#I just...couldn't bring it together in the end to my satisfaction

[lunamochii]

rafayel's version, xavier's version

Zayne barely shows emotions infront of you but when he does, it's like getting the front row seat on a concert of your favorite band. A very memorable and enjoyable moment.

Huff and groans fills the cornes of his gym room, his veiny hands grabbing a handful of your hair as he tries to control himself on not to fuck your mouth

"Y-You're going to make me cum.."

"And that's what I intend to do."

You grin at him and grab on his thighs as you start to suck his cock more deeper, Zayne swore he could just grab on your head and buck his hips. He could fuck your mouth mercilessly but he chose not to, although he doesn't show it, he likes being at your mercy

He could feel your tongue wrap around his cock, the way you trace with the tip of your tongue the vein on his cock, the way your hands grip his cock tighter, his tip hitting the back of your throat, he couldn't take it anymore

"Cumming!"

He push your head down to his cock and let all his warm cum fill your mouth, you help him ride down his high by sucking him clean. Once you're done, you stood up and kiss him on the lips in which he reciprocated. His hands on your waist as he press you against the wall, your hands wandering against his upper body. Soon, you reach for his nipple that is poking on his tight top.

You started to play with it, leaning down your face so you could suck on it. Using your free hand to slowly rub his cock, he winces at the feeling of your touch

Zayne barely shows emotions and when he does, you must do everything to bring out more of it.

"You're quite a daring one today..."

"Just trying to see how long can you endure my teasing~"

He huffs and tried to close his lips, trying not to let you have the satisfaction of hearing his voice. But damn, the way you rolled your tongue off from your lips and licks his already hardened nipple, he almost came in your hand that hasn't stop on rubbing him

"Don't hold it, Zayne."

"Shut up.."

You giggle and began sucking hard on his nipple and you notice how his one hand is gripping your side and one hand is place against the wall. You also felt on how he starts to buck his hips, trying to get more friction on your hands

"M'making a mess on your top.."

He groans and you took that as a chance to pinch his nipple and best believe, he let out the sluttiest moan of your name. You are now grinning from ear to ear as you began to suck on his nipples

"That's it, Zayne baby~ moan for me~"

You let one of your finger poke his tip before gripping tightly on his cock and rubbing it fast and hard. Zayne is now looking down at you, mouth agape as he continue on moaning your name

"You'll pay for this, dear."

"Scary~"

"Naughty brat."

You smile sheepishly on what he just called you, maybe he will fuck you hard after this much teasing. Oh, you can't wait.

You move away but before he could ask, you tug his shirt upward and expose his bare nipples that you've been teasing. You latch your lips on it and Zayne moan out. His hand went to your hand that is rubbing his cock and you two ended up rubbing his cock together

"More- lick it more, baby."

You hum in response as you abuse both of his nipples. You felt his cock twitch as he removes his own hand, he place both of his hands on your ass and began caressing it.

One last moan of your name before he came undone on your hands, white sticky hot cum covered your hand. You brought it up to your lips and lick it clean.

Zayne huffs and turn you to face the wall as he harshly pulled your leggings down and line his cock at your aching, needy cunt. He also yank your top and his big calloused hands began to rub your nipple as he lick your neck.

You felt a shiver ran down your spine, feeling his hot breath against your neck.

"You think I will let you get away with it? Buckle up, princess."

Oh, you're fuck.

[cherrygirlfriend]

rafe and kook!reader that hate each other

warnings: smut, MDNI! i got this idea when i hadn't slept for like 48 hours but then when i finally got some sleep a few days ago i decided to write it !!! i just felt like i write a lot of "meek" readers so i didn't wanna do the same thing over and over lmao i hope you enjoy

you didn't know why you always had to come whenever your parents always had to drag you and your brother along when they visited the camerons. it's not like when you were a kid who needed to be babysat to make sure you didn't do anything wrong, but your mother wouldn't stop hassling you about it, saying how it would be 'so rude' of you to not show up, and it'd seem like you hated them. only problem was, you did.

well, pretty much just rafe. you had gotten along with sarah pretty well, but apparently she wouldn't be present. despite being the same age and both being from figure 8, you and rafe were like polar opposites. you were more into academics, and he was more into playing sports and getting fucked up with his friends. so, you never got along. but your families had been friends even before your birth, due to your respective fathers being in business together. so you had to pretend to be civil.

year by year, it went from hitting and kicking each other because someone took the other's toy, to when you started at the same middle school when he'd steal your books from your locker, to whenever you'd start dating someone in high school, they'd mysteriously end up breaking up with you the next week, and every time you asked why, you only heard one name.

rafe.

and said boy was standing in front of you now, next to his family, his arms crossed in front of his chest, with that same smug grin on his face you had last seen when you'd left for college. and you knew, that even though you were both older, he hadn't changed one bit, and it made you worry what kind of disaster tonight would bring, and if one of you just finally strangled the other to death.

after your parents had changed initial pleasantries, you all went into the dining room, and as if it had been some kind of cosmic joke, you had ended up sitting next to rafe. and so, while the people around you were chatting and eating, you sat there, occasionally taking sips out of the glass of wine and bites of your food, until you heard someone call your name.

"hmm?" you asked, looking up with a small smile.

"how's college been?" rose cameron asked, and it seemed like every eye was on you now. you swallowed the bite you were eating as you considered your answer and cleared your throat.

"it's been pretty good. difficult, and not a lot of sleep, but i seem to fit in. i really like the campus and my professors, and since i live in an apartment close to the campus i get there easily."

"your parents are always talking about how proud they are of you," ward cameron mentioned, "they're always saying how great it is that not only did you get into an ivy league school, but that you're also staying on top of your studies. must be nice to get a summer break, though."

as you were about to answer, you couldn't help but notice that the boy sitting next to you had stiffened, his jaw clenched tightly, and a part of you couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of self-satisfaction over the fact that your accomplishments seemed to be getting to him despite him always making fun of you for your commitment to your studies.

"well, the point of college is to study, even though i do try to let loose every now and then." you let out a small chuckle, taking a quick sip of wine before you continued, "and it's nice, yeah, but i also do miss school."

at that, you could heard a snort from next to you, and you turned to look at rafe with a feigned friendly smile, the look in your eyes basically egging him to tell you what his snort was caused by, "something you wanna say?"

at your words, it felt like the entire dining room went quiet, and for the first time the whole evening, rafe looked straight into your eyes, his piercing blue eyes cold as steel, even though the corners of his lips were uplifted just a tiny bit that if you hadn't sat next to him you wouldn't have even noticed it. he let out a small, demeaning chuckle.

"it's just... who would miss school?"

"i do. i just said i do, didn't i?"

"like... don't get me wrong, but don't you have any other life? just like in high school, is all you do just... study? that's really sad, you know. you should really do something fun. have you even tried to go out, or do you just coop up in the library because you think it's some kind of a replacement for people who give a fuck about you?"

"rafe-" ward was trying to stop his son from speaking, but before he could, you simply let out a small laugh.

"as opposed to what? staying on the same island i've lived on my whole life, doing nothing but living off my family's money, play golf and hang out with my friends until i eventually take over my dad's business and one day get married and have 2.5 kids who end up doing the same. sure, i could probably just start working for my dad, but the thing is i don't want to." with every word you say, the blood from his face is drained slowly, while you just smile at him, "i could be just like any other rich kid living off their parents, but i'm actually going to make something of myself instead."

after you finish speaking, the room is so quiet that if a pin dropped, it would sound like an anvil, the two of you staring at each other, while everyone's eyes darted from you to rafe, and back again like you were a tennis match, until you simply turned your head away from him, the boy still staring at you, while you cleared my throat. "rose, the food is really good." you said with a friendly smile before bringing the glass of wine to your lips.

eventually, the chatter started back up again, and the dinner went on, but still, every now and then, you could feel rafe glaring at you resentingly.

you were making your way through the halls of tannyhill, your phone in hand as you were texting, but when you finally found the bathroom, you pulled the door open, only to be faced with something you hadn't expected.

rafe was standing there, his head thrown back, and when you looked to the counter, you saw his credit card, a little pouch, and two white lines, in rafe's hand, a rolled up one-hundred dollar bill, and when you let out a quiet chuckle, he finally noticed your presence, and you could see the alarm bells ringing in his brain.

"damn, you've moved to coke? last i saw you, you were just into weed or occasionally molly, but this? shit, well, i shouldn't be surprised, i mean-"

before you could finish your sentence, rafe's hand was gripping your arm tightly, and the boy pulled you into the bathroom, locking the door behind him before slamming you against it, the door handle digging into your side, the blonde's pupils dilated to all hell, remnants of white powder under his nose.

"the fuck do you think you're doing?" you stared up at him while trying to push him away, but his muscular arm pressed against your chest, holding you against the door.

"you're a fucking bitch, you know that?"

"wow, that's really original cameron. what is this, fifth grade? you're pathetic."

"don't fucking talk to me like that," he said, his jaw clenched, his head leaning down to look at you. "you've always been such a fucking pain in my ass."

"i have been a pain in your ass? that's rich." you finally managed to push him off you, the boy stumbling slightly back due, "you've done nothing but made my life a living hell. when we were kids, when we were teens," you started walking closer to him, "even tonight, who was the first one to fucking snort at my comment and start talking about sad my life is, when in reality you're the one who's still acting like a teenager."

"it really seemed to hit a nerve. what's wrong, you still don't have friends, just like you didn't back in high school? let me tell you why that is; you act like you're so much better and smarter than everyone. sure, i might act like i'm better than some people, but you act like you're a fucking god. and that's why no one can stand you."

the two of you now stood in the middle of the bathroom, the bathroom filled with the noise of you both breathing erratically from all the insults you'd thrown, rafe glaring down at you, his gaze filled with ice, yours filled with fire, both of your words poisonous and knives meant to cut deep.

then rafe's lips were on yours, your arms around his neck, the kiss full of hunger, of craving, the both of you trying to consume one another. it was just like any another fight between you, but without any words, just with your lips.

rafe pushed you against the bathroom wall, his lips slowly trailing down your jaw and your neck while you ground your body against his, his erection pressing against your lower stomach, one of his hands on your neck, while the other was lifting the hem of your dress, your hands undoing his belt.

"i still fucking hate you..." you breathed out, tugging at his hair while rafe simply chuckled against the your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, a gasp leaving your lips and you dug your nails into the back of his neck to get back at him, the boy letting out a groan before he continued sucking and kissing on your neck with his warm lips as you moved your hands down to undo his pants and letting them fall to the ground.

your head felt like it was in the clouds when his hands touched the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding under it, and when you felt his fingers travel deeper, you couldn't help but gasp, feeling rafe run two of his fingers over your folds, collecting some of your arousal onto his fingers, his lips detaching themselves from your neck. "you hate me but you're this fucking wet, huh?"

"you wanna play that game?" you chuckle, palming his erection through his boxers, rafe letting out a groan as you freed his erection from his boxers, spitting into your hand before you were stroking up and down on his cock, the red tip of his length already leaking precum, the boy letting out ragged breaths, unable to keep kissing you from the pleasure you were giving him.

his fingers were working your clit, your back arching against the wall, your head swimming as you continued stroking him, rafe brought his lips back to yours, your lips lazily and messily pressing against one another, both of you two too blissed out by the pleasure you were giving one another to even care.

when he pulled away from the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling together as your hands worked in tandem, and it felt like it was the first thing you two didn't hate about each other, rafe's breath hitching with every stroke of his cock, a small whimper leaving your lips every time he touched your clit just right.

you closed your eyes, as you felt the heat building in your abdomen, you bit down on your lip, and you knew that rafe was just as close to coming from the way he picked his own pace up on your clit and how his breathing got more and more ragged.

and finally, when you felt the feeling in your abdomen just... stop, and your orgasm washed over you in a rapid wave, you heard rafe let out a glorious noise that was between a whine and a groan. you could feel cum rushing out of his cock as you kept stroking him, his fingers still working on your clit as the two of you let the other one ride out their orgasms.

your breathing was ragged and you were both blissed out when you finally took your hands off each other, still coming down from your orgasm, but when you finally did...

"fuck." you clamored, pushing rafe off you as you pulled your dress back down and made your way to the sink, washing your hands, while rafe was also getting dressed. you took a few moments to fix your makeup and hair, before turning to him, rafe looking at you in a way that didn't let you know what he was thinking, as usual. "this never happened."

and before he could even respond, you were out of the door.

[chewnotchoke]

boynextdoor and their love languages

warning: some suggestive parts, use of real names (riwoo only)

sungho

receiving: quality time, acts of service

𓍯 his type of quality time is visiting new places with you. so he really appreciates it when you call and tell him "let's eat at this restaurant. i heard it's a really good place!" and he'd agree immediately.

𓍯 he gets so excited when he sees your contact name popping on his phone screen because he knows it's call time! he'd answer it on the first ring! when he's busy, he'd call you back immediately and would spend at least an hour talking on the phone

𓍯 loves it when you cook his favorite dish! since he loves affirming you, he always tells you to cook it again for him because apparently, you cook better than a renowned chef.

giving: acts of service, words of affirmation

𓍯 surprises you with bubble baths after a long tiring day. "prepared this for my girl because she has to save up all her energy for tonight."

𓍯 you rely on him opening tightly sealed jars and it actually turns you on. "babe, can you help me open this?" and it was as easy as flicking an ant for him.

𓍯 "i care for you. is there any way i can help?" // "everything's alright, babe. everything's okay because you have me. i'll always be here, hm?"

riwoo

receiving: words of affirmation

𓍯 really really loves affirmations! he gets so red and shy though.

𓍯 he loves it when show expression of appreciation for his work/performance. everytime you say "it was a really nice performance, sanghyuk! you did so well." he'd throw pumches in the air out of excitement and satisfaction.

𓍯 but he would easily get hurt when you talk to him in a low voice or no emotions at all because it makes him overthink :c pls don't raise your voice at him too! he will tear up.

giving: quality time, acts of service

𓍯 to him, giving you 20 minutes of his time means giving you 20 minutes of his life. he values time with you so much.

𓍯 fond of doing your skincare at night OMG. for quality time, he loves doing facial masks together while laying in bed. he'd then start bringing up the first time he met you and tells you how in love he is with you.

𓍯 since he loves affirmation, you'd tell him "oh look at this pretty boy doing my skincare." while he soothes your face with the moisturizer he just applied on your skin, and then he would press his lips together to hide his smile. because of that, he's peck your kiss as his way to appreciate your words.

jaehyun

receiving: physical touch

𓍯 he loves being babied when it's time to go to bed. he loves it when you pull him closer to your chest and cuddle him 'til you hear his cute snores.

𓍯 have i mentioned he loves being babied? because he really likes it when you're all over him, when you grab his face, when you ruffle his hair.

𓍯 "can i get my kiss later?" he would plead at you in the middle of his work. "of course! i'll give you lots of it when we get home. so please just focus on your work for now, alright?" your mouth curved into a smile. "can you give me 100 kisses later?" he couldn't be any cuter when he asks for kisses from you. "i'll give you thousands, jae." you answered. "we'll have to make out then..."

giving: physical touch, acts of service

𓍯 definitely the "after you, my lady" type when opening the door for you.

𓍯 the touchiest of them all! like he wouldn't allow it at all if your knees or feet are not touching under the table during dinner.

𓍯 would get whiny if you sit across him on the table and not beside you. "hey, what's wrong? why are you sitting there? your seat is here." he said as he pats on his lap, giggling like a child.

taesan

receiving: physical touch

𓍯 whenever he does something worthy to be proud of, he would lean his cheek closer to you and tap it with his pointer finger so you could kiss it. you always end up giving him more than what he asks!

𓍯 nothing's more important than holding him when he cries. he rarely cries but this one time he got so vulnerable after a tiring day, he never found a greater comfort than being in your arms.

giving: gifts, quality time, physical touch

𓍯 “my parents aren't home.” he'd chuckle on the other line of the call. you knew what he was trying to imply.

𓍯 he has this hobby of giving you hand-picked flowers!! "would you like me to get you daisies next time? alright, i'll look for daisies next time." he ends up taking all the flowers in your neighbor's garden because he found it as pretty as you.

𓍯 a big spender. doesn't mind of the price as long as he buys it for you.

𓍯 always loves burrying his face on your neck for no reason at all. also, 100% thigh grabber!!!

leehan

receiving: words of affirmation

𓍯 his eyes light up whenever you tell him you remember the things you've done with him, things he likes, and foods you've eaten together even if they happened a long time ago.

𓍯 he gets really emotional when you tell him you don't take him for granted :c

𓍯 both of you loves writing letters for each other especially when it's handwritten. he thinks it means a lot when you spend time writing about him the traditional way.

giving: acts of service, words of affirmation

𓍯 rather than sexual activities, he's more into giving you head pats, combing your hair, rubbing your arms as a way of intimate touching.

