even dared to say that marriage could help with my image of an asshole”   

Kirishima laughed “Yeah, that could be true, but you can´t force yourself into a marriage, can you?”

“Not with her at least” he murmured. Was he talking about you? You felt the pain in your chest but tried to ignored it, Katsuki would never talk about you like that, wouldn´t he? 

“Of course not! You couldn´t do that to Y/N” Kirishima protested. 

You then knocked the door, panic crawling your skin at his words: He was talking about you... and you didn´t want to know the rest. Your brain was processing. Did you really hear that? No, it was not possible. You have been together 3 years, he must love you. He wouldn´t say something so crude. You were in denial, yeah, he was just chatting with his best friend, it was just and inocent conversation between two legally single men, the type you would have with your best friend too.  

Ten seconds later he let you in. You fixed yourself and put on the best smile you could offer. 

“Hi, honey” you said “You ready to go home?” When he heard your voice, Katsuki got up from the chair and a grin appeared on his handsome face, matching yours. 

“What´s up, pretty girl?” he walked towards you and gave you a kiss on the lips “I´m ready when you are ready” 

You were now laying on your bed. Remembering. Crying. It was really hard to know that Katsuki Bakugo didn´t love you that much. And you really didn´t get it. You were sure of his feelings for you for a long time now, but all this happened so quickly that it didn´t give you time process it. You weren´t sure why Katsuki would do this to you... 

[itscatchyouintherye]

Do you have a minute? [ReaderxStevenGrant]

Steven is a guest professor at your university for this semester, giving a lecture on Egyptology. The last class of the semester stresses him out so much that Marc needs to take over. No problem – he did this before. Then, however, he’s the one to finally realize that you were flirting with Steven the entire semester.

Inside – Marc & Steven

“Please don’t mess this up!”

“I’m not!”

“Seriously, I need this to go well.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“It’s just-“

“Do you want to do it?”

“I can’t!”

“Then be quiet.”

“Alright.”

“It will be fine. I practiced my British Accent, mate.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“I need to hang up now to start the lecture.”

“Hang up? What? Oh- we’re already here.”

Whispering: “Who’s that hot girl staring at me?”

“That’s- Hey! She’s looking at me! And don’t say that. She’s very sweet and smart and nice to talk to.”

Outside – Marc & You

Steven’s eyes look different today, you think to yourself as you smile at him. He gives you a nod as he says something else into the phone before hanging up.

You wonder who that was. Honestly, the way Steven talked to you before made you think that he doesn’t, well, talk to other people. And somehow, for some reason, he managed to make that sexy.

You’re very aware that today is the last chance you get to ask him out. Yeah, sure, you like had coffee and he even invited you to have lunch with him one time; however, you don’t think he caught on to the fact that you’re into him – bad. Which, again, bless him, is sweet and somehow sexy, but you also really want to…

“Morning everyone!” He speaks up.

You furrow your eyebrows. He sounds different. You cannot really pinpoint it, but something is off. You look around: the lecture hall is busy, but no one else seems to notice. The conversations subside quickly, and people get their pens out. So do you.

Maybe you’re just nervous. That’s probably it. You are overanalyzing his every move, to find any indicator that he likes you or that he’s just being polite or- oh my god, shut up. Focus on the lecture and worry about everything else later.

You do manage to keep your eyes on the screen and take notes. Then, though, half an hour in, Steven keeps looking at you. It’s as if his own ability to focus on the lecture shrank.

In your peripheral, you can make out that he’s facing your direction and his gaze burns your cheek. You hold on to the pen in your hand tighter, forcing yourself to look at your notes. It almost hurts your eyes how badly you try to control them.

It’s rather embarrassing how extreme you react to him simply looking in your direction. You have to blink rapidly to be able to refocus and at least hear every second word.

You’re relieved when his voice finally is louder than the white noise that’s caused by your heartbeat again. That only lasts about three seconds, though. Because then you realize that he is walking in your direction.

It’s just impossible to not look up now.

You raise you head to find him almost in front of you.

You’re sitting in the second row, and he is looking up towards the last rows as he’s talking, but it still feels like he’s cornering you.

You gulp and give up on taking notes. You put your pen down and blindly reach for your water bottle to take a sip in hopes that it will calm you down.

It almost worked, but then he makes eye-contact. You immediately hold your breath, and your body feels like it’s sinking through the chair.

Steven’s eyes shimmer and the corners of his mouth turn upwards while holding your nervous gaze. You never reacted like that to him. Somehow, he suddenly is intimidating. Then he smirks at you. It’s inconspicuous and probably invisible to anyone who hadn’t paid attention, but it’s very visible to you. You press your lips together.

After another moment, he turns around and walks back to the screen to point at something. The entire silent exchange lasted maybe ten seconds, max. He did not interrupt his lecture once while it happened. That wasn’t necessary to leave you flustered.

You run your fingers through your hair and close your eyes, listening to his goddamn attractive voice. The entire semester he did not do anything like this during a lecture. He did smile at you whenever he came in and find you in your usual seat. He asked you about the essay you handed in, talking to you about it over a coffee. He wiped his hands off on his pants, drying his sweaty palms. Never, never did he so openly flirt with you.

Oohh, you breathe out through your mouth. It’s the last class – and he is obviously aware of that as well. Is he finally shooting his shot with you? Shit, is that what’s happening?

You’re not willing for him to do that, are you? It’s not you getting your hopes up unreasonably, is it?

Inside – Marc & Steven

“See, she like you.” Marc whispers while turning his back to the classroom so that the students cannot see his mouth moving.

“I think-“

“Shush. You know I’m right.”

“But what if-“

“Do you want to go out with her?”

“Oh my god yes.”

“Then I will ask her.”

“No, don’t! I-“

“As I was saying,” Marc turns back to the class.

Outside – Marc & You

The rest of the lecture flies by, you constantly bouncing your leg under the table.

You equally dread and cannot wait for what’s going to happen when Steven ends the class.

“Any last questions for me?” He asks.

“Yes, Professor Grant! Could you…”

You don’t listen to the student’s question. You’re way too amused by the fact that they call him Professor Grant. To you, he was Steven from the first time he spoke with you privately – he insisted. He does not request that from the other students. You smile.

Suddenly, everyone begins to clap. You enthusiastically join, catching on to the fact that the class is over.

Then Steven’s face changes for a moment. His expression softens, his eyes become a bit wet, and his posture shifts in a way that he looks smaller than before. He looks intimidated but also proud. It’s very sweet and the demeanor you are used to see.

When everyone starts to get up, he blinks several times and straightens his back, before looking at you. Other than the rest of the class, you show no intend to leave. It’s not entirely by choice. It’s more like you can’t really move, too entranced by the eye-contact. He looks excited.

You inhale deeply and finally get at least your arms to work and pack up your stuff.

Steven then quickly walks back to his desk and gets his stuff as well. He puts on his light-blue cotton jacket and swings his bag over his shoulder.

Slower than necessary, you stand up and zip your backpack.

The lecture hall is almost empty by now and there is not much time left until it becomes very obvious that you are lingering around on purpose.

But Steven is still at the front, turning off the projector and whatnot.

You start to feel like a fool, and disappointed. It’s fine. You shouldn’t have read so much into his behavior.

Legs wobbly, you turn around and start to walk up the stairs to the exit. Your heart is beating quickly and with every step you wonder if you should simply ask him. Maybe he’s too shy? Since he only was a guest Professor, it’s not inappropriate to go out after the class ended. You lightly shake your head, trying to get over the heartache before it can even fill your chest.

Then he calls your name. You take another step before you register that he actually is talking to you and that it wasn’t in your head. Swallowing hard, you turn around.

“Do you have a minute?” Steven asks while following you up the stairs.

Oh, you have so many minutes for him.

“Sure.” You smile, expecting for him to maybe ask you what you thought of the lecture or-

“Would you like to go out for a drink with me?”

Your next heartbeat is so violent that you almost put your hand on your chest to stop your heart from jumping out of it.

“Very much, yes.” You reply.

His smile brightens: “Are you free tonight?”

“Yes!” You sound a little too relieved.

While you let your eyes dart over his gorgeous face, he gets out a notebook and a pen.