𓍯 for leehan, communication is the very essence of a loving relationship. he always seeks understanding and reconciliation every after an argument. "can you tell me how i made you feel like you're being too much? i promise you were never too much for me. let's talk about it, babe."

woonhak

receiving: quality time, words of affirmation

𓍯 he's the type to get discourage easily with the feedbacks he's getting. so you telling him that he's doing a really great job is very important to him.

𓍯 he likes having talks with you after his schedule, where you'd sit in front of the tv without actually watching the tv, and would proceed to talking about each other's day.

giving: quality time, gifts

𓍯 you're That important to him he'd let himself lose the game when you suddenly call out of nowhere just so he could accomodate you. "i'm out guys, i'll be talking to my girlfriend. have fun!"

𓍯 giving gifts = symbol of thought. but he's kinda playful with it. "got that for you because it reminded me of you." and then it's an adorable mushroom plushie because he knows you can't eat mushroom. he would laugh saying, "i know you'll never get to eat mushrooms but at least you can keep that for a lifetime!"

𓍯 proximity ≠ togetherness. when you're together, he always ensures you're included and never forgotten. he doesn't take your presence for granted and makes sure you do things together.

𓍯 this one's really really cute but i definitely see him as the type who would spend time on youtube learning how to make diy gifts for you!

requests are open! i'd gladly work on it if you want me to write something ^__^ comments/reblogs are highly appreciated <3 check my other works too!

[n0tamused]

Midnight thought that popped into my head… If you watched Spirited Away, do you remember a bunch of little black soot balls that carried coal around? What if the reader also works at the academy and has made herself a bunch of those little robots to fetch tools when she needs them? Imagine working on something with these little goofballs running around, making high-pitched robot noises and being useful at the same time, what a dream. The second part is, what if some of them started running to Xiangli Yao's office (and Academy too) to get tools (screwdrivers, hammers, etc.) because they couldn't find them in our office due to some errors (or some other reason)? Which led to a funny little investigation of missing items? Honestly saw it as already established relationship, but could be used as push-to-confession maybe? Can definitely see something like this: -My little babies would never steal! -Your… babies? -Erm, never mind…

Honestly, use this however you like if you do, the possibilities are endless and fun, no matter how you twist it, I have just come up with an example.

A/n: this was awfully sweet, but even with that I didn't imagine it would turn out this long. I do hope this is what you had in mind. I really enjoyed writing this. And hey, first Xiangli Yao fic! Yipeeee

Contents: Xiangli Yao x Reader, she/her pronouns, fluff

Words: 4221

Ko-fi

Steel Hearts

Little pitter-patters of feet echo down the empty corridor, the sound accompanied by the low mechanical buzz that could be said to be a coo or a call. Xiangli Yao had yet to get used to the new tiny companions around the Academy, although they made for an endearing sight when they got together to work. Xiangli Yao steps to the side of the corridor, slowing down his step as he notices a few Aideroids rush past diligently, carrying a few empty petri dishes, box of gloves and some unlabeled material samples. He tilted his head as they passed by, clicking and clacking without paying him any mind, like a line of ants as they made it straight for their queen - you. It would seem that the confusion of the recent incidents at the Academy have rubbed off on the Aideroids as well, otherwise known as Assistive Intelligence Droids, judging by how scattered they seemed after your own office has been subjected to a little... disaster, to put it plainly. It has pushed you to share an office with your colleague until the renovations are done, and while you had adjusted well, the little droids would always stop by the old office or by his own next to yours before finding you at last.

Xiangli Yao admired them and once he had run into a droid in the corner of his office that had gone down due to battery problems. He had fixed it up for you then. The droids weren’t admirable by looks alone, but by their design as well with their creator behind them. Although they seemed to be a nuisance of a sight for Mortefi, even he commented on their usefulness. The only thing everyone was against was to make them capable of flight. You agreed that the sight of so many droids buzzing about wouldn’t be quite comfortable.

He continued on into his office, looking over the report he had yet to finish, one he was looking forward to writing out. The half done pages reeked of promise and satisfaction, as they would come to represent the best part of the job in Xiangli Yao’s eyes. The end, the fruits of his labor. He hummed something low in his throat as he glimpsed an error in his grammar, making a mental note to fix it up later as he swung the door open and closed it behind it, failing to notice that the door had been creaked open already. Muscle memory brings his feet to his desk, and as he goes to put his papers down he is greeted by several singular eyes looking up at him, all scattered on and around his desk. He blinks at them in surprise, and for a moment they mirror his confusion and shock in equal measure, but as no command or response comes from his mouth, they swiftly return to their ‘work’ at his tools. One Aideroid was carrying the rubik's cube he liked to keep in his office, oftentimes fidgeting with it when he came into a slump during work hours. The Aideroid chucked it over the edge of the desk with a ‘kahooo’ and another similar sound came from below, where another droid caught the cube. Another droid was already halfway to the door with screwdrivers and small container of oil he uses to treat his prosthetic arm - had the door been unlocked, the little droid would have managed to escape the office with Yao’s belongings. 

“Hey, hey, hey- now, little friend. It seems you have plans for my things-” he speaks to the droid with a light laugh in his tone as he manages to pluck back the oil and screwdrivers from its clasping hands before it could truly clasp down. “Has Miss. (L/N) been in such desperate need of oil that she sends you to take mine?” 

The droid looks up at him and the lenses of its eye narrow and zoom in on the towering figure of Xiangli Yao, yet, ever loyal and determined to assist you, the droid lets out a disgruntled beeping sound, almost like a little howl. Its arms stretched upward, waiting for the tools to be given back to its hold. 

“Ah, no, my friend. I’m afraid I cannot give you these back” he says and turns towards the desk just as the droid carrying his cube walks by, and Yao swiftly takes the cube back as well, and then the microscope from the next droid, and a few pencils from the next few. By the time he’s up to his desk again, he feels as if he went through an attempted robbery, his arms full of his things and behind him he hears several voices of dissatisfied and demanding droids. He holds onto his lighthearted demeanor, a gentle and amused smile plastered over his lips as he sets back his belongings on his desk and back onto the shelves. “Miss. (L/n) would not want you to rob her colleagues, would she now? I know you don’t like returning to her with empty arms, but I can’t be giving you my own research and tools so easily” he tells the droids as if they’re a bunch of kids and for a moment he expects to be greeted with more protests as the droids all but stare at him in grave silence. Thankfully they do not pose more verbal danger, and scatter to climb onto one another and skillfully open the door before moving out again. Xiangli Yao can only stare at the space they occupied, still trying to acknowledge what has just happened. He was about to shake the thoughts of before he remembered the droids he passed in the corridor, now realizing the tools and materials they carried were his.

______________________________________________________

Black bolded letters lined every page, and page after page you scanned the book for the chapter you needed to fuel your brain for power which you desperately needed for this experiment. You sigh in disappointment as you find the chapter of your favorite book ripped out, leaving the next chapter as some distant tale you were yet to understand. You close the book with a thump and push it aside, returning to another set of letters on your research paper and the propped up tubes and test tubes and cylinders before you. Testing biological matter and the effects of the Waveworn Phenomena on them came with its limitations, but for all of those you managed to achieve quite a few breakthroughs in the last few years. 

You found yourself just short of other achievements, it was just an arms reach away yet you were stuck. Not understanding where you began to go over the same papers again, going through numbers, chemical formulas and the hypothesis at the start, but the important puzzle piece was yet to be revealed to your mind. The sound of small feet do not alarm you as they buzz behind you and move about the office. They came and went the entire day, bringing you your torn book and some other less important things at the moment, yet you acknowledged their need to be of help- it was in their code. Just like animals which flee or fight naturally when confronted with danger, the Aideroids wanted to help when confronted with your frown and furrowed brows. They knew something was amiss, so by bringing you all the tools and materials you previously praised them for, their droids’ minds hoped to see and hear the praise once more to know their daily task had been fulfilled. Yet, the last few days have been filled with your stagnant moods with not a sweet word in sight. The loss of the comforts of your own office was palpable even with the adjustments you’ve made - nothing can beat having your own space to do with as you please.

Your head hands low over the papers, forehead resting on your clasped palms as you let your eyes close. Searching for the answer deep in your mind, you fail to see the way forward and your mind swiftly wanders to imagery of the open fields, summer days and your favorite food stalls. Aideroids made their way up the side of your desk, carrying the microscope between them in their strong little arms, and as they set it before you with a small thump, you looked up to see it, a look of confusion falling over your eyes. “Now, why have you brought me this, AIDE?” you ask the droid group who coo at you in unison. “I already have a functional microscope..” you added, sighing at their attempt to assist you with no success. But before you can reprimand them and ask whose microscope they’ve taken, you see more of the droids climb up the desk with a glove box and unmarked materials sealed in small boxes. At that you were a bit more alarmed. Sitting up straight in your chair you feel a wave of anxiety come over you as you’re made to guess whose research they just snagged up with no pardon. “AIDE, where did you get this?” you asked as you took one of the sample bags one of the droids offered you. You carefully unpacked it and took a quick look inside, a bit more relieved to find it was only dirt samples from god knows where. But the other baggies held materials you weren’t trying to mess with, judging by their looks alone through the translucent bag. 

The droids coo and click, and on your watch monitor you can see the transcribed text that they were trying to convey. 

‘Xiangli Yao’s office, Baizhi’s office’.

You had to physically stop yourself from face palming at the sentence. Your little helpful companions resorting to stealing from your fellow colleagues, one of them a renowned genius? You thank god that most of them have already left the Academy for the day, and others were on break.

“Please, give the rest of those to me… I’ll have to give you another code input, this can’t happen again - you can’t just take other people’s belongings” you gently scold while the many pairs of eye just look at you, mechanically blinking and adjusting their lenses as they try to comprehend why you didn’t like what they’ve done. You have already gathered the things they took, carefully cradling the items in your arms as you tell them to stay in the office while you go and return them - hoping to also clear your mind with this brisk walk.

You turn the corner from your current office, closing the door behind you and your mind is running, hoping your droids haven’t done any damage, even if you have put all the necessary codes into their system that avoided damaging things, but who's to say they can’t malfunction or accidentally push somethin or-

“Ah! Xiangli Yao!” you nearly squeal as you run into him when you turn to go down the corridor leaning to his office, and like a kid caught with their hand in the candy jaw, you flush with items that are obviously his in your arms. You take a few steps back to put a more professional and comfortable distance between the two of you. You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping the warmth you felt wasn’t as visible on your skin as you imagined it to be. 

“Ah, Miss (L/N), it is you, and with quite an interesting assortment of things in tow” Yao greeted back, his eyes quickly catching on to the items in your hold, a warm smile pulling on his lips. “I was just about to pay you a visit. It would seem your Aideroids have been up to some mischief as of recent”

“Mischief?” you countered almost instantly, and be it fatigue or the knowledge that the droids weren’t mischievous by their nature, you almost took it as an insult. “Oh, you misunderstand. They aren’t mischievous, Xiangli Yao. They just.. need some code tuning” you added with a stubborn shake of your head, holding the items closer to your torso. 

“Oh? And is that why they have resorted to taking my things without being given permission beforehand?” Yao retorted, his voice a warm honey. Was he teasing you? 

You couldn’t muster up a laugh, your lips pressing together in a tight line out of some nervousness for feeling so cornered. “Xiangli Yao..” you began, sighing as you nearly trailed off - he had his point, yet you couldn’t let your little droids be subjected to any form of insults, even in jest! “That doesn’t mean they’re mischievous. Although their objective is flawed in execution, something I’ll have to fix later, I assure you they did not mean to deprive you of your own ability to conduct your work. This is why I have come to return your belongings by myself and.. apologies on their behalf - although the fault is also mine own for not having foreseen such a thing happening with them” you told him, nearly rushing through the entire sentence. “AIDE has told me some of these materials are also from Baizhi. Do you mind taking back the ones that are yours?” 

Xiangli Yao looks on at you, letting you speak and he nods at the question. Did this make you so riled up, or was it him? He had to admit, he felt rather weak in his word arsenal now. This has in no way ruined his day, nor has he meant any offense to you with his quips. The interaction it all led to between the two of you felt sweet to his heart, as most encounters between the two of you during the day felt almost artificial, all work no soul chatter which he found himself craving to have with you. And both of you needed solo time to recharge, but now it felt like there was emotion behind it, there was a heart. Yao wasn’t about to simply let it go to waste. But what does he say to make you more at ease?

“Of course. Here, why don’t you come to my office, I’ll also help you sort the other items out that belong to Baizhi afterwards” he offered as he took back his things, and also some more to lighten your load as some seemed at the point of slipping past your fingers. “Your droids are quite skilled to unlock doors previously locked - have you taught them to pick at locks?” he asked, his tone genuine as well as he recalled an occasion where he overheard Mortefi complaining to you about AIDE ‘breaking into his office’. 

You sigh at the memory. “No. I have not taught them any of that. Their objectives and codes only revolve around listening to my orders and helping me work, I genuinely don’t know where they got it to pick locks..” you tell him as you walk side by side to his office. His presence felt as if he was pressed right against your side, even if there was comfortable space between you, or perhaps that was just you overthinking the situation. Xiangli Yao’s company was always welcome, you wished your paths crossed more often during work, but alas..

“Admirable, really” Yao comments, looking up ahead and hastening his step to open the door with his elbow, leaving it wide open for you. You walk in and you can already tell AIDEs has been through here. Xiangli Yao sets down the items he had in his arms, returning the ones that belonged to him to their right place.

“Have..have they damaged anything of yours?” You cautiously asked as you looked around, almost expecting to see broken glass or torn papers.

“Oh no, they've done no harm. They were quite adamant on taking my things, however” he chuckles. “The group that I encountered in my office even wished to scold me for not allowing them to take the items back to you. Kahooting at me and beeping, heh. They even picked up the oil for my prosthetic” he said as he turned back to look at you, noticing how your brows curled in a worried expression, the cogs and wheels turning so loud he could nearly hear them from where he stood.

You sigh for the nth time, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head. “I'm really sorry for this, they really aren't like this. I'm assuming that the loss of my office, which was coded as their own ‘HQ’  , impacted them more than I imagined. They wouldn't do any of this otherwise “ You adjust the few small items in your arms, the sample bags stacked on top. 

Xiangli Yao hums in acknowledgement. “I understand that. Thankfully, that is an easy fix until your office is done and ready for use again. I often see the little guys lingering in front of the locked doors of the office.. makes me think they’re rather sentimental about the place” he nodded thoughtfully, and as he talked he approached you again, taking the items from you even after you tried to give a word of protest. 

“Although, I also have a suspicion it is not just the loss of their ‘HQ’ that is making them behave like this” Yao added as he motioned towards the door again, having you walk out first. You did as he requested, but you closed the door behind him before he could try to. You look at him quizzically, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well..the droids’ objective is to help you reach an end in your research or daily tasks, yes? Have you perhaps not been able to reach an end of your work that the droids' could physically see? This is just my hypothesis but..uhh..” he trails off as he notices the weight of your stare, his eyes going back to the path ahead, focusing on going to Baizhi’s office. Was he being too prodding? 

You couldn't deny that his words held some water, but a part of you wasn't ready to simply say what you thought. The AIDE were a bunch of robots you created, scraps of metals and wires, and giving them any form of sentimental intelligence aloud felt wrong. Even if you treated them kindly and softly like puppies and cats countless times, you weren't going to risk being seen as soft and fragile in your workspace, in front of Yao no less. He wasn’t cold in any way, or unkind to either robots, people or animals - but you felt silly in your treatment of your helpful companions.

“Are you saying that the droids may have a.. small flaw in their system? Their code could use some fine tuning, that's for sure…” you replied, trailing off as you thought about it, relieving him of your gaze in the meantime. 

“Yes, that is what seems most plausible, although I do not know their code as well as you do” 

You nod and just shrug, too tired to think of inputting more codes and numbers, but you knew the task was unavoidable. “Yeah…I'll take a look at the codes once I'm back. Uh, you know where Baizhi keeps her things?”

“Not exactly in the way she has her things organized…but, we can just leave them in an orderly place. I can explain the situation to her in the morning for you, no worries” Xiangli Yao is about to hasten his step again but you make it a point to beat him to it, opening the door for him and keeping it open. You hear a huff of a laugh behind you but you do not immediately turn around to face him and see his expression. Yet when you do take a look, your heart jumps in your throat as he passes by you, giving you another one of his warm smiles.

You feel stiff compared to him, he who seems so carefree and professional. 

“You don't have to do that on my behalf. I'll just talk to her myself” you slide in next to him above Baizhi’s desk. It looks rather empty with how well organized it looks. Papers piled neatly on one end next to the simple lamp, pens in their pen holder, a few other things carefully tucked over the desk but besides that, there was nothing else on the desk. Everything else had its place on the shelves or in the drawers. You have to hold back your awe at it, remembering how much of an ‘organized mess’ your desk is. 

“It wouldn't be an inconvenience, Baizhi and I have a task we have to do together tomorrow,” Yao said as he sat the sample bags down along with the little boxes. 

You find yourself not knowing what to say, and suddenly you feel as if you're standing too close for comfort, your neck feeling too warm and you decide to pace away, taking in the office - one you have probably visited before but that fact wasn't important right now. 

“Coohoo, clack?” 

You both turn around and see several eyes staring back at you around the doorframe. 

Xiangli Yao chuckles as he sees that the little droids have, once again, managed to snag something of his to bring to you - this time the Rubik's cube from before. They murmur among themselves when they see him, and one at the front almost hisses when he approaches. The others rush in with the Rubik's Cube in tow, rushing straight to you. 

“Ah- not again…” you grumble as you crouch down to welcome your rowdy robot children in, taking the cube away from them as they crowd around your feet and tug lightly at the tail of your coat.  “I'm really sorry, Xiangli-”

“No, no, please, no need to apologize. Now that I look at this, I have a feeling they're trying to lift your spirits. Surely, AIDE realizes a Rubik’s Cube has no other use but momentary play”

You look up at him, joining in the stare group made from your droids who all can't seem to take their eyes off of him. 

“That…could be it. Hah, a rather cute thought, isn't it? I should give these guys a bit more praise, I think..” you feel yourself cracking slowly, the exhaustion and the weight of your unreached goals making your mind a fuzzy place. You feel your cheeks go warm again and cast your eyes down swiftly to take a look at your droids again.

“Quite so. Do you need help with the coding?” He suddenly asked as you rose to your feet, taking a careful step over the grouped up droids. You stumble and feel Yao grab onto your elbow to stabilize you. “Careful-”

“Thanks.. here's your, uhm, cube” you mutter as you hastily hand him the Rubik's cube even before you get to stand back properly on your feet. 

The droids coo in unison, first in surprise and then in relief when you don't fall. 

“And no, actually, I should be fine with doing the coding on my own. It will only take a bit, but anyway- I'd rather not be in your way any more than I already am.” You said as you found your feet again, the droids already gathering around your feet again and looking up at you and Yao unblinking. 

“In my way? Miss (L/N), you’re not in my way. I am offering you my help of my own free will, not out of pity or anything similar” he assures you and soon joins you in looking down at your droids when you fail to respond. This time he can’t help but notice the flush on your cheeks, but he doesn’t comment on it for your sake.

“These little ones are.. quite something” you added as your eyes gazed over them all, listening to their lenses “blink” and observe.

The droids huddle closer, almost climbing up over the other to reach better heights to either of you. His words from before strike you once more in that moment, and you find yourself thinking deeper about the issue at hand - although can you really call it an issue? The droids have done nothing but try their best to be of use to you, and not only in your work but in your mood as well. Would it be so wrong to treat them with a little more humanity? The droids seemed to favor Xiangli Yao in some ways too, as most of the items they brought back to you were his.

“Xiangli Yao..”

“Hm?” He tips his head to the side, looking over at you as you still observe the little ones.

“Could you actually..help me with these guys a bit? I think I want to do more than just coding changes, I'd like to add some more features - and you have more experience in this field than I do”

Xiangli Yao feels his heart swell with something he can't quite describe coherently in that moment, but he knows it is making him feel fuzzy and energized. “Of course! I'd love to - spending some time with these droids is going to be a time well spent”.

Although he loved the droids on their own, he was more so looking towards spending time with you. And where the droids were is where you are.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[earthry]

Can i ask for papas who told reader to not get attached to them and had secret relationship, until they realised 'oh... I think i was wrong' ?(bonus point for them being jealous, because another sibling flirting with reader)

Thank you and sorry if i bother you🥺❤

Of course you can!! Thank you for the prompt it was so delicious aslkdf it kind of got away from me but hopefully this was what you were looking for 💕

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, manipulation (not from any papas), happy endings for all regardless

Primo

Primo is gentle about telling you not to get attached.

"Don't get too comfortable, little flower." "Remember my rosebud, this is temporary." "We are not exclusive, my morningstar."

He thinks he's doing a kindness by always reminding you that things between the two of you are casual, making sure you're aware that you are just one of many in his garden of plenty.

I think he’d be a little more aware of his growing feelings than any of his brothers, but still catches it too late. By the time he realizes he can’t bring himself to call things off or put some distance between the two of you.

He realized just how much he loves having you by his side. Not just as a lover, but as a companion and a friend. Someone to talk about plants and books to, someone who cares about him enough to swing by the garden often with a snack and water to hydrate when he’s been working under the sun for too long.

The first time you fall into bed together since his realization, he doesn’t remind you about the nature of your relationship, and you’re too nervous to ask until after. He’s cleaned up and slips under the covers with you before pulling you into his arms — he probably doesn’t do this too often because it feels vulnerable. You feel your heart pounding and timidly ask him what’s going on.

“I think I’ve made a grave mistake.” You stiffen and he soothes you, “Not you, never you, tesoro.”

He admits his feelings for you, and you get teary and blubber that you feel the same and he asks you for your forgiveness, taking your hand in his and pressing the softest, most gentle kiss to the back of it.

You two haven’t quite made it official yet, wanting to ease into things naturally— however when he sees a sibling-in-sin flirting with you boldly, he steps in with a growl, the most aggressive you’ve ever seen him before.

“Perhaps you weren’t aware, but here at the ministry, we keep filthy hands off what isn’t ours.” He has a possessive arm around your waist and leans into to brush his lips against your brow.

“I’m sorry I’m late, my petal.” His voice is so much softer when he addresses you, “Is this stronzo bothering you?”

The sibling-of-sin quickly stammers their apologies and scampers off, and before you can really even process what just happened, his lips are on yours. He kisses you hungrily, claiming you as his in the open courtyard where everyone can see.

When he eventually pulls back, your lips are red and swollen to his satisfaction and you give him a look to which he gives you another kiss but it's a much more tame peck this time. "Mi dispiace amore mio. I just couldn't help myself."

Secondo

Secondo was your first-- something you gave to him freely despite his clear warning before taking you to bed.

Still you had your sights set and the idea of taking your innocence was too delicious to Secondo to decline. You weren't the first one he'd corrupted, and you wouldn't be the last (as painful as it is to think about it, you're very keenly aware of this fact).

For your first time, he was the perfect lover, considerate and slow, coaxing you to open up for him in ways you never thought to give to another man. He takes you like you're lovers and it does nothing for the growing feelings you've been having for him as of late except now you know what it feels like to be wrapped up in his arms, now you know how it feels to have his lips on yours, how it feels to take him inside you, to feel so full of him that you see stars.

For him, you're just another conquest, another sibling-in-sin he's deflowered and another body to pull into bed on lonely nights. He usually doesn't think much of it. He has all his bases covered after all. He makes sure of it, reminding his partners that they are not the only ones, that they are here to have fun.

He may not party as much as he did in his youth, but when he did there would always be someone new on his arm and someone new he'd take to bed.

In a way he knows it's also to protect himself, he knows that most if not all of them are vying for Papa's attention, for Papa's favor. Not Secondo's.

He knows it's the Ministry's fault primarily, for twisting him into this shape, for building such a reputation in his image to where he is now. But despite the resentment he feels he can't help the desires that are conditioned into him for this lifestyle.

He doesn't let people in easily as a result, but with you it was almost inevitable.

You had been so shy when he had taken you that first time. Not that you weren't eager, but he was so used to other siblings being sly and seductive, wanting him to do the honors so they would have a story to give when all was over.

You however, were so anxious and timid as he laid you out onto the bed that he couldn't help but reassure you. At first he thought perhaps it was an act, but judging how tight you were wound up, he knew you had to be genuinely nervous. He was extra gentle with you, more than he had ever been with anyone before, and oh, the small smiles you gave in his direction when he comforted you were addicting.

He doesn't normally do repeats, doesn't like taking the same person to bed more than a handful of times but with you he just couldn't help himself.

There was something new to learn about you each time, and soon your relationship evolved to something more than just in the bedroom.

It started small; a book you quoted he recognizes that turns into an hour long conversation about the author's greatest and not so greatest works. Stopping by his office during the day to offer coffee or a short break to discuss literature.

He starts looking forwards to your visits, to those little moments before or after he's taken you to bed. But one thing he's always kept firm on is that you never stay the night.

It's his one rule he's maintained for years to keep feelings and sex separate and it's always worked. You don't particularly know about this rule of his however, so when you finally ask if you can stay the night with him, you feel like you've been brought back to earth with his rejection.

You only have yourself to blame really. He had always said from the very beginning not to get attached. It was your fault for thinking that after the two of you had gotten a little closer that maybe, just maybe things had changed. You were wrong.

Secondo feels terrible for telling you no, but he has his rules for a reason. However, that night as he lays in bed alone he can't help imagining what it would be like to hold you in his arms, to tuck you against his chest and feel your heartbeat firm against his.

Secondo is a smart man, and he knows when he's made a mistake. He resolves to make it up to you in the morning, to pull you aside and set things straight. It had taken time for him to realize how he felt for you but now that he does, he doesn't intent on letting you go.

Unfortunately for him, he can't seem to find you all day, and in the evening he asks around and manages to find some of your friends who tell him that you had not been feeling good.

He feels a pang of guilt for being so harsh with you last night, and asks where your room is.

When he finds you, you're being comforted by a sibling-in-sin. You've been crying on and off all day and right now you're in one of your low moods as the sibling holds you in their arms.

"You should forget about him, he doesn't deserve you." The sibling soothes, "He doesn't care about you like I do, I would treat you so well."

Yeah, Secondo does not like that one bit. First of all, the possessiveness he feels seeing you in someone else's arms, but also manipulation in the form of comfort to someone at their lowest is something he doesn't condone.

Things happen fast and suddenly you're in his arms pressed against his chest as he holds you bridal style. The sibling looks shocked and a little shameful when Secondo sneers at him. "Cazzo di merda, I don't think so. If I ever see you near them again, I will tear you to pieces from limb to limb." His mismatched eyes flash dangerously, and the sibling immediately books it.

He then looks down to you in his arms, his gaze softening as he takes in your red eyes and puffy cheeks. "Amore mio," he presses a kiss to your forehead. "We have much to talk about, including my apology for being so foolish last night."

He takes you to his room where sits against the headboard with you still tucked in his arms. He doesn't let go or put you down even once.

"Mi dispiace, tesoro. I should not have said no last night."

You are quiet for a long time, and he can't help the nervousness that begins to crawl under his skin. "Yeah, you were kind of an asshole." You finally say.

He can't help the chuckle that escapes but agrees with you. "Mm, si I was an asshole, wasn't I? Will you allow me to try making it up to you, amore mio? We can start over, do this right."

"Start... over?" You sound hesitant, unsure what he means until he kisses your temple again.

"Si, although start anew is probably a better term." He reaches to take your hand in his before pressing a kiss to the back. "I promise to treat you right this time, as a proper lover, a proper partner.”

Your cheeks tint pink at the gesture and you nod slowly before cautiously asking, “Okay but… will we be exclusive? Cause I don’t think I can if we aren’t. I can’t… I don’t want to be just another one of your playthings.”

“Tesoro, yes of course we’ll be exclusive. You are not just one of my playthings, you are so much more. You are my heart, and I need my heart to live, si?”

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and guides your hand over his heart, “Amo te e nessun altro.”

Terzo

I love Terzo to bits and this got a little angsty on his side. I hope I didn't make it too OOC but please enjoy!

With Terzo, it's not a surprise that he has no shortage of lovers. Especially favorites, he has many and amongst them is you. It was the first thing he told you before he bedded you for the first time: don't get attached. And honestly? You knew better.

Still didn't keep you from falling helplessly in love with him, though.

For Terzo, it was rare that anyone ever stayed the night; once they came for what they wanted, they would leave. When he was a younger man it was a devastating realization to make, that he would only ever be an object of seduction, only ever be a conquest and never a true lover. Now though, he's worked hard to build those walls around him, numb himself from the knowledge of knowing to never get attached.

"Do not get attached," was not for you, it was never for you-- you'll come to realize. It was for him. A reminder each time he brings another eager sibling-of-sin to bed, a caution each time a fan offered him 'a night he'll never forget'.

The first night you stay, Terzo writes off as a fluke. A blessing, but a fluke nonetheless. You had fully expected him to say no, to ask you to leave as always. Instead, he had looked a little caught off guard, an expression that rarely crossed his features. "Um... stay the night? Si, of course-- of course! Make yourself comfortable, caro, I'll be just a moment. I get towel to wipe us off, si?"

You don't really think much of it when he seems not to know how to lay next to you, unsure where to put his arms to sleep comfortably, and you quite blatantly ask him if he's done this before. Which he immediately lies and says yes, and then deflates when you don't look convinced and mumbles that no, not really. He hasn't done this before.

You're sad for him-- and you make it a mission to give him the best snuggle session of his life.

And honestly? Just one time and Terzo's completely hooked on you. He doesn't get his hopes up (he knows better than that now), but he does quietly tell you that he hopes that the two of you could maybe do this again sometime. You smile and nod, and ask him if he's free tonight and once more there's that surprised look.

It doesn't become a nightly thing, but it almost does. The first time you come to his room before bed, asking him if you could sleep with him that night, his eyes get large and wide. There was no sex that night, just him in your arms as you showed him what spooning was (he was the little spoon of course).

Months later he's hopeful but too anxious to ask you if the two of you were more than just friends with benefits. In the end, it takes jealousy for him to finally do what he's been wanting to do for a long time.

You're in the cafeteria talking with another sibling-of-sin that is obviously trying to chat you up; leaning in close, eyes flickering to your lips and down your body.

Terzo feels his body get hot, his jaw set straight and firm. He knows he's jealous, he can feel the white hot heat that runs through his veins as someone else tries to take what is his. He manages to stay calm enough not to storm over, talking himself down in his head when movement catches his eye.

The sibling flirting with you makes a comment, and points to a smudge of sauce on your cheek. You look confused and they say something, which you wipe your hand over your mouth, but not quite getting the sauce.

Terzo is moving before the sibling even finishes wiping your cheek with their thumb, his hand curling tight around the sibling's wrist and yanking them away from you.

"Keep your hands to yourself, si?" He snarls, "She's mine."

The cafeteria goes silent and the sibling apologizes very quickly, blabbering about how they didn't realize you were taken, by papa no less, and promising to never bother you again. They flee and stiffly Terzo tells all the onlookers to go back to their own business.

As conversation begins to pick up again and his rage boils down, he feels a flash of embarrassment and shame-- turning to you to apologize for so many different things.

Your lips are on him before he can even get words out, kissing him feverishly and without abandon. He whimpers a little, his hands flying up to hold your waist, gasping for air when you finally pull back.

"Mm, perhaps we should take this to the bedroom, si?" He's breathless, looking down at you and you grin, running your fingers against the soft fabric of his robe. You give him his answer to which he nods with hope in his eyes.

"Sounds like a plan-- but I don't share either, okay?"

Copia

Ah. Copia. My scrunkly little rat man. My little meow meow. My itty bitty blorbo.

You had gotten to know him before he was a cardinal. I'm a sucker for childhood friends to lovers for Copia specifically for some reason so here we are again.

If felt very much that it was the two of you against the world back then. Both of you young adults starting from the bottom trying to climb up to the top for at least some kind of recognition.

There are countless nights spent in his room, squeezed onto that tiny bed of his and lounging around, watching him play his video games. Sitting on the floor and fiddling with guitars and sheet music. Leaning against the door frame as he ran around trying to look for a pair of matching socks (that weren't one of the ridiculously patterned ones you gifted to him for Christmas each year) for a formal event.

Perhaps it was only natural for you two to fall into bed together, helping each other blow off steam. Copia had suggested it; albeit a little shyly and awkwardly. It could help relieve stress, besides it wasn't as if there was anyone at the abby that interested either of you anyways (though that was probably a sign).

And what were you to do? Say no to the man you loved?

So you two became friends with benefits; though the friend part always seemed to come first and foremost. You knew you were important to Copia and that was enough. At least at that time you had thought it would be enough.

When he became cardinal, the two of you got to spend less and less time together. He was often on errands or doing work for Sister Imperator. Still, you would occasionally slip into his room to curl around him for comfort and he would hold you close and murmur how he was happy to see you.

When he became papa, that's when things between the two of you started going downhill. You were proud and happy for him, but you hadn't expected him to change. They weren't huge changes; deep down you knew he would always be the same Copia you've known, but there were changes that you didn't know how to handle.

For Copia, it was the power rush. The idea that people were falling over themselves to sleep with him, to be with him. Though it had always been no strings attached, for the first time you were beginning to experience what it was like to not be the only one in his bed, in his life. For Papa, it was exciting, thrilling. For you, it was lonely, confusing, and heartbreaking.