He opens a random page and holds it out to you: “Give me your address and number?”

Hands shaky, you take it from him. He’s actually taking you out, like, picking you up and everything. Jesus Christ – bless men over forty.

Trying your best to write legible, you scribble down your information.

“Does seven work for you?” He asks when you hand the notebook back.

You have no idea if it does. At this point, you don’t even know what day of the week it is. Of course, you agree, nevertheless.

Inside – Marc & Steven

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Steven takes a deep breath: “I got this.”

“Just ring the doorbell.”

“You won’t be, like, watching?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay…”

“Ring the doorbell already!”

Outside – Steven & You

You want to look good, but you definitely don’t want to overdress. You don’t know how casual this will be.

When the doorbell rings at two minutes past seven, and you immediately open, you’re very glad that you didn’t put on heels. Steven is wearing his signature dress shirt and jacket – the shirt, however, looks very straightened. And he definitely showered and did something with his hair.

“Hey.” You breathe out and only now notice the flowers he brought. No one ever did that for you – you have no idea how to react. Giving you a slightly insecure smile, he holds them out to you. When you take them, your fingers touch and you almost let the flowers fall to the floor.

“Thank you so much.” You tell him, eyes darting to his lips and back to his eyes.

“I’ll put them in water and then we can go.” You quickly add and hurry to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill up a glass with water. He brought you flowers!

Is it embarrassing or weird that that makes you wet?

Lord, chill out.

Steven is waiting outside your apartment for you. Checking for your keys, you take your handbag and let the door fall shut behind you.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“There’s a bar I like nearby, is that okay?” He needs to clear his throat halfway through the sentence, making you realize that he didn’t say anything until now.

You nod.

“Or would you like to eat something first?” He backpaddles even though you already agreed.

“Bar sounds good.” You assure him. A drink will probably be good for both of you.

Miraculously, you’re able to make comfortable conversation on the way. It’s easy to talk about something that has to do with factual information. You really like when he gets passionate and shares his knowledge. For some reason, he seems surprised that you enjoy listening to him – even though you literally took a course in his field.

“Here we are.” Steven opens the door to the bar for you after a ten-minute walk.

“Thanks.” You really like this sweet, polite thing he has going on. You noticed it, of course, before, but never to this extend. After all, this is your first official date.

This is a date, you remember. You were so caught up in listening to him, that you forgot. You have to avoid eye-contact while choosing a table to have time to collect your thoughts.

Just enjoy it. This is what you so desperately hoped for. You better get your game on.

As soon as you have a drink in your hand, it’s like you’re able to reach the switch inside you that makes you flirtatious instead of awkward.

Steven shifts the focus of the conversation to you, visibly nervous but also really interested. His eyes are attentive and the way he asks questions tells you that he genuinely cares.

You do too, but you now and then lose your train of thought, distracted by your longing to kiss him.

What you dare to do, as you turn to the bar to wave over the waiter, is to put your hand on his to let him know that you want to order more. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his lips part. When the waiter approaches your table, you gently take your hand away to open the menu and point at the drink you’d like. Steven says: “I’ll take the same.” Without knowing what you ordered.

“Coming right up.” The waiter says and leaves.

You raise your gaze from the table to look back at Steven’s face. His cheeks are lightly flushed. It could also be the heat from the candle on the table, but you don’t think that’s the case.

His hand still lies where you left it: on the middle of the table.

Propping your head up on one hand, you reach across with the other and lightly touch his fingers. His eyes light up and he intertwines them with yours.

This officially makes this more than just a date with your professor (as if that weren’t already exciting enough). This is the both of you admitting that you want each other.

So, after gulping the next drink down, Steven pays, and you willingly get up as well. He only lets go of your hand for a moment, so that you can put on your coat, and then takes it again to lead you outside.

You walk a few meters away from the entrance of the bar.

Since it’s during the week, only a few cars are driving by, leaving you alone with the quiet humming of the street lantern.

“I wanted to do this all semester long.” He tells you.

You turn your head, surprised by his candid statement.

“Take me out?” You smile.

“No.” He tugs on your arm, making you step closer. “Kiss you.” Steven murmurs and pushes his hand into your hair to pull you flush against him. Your lips meet and you sigh, throwing your arms around him.

He kisses you softly, cradling your face. Despite the chilly air, it makes you feel hot.

“Me too.” You whisper and tilt your head to kiss him deeper.

When you break the kiss to take a breath, you ask: “Would you like to come back to my place?”

He leans back, hand still on the side of your face: “Yes, but…” His voice trails off.

You caress the back of his neck and wait for him to finish the sentence, your eyes soft.

“I want this to be more than a one-night stand.”

Your heart flutters and you press another kiss to his lips before telling him: “It will be.”

[eris-snow]

Hi I was thinking if you could do aizawa having a sibling or daughter. Like a younger sister or daughter who he teaches and do some type of angst with them. Like him not paying much attention to her or she’s caught doing something (like smoking,drugs). Something like that. Thank you ❤️

I’m not comfortable writing any mentions about underage smoking or drinking (cause I assume that she's still in high school when this scene occurs) but I’ll try to make it up by making y/n kind of ‘bad girl’ ish!

I don't condone underage smoking or underage drinking. Please take care of your body :D

Note for the requester below!

Tags: daughter!yn, Aizawa, angst

“So, mind explaining what that was?” Aizawa asks, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his room door in the dorms of Class A.

You think it's ironic because, even as his daughter, you’ve only seen this place once.

Your arms are littered with scars, a nasty bruise already forming on your cheek at where you’ve been punched. It throbs, sure, but it's nothing compared to your father's words.

No, his words are a knife to the chest. They’d make your heart bleed so much more than any quirk every could.

“Don’t want to,” You grouse, shrugging of your school bag. It lands on the ground with a loud thud as you try to reach for the door handle. A hand shoots out to grab yours firmly, making you freeze in your spot.

“May be I should have rephrased my statement,” Your father growls. “Tell me what happened, Y/n.”

His grip is controlled, gentle but firm in a way that makes you want to scoff. So he only cares now, when you kick up a fuss.

How flippant.

And yet, a small part of your mind still cowers at Aizawa’s anger. Your father’s icy wrath can be as cold as a snowstorm or as explosive as Bakugou, and you’re already anticipating and analyzing different ways you could mould yourself back into the person he wants you to be.

Pathetic.

“Nothing happened,” You mutter, not daring to move. “All I did was lose control a little, that’s all—”

“You picked a fight with my student, Y/n!” Aizawa raised his voice, causing tears to prickle your eyes. “Bakugou’s a ticking time bomb that blows up every 10 minutes. You know that, and you still did it! If it weren’t for Midoriya’s quick thinking to get me, you could have been seriously hurt!”

And that’s when it snaps.

“Your s-stu—” You break off, jerking your hand away from his. Your father’s eyes narrow, about to snap again— “Your daughter lost control of her quirk, Dad! Your daughter! Why is it you still care about your own goddamn students over me?”

Aizawa’s eyes widen, fury snuffing out. “Y/n—”

“NO!” You yell, shaking with emotion. “I’ve listened and watched for my whole fucking life. It’s my turn.”

Aizawa opens his mouth, but the minute tears spill from your eyes and a sob escapes your mouth, he presses his lips into a tight line.

“Your students have always been the priority. Ever since day one, you’d throw yourself in front of a villain crime lord to save them when I didn’t know if you’d even spend my birthday with me each year.” You bite your lip, trembling as the word vomit finally spews from your lips. You can’t stop it, and it just keeps coming and coming because now that the lid is off, the words bubble over like a volcano.

“Do you know what everyone in Class B says?” You grit your teeth, clenching your dirt-ridden shirt with your fingernails digging into your skin. The tears burn hot like magma, and you can’t stop yourself from choking the next few lines out. “They’ve labelled you the second father of Class A, Dad! Did you know that?”

A bitter laugh wrenches itself out of your lips, and you’re pretty sure your skin is bleeding at how tightly you’re clenching your shirt. “Am I not your daughter, Dad? Am I not important now that Mum’s gone?”

“I loved your mother—”

“But do you love me?” you sob out.

The question causes Aizawa’s heart to plummet faster than a ten-pound bowling ball. Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it makes Aizawa’s heartache. Do you-do you seriously think that? That he didn’t love you?