At least it was a little easier to handle when he was on tour, when you didn't have to physically see him each and every day. But the way your timelines and dashboards would fill to the brim of updates, videos, clips and fans gushing about him and their latest ritual; some days you couldn't even bring yourself to pick up your phone. You didn't want to see footage of the most recent girl he cirice'd, you didn't want to hear the latest raunchy things he's flirted at the audience with.

The two of you still messaged occasionally; though it always felt surface level now. You messaged as often as you could but he rarely would hold any solid conversation. Perhaps he had felt you were too moody when it came to talking about his other flings, when it came to talking about the papa business. Regardless, he didn't reach out often anymore.

At some point, you decided it was perhaps time to move on and began looking into dating seriously. You hadn't really found anyone that interested you, anyone that didn't immediately make you think of how much you wished they were someone else (a certain rat loving dork).

Copia missed you. Every night of tour he would think of you. He would stare at his phone, stare at your messages and think and think and not know what to say. Things had become awkward and tense between the two of you since he became papa; and he knows its because of him. He just couldn't resist the taste of what it felt like being wanted for once (that's a lie and he knows it, he knows you have always wanted him). He was such an idiot, so full of himself, so high off of his newfound fame and achievements that he threw everything else out the door. That he might as well have thrown you out too. So. He had no idea what to say.

"I miss you?" "I wish you were here?" "I'm sorry I slept with other people, it felt like cheating on you even though I said no strings attached?" "I fucked a girl so hard last night she passed out but by satana I wished it was you?"

You were on another first dates of many first dates (that usually stayed first dates) when Copia and his ghouls returned shortly from the European tour. You had done your best to ignore the updates of when he would return; focusing on your date instead.

Just like the rest of the dates you went on, you weren't entirely that interested in this sibling-in-sin that had asked you out. The date wasn't going great in your opinion, but they apparently thought differently because as you were half heartedly trying to respond to some comment they made, they pulled you in for a kiss.

For a second, you didn't move out of shock and by the time your brain had caught up to what was happening, someone else was yanking the sibling off you, tossing them to the ground unceremoniously.

Copia looks furious. Despite being dressed in his casual sweats like he usually does on days off, he's intimidating with the low growl he throws in the direction of the sibling.

He takes a seat in the recently vacated spot next to you, leaning in to snake his arms around you, pulling you into his lap and against your chest.

"W-We're on a date, what the fuck?" The sibling has the balls to stand up to the papa, who gives him a cold glare.

"Chi se ne frega, not anymore you're not," His voice is rougher than you remember, and you shiver a little in his arms. He doesn't seem to take note, too preoccupied in staring down his competition. "Get lost."

You don't really hear what the sibling has to say in response, nor do you really pay attention to where they stomp off to. The only thing you're keenly aware of is the way your back is pressed flush against Copia's chest. You can feel not only your heart pounding, but his too. As soon as the sibling is out of sight, he relaxes against you, his arms loosening a little but still firm.

You're confused to say the least-- unsure what just happened, unsure why he's holding you like he never wants to let go. You feel him gently brush his lips against your temple before murmuring to you.

"Mi dispiace, amore mio. I was a fool, a complete coglione. Please forgive me."

Your heart flutters in your chest, hope unfurling its wings like a butterfly. "C-Copia."

"Amo te e solo te. Prometto." He turns you in his arms and you go willingly. He leans so that your foreheads touch, his eyes meeting yours.

"No one else?" You whisper. He nods a little, forgetting for a moment that your foreheads are connected, bumping into you a little and causing you to giggle. The sound of your joy seems to drain any tension left in him and he whispers back, breathlessly.

"No one else, tesoro. Just you."

[pastafossa]

Haunted (Matt Murdock x TRT!Reader, Fic, SFW)🌧️

Right, so close to 3 years ago, I had an ask in my box: 'what would happen if TRT!Reader/Jane Hind lost her memory just before returning to Matt after her three months away', aka: just before point where they both confessed their love and got together in mainline TRT. So I wrote up a fairly angsty, no happy ending sort of fic about it, which you can find here. But there just felt like there was more to the story, and the idea of a sequel wouldn't leave me alone, so I've worked on it in little bits and pieces over the past few years and I'm finally ready to unleash that into the world now that it's been edited to my satisfaction.

This will have a happy ending and hurt/comfort, once we swim through a lot of Matt Suffering. <3 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it.  He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow.  There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting.  Matt was alone.  You’d left him alone.  It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back. So… why did you feel so very sick?

Wordcount: 11, 805 words so, hilariously, about 3 times the length of Part 1

Warnings for this chapter: angst, alcohol, matt spiraling fairly badly, he throws some things, LOTS of TRT references and spoilers so I wouldn't do this one unless you've finished the Miami arc in TRT.

Sad Matt gif as a reminder that the angst is pretty heavy here because I'm really going to emotionally beat on this poor man for a bit.

At Ciro’s insistence, you gave yourself one month in Hell’s Kitchen. 

A month wasn’t much time, granted, but it would hopefully be enough to see if there was a chance of bringing back the memories you’d lost: memories of friends, of your life here, and of… of whatever it was that you’d had with Matt Murdock. Based on his grief over the loss of Jane Hind—not you, but her surely, the role, the mask you’d worn while here—his attachment to her had been deep and fervent, and those feelings appeared to have been at least partly reciprocated. The dangerously intimate photo you’d found in your memory box was all the proof you needed of that. 

Your past self had already been accustomed to his touch when the photo was taken, based on the way she’d allowed him to press his head tenderly to her temple, his dark eyes warm and fond as he'd smiled in her direction even if he couldn't see her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She should have been put off by the proximity, by such a blatant show of physical intimacy, but instead of looking distressed, she’d been relaxed and comfortable where she’d confidently tucked herself up against his side. Try as you might, you hadn’t been able to find any hint of discomfort, any clue that signaled the obvious affection she’d felt was an act, her shoulder angled in a way that made you think she’d wrapped her arm comfortably around his waist, her grin bright and so very real.

This couldn’t be you.

When was the last time you'd looked that happy?

When was the last time you’d let someone hold you close? 

And when was the last time someone had looked at you like… like they might… 

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

“I believe that… you might have, yes. Him, and this city. That is why I encourage you to stay, for a time at least. See if the memories return to you. Even should you leave, it would be wise to know of the life you led here.”

Ciro had sent a check to your office, booking you for the month and clearing your schedule. Just like that, you were free to focus on looking for something that might trigger the return of your memories. Though what that something might be, you weren’t really sure. A more thorough examination of the apartment had been your first step. Unfortunately, there’d been nothing there that seemed familiar beyond the same cheap decor and calculated set pieces you’d always used. You’d quickly ruled those out. They were meaningless distractions meant to reinforce the lie of whatever pre-planned identity you’d taken on. In this case, that identity was Jane Hind—practical, professional, detached, likes sailboat paintings and the color grey. Based on the fine layer of dust you'd found coating everything but the kitchen counter and a neat stack of mail, no one else had spent much time here during your months away. That, at least, fit your pattern. You weren’t in the habit of making friends or putting down roots. There was no point in doing so when you’d just wind up cutting them loose and running again. 

What had unsettled you far more were the hints of connection you’d found quietly tucked away:

A fleecy stuffed bear holding a plush crystal ball, the threads connecting the two uneven as if hand-stitched. That kind of time and effort wouldn’t have been spent on anyone but a friend, and the bear’s prominent position on the counter lent it far more importance than any of the other decorations.

A tacky ‘Handsome Devil’ coffee mug, the curling red script and clichéd devil horns design bizarrely out of place amongst the rest of the plain white mugs in the cupboard. An identity like Jane Hind wouldn’t have been caught dead drinking from it, which meant someone else was here with enough regularity to have a mug of their own. Further digging revealed a second decorated mug, this one adorned with the name of the law firm co-run by Matt. You could have written off one mug, but two? Two was a pattern.

An entire drawer in the dresser devoted solely to a pile of dangerously soft shirts that clearly didn’t belong to Jane Hind, the fabric threadbare and worn. They looked about the right size to be Matt’s, though, the faint traces of scent a match for him. The fact that they took up an entire drawer indicated he’d visited often enough to need a space for his clothes. 

You’d… made space for him in your false life. That wasn’t something you did.

Or had you been the one wearing them? 

Maybe…?

You’d spent a long moment holding one of the shirts in your hand, rubbing at the fabric in hopes of stirring something. When that hadn’t worked, you’d even brought it up to your nose to inhale slowly, just in case the traces of scent brought some memory back. 

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon. 

All it had done was remind you of holding a grieving Matt in his kitchen after he’d realized your memories weren’t coming back. It was a gloomy enough memory, but ultimately unhelpful.

You'd tossed the old shirt on top of the dresser and moved on. 

While you didn’t know who exactly you’d been here in New York, the longer you searched, the more it became clear what had happened. You’d started to slip, your years of isolation forming a crack in your layers of armor. That fracture had allowed an attachment to form, an insidious connection worming its way in through the open gap like poisonous roots through crumbling pavement. You’d grown weak, and careless. There was no other explanation for why you’d broken so many of your rules, dominoes tipping one by one until it cascaded into a waterfall of mistakes. You’d slipped before, of course—loneliness was natural and expected, which was why you had so many contingencies—but you’d never let yourself get in this deep. Not until now. 

What you didn’t know was… 

Why?

Why here? 

Why these people? 

And why the fuck hadn’t you followed your rules and run? 

If there was an answer to be found in Jane Hind’s apartment, you couldn’t seem to find it, no matter how hard you look, no matter how many of her belongings you dug through. Even your memory box had failed you, the photo of you and Matt at the back of your stack of pictures an outlier you couldn’t explain, this fruit of an as-yet unidentified poisonous tree. You had no real leads, no faint ringing of memory to guide you beyond a vague sense that, somehow, this started with Matt. You didn’t even know where to begin. 

At least, not until some shaggy-haired guy named Foggy—what the fuck kind of nickname was that?—showed up entirely and rudely unannounced at your front door, dressed in a cheap suit and wearing a bizarrely determined look. Despite your doubts, you reluctantly allowed him in. He made it pretty clear he knew you, and if you were lucky he could tell you more about your life here.

“So I know you usually skedaddle when things get uncomfortable, which I imagine they are at the moment. How long are you trying to stay?” 

“One month.” You shrugged casually, a cover for just how warily you were watching him as he paced in your—in Jane Hind’s living area. He knew far more about you than you knew about him, a reversal you were uncomfortably aware of. That vulnerability was almost enough to trigger a retreat beneath that cold, brittle shell you’d used long ago, though you quickly caught hold of that instinct and buried it back down deep where it belonged. Still, you couldn’t quite hide the cool clip to your voice, your walls firmly in place. “Leaving after that. Don’t see the point in staying if the memories are gone. Truthfully I’m not sure why I stayed in the first place, especially once it was clear I was getting attached. No offense.” 

“None taken, my hopefully-still-friend-when-your-memories-come-back.” He abruptly swiveled on his feet to face you, squinting at you thoughtfully. “How badly do you want your memories back?” 

You thought of out-of-place mugs and hand-stitched psychic teddy bears; of faint cinnamon and a worn photo frame; of the way you’d held a broken Matt in his kitchen until he’d carefully pushed you away and asked you to leave, his face closed off and distant despite the tears on his cheeks and yours. 

You’d… been someone here. Someone cared for. Someone whose loss was mourned.  

Even if you left, you needed to know just who that someone had been, if only so you could make sure this never happened again. Not until you reached your island in the sun. 

“Badly enough to stay for the month,” you said quietly. 

“Then put some shoes on. We’re going on a memory hunt.”

Over the next few weeks, Foggy took you all over Hell’s Kitchen. 

You visited Jane Hind’s office, abandoned warehouses, and empty rooftops covered in thick blankets of snow. He reintroduced you to Karen, to your upstairs neighbors, and to a bartender who didn’t seem all that inclined to be introduced to anyone. You drank crappy beer and slightly less crappy vodka, played pool, and went to the zoo to stare for far too long at penguins, which Foggy refused to explain no matter how much you pressed. He had you focus on sights, on smells, on sounds that might trigger a memory. He joked with you in between, and he was just funny enough, friendly and clever enough, that for the first week or so, you were consistently cracking a smile. Hell, you even laughed now and then, much to your surprise. He really did know you, enough so that you gradually began to relax around him, just a little. He was likely hoping the addition of a friend’s voice would bring back what you’d lost, especially when paired with all the other sensations. 

But no matter how much you both tried, your memories remained lost. 

God, you hadn’t thought this would… would hurt as much as it did. Yet with every day that you failed to find your way back to who you’d been, the more that fierce ache, that old longing inside you grew. Your smiles became brittle, your laughter fading, until both finally dried up like withered, crumbling leaves beneath a bitter frost. You couldn't help pulling away really, not when your soul curling up in the dark might protect you from the agony of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found what you'd always wanted. How fitting that it had been ripped away from your bloodied, desperate hands like so many times before, one more square for the filthy patchwork quilt of shredded lives and possibilities you’d been forced to leave behind. What was worse: even your memories of that seeming joy had been stolen, too, leaving you with nothing left to carry but the tattered scraps of a ghost and the photograph of a stranger wearing your skin.

It shouldn’t have been possible to miss what you couldn’t remember. Yet here you were missing it all the same. 

It didn’t help that Matt was avoiding you in every way that mattered. You’d thought about calling him if only to ask him questions about your life here, but you could never quite work up the courage to do it. He must have felt the same since he hadn’t reached out to you, either. And why would he? He knew as well as you did that your memories likely weren’t coming back. It made sense to cut that connection, tear it away like a weed before the roots could do more damage—something you should have done sooner, for both your sakes. What you hadn’t expected was just how good he was at dodging you, somehow absent no matter how many places Foggy took you to, places he swore Matt frequented with you when you’d lived here, as if Matt’s mere presence might be enough to trigger some memory in you. Had he been that important? Either way, it didn’t matter. You hadn’t seen Matt once since you’d walked out, doing your best to ignore his hitched breath as you’d opened the door. You’d forced yourself to ignore, too, the broken, agonized sound of grief that he’d let out as you quietly shut the door behind you, leaving him alone. 

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it. 

He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow. 

There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting. 

Matt was alone. 

You’d left him alone. 

It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back.

So… why did you feel so very sick? 

Sympathy. 

That was all you were feeling. Matt was grieving a woman he’d cared about, one who’d died and left a cold stranger in her place. It was normal to feel for someone in that much pain, and no one should be alone while grieving. Maybe this was for the best. The sooner you were fully out of his life, the sooner all his friends and family could step in, and the sooner he could move on. He wouldn’t be alone, then. And even if he was, his loneliness wasn’t your goddamn problem. You had more than enough troubles of your own.

Protect yourself. 

Protect what you might one day have. 

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright. 

He did his best to avoid you, but that only grew more difficult once your ghost began to haunt his every step.

Even Josie’s quickly became off-limits—something he discovered one night when he stepped through the front door where he was promptly met with the familiar, comforting scent of you floating like a haze beneath the smell of cheap beer and sour sweat. His body went rigid the moment he recognized it, your presence across the room a sharpened knife that only widened the wound carved into him by your death. And if the scent of you was a knife, then your bark of laughter was a cruel twist of the blade, one that left him gutted and shaking there in the doorway. He drank in his apartment after that, waiting for that blessed moment when he would feel nothing, waiting for the very second the glorious shroud of night fell. Only then could he finally escape to the streets and drown himself in a far better kind of pain, taking his rage and his grief out on whatever piece of shit had the misfortune of falling into the Devil’s path. 

But Foggy seemed determined to shove the specter of you directly into his face. 

“You need to talk to her!” Foggy snapped, his voice only just shy of a shout. Matt ignored him as he headed for his office, desperate to retreat from your scent lingering on Foggy’s clothes. Foggy had taken you to a coffee shop that morning, one you’d frequented when you’d lived here, and now each inhalation was a vicious torment. It felt like breathing in shards of glass, the sharp pain of it throbbing with every stuttered, choked breath he drew in. If Foggy noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Christ, Matt! You love her and we both know it. If you talk to her, it might trigger something—”

“Stop,” Matt grit out, reaching up to scrub his hand angrily over his face. He stalked his way over to his desk, still desperate to escape somehow, even if it was into his work. “Just stop, Foggy. I did talk to her, and you know what happened? Nothing. She didn’t remember anything at all. She’s gone, and you dragging this out is just making everything worse for all of us.” 

“So what, you’re just gonna roll over?” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms as he planted his feet in Matt’s doorway. “Are you sure you actually loved her? Because I’m pretty sure she loved y—”

Matt slammed his fist down on his desk, the furious crack of it echoing through the office like a gunshot as he shouted, “Don’t you fucking dare!” 