His hesitation was a fatal mistake, because for the first time in a long while, you look up to him with defiance in your eyes. You’d always been a good child, Aizawa had taught you well, after all. But this? Your eyes were hard, stone cold, and it makes Aizawa stop short.

“That’s what I thought.” You curl into yourself with a small choke, hands finding the door handle before you glance back at him with a teary, broken gaze. “Go check on your precious Bakugou. They seem to need you way more than I do.”

The door slams and knocks down the picture frame hanging on his door, shattered glass fragmenting with a loud, high-pitched crash.

On it, is a photo of you and him on Father’s Day.

To be honest, he has already forgotten how long ago it was taken.

--

Note to the requester: I'm so sorry it's so late! I was debating if I should make it a happy ending and ultimately decided to go with this so it wasn't forced. Sorry if it wasn't exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Thank you for requesting! 💛

[swords-and-starlight]

ok i think this is my first time ever watching a show while it’s coming out so i’m gonna write out my reactions as i watch the episode for the first time, even though i’m watching it from streaming (i don’t have cable rip) and i already got a bunch of spoilers.

obviously spoilers ahead

CARLOS!! first time we’re seeing him with his friends this season! and he looks so good!

Natacha looks so good in green, man. they seriously need to have her wear it more.

TK Marjan and Mateo look so good in that shot even if the person they’re being mean to is Paul :((

i really want to see them actually play a whole game of catan it would be so fun

i fs know those two boys are from paul’s past. i thought they might be people he lost but i feel like people who bullied him would make more sense in the context of the nightmare?

i know this is gonna turn out badly but i feel like this dinner is going surprising civilly for now

“LT” aww

why is the chore chart so big i don’t think we’ve ever seen it before

this is kinda making me miss clipboard Marj

paul is gonna crash and burn poor baby

wyatt is so cute omg but i miss gracie

i missed judd soooo much he’s the ultimate cutie pie

paullll why you doing this to yourself

PAUL CALL FOR HELP JESUS

tommy is so nice actually i would never facetime someone i didn’t like just to check in on them

love tk and nancy giving each other looks lmao they’re so siblings coded

gina torres is literally the cutest woman on this show (with the exception of sierra) i love her so much

tk and nancy “it’s convenient” “a little too convenient” omg this feels like one of those disney movies where the kids are trying to solve their parents kidnapping or something

why does tk know that??

nancy loml keep being a dramatic suspicious bitch please

“the enemy is behind the gate” so dramatic for no reason omggg what’s cassandra gonna do?

love paul and owen bonding time, i feel like we barely saw owen interact with the house on a personal level so far this season

genuinely how does judd afford that house by himself especially when grace was out, he didn’t have a job, and he was taking care of wyatt

TOMMY UP TO SHENANIGANS AGAIN oh i’ve missed you devious bitch tommy

i love that tommy has just fully embraced her work kids’s delusional ideas and judds the one trying to talk sense into her now

aww i know judd and tommy have been best friends forever but i know if sierra was here she would be going to grace :(

PAUL BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING

rich people are so strange

i already love jenna hope nothing happens to her

nancy and tk sending each other looks again lmaooo

ofc the elevator broke down

damn poor augie

aww ok they’re better now

WHAT THE SHIT why is she bleeding from her eyes!?!

it’s really cute that wyatt takes all of 126 medic teams calls it feels like he’s trying to look out for them after they saved his life

paul’s gonna get hurt and mess up on this call isn’t he

oh nooo paul it’s so hard to see him cry

i feel like we need more people to die yk like how does tnt consistently bring people back from the dead? like the kid that was trapped underwater in a frozen lake for at least ten minutes and was expected to make a full recovery but tk who was in there for ten seconds was in a coma? but it was for the drama so whatever

tommy’s hair is my favorite part of every episode. is she even allowed to be whipping that horse tail around?

weed pen lmao

judd is such a nice probie

ok so i was kinda right about the kids in paul’s dream

aww paul he must have been so lonely growing up

i’m sorry i can’t take the weed pens

girl miss melody how did you think poisoning your mom and getting ur sister suspended would be better than just asking to live with your mom

episodes almost over :((( i don’t wanna wait till next week

tkmarjan friendship i’ve missed you!

im glad joe and marjan are still together! they were so cute

PAUL!! i love this entire scene with my whole heart

controversial but i really love it when people choose logic and their personal values over love. this show does that so well. like with marjan and salim, they were both in love but marjan couldn’t see herself building a life with someone so flaky and that’s a valid reason to break it off! with tommy and trevor, i think it makes sense that tommy can’t love someone who might contribute to a family breaking apart.

i know that tk and nancy are gossiping about all of tommy’s drama right now

TOMMY CALLING HER MOM!!!

idk if this is obvious yet but tommy is in fact my favorite 9-1-1 character

anyway that’s a wrap i loved this episode

[rewordthis]

Dropping this here before taking vacations from tumblr for a bit (like a week? lol):

Just watched the recent episode, shit situation btw. I had not the quiet I had hopped while watching. Bad energy frustrates me… anw.

I now have conclusive evidence that Gojo is the epitome of chicken-thighs and I have way too much to say about that as a head canon. 😩

Just LOOK! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ And the skin-tight pants, bruh… Thank you MAPPA! _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

That said, he sure is unhinged if let loose, huh?

Rabid dogs get put down but I think I’d adopt this one. Probably. Don’t… Don’t hold me on my word on this… 😗

Choso gave me the most, ‘I’m here for a different reason, stop bothering me’ attitude with that bored “yes, yes”; I enjoyed it more than necessary to be perfectly honest. 🤭

Also the whole plot against Gojo using non-scorcerers…

The scales determining what degree is acceptable can no longer function.

Bold of you to assume there even are scales.😂

Or,

Because the sacrifices you’re willing to accept are “people killed by cursed spirits,” not “people killed by Gojo Satoru.”

Funny you thought he’s inflexible like that.🙃

Still my man went for an instant of a Domain Expansion and overexerted himself by killing the transfigured humans. After!

Man, I’m no Gojo. I have no kids to teach them how to be proper saviours and if I had, I still don’t give a damn about showing off or appearing good to anyone. I’d flat out use that domain to even exorcise any rats or cockroaches that would happen to be there. But that’s just me. Like I said, I’m no Gojo so I don’t need anyone’s admiration to thrive. 🤷‍♀️

He actually was in the zone, too!

Like, Gojo, seriously? Was this some kind of bet with yourself or something??? This was just so… so unnecessary! Why? If they’re affected by the domain, forget about them! Exorcise the cursed spirits, dammit! Choso would be so easy to exorcise btw in that state. Or Mahito, even better. Deal with the hardest task first. That’s what you do when you’ve got time on your ass, right? Ha~ *huge le sigh*

On the other hand, when he got caught off guard by Geto’s corpse I was fucking screaming at the screen: “No! Idiot! Stupid, run! You killed him yourself, BAKA!” and he just went in to be having these check marks in his head until he figured ‘no, he is the real deal..’ and I was just fuming… Why did you open your mouth, Gojo? Did you said something again we didn’t hear? But no. You were just too stunned to speak. You just stood there like a freaking siting duck to get shot caught. His expression was what really pained me, okay?