Tension hung thick in the air as Matt’s chest heaved, his teeth bared, blood and adrenaline running hot in his veins as if Foggy were some sort of-of threat. Everything in him shook with rage, or maybe unshed grief, the burden of them both impossibly twisted and tangled beneath the sea of his guilt and his self-loathing until he couldn’t tell which was which. He just couldn’t—how was he supposed to force it all down when Foggy had just come so close, so dangerously close to shattering what few pieces remained of Matt’s crumbling armor?

It was bad enough loving you the way he did only for you to slip through his bloodied, desperate grasp like whispering grains of sand. What was worse, this entire disaster was one of his own making, a series of mistakes whose snarled, winding paths led inevitably back to him just like they had so many times before in his life. This loss of someone who’d truly understood him, accepted him, cared for him had already broken something inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to repair. But that fracturing inside him would surely rise up to consume him if Foggy were right, if you’d truly cared for him that deeply before your memories were taken, so deeply that you might even have…

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you. 

Abruptly Matt’s surge of rage drained away and his head fell, leaving him feeling all the more empty and broken. He braced his arms weakly against his desk, drawing in a shaky breath as he forced himself to confess, his voice gone hoarse and ragged with grief. “I loved her, Foggy.” He lifted one shaking hand to his face. “God, I loved her so, so much. I can’t… I don’t know what to do without her now that she’s gone.” “I know, Matt,” Foggy said gently. “I know.” “I loved how she always smelled a little like coffee, and the way she always managed to wind up climbing into the oddest places for a case. She had one of the foulest mouths I’ve ever heard, but I swear she could use it to talk her way out of almost anything or to bring someone up out of whatever dark hole they were trapped in. She was… far kinder than she’d ever admit.” His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it, the expression miserable and gutted. You’d have likely argued with him about how kind you were if you’d been here. But there was no chance of that now, no matter how much the scent of you on the air told him otherwise. “Some days it felt like she was the only thing holding me together, like the only time I could breathe was when she held me in her arms. She was always there when I fell apart, or when it all… when it all started to hurt too much. And I tried to give her whatever pieces of me the Kitchen hadn’t already taken, to be there for her like she was for me, to keep her safe. We were finally going to make our relationship official when she came back, her and me, even if there’d… already been something there for a while now if I’m honest.” 

And it had, it had been there, this soft, tender thing that had developed slowly but surely between the two of you, a tangling that came by degrees rather than all at once. It had sprouted, grown, and blossomed so gradually that even now he struggled to point to any one moment where it had truly begun—the night he found you in the warehouse, maybe, or that first game of Devil Hunt, or when you’d both almost taken the leap before he’d realized you were drunk. But the question of where it began didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was there, something nameless yet still so good and warm and perfect, a connection nurtured in the low light and the blood-soaked soil of the Kitchen. You’d felt it just like he had, and you’d been willing to take that chance with him despite the baggage he carried behind him like an anchor destined to drag him down. You never would have agreed to kiss him when you came back otherwise. Now that chance was gone. 

“How much did she know before she left?” Foggy asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. 

”She knew that I-that I wanted to be with her, but I never told her that I loved her.” Matt blew out a slow, heavy breath. “I was too scared of chasing her away, I guess. I thought maybe when she came back, if she still wanted me, I would… I decided that I would tell her. But I waited too long. Now she’s gone and I’ll never be able to tell her. All because of me.” 

He finally lifted his head, tipping it at Foggy. Neither of them dared mention the wetness on Matt’s cheeks. Even speaking about this—about how much he’d loved you only for him to ruin it—was almost more than he could bear, the edges of the wound still fresh and raw. Then again, maybe he deserved that pain after how miserably he’d failed you, just like everyone else in his life. “I miss her. And what’s worse is even when she’s right there in front of me, she’s not. She’s not, Foggy. Because I-I fucked up. I’m the reason the woman I knew, the woman I loved, died. I’m the reason she’ll never remember what we had, why I’ll never hold her again, and why she’ll leave New York at the end of the month like she does whenever she’s afraid of forming a connection.” He let out a bitter laugh, waving towards the windows, towards the place you’d once held dear. “I couldn’t even keep her here before. She almost ran last summer and the only thing that stopped her was being kidnapped. That was what slowed her down long enough for our thread to turn red, not me. She won’t let that happen a second time, not now that she’s seen what happens to people I care about. Do you understand?” 

The door to Nelson and Murdock creaked open, Karen’s voice making its way in first. Her voice was followed only a moment later by another’s, one still so familiar. 

“—I mean, winding up in a pool while chasing a kid sounds about right for me, so even if I don’t remember, I won’t argue—”

“I had to keep you here somehow.” Foggy’s voice remained quiet, but there was no disguising the ferocity in it now, the fervent belief. “Get out of your own head and talk to her, Matt. Fight for her. She would want you to.” 

No. 

No, no, no.

Your body may have been here, whole and real, but the woman who’d known him wasn’t. The song of your voice, your sweet scent, the flames of heat and stirred air currents around you flaring into a familiar shape: all of it was nothing but a lie, a snare for his senses, a ghost of his own making, and he wasn’t about to be caught by it again. 

He darted back around his desk, shoving his way past Foggy on the way toward the front door, his heart racing. If he was quick, if he just put up enough of a front, he could get out before they trapped you here with him like they’d planned. He wouldn’t relive this grief again, he couldn’t, not without falling apart. The moment he’d had with you in his apartment had been enough agony for one lifetime. 

“Hey, Matt.” You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly on your feet where you’d stopped by the front door. Your stance was cautious and guarded, almost wary of him. It was just one more reminder of how uncomfortable he made you now. “Are you—”

“Heading out,” he said stiffly, only belatedly remembering to trace one hand along the wall as if his heightened senses hadn’t given him a clear map of the room the moment his adrenaline spiked. That spike was a curse all its own. It made the scent of you so much stronger, the lie of it fresh and present as it twined around him. His chest hitched just once before he forced himself to breathe his mouth. But that route of escape had been cut off, too. All it did was shift his focus to the taste of you on the air, and the taste of familiar fabric once so tenderly given. 

You were wearing one of his shirts. 

He fumbled for his cane, his hands starting to shake before he finally found it where he’d left it against the wall. He couldn’t let you see him like this. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t remember him, nor was it your fault that he’d lost you. He’d done enough damage without adding a layer of guilt to what you were dealing with, too. But despite his attempts to hide what he was feeling, his face a hard mask, your fingers still brushed gently against his arm a moment later. It was an offer of help, or maybe an attempt to reach out, to slow him down, to connect. It was a kindness, a sympathy he didn’t deserve. Even now, you read him far too well, this touch the same as it had been that first night he’d met you when you’d gently brushed your hand against his arm. “Hey, do you need… I could walk you home.”

He shied away from your touch, finally managing to roughly unsnap his cane before going for the door. “I’m fine. I just—I have things to take care of. Excuse me.”  

He went straight home and showered, but no matter how many times he scrubbed, he couldn’t seem to wash the ghost of your scent away.

You slowly wandered around Matt’s office, taking it in. This was another place you’d supposedly frequented, a place that should have been familiar, and one you'd avoided until now.

Even though Foggy had assured you it was alright, it felt… almost wrong to explore a stranger’s space like this without them present. But you couldn’t help but brush your fingers across the battered desk and the small labels in braille you couldn’t read, run your hands along the chair for clients that you might have sat in once, and trace curiously the small seashell next to Matt’s laptop. The base scents of Matt were stronger here where he spent so much time, only partly erased by the smell of coffee and paper. The room was clean, cared for, and well-organized despite how rundown the office was. Important to him. You could tell that much, even if the scents and sights had failed to spark any memories.

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough. 

This was about more than just figuring out who you were, now. For some reason, you needed to know who Matt was, too: this man Jane Hind had cared so much about and who’d cared so much about her. You told yourself it was practical. Matt was your best bet when it came to remembering who you’d been. But some part of you deep down recognized the lie. No, there was something in you inescapably drawn to him, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe that strange, unnatural gravity was what had started this whole mess in the first place. What was it about him that was so different, that had driven you to break every last rule you’d lived your life by for over a decade? 

And why… did you spend so long wondering if he’d ever climbed out his office window?

It had been twenty-nine days, and not a single memory had returned. 

Oh, there were beats now and then when you thought that maybe, just maybe something was coming back, but those moments were painfully few and far between. Even in those moments, you couldn’t say remembered anything, exactly. It was more a frustrating sense of deja vu, a fleeting little itch at the back of your mind like you’d forgotten something important, flashing road markers to warn you of the dark, empty gaps in your memory. That sense was probably driven at least in part by Foggy’s growing desperation as he frantically hunted for something that might trigger a return of your memories. 

But the rest of that feeling… the rest was all you. 

There was no denying a traitorous part of you wanted to remember no matter how ill-advised it might be. You wanted to remember this bizarre little family you’d stumbled into and then lost, just like in Los Angeles. You wanted to remember the love you’d had for this place, this city, this taste of mutual affection that had grown up around you after going so long without. After endless ages and ages of drought, of starvation, you hungered for even these bare crumbs of connection, something to tide you over until you found safe haven on the distant horizon. What a tempting thought it was to slither back into the life of this woman who’d been so cruelly murdered and replaced by a stranger wearing her skin.

Was this what a demon felt like when it took over a body? To walk around with someone else’s face, to speak with the unnatural voice of the dead, tormenting the loved ones that remained? 

That, ultimately, was why it didn’t matter what you wanted. Your presence in this city only spread rot and suffering. It would be better for everyone involved if you left like you should have long before now. Then they could all grieve without you tainting the very soil around them. 

Especially Matt. 

You’d seen him once or twice in passing as your time in New York wound down. Even at a distance, you’d marked the growing circles under his eyes, dark enough to be visible despite the glasses he always wore. The rest of him wasn’t doing much better. It seemed like every time he crossed your path, there was another bruise, another cut across his face or knuckles, a shifting canvas of pain painted across skin grown pale and drawn. He didn’t just look tired—that wasn’t what this was. This was something far worse, a haggard exhaustion, a weariness that couldn’t be solved with sleep, if he slept at all. This was someone being haunted. 

Probably because the ghost of Jane Hind kept crossing his path. But that would be solved soon enough. 

You’d already packed up your things, not that you had much to take. Just your bag and your memory box. You’d be leaving the next day. Foggy was still convinced he had a few more days, but you had other plans. You couldn’t give Matt back the woman he’d lost, nor could you give him a body to bury, a grave to lay flowers across, but you could give him what Jane Hind had carried with her until her dying breath. 

“I thought you might… want these before I left tomorrow,” you said quietly. “I… sorry, it’s… it’s a bag with my—with her things.” 

Matt took it carefully from you, the motion mechanical and stiff. He hadn’t really invited you the rest of the way into his apartment, the two of you now stalled out in the hallway just beyond the closed front door. He hadn’t taken his glasses off, either. It made it harder to read him, his face closed off and impassive, a wall of red glass placed firmly between you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen his eyes even once since that day you’d first come back, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t like feeling vulnerable, either, though that was just a guess when it came to what he might be feeling. 

“It’s the shirts from her apartment, which I think are yours. And the stuffed bear.” You bit your lip and released it slowly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “And the… the mug, which Nelson said was yours, too. The one you used at her place. I also put the hoodie in there, the one she had with her while she was traveling. And…” You reached into your pocket, fumbling for a moment. God, you were bad at this, unsure of just how to do this without hurting him any more than was absolutely necessary. It wasn’t a concern you usually dealt with since your goal was almost always the exact opposite, a precaution meant to destroy any threads of connection they held with you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t giving you much to work with, though you didn’t miss his subtle flinch when you drew the key from your pocket. “I thought you might want this, too.”

You cautiously edged forward, daring to breach the ring of radiant heat that surrounded him, the closest you’d come to him in almost a month. He went stiff as you approached, his jaw growing tight as the gap between you both closed. Another step, and his head cocked as if he were listening to your footsteps, or maybe… maybe he was just waiting to find out what you had to give him. But he wasn’t telling you to fuck off or just set your gift aside, which was a good sign. So you hesitantly reached out and brushed your fingers lightly against his bicep, a signal so he knew you were about to pass him something. 

A breath.

He remained absolutely still amidst the sudden, crackling tension in the air as your fingertips skated gently down and around his forearm, stirring all the little hairs, his skin shockingly warm. All you’d intended to do to take his arm and guide it up so you could place the key in his hand, but you quickly found yourself distracted by a ragged scar along the back of his forearm, one your fingers seemingly made their way to on instinct. It was a deep scar, the original cut likely made by some sort of blade, the edges of it rough and uneven from messy stitching. Your curiosity got the better of you, so much so that you missed the way Matt had begun to hold his breath.

“Who fucked up the sutures on that?” You furrowed your brow, your thumb smoothly marking out the jagged line of it. “They did a terrible job. No offense.” 

Matt’s face fell and you only realized too late just who it was that must have patched him up. 

Before you could blink, he’d yanked his arm out of your grip as if your touch had burned him. “Don’t,” he grit out, his chest heaving as he put a few steps distance between you both. “You can—just put your key on the bench.” 

“How did you know—” “Because there’s only one thing left it could be.” 

You nodded weakly, taking a few steps back towards the little bench beside the door. That unfamiliar ache, that sense of wrongness was back, the weight of it settling uneasily in your chest like a stone until you almost wanted to retch. It didn’t help that Matt was just barely holding himself together while you were here. 

Best to say what you’d come to say and leave him be. 

You gently set the key down, and the quiet click of the brass against the wood seemed to echo in the hallway, a graveyard bell tolling with a looming sense of finality. What you were about to tell him would hurt, you knew it would, but maybe one day he’d find comfort in it. This—a sign of what she’d felt—was the real gift you’d truly come to give, the only true token of her you could offer. Your words, when you spoke, were almost as hoarse as his. “I thought you should know I… she wore it. The key. I asked them. She wore your key and she never took it off. Not once. Whatever you both had, she treasured it, and all she wanted was to get back to you. She didn’t leave you by choice, Matt. I hope that… that helps.” 

Of all the things you’d said and done, it was this that finally seemed to break him. His face twisted in a sudden wave of grief, and regret hit you all at once. You quickly took a step towards him, one hand out, though you weren’t sure what you’d do if he reached back—it wasn’t like you knew how to comfort him, and you sure as hell didn’t know if he’d tolerate you holding him again, nor whether he was someone that needed some sort of touch when he was hurting. But before you could take another step he’d flinched away from you, retreating quickly back into the darkness of his apartment, his voice ragged. “Just go. Get out.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, backing away towards the door. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”  

It shouldn’t have hurt as you closed that door one last time. But you cried all the same. 

Somewhere within the apartment came the sound of splintering furniture and a hoarse scream wracked with grief.

“Look, Nelson.” You tiredly adjusted the strap of your duffle bag over your shoulder, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as if it would stem your growing headache. “I know it’s a day early. But another twenty-four hours isn’t going to make a fucking difference.” 

“I don’t need another day!” he pleaded, his arms spread wide where he’d blocked your front door, ensuring you couldn’t leave your apartment until you’d heard him out. You’d had no idea he even had a key until today and, not for the first time, you cursed Jane Hind’s apparent lack of common sense. You did not give out keys, or at least, you hadn’t before coming here to this ridiculous fucking city. “Just five minutes. That’s all. I’ve got one last thing to try.”

“Maybe I don’t want to try one more thing!” you snapped bitterly, dropping your hand. That anger was a good cover for the way something sharp and prickly had begun to catch in your throat, the incident with Matt still fresh in your mind. “I’ve tried for a month, and it’s gotten me nothing. Fucking-fucking bars and random rooftops and a shitty little duck, goddamn penguins and keys, and none of it did shit! Jane’s gone, ok? She’s dead. And I’m sorry, I know you all cared about her, but I’m done—”

“Have you climbed inside a thread?” 

“...What?” you asked in sudden bewilderment, your rage abruptly faltering in the face of pure confusion. “What the fuck does that even me—”

He let out a whoop, practically dancing on his feet. “Yes! I knew it! I can’t believe no one told you!” 

“Told me what?!” You chucked your bag back onto your couch in sudden exasperation. If this was thread-related, at the very least you could stay long enough to listen. “There’s nothing to climb!”

“Ok, so stick with me.” He rubbed his palms together eagerly, a bright light in his eyes. “Because I’m about to get really metaphysical.”

It took you what felt like hours to climb inside the shimmering honey-colored thread that lay between you and Matt—a thread that sang with his sorrow and your reluctant sympathy. 

It wasn’t right having your soul constricted like this, all of who you were narrowing down into something so small as you squirmed through a barrier that tasted and felt like dirt and earth, chasing after the sound of trickling water. There wasn’t supposed to be anything on the other side. It was an emotional connection, nothing more.

And yet here you were, standing in a place that had no reason to exist.

“Holy shit,” you whispered in amazement, spinning on your heels to examine your surroundings. “Holy shit, he was right.”