Looking at all this expectancy and hope in his eyes for that fleeting moment when he was reminded of the past, that did put a squeeze in my heart for a millisecond. Because, I honestly can’t remember too much about my past but when I willingly look back and as I say that, though this is just ten months after killing his best friend. His one and only. Plus, he never stopped looking back. And I also would be clingy af to a best friend (someone that hadn’t actively betrayed me at least) have I happened see them again, though not a dead one. No. I’d just run like hell on the opposite direction of them, before staying to inquire about why they don’t rot some 3 meters under. Did he believed even for a second — forget the whole minute thing — that this was actually Geto that had come back because he cursed him??? No, because if he did… if he did! …Well, he’s a baby and I’m correct calling him a man-child. What was that almost-smile for? I felt so sorry for him at that moment. That really was what hurt me deeply. I know I could have cried in that moment if everything else just wasn’t so wrong…

Fair point, though, when he was finally captured and he had a break from his own mind and memories, he did asked who he was because despite everything that confused him about that man, his soul didn’t recognised him. His soul. Not heart btw. He didn’t say こころ but たましい and sure, there is a way that someone’s soul may be enchanted as in a romantic way, but I think when Gojo and Geto are referred to, it is in the sense of soulmates. It’s deep. Eternal. But not sexual. lmao

You want to give them these roles? Well, the closest I guess that would fit them, would be being in love with the idea of the other. Is that confusing, maybe? Because you can totally be in love with someone’s ideal form in your mind, being physically attracted to them even and at the same time not being sexually attracted to them. I don’t know… I am far too logical to explain feelings… Uuugh, but maybe that’s how Gojo and Geto also perceive things? They do represent the most cerebral signs, to be sure, on their respective element. Hm… 🤔😶

Also, important info: Gojo didn’t let Shoko handle (dispose of) Geto’s body. What significance is there other than the obvious? I mean, he did decapitated him, and that was probably also done with cursed energy. So, what else would Shoko do? Put a seal maybe??? 🧐

And I’m going to complain now and wine because MAPPA, DO NOT dare to take away from me what you’ve given me in the first season and movie or I’ll find a way in your offices and steal your fucking scripts! Grr! 👿

I’m sure those with pale, smooth skin like Gojo-sensei would say, “I don’t really do anything.”

The one who can be considered pale-skinned is first and foremost, Nanami! (If not pretty much and everybody else, as I have already mentioned in another post. A close second to Nanami is Megumi, too.) I mean, just LOOK at where Gojo’s hand rests over Nanami’s! LOOK that there is at least a two tone difference! 😫😤 (They’re so cute btw 💕🥰🫠)

You want him to have smooth skin? A-okay! No problemo! I’ll take that any day. You want to say he’s got flawless skin? Sure, go ahead! But pale? Pale?! This dude has rosy lips and rosy cheeks! There is nothing freaking pale about him other than his hair!

Do NOT even think of taking back what we all have witnessed!!! And ok, maybe Yuuta, too, though to be fair he’s on the more unhealthy pale-yellow side…

ALSO, by comparison, Inumaki must be the palest-white, fairest-skinned one of them all. Not to mention, Geto as well has been looking fairly pale in most of his scenes… though they do seem to have him a little more on the Yuuta-kind of pale when he’s shown with Gojo. Hm. 😗

Are you really trying to tell me you didn’t do this intentionally??? I’ll bite you! Watch out, MAPPA! One wrong answer and you’ll have to do with me!

Ouf! That was a long post, I didn’t planned on making. Ahaha Yeah. I got really upset at Gojo being so dumb so easily. I don’t know. I was expecting more from the strongest considering how strongly logical and calculating he is. I’m mad, ok?! I’ll kill him myself, that idiot, if he doesn’t snap out of this! 😤

…At least when he’s back out of the box. 😬

[lucydixon]

Mirror Image, Chapter 14

Daryl Dixon x Original Female Character

Summary: Jinx starts getting antsy and feeling out of place

CW: Swearing, Cannon typical violence, Child Neglect, Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced child sexual abuse

Chapter 14

The joy was short-lived as the weather worsened and the food grew scarce.

The supply of canned goods which had already been minimal, was dwindling down to the point where they were rationing a single can a day between all of them.

As if things couldn’t get worse, just as they were settling into a freshly cleared house one evening, Jinx’s face was contorted into a grimace as she lowered her bags to the floor.

“Why’re you makin’ that face?” Daryl squinted at her “You hurt yourself?”

“No,” she said quickly, eyes darting to the floor.

“Fuck are you lyin’ for?” He asked, quickly growing annoyed “What’d you do.”

“I didn’t do anything!” she insisted, looking panicked

“Somebody else do it?” his eyes narrowed

“No.”

“Then what the hell’s wrong with ya?” he scoffed “Quit bein’ difficult”

“I’m not trying to be,” she muttered, looking nervous. “The cold makes my shoulder hurt.”

“Where?” Daryl’s brows pulled together as he softened only slightly. “Show me.”

“Why?” Jinx pulled her jacket tighter and glanced around at the surrounding people anxiously. “It doesn’t matter”

“C’mon,” he grunted, standing and holding a hand out to help her up.

She took his hand hesitantly, let go as soon as she was on her feet, and followed quietly down the hall

“S’wrong with it?” he asked her once they were in a room alone.

“This always happens when it gets cold.” she shrugged, shifting her weight from one foot to the other

“Let me see,” he urged, frowning when she started to shake. “Ain’t gotta take your shirt off or nothin', just pull up your sleeve.”

Her breathing picked up and Daryl thought for a second that maybe he should just leave it, but the whole point was that he didn’t want her to think that it was okay to hide that she was hurting and he couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if something serious was going on.

“You’re alright,” he sighed heavily, sitting across from her in an armchair in an attempt to give her some space. “Ain’t gonna touch ya, just wanna see what’s wrong.”

His words did little to calm the frightened girl.

“What’d I tell ya back at the farm?” he asked seriously.

Her brows pulled together and her breathing slowed slightly.

“Y’ain’t gotta worry bout’ nothin’ like that with me.” he reminded her, knowing that it would take more than words for her to fully trust him. “Alright?”

After taking a deep breath and arguing with the voice inside her head, Jinx shrugged off her coat and looked down at her shoes before rolling the sleeve of her T-shirt up to her neck. Her hands shook the entire time.

Daryl did his best not to react, keeping a distance as he examined the skin.

There was a jagged line that spanned from halfway down to her collarbone, surrounded by what looked like burn scars that he’d seen from the get-go when Lori had dressed her in a t-shirt that first day. He said nothing about the cigarette burns, just barely visible and peeking out from the back of her shoulder, lining the edge of the pink skin, but his jaw clenched.

“Never healed right.” she said softly, unable to meet his gaze “That’s what Ma said.”

“How’d it happen?” he asked, making a point not to stare at her, “You go to the hospital?”

She shook her head.

“Pa fixed it at home when I was real small, he used to be a Doctor”

“Why?”

“Cause I busted it.” she frowned

“How?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.”

“Mallory used to say I fell down the stairs at the old house, then I got burnt and it got all tight.”

“You able to move it right?” he asked softly “Hold it over your head and everything?”

She nodded.

“M’kay,” he sighed “When somethin’ hurts you’ve gotta tell me. Got it?”

Jinx nodded again before following him back out to the main room, where they sat side by side while Carol handed out paper cups with less than ten canned beans in them with an apologetic look.

“Okay,” he said finally, after wondering for months, “Who the fuck is Mallory?”

“My sister.” she shrugged, tugging at her shoelaces

“Older or younger?”

“Older.”

“Where’s she at?” he asked before grimacing.

‘Dumbass’ he thought to himself ‘she ain’t here, is she?’

“She got burned up in the shed,” Jinx said as if it were normal, continuing to chew her kidney bean.

Daryl made a choking sound and her eyes snapped over to him

“What?” he coughed

“She got burned up in the shed,” she repeated slowly, thinking he hadn’t heard.

“Jesus,” he muttered, “Shouldn’t’ve asked. M’sorry”

“Why?” her brows pulled together.

“Hell, do ya mean why?” he squinted “Y’ain’t sad?”

She frowned

“She told me she was leaving the day before. Said she was real tired and she had to go.”

“I tried to go see her but Pa dragged me out and I burnt my arm.”

Her sister had done that on purpose?

Daryl’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He struggled to keep his anger at bay just thinking about how he’d throttle the poor kid's parents if they weren’t already dead. He wondered if he should be worried about how detached she seemed to be. Sometimes he wasn’t all that sure that she actually understood death. She talked about Mallory so casually. As if she’d gone off to college instead of leaving her alone to fend for herself.

She hadn’t cried when she found out that her parents were dead and she mostly just seemed startled by Dale.

Did she actually understand that her sister was dead?

Her parents?

How do you even talk to a kid about stuff like that?

He’d die before asking Lori, who had been bitching at him for every tiny mistake he made with the damn kid and it felt cruel to even think about asking Carol, so he thought it might be better if he just left it. It certainly made his life easier, not having her whining all the time, but she was starting to freak him out a little bit with her nonchalance.

“Ya get why he pulled ya out right?” Daryl asked hesitantly, unprepared for the flash of anger in her eyes.

She said nothing, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides while her jaw flexed.

It was the first time he’d seen her angry.

“He had no right.” she breathed so quietly that he barely heard her.

“You’d be dead.” he frowned, wondering if that might’ve been kinder than leaving her to take the brunt of the abuse alone.

“I’d be gone.” She corrected, glaring down at her shoes bitterly. “I’d be gone and maybe she could’ve taken me with her”

Daryl didn’t try to tell her that she was better off living in a world so cold that she’d never been shown love, just to end up alone while the dead began to rise, because that would be a lie. She didn’t deserve any of it, but he didn’t know how to say it.

“Yeah, well.” he sighed “you’re here now.”

Instead of speaking, Jinx buried herself in blankets and faced the wall, willing away the burn of tears unshed.

[xsetxsailx]

Emma hadn’t exactly INTENDED on catching an eyeful of EVERY SINGLE PART of her fellow Spice. Geri often went to the loo with the door open. Usually, she at least had her tits squared away in her top and her knees closed, so the girls, nine times out of ten, didn’t actually SEE anything. Tonight was different. (Because she was fucking sloshed.) “House cleaning!!” she shouted out, snickering. “Nahh, ‘s meeee!! Here’ssss Emmy!!” God, just how drunk WAS she? Then Emma came crashing into the bathroom doorframe, eyes widening. She’d have blushed if her face wasn’t already flushed with alcohol. Alarm in Geri’s voice spoke to a far greater seriousness of the impact of Emma’s ribs and tits against that doorframe than Emma initially realized. Shit was gonna be BRUISED in the morning. Oh well, they’d have a few days to recover before their performance at Club Pacha. Hands reached for her, pulling her close, Geri’s sweet voice like alcohol for the soul. “‘Course am okay. Had worse.” She was laughing too—at least until Geri pulled her flush against her chest, entirely unaware that THE TWINS HAD LONG GOTTEN OUT TO GO PLAY. Cheek to breast, and now Emma well and truly WAS blushing (& breathless). “Mmh? Mama Ginge has her—” She came so close to letting Geri know about her wardrobe malfunction, but her gaze had turned down as she settled A LITTLE TOO COMFORTABLY into those hot, fleshy pillows, catching sight of her COMPLETELY EXPOSED PUSSY. “Ooh, the carpets match the drapes~!!”

She had been chewing gum this whole ass time—not that she’d really taken a breath, or a pause, to, y’know, chew it. Motion had started back up now she was safe and sound, grinding her jaw and chin against those tits. “Baby needs Mama to take good care of her. Look…” She twisted, pulling down the strap of her dress and shuffling it below her bra to show the red mark along her rib cage from her full-frontal crash into the doorframe. “I mean, you’re Geri, you always look good. Wazzat thing they say about death and taxes? Should add your boobies to the list~...” Conversation quickly spiraled from there, with Victoria barely even getting a CHANCE to speak her resistance to Geri, and THAT was exactly why Emma had asked GERI to come. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the ONLY reason, but… That was between Emma and her dreams. “Yesss, you, me, pool, swim.” Those words might have even formed a sentence if she wasn’t DRUNK AS A SKUNK. “Mama can teach me how ta swim~” There it was. If it wasn’t obvious, she’d already forgotten to let Geri know her tits were hanging out. Geri pushed her back to her feet, and she shakily grabbed both the doorframe and the crook of Geri’s elbow for support, WOBBLING LISTLESSLY IN PLACE, as Geri struggled to pull up her skirt. And then something happened…

“Oh, my God.” Victoria sighed, having briefly considered REACHING for Emma before deciding against it and letting the blonde crash into the doorframe. (She couldn’t have gotten there in time anyway.) “See? Now you’ve gone and hurt yourself. You deserve that, y’know…” Was this VIC & GERR’S FATE? Playing the enabling mum and strict dad to the wild child that was EMMA BUNTON? “I have plenty of fun that doesn’t involve me getting cuffed half-naked in Ibiza…” …That came out WAY more sexually than she planned, and she cracked herself up, just a little, lips pressing, slipping beneath teeth as she snorted the tiniest snort of BURIED LAUGHTER, trying not to smile, even knowing Emma & Geri couldn’t see her. She took a breath to recollect herself and spun on the ball of her foot like a ballerina, one hand on her waist, the other perched against the wall as she turned to see into the bathroom. “What she NEEDS is a psychiatrist.” Another pause. “…Or a crash helmet, before she hurts herself.” A second pause… This one more stunned—WHIPLASHED—than the first. “Uhh… Gerr? Em?” Blink, blink, blink, blink, blink. Posh wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking at. Well, she did—Emma had her face pressed into Geri’s barenaked tits and was gazing down at her COMPLETELY EXPOSED vajayjay. And… And Posh felt something TWIST in her stomach, something ACHE in her heart. What was this? She couldn’t put her finger on it. “Don’t you think this is a little—” And just like Emma, Vic was cut off. This time, BY EMMA, ironically. “Ooh, the carpets match the drapes~!!” Vic kicked herself in that moment, as her dark eyes dipped instinctually, taking in that thin strip of ginger hair well-maintained above Geri’s pussy. HARD SWALLOW. She almost, ever so almost, agreed.

“Focus. Gerr, you can’t seriously be considering breaking into the hotel pool…” I mean, she could be, she would be, she WAS. That was Geri’s problem. Hell, the first time Vic and Geri met, Geri was stealing POPCORN to treat low sugar levels ahead of an audition. She’d even shared them with Vic, and once Geri was caught, Vic… Well… She hadn’t EXACTLY given them back. Heart thumped like a rattling engine back then, and she’d be LYING if she said she wasn’t feeling that same way right now. She just hoped they wouldn’t ask her so she wouldn’t have to. “It SOUNDS like a—” Hands entwined with hers, Geri twirled and toppled, and this time Vic DID reach out to catch her, wrapping an arm around her waist and supporting her. “DISASTER.” Added emphasis now that Geri had just proved her point. “Waiting to happen.” But it was hard to stick to her guns with that INFECTIOUS laughter spilling from those pretty lips. (Pretty lips??) “They can and will arrest us. This isn’t another one of our music—” Aaaaaaaaaaaaand before she could finish her point, Geri was pulling her along, yanking her out the door—IN HER BARE FEET, MIND YOU. “W-Wait! I haven’t got my he—…” Another yank, another—… “This isn’t Wannabe!” But Geri had already decided otherwise…

Emma… Wasn’t sure how to feel about this… She’d invited GERI. And while, yes, she’d made it sound like Victoria was just too BORING to be up for her daredevilish ways… She really hadn’t wanted Victoria to ACTUALLY come in the first place. And now Geri had invited her, something in her heart kind of… SANK. It made her… IRRATIONALLY ANGRY? “Seriously, if OJ can get off for murder, they won’t even DREAM of touchin’ us.” She’d have caught Geri herself, and HAD tried, but she was too damn drunk, her own heels buckling. Shit. Geri was the very person EMMA was using to hold herself up, so when she went, Emma went with her, only catching herself on the wall thanks to Vic catching Geri herself. “We’ll be fiii—” And just like that, she was interrupted, too, Geri tearing her out the doorway and taking them down the hallway. Emma wasted no time getting CLOSER to Geri, wrapping herself around that tugging arm, breasts squashing around that bicep as she struggled to keep her feet one in front of the other while Victoria trailed behind, screaming her defiance. “IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER! YOU GOTTA GET WITH MY FRIENDS! MAKE IT LAST FOREVER, FRIENDSHIP NEVER ENDS!!” Probably shouldn’t have been singing at the TOP of her lungs. (Especially if she didn’t want Mel C & B joining them… Three was already a crowd.) As Geri charged forward, Emma couldn’t help but laugh, bursting out in a full, raucous outburst as Victoria shouted out her “TRUMP CARD”:

“Your tits are out, by the way!!”