Despite the late hour, the air was full of a muted light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, tinting the world a hazy, eerie green. High up above you roiled thick, sullen black storm clouds, silent flashes of red lightning carving their way between swirls of charred smoke. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see by.

And what you saw was heartbreaking. 

You stood in a dry, stony riverbed. The ground beneath you was cracked and brittle where the water had receded, leaving behind nothing but dust and broken branches. The river itself remained though just barely, the thin trickle of flowing water down the center of the riverbed a far cry from whatever immense force had carved its way through the landscape until the banks were a good ten paces from one side to the other. The terrain beyond the river didn’t look much better, wilted, drooping cattails dotted up the bank before giving way to endless forest that stretched farther than your eye could see. Like the cattails and scrub, the pine and fir trees stood withered and brown, casting their empty branches up toward the sky. 

If it had been beautiful here once, whatever had happened to you had destroyed that beauty. 

“Jesus,” you whispered. 

“Can you hear me?” Foggy’s voice sounded distant and far away, tinny like he was talking through a long tunnel. 

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

“...Ok, if you’re trying to respond, I can’t hear you. But according to Matt, whenever you were here, it felt like memories. So poke around, see what you can find.”

You sighed and started down the riverbed. “Not super helpful, but ok. Let’s give it a shot.” 

The water was the most obvious place to start, and you made your way over to the thin stream that ran raggedly across the parched soil. Much to your fascination, you quickly discovered that what you’d thought was one current was actually two, one layered over the top of the other, each flowing in the opposite direction. The first of those currents hiding on the bottom was fairly calm, steady if a little restless, swirls of pale color that almost felt like curiosity, though how you understood that translation was a mystery. The second current seemed far rougher where it roiled atop the first, its section of the stream cloudy and thick with swirls of black and the red of an open wound. You hovered over the second current for a long moment, working up your courage, before you finally knelt and hesitantly brushed against it with one finger. It was just water. How bad could it be? 

The moment your skin made contact, your chest seized on a sudden swell of agony. Your mouth filled with the taste of grief, with the sound of an empty home, the lack of some familiar scent that meant affection and warmth and softness and safety, the ache of an old wound reopened just when it had started to heal. Alone, always alone, I deserve it, so many gone, he was right, when will I learn? There was no hope for comfort from that pain, no escape from the darkness into tender arms that could hold you just right when it all hurt. All you had to look forward to was more— 

You threw yourself backward, scrambling away from that terrible current as if what you’d felt might rise up and chase after you, snapping its teeth the whole way. You didn’t stop retreating until your back slammed against the dry soil of the riverbank. Only then did you stop, panting, your eyes wide in shock as you cradled your hand against your heaving chest. 

Emotion. It’s emotion.

That was what the water was. Matt’s emotion. Which meant the other current—one now shifting back to yellow despite a momentary surge of twisting, roiling black—was… yours. 

Right. So you could rule the water out. But if that was emotion, where was memory? 

Examining the rest of the river was the most obvious next step now that you’d ruled out the water. Based on what you could see, the original riverbed had been a mix of silt and stones of varying sizes, a firm foundation beneath a once-powerful river. Now, though, the grey, dried-out silt was covered in a strange sea of divots and dips, as if something—a lot of somethings—had been plucked up and removed. You traced one of the indents in the soil curiously, lifting your hand back up to consider the grit as you rubbed it between your fingers. Another glance around revealed the answer. 

The stones. 

There were still plenty of stones remaining in the riverbed, but the divots in the dry silt told you there’d once been far more. If that was what you’d lost, then maybe…  

You rocked up eagerly to your feet, pacing around breathlessly as you searched for a promising stone to start with. Eventually you made your pick, plucking up a stone just small enough to fit in your palm, flat and smooth save for a little groove in it as if someone had run their fingers over it endlessly. Strangely, it smelled like honey and herbs, the surface oddly warm against your hand like the brush of a thumb against your mouth. You waited for a long, impatient moment, and when nothing else happened, you tapped it a few times. 

Still nothing. 

And something inside you… cracked. 

“Fuck!” you screamed, hurling the stone back down the river in a sudden rage. The pain and the loneliness you’d been suppressing for the last month, the last year, the horrible, endless eternity since leaving your family in Los Angeles began to claw its way up your throat, the clouds churning wildly above you in response. A wild rain came next, each droplet sharp and cold and edged like the blade of a knife, bitter and biting as it beat against your skin. You grabbed another stone, one that tasted like shitty beer—Josie’s beer. You threw that rock, too, then another and another, throwing stones that smelled and tasted and felt like your shriek of laughter as he grinned and caught you against his chest, like torn flesh and a needle held by tender hands, like your face nuzzling fearlessly against Matt’s throat as he whispered comfort into your hair and held you close, like synced breathing and hearts and dances between binary stars as you both fell into sleep, fell into safety, fell into one another, phantom sensations that only made the fierce ache in you grow stronger because with every stone you snatched up it became clear that… 

You’d been loved. 

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world. 

Not the walls you’d put up in front of him before he’d found some way past them. 

You. 

And he’d loved you with every part of him. 

You weren’t sure when you started crying, a violent, vicious stream of tears that was just as much a product of rage as grief. Here was someone who’d loved you fully, loved you despite every asterisk and bit of baggage and sharpened edge that came with being a broken hound, with being a former experiment still on the run. But you barely noticed your tears, spitting up at the unforgiving clouds and the howling wind, because you could howl, too, just as violent, just as much a threat as any storm in this place. “I want my fucking life back! I want him back!” 

You hadn’t wanted it before, or maybe you had and you’d just been too afraid to ask for it. But now? Oh, oh, now you were furious, furious and hurting and screaming, because you’d denied yourself connection all these years only to find it in the last place you’d expected. That was what this had been—home, family, love. That had to be why you’d stayed in New York, why you’d risked everything for these people, for Matt. You weren’t an idiot. You’d have run the numbers and the math, made your calculations.

You couldn’t bear to lose this. Not… not again. 

You threw stone after stone, hunting frantically as your fingers bled dry, desperate fury into the air, reddened drops disappearing before they ever hit the ground. The trickle of water in the center of the riverbed had churned itself into a frenzy, but you ignored it. There had to be something here that would trigger a memory, something that would let you remember being loved again, something big enough, important enough, so you grabbed and you grabbed and grabbed and grabbed and grabbed until at last, you found a stone the size of your fist. You snatched it up with a ragged sob, cradling it greedily against your chest as if doing so might let you carry it out of here, because you wanted it, you wanted him, wanted to remember more than anything in the world. 

“Let me have it!” you snarled, snapping your teeth at the howling winds of the storm as if you might catch this place between your jaws and tear it open until you at last found what belonged to you. “Give it back!” 

And with a blink—

He tore one of his bloodied gloves off, his hand shaking as he reached out to you.

You stilled the moment his fingertips brushed tenderly against your cheek, so very gentle, affection layered over blood and earth and hurt. And god, your skin was so terribly dry and cold, the beat of your heart uneven as it struggled to pump blood through your body, but he could feel you react to him, the barest parting of your lips as you dragged in a startled breath. He didn’t want to startle you further or risk you fighting him, so he let his voice drop into a whisper, soft as the brush of a feather.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

‘I heard you,’ he tried to say. ‘I heard you. I’m here.’

And your weakened heart… skipped.

He wasn’t sure if he reached for you or if you reached for him. All he knew was it was the sign he’d been looking for. In a heartbeat, he scooped you up off the floor, stealing you back from that dry, filthy cement and crusted blood that had tried to take you from him. He cradled your cold body against his chest, then, held you there where it was warm and where you were safe. You made the softest little noise, the sound choked and dry, but there was no disguising the heartbreaking relief in it. He pulled you in further, pulled you up until you were curled up in his lap, not an ounce of air left between your bodies, your head laying against his shoulder.

He would never let you touch the floor of this place again.

“D…” you mumbled, not one hint of fear in you despite what he’d just done, the blood on his hands and the burning heat of violence that still lingered in his bones. You wearily slid your head over, inch by inch, until you’d buried your face against the sweat-slick line of his throat, nuzzling in against him with a hoarse sigh that only made him hold you tighter. You inhaled slowly then, heedless of the blood and dirt and sweat that coated his skin, your fingers coming up to hook weakly in the collar of his shirt. “You came.”

And you… smiled.

He buried his face against your hair and let out a shaky breath. As he did, he dug down past blood and dust and dirt, dug and dug until he found the sweet, familiar scent of you, a scent he never wanted to leave him again.

The stone fell from your limp hands, a ringing in your ears you could barely hear beneath the sound of the water nearby, frothing and wild. 

The increased sensory feedback had been bizarre, and there was… there was no reason he should have been covered in so much blood, his body burning as if he’d been fighting before coming to you. But…  

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called. 

“D.” The letter felt strange, and yet… natural, as you cradled it on your tongue. “D?”

And you knew what came after that letter, shaping the word again in your mind. 

You knew. 

You… remembered. 

“Always,” he’d said. 

“Always,” you whispered, casting your eyes up the riverbed towards another large stone. “Always, D.”

He didn’t know what you were doing or why you’d climbed inside the thread. 

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt. 

“You’re stuck with me, unfortunately for you.”

He’d thought catching your scent, hearing your laugh, being forced to take back the key he’d given to you had been the worst of it. But no. It was far, far worse having to relive these memories of your time with him over and over and over without pause, his senses filled with you: with your touch, with your scent, with the taste of you on the air. He heard you whisper, laugh, and sigh; felt the brush of your fingers in his hair and your body shaking with laughter when he snatched you up during a game of Devil Hunt and the safety of you as you’d held him so tenderly after his fight with Foggy. All of it was a reminder of what he’d lost, what he’d never get back. 

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

He was in agony. There was no blocking you out like this, no escaping your memory no matter how much he tried to push back or retreat, until he wound up trapped and spiraling in his kitchen. 

“Kiss me when you come back.”

On and on it went, memories snapping at his heels until all he had left to hide behind was rage. He swept his arm across the counter, glass shattering as he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually he found himself backed up against the wall, sinking down as he hitched out something like an agonized groan, his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, please—”

“Adoringly yours, because I do adore you, you ridiculous man...”

“Leave me alone,” he whispered. “Just leave me alone.”

“...Remember that. if nothing else.” 

In hindsight, it was a really bad idea to give back your key.

“Matt!” you shouted, pounding frantically on his front door. “Matt, let me in! It’s me, I swear, I can-I can—”

Silence. 

And you weren’t willing to wait any longer. This wasn’t something you could explain through the door, out here in the hall where the neighbors could hear. You needed to get inside. You knew he was in there somewhere. 

Red threads never lied.  

You wiped the blood away from your nose and took off for the stairs. It was only one flight up to the roof, and sometimes he left the rooftop door unlocked. Even if it wasn’t unlocked, you’d use the key under the mat. You didn’t remember everything. But you remembered that. And if the key wasn’t there? You’d break that fucking door down.

He sat unmoving in his meditation pose on the floor, the sound of your attempts to get into the apartment distant and far away. Meditation had been the only thing left he could think of that would allow him to escape the pain and the memories of you that had flooded his thoughts. Like this, with his mind and his focus withdrawn until it lay deep within himself, he’d hoped he’d be far enough away from the world that the ghost of you couldn’t reach. 

Yet even deep in meditation, his instincts were set off by the crack! of his rooftop door slamming open.

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his heart racing as he bared his teeth, his body prepared to face whatever threat had just broken in. The sensations of you, at the very least, had quieted during his meditation, which should have left him enough space for some small margin of peace as he threw himself into a fight. But that peace was nowhere to be found, because you were here again. 

He recoiled from that thought the second it crossed his mind. This wasn’t you, that much had become painfully clear. You’d passed away somewhere far beyond his reach, away from the home, the life you’d lived here. The woman that stood on his landing now was nothing but a ghost, a fading memory and a terrible reminder of what he’d had and lost, what he’d earned by daring to reach for something good. There was no undoing it, no washing away the blood on his hands. If anything, how he felt for you had doomed any hopes of you staying long enough for him to reform that connection with you. He knew how you operated—hell, you’d tried to run on that hot summer night so many months ago after seeing just how much he’d cared, even if you’d ultimately changed your mind. At the time, he’d thought it was Destiny, the hand of God ensuring you remained in the Kitchen where Matt could keep you safe from the Man in the White Coat, here in this place where you both might… might shape something good out of all the broken pieces you’d both been left with. He knew better, now. Even the hand of God couldn’t break the curse Matt placed on those he loved. You would leave, leave like all the others, and he deserved it. 

The only question that remained was why you seemed so, so fucking determined to make him suffer. 

“Matt.” Your voice cracked as you stumbled down the stairs. “Matt, I—”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, sweetheart?” he grit out, reaching up to fist his hands tightly in his hair. He’d never known you to be unnecessarily cruel, but there was no other explanation. “God, I-I can’t—you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Matt, just let me—”

“Do you even care how much you’re hurting me?” He hitched out a broken laugh, something bitter and tormented, the sound absent all humor as you made it down the stairs. “All those months, all I wanted was for you to come back. I begged. I prayed to God, over and over again, that he would bring you back to me. And now that you’re gone, you just won’t leave. I can’t get away from you no matter what I do. Do you know what that’s like? To lose someone you love only for their ghost to haunt you every time you turn around?”

A soft intake of breath. 

There it was. Now that he’d said it, you’d leave. There would be nothing more frightening to the You he’d first known than a word like love. 

“I just…” His breath hitched again, something thick building in his throat. It was just another sign of his weakness, the same weakness that had gotten you killed. 

‘I warned you, kid,’ came Stick’s voice, so smug that Matt bared his teeth. ‘I fuckin’ warned you the night I opened up her eye. But you didn’t listen.’

He started to pace wildly, ignoring your voice as he hunted for some opening through which he could escape, flee from Stick’s voice hiding in the corners of his thoughts, from your ghost. With every step his movements grew more frantic, more furious as his rage built like a rising wave: rage at himself, at God, at the monster who’d taken your memories and the possibility of a life for you here with Matt, and at you, too, because you just didn’t get it. “I just want to grieve, and God can’t even give me that much, can he? Is that what this is? Punishment? Revenge? Congratulations. Job well done. You can go.” 

You tilted your head as you watched him pace, the same cock of your head you got when considering your potential routes forward. As far as he was concerned, the only route he’d give was a route out the door.  

“I don’t know why you came back, and at this point, I don’t fucking care,” he told you hotly, nothing but burning smoke and thick venom in each word. “We don’t have a red thread anymore. There’s nothing to keep you here. Leave. Now. I’m not asking.”

Your soft response was a single letter, one that struck directly at the open wound inside his chest. 

“...D.” 

He snatched up an empty beer bottle from the kitchen counter in a sudden rage, turned, and hurled it past you. 

You didn’t so much as flinch as the bottle came within inches of your head. Nor did you react to the distant shattering of glass, the sound of it barely audible over his anguished roar. 

“Leave me alone!”  

And then he froze in sudden horror at what he’d done, his heartbeat almost drowning out the soft sound of your steps. All he’d wanted to do was scare you away, frighten you away so he could break where you couldn’t see, because it had hurt, it had hurt to hear you call him—

Wait. 

You’d… you’d called him…

“My Devil Man, my Saint Matthew,” you whispered, the touch of your hands cool and endlessly gentle as you cupped his face. His skin was wet, damp beneath your thumbs as you swiped them across his cheeks, when had he started crying? You brought his head down until you could lay your forehead against his, the taste of salt hanging in the air. Your voice grew achingly tender, so longed for that he swayed helplessly on his feet, wanting nothing more than to be held like you’d held him so often before when he was hurting. “I’m so sorry, D. I’m so sorry I left you alone, sweetheart.” 

He closed his eyes tight, his breath growing shaky. You couldn’t know that he was two steps away from crumbling in your arms, fractures widening with every breath. He had no energy left to fight your touch, your misplaced mercy, but giving into the lie was another thing entirely. He couldn’t bear to hope again, not when it would crush him if he were wrong. “Foggy told you to… he told you to call me that, didn’t he? To see if you’d remember. But I can’t—you’re going to leave me, you’ll—” “Do you remember what I said before I left? Because I do.” You swiped your thumb gently against his cheek, your uneven breathing skipping and falling into rhythm with his as his hands shakily rose. They hovered hesitantly a few inches away from your face, terrified that you might vanish beneath his hands like a ghost. “I don’t leave my box behind, and I won’t leave you behind, either. I told you that you were stuck with me after Nobu. I meant it. It’s really me. I know you’re tired and hurting, sweetheart, but listen to my heart. What does it say? Truth or lie?”

…Steady. 

Truth.

Could it really be you?  

He held his breath as he dared at last to touch your cheek, stirring the fine hairs as he stroked his way along the familiar shape of your face, one he’d traced so often in his dreams. Your skin was damp with tears just like his, another sliding down to bump against his thumb as your lips quirked up into a brilliant smile. And the moment his trembling fingers passed your lips, you kissed the tip of each with a warm fondness, a mirror of that night you’d held his broken, torn body and he’d kissed your fingers and palm. 