Knobby knees pressed together, body weight & booze had dragged her down, now slumped over with massive chest sandwiched up against exposed thighs. Skirt & knickers 'round her ankles, pooling on the bathroom tile. Breasts falling out of their cups. She really should learn to wear a bra. (but what fun would that be?) Door to the loo left wide open, as always. She'd never been one for privacy or common decency. Wasn't like the girls would mind. They'd been with her for years & they knew what to expect. Besides, they'd all had one too many drinks at the hotel bar this evening. They'd likely be too far gone to give a damn! Geri certainly was. How long had she been draped over the toilet? She'd long since finished taking a wee, wiped up, & now she was just sort of dangling there. Hair a tangled mess. Tits half-exposed. That was when she heard the familiar voice calling out her name, sweet and melodic, thoroughly sloshed, "Ems~ S'that you~?" Of course it was. Who else would it be? An attempt to lift her heavy head, reaching for the wall to push herself back into a semi-seated position, "Yeah Vic, you really need to chill out once in a while n' have a l'il fu-" Startled yelp as the blonde crashed into the doorframe, followed by loud laughter. "Careful, Ems!" She couldn't breathe. (& her pants were still down, pussy flashing her fellow spice) "You okay, sweetie?" Concerned hands reached absentmindedly for the other, not even recognizing the inappropriate state she was in, "C'mere. Let mama Ginge take care a' you." Mama Ginge? Look she was A BABY wasn't she?

"Looking good? With my pants on the floor? You alright there, mate?" Geri wasn't one to turn down a compliment, however, it was clear Emma was well past the point of self-control. Still, she was only laughing along in her clumsy attempt to get off the toilet, "A pool on the roof? Count me in!" Redhead managed to pull up her skirt, but opted for stepping out of her panties & kicking them to the side. She'd never really cared for undergarments. It was the 90's, girl power n' all that. She'd only worn them for the show this evening 'cos of all her high kicks. Didn't want to accidentally flash the audience. AGAIN. "Oh, don't be like that Vic, sounds like a gas. You should join us! Would do you good!"

Flashing the others a mischievous smirk, she reached for each of their hands, twirling & nearly falling on her bum. "You worry too much. They aren't gonna arrest the spice girls!" Could you imagine the HEADLINES if they did? More laughter trickled off her tongue & she gave a good yank, dragging them out of the room, down the hallway, toward the nearest staircase. (yes her tits were still hanging out)

[bruisedboys]

Eddie loves his shy girl so much, he’ll always call her “my girl” or “the wife” “the mrs” around others just to watch how red she gets 🥹🥹 but soon he finds that calling her the wife feels natural and right, he realizes she’s the only girl he ever wants

he totally does omg. bro def calls you his wife with absolutely no shame. thank u for the ask angel!!

summary: eddie calls shy!you a lot of names. all of them make you flustered beyond belief

shy!fem!reader 1k words

Steve’s invited you all to drinks to celebrate him and Robin finally copping a job that isn’t slinging ice cream or sitting behind a video store counter all day. Eddie’s helping you pick out an outfit. It’s taking longer than you’d expected. Something about posing for Eddie makes you so nervous you can barely walk.

“Are you done yet?” Eddie’s voice on the other side of the door is far from impatient, even though it should be by now.

You grumble something incoherent instead of answering. Eddie heard you and laughs.

“Y/N,” he says seriously. The effect is ruined because you can hear his smile in the way he says your name. “We’re gonna be late, baby. Come out and show me the dress. I bet this is the one.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds. It is a nice dress. It’s a good length and makes your chest look nice, the colour looks pretty on your skin. Still, you’re embarrassed. You don’t like dressing up. It feels attention-seeking.

You scrub your face with both hands and take a big breath. “Alright, fine.”

You turn away from the mirror before you can stop yourself and yank the bathroom door open. Eddie’s waiting for you on your bed, sitting pretty, if a little slouched. He has bad posture. But his back goes rigid when he sees you — he sits up straight and lets his jaw drop.

“Babe,” he half-whispers, totally in awe, his eyes blown wide. He’s definitely laying it on thick but you can sense the genuineness underneath it all. His eyes traverse a path down your body and back up again, leaving your skin burning. And he hasn’t even touched you yet. “Baby. Honey. Darling. You look amazing.”

You flush all over despite yourself. “Eddie,” you say, chiding.

Eddie pretends to look offended. “What?” He leaps off the bed and gets one hand around your waist, the fabric of your dress shushing under his touch. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re a real stunner, you know that?”

His other hand finds your elbow and pushes all the way up to your bicep, his fingers pressing into your skin. You burn like a furnace where he touches you. You knew this part was coming.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say, genuine underneath all the shyness.

Eddie looks like he’s about to say something more but you’re saved from his doting by the phone next to your bed ringing loudly. You make to get it but Eddie beats you to it.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, sounding half-annoyed. “Oh. Hi, Steve. Yeah, no, we’re coming. The Mrs is just getting ready.” A pause in which Eddie meets your eye and winks. You flush even worse than you already were. Eddie goes back to talking to Steve. “Uh-huh. Yeah, we’ll be there in ten. Bye, Harrington.”

Eddie puts the phone back and you try to compose yourself. The Mrs, he’d called you. You feel like you could die.

Meanwhile Eddie’s grabbing his jacket from the bedpost and shrugging it on. “He’s badgering us about being late,” he says, pushing his arms through the sleeves. “We better get going, dove.” He looks up at you, half in his jacket. “Do you need me to carry anything for you?”

My heart? You think. Then maybe your chest wouldn’t hurt so much. You shake your head.

“No, um. That’s okay.” You push your hair behind your ears and try not to show how much he’s undone you with his antics. “I’ll just grab my purse.”

Eddie smiles at you. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the car?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Ten minutes later you’ve arrived at the bar and Eddie’s leading you inside with a hand at the small of your back. He smells good, like the cologne you’d bought him forever ago that he wears basically every day.

You step inside the semi-crowded bar and Eddie spots your friend group before you do.

“They’re over there, by the window,” he says, pointing. “C’mon.”

He takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of your friends. You let him guide you and he pleases, his hand a warm weight in yours. You stare at the back of his head until you arrive at the table. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan are all here.

“Munson!” Robin cheers. Your eyes zero in on the drink in her hand and you think she’s maybe already a bit tipsy. Then she spots you and beams. “Y/N!”

You smile back. “Hi, Robs. Hi, everyone, sorry we’re late.” You give a sheepish laugh and glance at Eddie. “My fault.”

“It was worth it though, right?” Eddie says enthusiastically, to the group at whole. He throws an arm around your shoulder and jostles you gently. “Doesn’t my girl look great?”

My girl. Your face burns. There’s a chorus of agreement from around the table — it makes you feel better but not better enough that you’re not still flushing furiously.

“Eddie,” you mumble, avoiding everyone’s eyes and staring at the tabletop instead. You elbow him in the side, too gentle for what you feel he deserves.

Eddie laughs loudly. “What?” He asks, even though he knows exactly what.

You huff and wish the floor would swallow you up. When it doesn’t, you let Eddie pull you into the booth next to Robin. It’s a tight squeeze and Eddie’s thigh presses into yours, his jeans warm and rough on your skin where your dress rides up your thighs.

You think Eddie notices this too because he lets his hand fall to your lap instead of his own, spreading his hand over your thigh, his fingers grazing your bare skin. He squeezes you and you try not to show how much he affects you.

“Drinks?” He asks you, like everything is completely normal and you’re not a nervous, flustered wreck right now.

“Okay,” you say, unable to get more than one word out.

Eddie grins wolfishly. You think he’s probably planning on being like this all night. You don’t mind as much as you should.

-

“Okay,” you say, unable to get more than one word out.

Eddie grins wolfishly. You think he’s probably planning on being like this all night. You don’t mind as much as you should.

-

[whirlwindimagines]

Listen your Vash and Wolfwood writeups are my favorites right now!

If it’s not too much too ask, how about we get a reader where they don’t like to ask for help a lot. And the one mission they come back from, they end up having a hard time walking and ask Vash or Wolfwood to help them. Maybe they can carry them depending if it fits.

Can you tell I’m touch starved 🥹

Ugh same I want to be carried by Vash so bad, don’t mind me acting up. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed what I’ve written!! 💙😘 And I hope you enjoyed these little short stories, I hope this was what you were asking for. I am also very touched starved ;p; Haha I see you asked for either one, but I wrote something for both because I can't read correctly. 

Vash and Wolfwood (Separate) helping you while injured. 

Vash the Stampede:

You roll your eyes at Vash’s lecture, because seriously? He’s lecturing you about hiding injuries, mister oh I was just shot but it’s only a little bullet wound it’ll be fine. You begin to zone out thinking back on how you even got here…

You remember running, and then a small explosion the ground under you shakes and then gives way, you fall fast barely having time to scream out for help. Yet somehow Vash is there, peering over the edge of the cliff, eyes wide. He jumps after you, if you live, you’re going to kill him yourself.

You only fell a short distance off that cliffside before Vash manages to catch up to you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards him. He takes the brunt of the impact when the two of you luckily crash into an overhang. Even with Vash shielding your body, you feel the hit of the impact hard. You must have hit your leg on the way down because it hurts like a bitch. You stare at Vash eyes wide, and jaw-dropping, you’re going to scream at him but Vash quickly gets the two of you to your feet.  

“Are you okay?” Vash asks as if he didn’t just fall off the cliff with you, “Yes.” your voice is breathless, but you mean your words beside there weren't time to think about it when the shooting continues. Both of you scrambled up the cliffside to get to some flatland and cover. 

Once the dust settles and the adrenalin subsides you drop to your knees, you don’t know where Vash had run off to at this point, you were thankful though wanting a moment to yourself to assess the situation. Trying to stand was painful, but you managed to get to your feet. Okay, you could do this, placing weight down on your right foot made you see stars. 

Grounding you self you leaned against a nearby building. You could hear Vash calling out your name, shit not wanting to worry him. You bite down on the pain and place the weight down on your foot lightly. 

It was fine you were fine, nothing seemed broke anyway. You called out to Vash, and he rounded the corner smiling brightly once he saw you. “You, okay?” You nod not trusting your voice for a second. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You say with a small smile, growing nervous under his gaze. 

You push ahead maybe making it ten steps before Vash grabs your arm, startling you. He looks unconvinced by your little show of bravery. “Seriously Vash I’m fine.” You say maybe a little harsher than you meant. Vash huffs places his hands on hips, as you try to contain an eye roll. “Your hurt!” 

Thus starts the argument, going back and forth for a good ten minutes. You are brought back to the present with a snap of Vash’s fingers, “are you even listening?” You sigh rubbing your temples now you have a headache, “I’m not, look it’s very sweet how concerned you are, but I’m fine end of conversation.” 

You turn on your heel, turning on the wrong foot you yelp and stumble catching yourself on a wooden crate next to you. You feel your face burn at Vash’s scoff, you’re going to give him a piece of your mind. Before you can Vash scoops you into his arms, one arm going under your knees and another around your back.

You blush even brighter stuttering over your words Vash doesn’t look at you a blush high on his own cheeks. “Can’t you just accept my help?” Vash whines, tightening his grip on you. Feeling like you’re going to cry either from the pain or the embarrassment of it all, you grip Vash’s jacket burying your head in his chest. “Fine.” You mutter, and then a softer ‘thank you’. 

Nicholas D Wolfwood:

You’re so tired, the blast of gunfire is loud off to your side. You wonder how long this fight will last, you’re sure once Wolfwood gets serious it’ll be over quickly. But you have no idea where the man ran off to, weapon in hand you aim around the corner and shoot. 

Your aim is a little off, but it doesn’t kill the man so small victories. Hiding back behind cover, you reload your weapon. When you move out of cover to aim, your face to face with one of the bandits. Oh man, you think as the guy lunges for you. 

Managing to sidestep the guy, you use your gun as a blunt object to hit them over the head. They move and you miss your gun coming down hard on their shoulder, they cry out in pain. Aiming your gun, you don’t get a chance to shoot though when the bandit backhands your face with his own gun.

You hit the ground hard, seeing black spots. You have no idea where you dropped your gun, but you try to scramble to find it. The bandit grabs you by your ankle twisting it hard, you cry out in sudden pain. Kicking out and away, the man not taking a liking to that stomps down on your leg hard. It was painful, but it doesn’t fully requester, as you finally get ahold of your gun and get a shot off. The bandit goes down, it’s quiet all around you. Maybe it was over? 

You force yourself to stand, swaying from side to side as you do. Taking deep breaths, you start to move the pain makes you take a miss step and you drop to your knees. A hand on you shoulder makes you lash out; the person catches your hand and you drop your shoulders when you make eye contact with Wolfwood.

“Shit sorry–“ 

“Are you alright?” He interrupts you, his gaze going up and down your body, you wave a hand dismissively, brushing his hand off in the process and moving to stand with the help of the alley wall next to you, his hands hover around you but he waits for an answer, “fine, guy got the jump on me that’s all” you were fine, you just needed some time by yourself to fix yourself up and you would be good.

“Oh yeah? Walk towards me.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he’s standing there with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. Your too damn stubborn for you own good, and maybe a little bit too prideful. You snap a ‘fine!’ at him, before taking a step towards Wolfwood. The moment you put pressure down on your bad leg you crumple, but Wolfwood is there to catch you. 

Faceplanting into his chest you can feel him shake with laugher, as you blush brightly gripping his suit jacket in your hands. “This doesn’t mean anything.” You grumble out. Wolfwood laughs loudly, he maneuvers you a bit so he can swing your arm over his shoulders, his other hand resting on your waist. 

You are embarrassed but grateful that Wolfwood isn’t continuing to tease you as he helps you limp around. “Thanks.” You mutter it softly, he leans his head down toward you, “sorry didn’t quite catch that.” You can hear the smugness in his tone, you don't repeat yourself. The silence stretches out, but you hear him say a soft ‘you’re welcome’ and well it does warm your heart a bit, maybe in the future you’ll be a little better about asking for help.

[sie-rui]

❀ 20 TIMES IN 10 YEARS | TOKYO REVENGERS 🤍 sano shinichiro 💿 female reader, second pov (you/your), angst and fluff, pining, hurt no comfort, tw: canonical character death, au - canon divergence, imagine 📅 july 29, 2021 🔗 masterlist ,, inspired

sano shinichiro’s love for you doesn’t change, even throughout the years. ten years has passed but the way he looks at you is the same as when he first fell in love with you.

The first time he confessed to you, he was barely fourteen years old and running a rising gang named Black Dragons. Everyone who had heard of his name had all thought that he was some tall, broad, male with a lean body who can defeat anyone that dares to defy him.

Your first thought of Sano Shinichiro was that he’s a dork.

He tried a pickup line on you. A cheesy pickup line, shameless, but even you could see how he looked like he was about to die inside from embarrassment. He was shorter than you expected, thinner as well, quite lanky and his hair was almost ridiculous and he had a cute smile that if he hadn’t said it himself, you wouldn’t have believed that he was the Black Dragon’s president.

He was cute but not your type.

You rejected him mercilessly, turning around and walking away, planning to erase him from your mind. You weren’t looking forward to getting into a relationship, it has never been a top priority, and it never will be.

The second thought of Sano Shinichiro that you realized was that he was persistent.

After you rejected him, Shinichiro just doesn’t want to leave you alone. He made it his absolute goal to find you after class to ask you out on a date or a study group (he says it’s with Black Dragons that had Takeomi Akashi from the class next door along with Imaushi and Arashi a few classes down) but you know well that he’s going to find a way to shoo them away so it’ll only be the two of you.

“Why do you like to annoy me so much?” You groan, ready to throw him out the window, knowing that he’ll survive since it’s only the third floor. He’d break a lot of bones though but you sure do hope it’ll give him a concussion, might actually get him to be smarter.

“Because I like you.”

“Don’t.”

“Y/n-san,” he sighs, a little blissfully. “Liking you isn’t something that’s going to change now or ever. It’s not just some kind of joke I’m doing for fun, it’s basically my life now.”

“Go kill yourself and get a different life then.”

“Then, I’ll still like- no, love you in my next life!”

The fifteenth time he confessed, it wasn’t some poorly planned event that ended with him saying some pickup line or giving you a bouquet of flowers. No. The fifteenth time he confessed after being quiet for almost a year was in your third year of highschool, two years after he left Black Dragons to the next generation since he decided to take classes seriously.