“How much do you… do you remember?” There was a ringing in his ears as the world beneath him seemed to roll beneath him. “Everything?” “Not everything. Some pieces are still missing, with Foggy and Karen and my job, but I-I remember enough. I remember you, and what I had with you.” Your voice grew fierce and fervent then as you drew in a sharp breath, preparing yourself. “I remember you, D. And I remember that I love you. I love you, Matt Murdock, all of you, so, so much. And I will never leave you alone again.” You loved him. 

You loved him. 

The weight of it—being forced to let you leave the city, the ensuing months alone, the agony of the past few weeks thinking he’d lost you entirely, and now this, this, knowing you loved him like he loved you—hit him all at once, and with a sudden groan he started to drop. You caught him in your arms, the two of you sinking to your knees as you held him tight and he wound desperately around you in return. Only then did he start to fall apart in your arms, shaking in your hold, his grief, his hurt, his relief spilling out in choked gasps where you’d tucked his head down against your neck. He fisted his hands in your shirt as you both rocked, and a ragged moan tore free from him, spilling against your skin when you lifted your hands to trail your fingers lovingly through his hair. You knew, you remembered just how to hold him when he was hurting, a balm across every last wound. His shivering, touch-starved body remembered your touch, too, drowning beneath the sudden surge of good, warm, safe, soft after months of nothing but pain, so much so he couldn’t help but gasp out your name. 

“I’ve got you now, D,” you whispered, burying your face against his shoulder until he could feel the heat of your tears against his shirt, too. “I’m here, now. You’re not alone. I’ve got you, Matt.” 

“I thought you were gone.” There was no way for him to truly sync his breathing with yours, not with the way you were both crying, but still his body tried on instinct, tried and failed over and over again. He closed his eyes tighter, burying his face deeper against your throat as he pulled you in even closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space between your body and his, where he could feel every beat of your heart against his skin, as if to make up for the way he’d almost… almost chased you away. “I thought you’d left me and I was alone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, and that I didn’t-I didn’t go with you, but I couldn’t—I’m so, so—” 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok.” You kissed shakily at his hair, his shoulder, and whatever other parts of him you could reach, your breath, your tears, your absolution washing over him like rain. “It’s not your fault, D. It’s not your fault sweetheart. None of this was your fault.” 

“But—” “Hey. Listen to me, before you get any further down in that hole.” You lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his tear-stained face in your hands again. For a moment you both simply breathed with one another, your forehead to his, soaking in the contact, the affection that you’d both dearly missed and needed. “What happened to me outside New York, my memory loss… all of that is not your fault. It never was, D. There are-there are a lot of things we’ll have to deal with in the future, things I need to tell you. Consequences of what we’ve done, and—but this isn’t one of them. Never this. You’re what helped bring me back.” “How? I didn’t…” He let out a breathless, watery little laugh. “I didn’t do anything but try to chase you away.” “Some part of me couldn’t help but be drawn to you. I remembered, deep down, I think.” You gave an amused little huff. “And once Foggy showed me how to get into our thread, all your memories are what brought me back, helped me remember, because I could feel it, how you loved me. That was the key. Speaking of which…” You leaned in to nuzzle up against his cheek, your voice lowering to a whisper. “I think I made you a promise, you ridiculous man. And it’s one I intend to keep.” 

And with one small tip of your head, and a single slow breath… 

“Kiss me when you come back.” 

…your lips brushed against his for the very first time, tender and achingly soft, and so full of love that it would have stolen his breath away if he’d had any left at all. 

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d envisioned months ago just before you left, something triumphant and wild. Nor was it anything like the first kisses he’d imagined before that, the first kiss he’d thought this journey with you might lead to. And God only knew he’d considered kissing you for the first time more than was healthy.

Your first kiss with him was, instead, shaky and gentle, tasting of salt and tears and the fading shades of grief retreating like streamers of night before a welcome sunrise. Slowly, and then more surely, his lips began to move against yours, finally allowing himself to truly taste you for the first time, his eyes slowly falling closed as your fingers ran fondly through his hair, you, it was really you, you remembered. With a quiet moan, he breathed you in deep, calling your grace, your love deep into him until it settled there against his heart, knowing that, no matter what else might come, he would never lose it again, one of his hands rising to tenderly wind around your throat, his other hand finding yours so he could lace his battered fingers tightly with yours.

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d expected, but it felt perfect all the same. 

Because all that was left was him… 

And you. 

[ghoulie-67-baby]

Nature vs Nurture part 2 - Good omens.

Summary: Befriending a snake but it turns out to be Crowley and he’s injured.

Warnings: Blood, slight injury, snakes.

Pairing: Humanfem!reader x ineffable husbands (Platonic / Otherwise).

Word count: 2,659.

I didn't wake to my alarm like I did every morning but instead with the feeling of something moving across my bed sheets, half draped over my body. I sat up in shock, looking around in alarm only to find a snake that looked just as shocked as me. I stared for a moment before the previous night began to filter back into my mind and I slumped back onto my pillows, letting myself relax.

"Sorry Precious forgot you were here, I'm so used to being on my own." I greeted the beautiful creature as he slithered up alongside my face and bumped his nose on my outstretched hand. I turned onto my side to face him as he coiled his body beneath him and came to a sit still on my pillow. A yawn broke the soft silence of the room and with a stretch, I sat up and rubbed my hands over my face with a sigh.

"Okie dokie Snakie, what is best to wear for a book shop interview huh?" I knew he couldn't speak but it was better than talking to myself like I usually did. I shuffled over to my wardrobe, dragging open the doors and clicking my tongue in thought. Humming to myself, I pulled out a few items that would be appropriate and laid them on the end of the bed. "Okay so, this black skirt goes well with some tights and kitten heels look cute, I think suspenders would be best with it and a shirt that matches, maybe navy blue, to go with a blazer jacket or" I pulled out a few more things. "These black trousers could be okay with this top and a blazer. What do you think?" I held the skirt and trousers up whilst looking at him and shrugged. "I like the skirt plus I feel it would fit a bookshop pretty well."

His yellow eyes seemed to dart between the two before settling on the skirt and nodding towards it slightly. I grinned at him and placed it on the other side of the bed beside him.

"Now for the top, this navy shirt or the navy scoop neck with long sleeves?" I lifted them both up and down as we decided. "I like the scoop neck but it does come a little low and shows a bit of cleavage. With a blazer, it shouldn't be too bad right?" I decided with a hum of satisfaction before going to my drawers. "Black or blue suspenders?" His head bobbed to the black ones so I chucked them to the bed before smiling and clapping my hands together. "I shall be back soon, don't wander off Precious." I gathered all of my clothes and underwear into my arms before making my way to the bathroom.

As I dressed I couldn't help the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I really needed this job, really wanted it too and couldn't help but worry about the outcome. I smoothed down the skirt with a sigh as I looked at the outfit in the mirror, the items did go well together. After brushing my hair and styling it I nodded to myself and left the bathroom, careful not to slip against the tiles because of the material of my tights.

"I think you have an eye for fashion Precious," I twirled around in front of the snake and grinned, grabbing my chunky heeled oxfords to complete the fit. "Okay, walking won't take long and the earlier the better at this point." It was bordering on 10 AM as I grabbed my blazer and bag, throwing on a clean scarf for good measure. "Right, I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone but I don't think Mr Fell will appreciate me bringing a snake to the shop somehow." His head nodded towards my scarf as he made his way over and I looked at him confused. "Look, you could hide under my scarf around my neck but you'd have to be very still and well-behaved." Seemingly he understood everything else so this couldn't hurt right. "I mean it, best behaviour Precious." I let the reptile slink up around my neck and made sure to cover him carefully with my scarf so it hid him but didn't suffocate him.

"Let's do this," I whispered to him, leaving the apartment and locking the door behind me. The journey was fairly uneventful though the sun did shine for once, even with a slightly chilly breeze around us. I enjoyed the reassuring weight of my new friend around my neck and found myself rearranging the scarf to discreetly pet him every so often. I waved a thank you to a driver as they allowed me to cross the road and looked up at the burgundy building in awe, taking a deep breath before pushing the wooden door open, smiling as the bell tinkled above me.

Nobody was in the shop as the door closed behind me gently and I clutched the strap of my bag as I looked around me. The walls were filled floor to ceiling with books, not as incredibly neat as other shops but this gave it a more warm and homey feeling. A gentle light filled the shop as I wandered between shelves, dodging tables piled with books and chairs placed around the room for shoppers. For a few moments, I totally forgot about the nerves and churning of my stomach whilst being surrounded by my passion until a mess of white curls peered around one of the selves and bright blue eyes met my own. My back straightened instantly and I smiled at them.

"Hi, I'm looking for Mr Fell," My throat was considerably dry as the figure came into view.

"Yes, that's me, it's nice to meet you..." He trailed off slowly.

"Oh right, I'm Y/N. I saw your job listing online and couldn't wait to have a look at your shop." I held out my hand to him, silently thanking the heavens it wasn't sweaty because of nerves. "You didn't specify the date or time so I thought I'd come by and see if you had any preferences." My heart thumped in my chest as his warm hand shook my own, lingering for a second before he clasped them in front of him with a smile.

"Of course my dear, if you just follow me to my desk that'd be great." He wandered off around the corner and with a nod I followed, rearranging my scarf as the snake beneath shifted slightly. "Take a seat wherever you'd like dear girl." I did as he said, smoothing down my skirt and placing my bag down by my feet before allowing my eyes to meet his. "So, have you ever worked in a bookshop before?"

"Not quite, but before moving here I spent so much time in one that I was practically part of the furniture." I joked, relaxing as he chuckled.

"They are the most relaxing places to be so that's understandable. My shop is quite big, how well do you think you could memorise genres and where they go?"

"My memory can get a little muddled but once I get used to things then I can be as reliable as a contents page in a book so I think I'd do pretty well." I was being entirely honest here, something told me he'd be able to tell if I bent the truth even a little.

"That's quite alright, I understand these things take time." His eyes caught on my scarf for a second as my stowaway shifted. I bit my lip hoping he would let it go. "I'm sorry, Your scarf seems to be moving on its own accord. Is there something under it?" I couldn't tell whether he was annoyed or confused but I held my breath and nodded stiffly.

"I had a bit of a surprise on the way home last night and was a bit troubled because I don't have the facilities to leave him alone," I explained, unravelling the garment from around my neck to reveal the red and black snake beneath. "I'm really sorry I brought him with me but I couldn't leave him unattended plus he's well-behaved, usually." His shining blue eyes met the snake's calmly as he held out his hand slightly.

"There you are my dearest, honestly, I leave you for five minutes and you go missing. Do you know how worried I was?" My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he spoke to the reptile, a tone of irritation in his voice though it was minor.

"He's yours?" I couldn't help but feel my heart and stomach sink at the idea of him having an owner already.

"You could say that, he's quite the demon." The snake seemed to hiss in amusement at what seemed like an inside joke and I nodded sadly. "Where did you find him, if you don't mind my asking?"

"In the park, you ought to know he has a wound on the underside of his belly and though I cleaned it, and please don't think I'm crazy, he refused the vets entirely. Going as far as lunging at me for trying to push the idea." The man in front of me seemed to nod in agreement and didn't judge me, holding out his hands to take him.

"Yes, that sounds very much like him. He's a stubborn soul." He lifted the animal and tutted as he saw the wound, visibly upset by it. "What on earth happened? Why haven't you taken care of yourself." The way he spoke seemed like he was expecting an answer and I couldn't help but be unsure and confused. "Please go and fix yourself so we can talk about this properly my dear boy. You have some explaining to do." Within seconds, the snake was placed on the floor and wriggled away, leaving the two of us amongst the books. "Sorry about that dear, I'm sure you're quite confused by the whole ordeal."

"A little, he's very intelligent for a snake. I didn't realise he was someone's pet, sorry about this." I twisted my hands in the fabric of my skirt.

"Who are you calling a pet?" A new face appeared beside the bookshelf, a lean body resting against the shelves. I jumped in surprise and smiled at the stranger.

"Sorry, I didn't realise there was anyone else here. I'm Y/N, do you work here too?" I shook the man's hand, still shaken by the previous occurrence.

"Crowley and nope," He threw himself on the sofa beside Mr Fell, wincing slightly as he sat himself up. "I just enjoy the company." He grinned widely at the other man, straightening his sunglasses. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question." His hand held his stomach for a second before he shifted.

"Mr Fell has a snake that went missing, I found him and was just saying that I didn't realise he was someone's pet."

"Oh, he's not, if anything he's the snake's pet," I looked at him in confusion, hoping for elaboration as Mr Fell shook his head at Crowley. "Aren't you Angel?" My eyes flickered between the two for a moment, cheeks flushing as I realised they must be together or at least dancing around one another with the way they interacted. The two noticed my state of befuddlement and grinned at one another. "I do like the name Precious though. Wouldn't mind that as a nickname when you're working here." His head tilted towards me as he slipped off the sunglasses and looked me straight in the eyes.

My brain seemed to short-circuit as the same eyes the snake had looked at me, a huge grin spreading across his face. I opened my mouth to speak but quickly closed it when words failed to form. This happened a few times before I gave up, settling for just sitting and staring at the lean man. I mean stranger things have happened, right?

"Are you alright dear?" Mr Fell leant forward in his seat as I blinked at him blankly. "I fear you've broken her Crowley, you could've been gentler with her."

"She'll snap soon Angel, she was talking to a snake for Satan's sake, this can't be that strange to her if I pointed her in the direction of your shop and she proceeded to listen." I nodded slowly, he did make sense after all.

"So," I took a deep breath, pursing my lips for a moment. "You're telling me you're the snake that I found in the park that can just miraculously turn from snake to human-"

"Not quite human Darling, more like a demonic entity if you'd be so kind."

"Okay, snake to demon then. And you expect me not to freak out right?" I was taking this better than expected. "Maybe, I could just have a glass of water please Mr Fell." My clammy hands gripped my skirt as I cleared my throat, huffing out a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding.

"Of course, dear, give us a moment." The two disappeared from the sofa, talking amongst each other.

"Come on Angel, she's alone and we'd be doing her and ourselves a favour." The way he pleaded made him seem almost human.

"That's all good and well dearest but look at her, she's obviously in shock by the situation. If you were human you'd be the same, Y/N had just found out you are a demon, turn into a snake and has probably guessed I'm an angel by now so do give her some time." My eyes came back into focus as the glass of water was held out in front of me and within seconds the liquid was gone and I gasped a breath. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you. I have no idea how any of this works obviously but I guess it is what it is. I'm sorry I called you a pet and also sorry for almost keeping him, he's quite charming as a snake." The two chuckled before Crowley seemed to catch onto what I said.

"Hang on, I'm charming anyway."

"Yes well, it seems you have some new things to get used to but as a thank you and just because you seem overall quite perfect for the job, you can start anytime within the next week. It's up to you if you still want the job of course." The angel seemed to be hesitant as he waited for a reply, comforted by the dark-haired demon that had his arm resting on the back of the couch behind him.

"I mean, I'd still love the job, I just ask I get a few explanations and answers to questions if and when I have them if you don't mind Mr Fell." I couldn't work out why this hadn't set off alarms in my head but in all honesty, I was very curious about the pair.

"That sounds wonderful dear, it'll be lovely having a new face here with us and it's Aziraphale, Mr Fell is just a cover-up name for the shop." That made sense. The smile on his face made me smile back as I stood up, followed by them both. "There isn't a dress code either as long as it's comfortable and appropriate."

"In case you have any questions that can't wait." Crowley held out a piece of paper with his number on and I took it with a smile. "Don't hesitate to message or ring us." He winked, the glow of his eyes only brightened by the warm light of the room and I nodded, trying to hide the creeping blush on my face.

"Well, I'd better get going, I'll see you both tomorrow then." And with that and a call of goodbye from the pair I left the shop, bell tinkling above me once more, leaving me to the onslaught of thoughts and questions on the two strange beings.