(You wanted to believe that it wasn’t because of you. That it wasn’t because you told him to think of his future more. But everyone knew why he started attending classes more regularly, why the Black Dragons had a different leader now after it’s sudden takeover of Tokyo.

You knew as well and you hated how it made your cheeks flush at the thought of him giving it all up just because you said so.)

The fifteenth time he confessed, you opened your window to hear him singing for you with Imaushi playing the guitar, Akashi awkwardly smiling and clapping his hands along. You knew that Imaushi wasn’t exactly playing the guitar though (that guy can’t play shit) since you spied Arashi trying to hide a speaker behind his back as Shinichiro sings his heart out.

“Sano, it’s literally ten in the evening, my neighbors are trying to have a peaceful, silent night and they’re going to kill me!” You call out but Akashi only snorts as Shinichiro continues on. There were three kids on the other side of the street, just sitting on the curb and you almost scream knowing that they were probably way past their curfew and Shinichiro’s probably responsible for them because of fucking course.

(Shinichiro was, indeed, responsible for them and he couldn’t leave them alone in the house since their grandpa was out in the countryside. He had no choice but to bring them along!)

You slam your windows shut and for a short second, you thought that Shinichiro actually shut up and decided to go home as you make your way downstairs, but no. He’s still going strong.

When you open the door, dressed in your pajamas and a hastily put on coat, Shinichiro’s expression brightens up immediately, stopping in his goddamn awful singing. Imaushi stopped “playing” as well but the speaker was turned off exactly five seconds late so it was obvious what was actually happening here.

“Y/n-”

You walk past him, crossing the empty street, knowing that your neighbors were probably looking at you now. You stop in front of the three kids, one of them looking eerily similar to Shinichiro but with blond hair while the girl had some resemblance. “It’s cold and I’m sure that bastard just dragged you out here without feeding you, am I right?”

“I fed them!” Shinichiro whines but the blond kid nods and the other two soon follow. “Oh come on! Mikey, I gave you a whole box of dorayaki earlier!”

You roll your eyes, smugly patting the blond- Mikey’s head. “Come inside. I’m sure I still have some snacks left from yesterday. You can warm up there as well,” you smile at them which elicited a gasp from Shinichiro and a snort from Arashi. The only expression you ever gave Shinichiro is an annoyed frown, and here you were smiling at kids, at Mikey, the brat.

“What’s your name?” You ask the only girl in the group, taking her hand to help her up. She gives you a hesitant wary look, scanning you up and down for two whole seconds as she pats her skirt down.

“Emma.”

“I’m Mikey!”

“I’m Edward!”

“It’s still a stupid name,” Emma comments, rolling her eyes but the two of you seemed to have come to an agreement as she wasn’t acting hostile. “That’s Baji. They’re both idiots.”

You held in a sigh. Kids. They’re kids. They’re adorable kids. You’re taking them in.

Emma doesn’t let go of your hand as you start walking past Shinichiro (who was currently gaping at you) and the rest, Mikey and Baji trailing behind you while bickering over something. “L/n Y/n, nice to meet you. I’m glad that you aren’t like Sano-san over there, Emma-chan.”

“I’m glad as well, Y/n-nee.”

“Wait, Y/n-”

The door shuts behind you, Emma staring at the closed door while Baji struggles at the genkan with his new shoes, Mikey only toeing off his slippers with a curious hum as he looks around. “Does anyone want ramen?”

(Shinichiro stands outside, silent. He blinks at the closed door before turning to Akashi who was nearest to him. “Did… Did she just kidnap my siblings and Keisuke?”

Arashi shrugs dismissively. “Doesn’t that mean the two of you are married now?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Imaushi only comments, ready to chuck the guitar into the trashcan.)

The twentieth time he confessed, you were both 23. It was his birthday.

Celebrating at some cheap rentable room, you can’t help but wonder how you ended up so deeply integrated into this group when just ten years prior, you were about to have an aneurysm every time they were mentioned. Troublemakers.

Perhaps this all started after you decided to take Emma, Mikey, and Keisuke in on that one night five years ago. Emma started wanting to hangout with you and Mikey was quite curious though he denies it. Somehow, it ended with you hanging around Sano household as well, learning some tricks from their grandfather and ending up meeting some of Black Dragon’s members.

“Y/n, have some more!” Akashi beckons, pouring even more into your glass, laughing joyously and probably won’t be remembering anything tomorrow. Arashi looked as if he was about to cry at some unsaid story and Wakasa was silent, staring blankly at the ceiling and probably as drunk as Akashi.

You couldn’t even remember how you ended up here. Was it when you stopped by Shinichiro’s shop earlier to pick up a handkerchief you forgot the last time you came to visit and they noticed you so they dragged you along as well? In the first place, why did you visit last time again…? Mikey and Emma don’t hang out around Shinichiro’s bike shop so why were you there?

Didn’t you want to tell Shinichiro something?

You sip on the liquor on your cup, leaning back on the worn-out couch as Akashi punches in a song, pushing the second mic to Arashi. Closing your eyes, you prepared yourself for another ear-damaging round of singing.

Shinichiro chuckles, deep, intoxicated, beside you, resting his cheek on your shoulder and snapping you back to consciousness when his breath fans your neck. You glance at him as he stares at you; eyes revealing more than his lips could.

You didn’t move away or push him to fall off the couch, something you would have done if you were fourteen or even seventeen. You just sit there, frozen as ice and hard as stone and Shinichiro starts to smile.

“I really do love you, Y/n.”

A hitch of your breath and your eyes regretfully becoming teary as you look away. This is why it’s always so hard to completely push Shinichiro away. He looks at you like this, he says words like this. He’s just so stupidly loyal that ten years later, it’s still you he’s saying those words to when there were better girls out there—girls that would treat him better than you do to him.

Stupid. Stupid Shinichiro. Stupid Sano Shinichiro.

I hate you so much.

“I know,” you murmur. Stupid Shinichiro. It was getting harder and harder to reject him.

“I think it’s supposed to be about time you actually answer me,” he grins, boyish as if he was back to being a middle schooler, his eyes twinkling and the different party lights illuminating his face as Akashi continues on screaming incoherently in the background.

“I did.”

“Properly,” he chuckles, burying his face on your shoulder playfully.

He knew it. He already did. From the way you faltered, from how you started to treat him differently, from how you started to compliment him (though backhanded) and even how you started to finally look him in the eye—like he’s actually there, a person and not just some dust you could wave off.

He knew it, noticed it earlier than you did two years ago. That was why he stopped confessing momentarily. Paused on his nineteenth confession because he knew that you needed time and space before you could completely accept your own feelings.

You already lost that day, five years ago, with Mikey, Keisuke, and Emma. You lost the day you started humoring him with responses and conversations, albeit dry and sarcastic. You lost the day you passed him a copy of your homework back in the first year of highschool and told him to think more about his studies and his future.

“Tomorrow,” you start and he looks up seeing you staring in front of you as if you weren’t speaking to him. “I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”

Shinichiro smiles.

You gave him an answer the next day. You surrendered to your heart, surrendered to the dizzying emotion that always wraps around your head whenever Shinichiro looks at you like how he looked at you ten years ago. In love.

“I really do love you, Y/n.”

“I know… And I do as well, Shinichiro.”

This time, there was no grand confession, no grand courting. Shinichiro only told you that he loved you, always had, in that karaoke room on his 23rd birthday. Something so simple and yet it was the one who took your heart the most.

It was the one that officially binds you together.

It was the one that locked your fate, secured it tightly and made sure that you won’t be able to escape.

Escape the funeral that came barely two weeks later.

Stupid. Stupid Shinichiro. Stupid Sano Shinichiro.

I hate you so much.

You sit there, not knowing what else to do. His voice still in your ears, ringing; and his smile will haunt you forever, until the end of your days and beyond.

“Then, I’ll still like- no, love you in my next life!”

Your eyes water as you sniffle, hands clenched on your fist, shoulders shaking. A laugh leaves your lips garnering looks from everyone else in the room including the Sano siblings.

You better find me first then.

Maybe you’ll fall for him faster, maybe it won’t take him ten years and twenty confessions. Maybe, next time, you’ll be a little more honest, to Sano Shinichiro and to yourself.