[gloomygumi]

idiosyncrasies - satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary: part one︱after listening to geto and shoko's theory, you finally decide to do something about your unspoken feelings.

contents: fluff, little bit of pining, highschool!gojo, dessert cafés, the most awkwardly written confession ever, still ooc and still self indulgent

word count: 2.0k

a/n: ask and you shall receive !! i'm so sorry or the wait 😭😭 i really couldn't work out where i wanted this fic to go, but hopefully you'll enjoy how it ends :) feel free to send any requests to my ask box, i'm always grateful for ideas !!

in the days that followed shoko and geto sharing their revelations over an otherwise uneventful lunch period, you found yourself unable to shake your keen awareness of satoru's actions and behaviors around you. it was as if a spotlight had been cast on his every move, making it impossible for you to dismiss the possibility of deeper feelings hidden beneath his friendly facade.

your interactions with gojo became increasingly awkward. you couldn't help but scrutinize every touch, every glance, every shared laugh, searching for signs that he too yearned for more than friendship for you.

in doing so, you discovered even more of his peculiar habits.

one particularly mild october afternoon, you had accompanied satoru to a local coffee shop. it was a place you both routinely visited, sometimes alone but often together. the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the quiet ambiance had hosted more than its fair share of your group study sessions and whispered conversations.

as you sipped your coffee and engaged in light and casual conversation, you couldn't help but to let out a sigh of satisfaction and softly hum along to the familiar melodies playing in the background. your gaze was intermittently drawn to satoru and eventually, you took notice of your companion carefully arranging the froth on his cappuccino into a somewhat wonky heart shape with the end of his spoon. he almost appeared to be glowing under the dim lights as he playfully peered over his usual sunglasses to meet your gaze.

"what's with the latte art today, satoru?" you asked, tilting your head in an attempt to get a less obstructed view of his masterpiece.

he shot you a boyish grin, leaning in closer to you from across the table as if he were sharing a secret, his eyes holding a mischievous glint. "it's for you." he replied with a cheeky wink.

you blink up at him, feeling your face flush as your mind races in an attempt to come up with some sort of response. you bring your hand up and gently push his face away from yours with your palm, eliciting a hearty laugh from him. in a feeble attempt to reground yourself, you take another hurried gulp of your coffee, making a point to not look at him.

on another night a few weeks later after a particularly grueling solo mission, you returned to the dorms exhausted and covered in small cuts and bruises. despite your injuries being mild, satoru insisted on taking care of your wounds, pestering you until you finally relented. his touch was gentle and warm, a shocking contrast to the unrelenting blows you had previously endured.

"you really don't have to do this, satoru." you said, trying to keep your voice steady as he tended to one of the nastier scrapes spanning the length of your forearm. "really, it's not that bad. i'll just ask shoko to look over it in the morning."

he keeps his gaze trained on his self-appointed task. "you know that i'll always take care of you."

the silence that followed was comfortable, both of you watching his nibble fingers continue to work at disinfecting and bandaging every wound.

when he finally finished looking over his handiwork, he stood from his position on the floor of the common room. wordlessly, he helped you to your feet from the couch and gently guided you down the hallway before stopping right outside of your dorm room.

unsure of how to end the exchange, you wait for him to speak first. instead, he tenderly presses his lips to your temple, mumbling a quiet "sleep tight." before disappearing from your sight, presumably heading to his own room for the night.

you stand still in your own doorway for a few minutes, still feeling the lingering warmth of his touch. you let out a soft sigh, faintly smiling to yourself before crawling into your bed and immediately drifting into a deep slumber.

"you've ruined my life!"

shoko doesn't even look up as you slam your hands onto her desk, too preoccupied with her phone. "what are you talking about?" she drawls.

"what am i talking about!? you know exactly what i'm talking about, shoko. what you said about satoru!" you hiss at her.

shoko finally lifts her gaze from her phone, her eyes locking onto yours. she raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "oh, that? we were just speaking the truth, you know."

you groan in frustration, flopping down into your designated chair beside her. "you and geto have planted this idea in my head, and now i can't stop thinking about it. it's driving me crazy!" your words are muffled as you buried your face in the crook of your crossed arms on the desk in front of you.

shoko turns to face you, giving you a somewhat sympathetic look. "is it really that bad that he likes you? i know he's kind of annoying, but he is your friend..."

your head shoots up at her suggestion. "what? no! it's not that i don't like him!" almost as if shocked by the volume of your own voice, you clamp your hands over your mouth. you stare at shoko with wide eyes as she laughs at you. "i just... wasn't prepared for this, that's all..." you mutter, embarrassed.

shoko tilts her head thoughtfully as her laughter subsides. "i get it, i get it. you're worried about what might happen to your friendship if things change."

you nod your head rapidly, grateful that she understands your hesitation. "exactly! what if this is all a huge misunderstanding, it would make things so awkward, right?" you reply, before quietly confessing. "i really don't want to lose him as a friend, shoko."

your friend leans back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "i don't think you have to worry about that, it's still gojo after all. he doesn't exactly seem like the type to let something like this to get in the way of his friendships." she gives you a reassuring smile but before you can thank her for the encouragement, the classroom door swings open and in walks the final two members of your class.

you and shoko are quick to drop your conversation as you both shift your focus to satoru and suguru's loud bickering, which works to quickly lighten the mood in the room.

you can't help but to let out a genuine laugh, satoru's wild gestures and suguru's deadpan responses creating an entertaining spectacle. although you're not completely sure what the topic of their debate is yet, it's clear that the dynamic duo's spirited conversation brings a sense of comfortable familiarity to the room.

they make their way towards their desks, they quickly pull you and shoko into their conversation. boisterous laughter fills the room for the next several minutes before yaga enters, yelling at the class to quieten down.

as you settle back into your seat, your mind can't help but to replay your earlier conversation with shoko. the more you thought about it, the more you realised she was right. perhaps it was a good idea to bring your feelings up to satoru - even if he didn't feel the same, maybe a firm rejection was just what you needed to calm your racing thoughts.

before you know it, the bell that signals the end of class is ringing. you stand up, stretching your arms above your head in an attempt to alleviate the tension that had settled in your shoulders. before you have the opportunity to gather your belongings, a familiar weight gently presses against the crown of your head. It's satoru's trademark gesture, using your head as his unofficial armrest.

"there's a new dessert café that just opened, wanna join me?" his voice is warm and inviting as always, drawing your attention away from your thoughts. "i read online that they have something called a volcano cake, doesn't that sound so cool? we have to try it."

you don't even realise that you're smiling, replying before you even have the chance to check your schedule. "alright, let's go." he straightens up and you finally lift your bag as you both walk towards the open door. before you leave, you turn to wave goodbye to shoko and geto only to see them already exchanging smug grins and giving you a double thumbs up each. you lower your hand and scoff at their antics.

as you strolled down the unfamiliar streets toward the café, the warm rays of the late afternoon sun created a scenic walk. your footsteps fell in sync with his as your conversation came to a gradual stop, a comfortable silence overcoming you before you finally arrived at your destination. satoru urges you to find a good seat for you both while he orders, and you're once again left alone with your thoughts.

he's back before you know it, his tray stacked high with all sorts of sweet treats. as he sets it down in front of you, the anticipated dessert catches your eye - a molten chocolate eruption atop a delicate slice of cake, sprinkled with icing sugar and decorated with an assortment of berries. you had to admit, it looked impressive.

you marveled at his overwhelming delight as he described each desert, his childlike joy and bright smile was infectious as you continued to listen to his speech.

"look at this one," he said, gesturing to a miniature cheesecake adorned with a raspberry glaze. "i tried something similar at a bakery with suguru a while back, and it was so good i had to get one for you to try too! and this one," he continued, pointing to a chocolate delicate mousse tart, "it's like a dream in every bite, i promise you."

his animated explanations only heightened the anticipation, and you couldn't help but be charmed by his passion for sweets. as you dug into the platter of desserts together, the conversation continued to shift through multiple topics.

it was then you finally decided to address the elephant in the room, telling yourself it was the perfect moment. tucked into the back corner with the afternoon sun casting its soft gaze over the two of you, you spoke up.

"hey, satoru." you began, your voice soft and surprisingly steady. "there's something i want to talk to you about."

you can feel his gaze on you, and can almost imagine how his head tilts with curiosity. "hm? what's on your mind?" he muses.

your gaze is trained on your hands which lay flat on the table before you, your fingers lightly tapping a rhythm. as you take a moment to gather your thoughts, you listen to the distant chatter of the other customers that surround you, the soft clinks of cutlery brushing ceramic. "shoko and geto, they mentioned something to me not too long ago," you started, "they said that they think you... like me." your words carry an aura of uncertainty, but you finally urge yourself to look at his face. gojo's expression is a mix of shock and mock betrayal, his eyes are wide and his jaw is clenched.

"those jerks..." her whines. "i wanted to be the one to tell you! i should've known they'd blab about it eventually." your jaw drops and you can barely hold in a shocked yelp at his unexpected admission, rendered momentarily speechless as you watch him roll his eyes and slump further back into his chair with his arms crossed.

"what are you talking about?" you stammer, trying to come up with anything to say. you can feel the tension from moments ago dissipate as your shoulders relax.

"well, i mean it's not a secret anymore, right?" you can recognise the playful glint in his eyes as he teases you, shifting his posture once again to lean in closer to you from over the table. "i like you. a lot."

you don't make any attempt to conceal the warm smile that graces your features, eyes crinkling in delight. "well, that's quite the confession, satoru."

he shrugs, still maintaining eye contact. "i figured i'd take the plunge. go big or go home, right?" a crooked, cocky smile found its home on his lips as you lightly scoff at his unwavering self-confidence.

"yeah, yeah." you mumble, raising your eyebrow in amusement at his declaration. "i like you too." feigning nonchalance at his confession, but the bright fondness that shone through your eyes made your affections clear.

you couldn't wait to tell shoko the good news.

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT V: HE IS WHAT HE HIDES ]

spider-man! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— ethan takes a photo of mindy in an ambulance, chad's screaming about webs being shot, and ethan thinks the ambulance blanket is cold.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, implication of ptsd, gore!!, blood, murder, death, reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— thank you so much for following this series so closely <3 this isn't the end yet, there's still an epilogue xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

you had learned from your years in the criminal world that to underestimate someone driven by revenge was a mistake.

you had seen countless people go to unimaginable lengths just to seek the satisfaction of victory. of finally having the upper hand over the one person they believed caused them so much turmoil. you had heard men and woman alike compare it to hero's work. and you understood them sometimes, but not when their victims didn't deserve it. not when their victims had more of a right to seek them out.

which was why, as you stood uncomfortably with chad, danny, tara, and sam, listening to tara and chad bicker with danny about how he pulled them on and split mindy and ethan up from them, your eyes were set on every person around you. everyone was dressed in costumes, as it was finally halloween day. but that meant that more people were wearing stab masks everywhere around you.

"i don't understand why we couldn't have just taken my car," you muttered, eyes set on every person wearing a stab made. beside you, tara sighed.

"too many of us. besides, roads are packed right now because of halloween." tara shifted uncomfortably next to you and chad, moving away from the strangers around her. "do you think they'll be okay?" she asked you.

"who, mindy and ethan?" you asked, trying to be nonchalant, as though you hadn't completely broken ethan's heart and your own yesterday.

you kept reminding yourself that it was for the best. but you still felt that ache in your chest just at the mention of his name.

you still had a deal to finish. after everything, it'd be over.

"they'll be okay as long as they stick together," you murmured to tara, making her nod worriedly.

"right. as long as they stick together."

the lights flickered on the subway, making you freeze and hover your hand over your side. you had brought your gun (which you had stolen, of course) with you and a knife. two things that would be incredibly incriminating if any of the group were to see you with it, but you couldn't just go into the plan empty handed. you were taught better than that.

besides, how do you think you survived this long? by following the rules and not bringing a gun around with you during your heists?

the lights flickered on again, making you and the group relax slightly. holding tightly onto the pole of the subway, your body swinging with every movement, you could only hope that you wouldn't have to use the gun too much.

you had killed before. you were willing to kill again.

halloween night was in full swing, full of traffic and busy streets. the ground was slightly damp from the unexpected rain that happened through the day, but the clouds had cleared up to reveal a starless sky. kirby led you and the others to the theatre yet again, urgently pushing all of you in and using her card to open the gate.

"i cleared the place before you all got here." the gate slammed behind kirby as she turned to all of you (except for danny, who sam had told to not join). "so this is the only way in or out. he steps in through the first door, both doors lock automatically, trapping him inside." a triumphant smirk appeared on her face. "we turn it into a kill box."

"weapons?" sam asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

"one gun, and i hold onto it," kirby said. you and sam sent her a disapproving look, and she rolled her eyes. "i'm the only one with a badge here, and that's the way it's gonna be."

if only she knew about the gun on your side. and the knife on your other side. her blissful obliviousness made you bite back a laugh. if only they knew.

"we're safe here," kirby said reassuringly, her words making you narrow your eyes out of doubt.

"i'm gonna check in with mindy. see if they're close," sam said, walking away with tara and chad trailing near her. kirby's eyes were set on you, her obvious suspicion making you raise a brow.

"what?"

"you don't like the plan?" kirby asked you with a tilt of her head.

you shook your head confidently. "no. it all seems too easy—" your phone buzzed in your hand, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes when you saw an unknown caller calling. "hello?" you asked as you held the phone to your ear.

"y/n?" ethan's panicked voice made your eyes widen, your heart dropping. "mindy's at the er— the killer stabbed her in the hand. like right through. i'm outside, can you let me in?"

you glanced at kirby, who gave you a warning look. she didn't trust him— rightfully so, from her perspective —but you nodded to the gate.

"open the door and stay here. let us both in." you told the agent, trying not to let your obvious distrust for her (you had been running from policemen for years, and she was fbi) show on your face.

the gates creaked open as you walked down the steps of the gate, unlocking and opening the door for ethan. he looked more disheveled than usual, his eyes clouded over with worry, stress, and what seemed to be hurt when he saw you. "thanks," he breathed, and you nodded, making your way back up the stairs and through the gate kirby held open for you.

"where's mindy?" kirby asked him, and ethan pulled out his phone, showing mindy on a stretcher, ready to go into the ambulance. she was flipping off the camera witt her non injured hand (typical, and you smiled a bit at the sight) but she was okay. an unreadable expression befell kirby's face, but she nodded with a sigh. "fine. you two stay here.. i'm gonna clear the area upstairs one more time."

you nodded stiffly, already tensing up just by being around the brunette next to you. but you had to work with him, you knew that. you told him yourself. coughing awkwardly, you moved away from him, walking to look around. "are your web things with you, or.."

ethan avoided your gaze, nodding his head once as he looked around the area around you. "i'll use it only if i really need to," he mumbled.

the lights were working, but old, making them flicker and fade ever so slightly. the smell of asbestos and old wood filled ethan's nose, and with every flicker of light, he could feel himself tensing up more and more. ethan found himself staying around you as a result, as though he was seeking the comfort of your presence. and you let him— because you were seeking the comfort of his presence too. "i'm guessing you have your stuff, too?"

"couldn't bring my gloves without being horribly obvious," you muttered in response. letting out a sigh, you leaned against the door. your mind had been on edge ever since you willingly entered the theatre, the possibility of something happening out of nowhere weighing heavy on your mind. sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling, you could feel his brown eyes finally look at you. picking up on all the details. all his observations.

"i'll let you know when something is happening because of the.. uh.."

"spider tingle?"

"i like to use the word sense, but sure." ethan swallowed thickly. he sighed, the exhaustion getting to him. he pinched his nose bridge. “i was able to stop the killer from doing more to mindy.. they still injured her regardless.”

you were silent for a few seconds, weighing your options and responses in your head. “i told you that you’re stupid if you blame yourself for stuff like that.”

"i know."

"don't blame yourself for something that you couldn't avoid from happening."

and before he could respond, the lights went out. "y/n?"panic settled into his bones as ethan immediately walked to where you were standing, his chest accidentally bumping into you.

"i'm fine—" the sound of a whirring overhead and what sounded like cheesy movie music began to echo from the theatre nearby, making you and ethan walk towards it, your hand hovering over your knife. ethan walked in front of you before pushing the black curtain out of your way.

you made eye contact with sam, who looked just as confused as you did as the three of you stared at the movie play out. it was a stab remake— a poor one, you noted —that looked like every other stab homemade remake on the internet.

but your focus on the movie made you fail to notice ethan's frown as he stared at it. he had seen it before, but where?

"we have to get out of here—" sam said you as you led them towards one of the exits, heart jumping into your chest when you came face to face with tara and chad.

"go back, go back now!" ethan yelled, senses going haywire as he grabbed tara and chad, pulling them through the door. he shut the door behind him, turning his back on it as you and the others rushed to the middle of the theatre, looking around you frantically.

"it's kirby! kirby is the killer—" sam rushed out, making chad groan.

"yeah, no shit!"

"the entire theatre is a kill box for us," you breathed, searching all around you for any kind of exit. ethan looked at the balcony view, eyes widening when he saw the exit doors flashing up ahead.

"up there! maybe it leads to the roof?" he sent you a look, and you nodded. you both had to get them out of here. and you were both willing to put your own lives at stake for that.

"let's go, let's go—"

ethan lunged forward right as the killer jumped from behind the theatre, pushing tara aside. she only received a cut on her arm, but another swing gave ethan one too. he groaned at the slice his arm received, the deep cut making annoyance thrum through his veins.

sam dodged the killer's swing over her head, and chad ducked under before the killer could stab him. but before the killer could swing low and slice chad, you lunged at his side, tackling him to the ground. "go!" you yelled to the others, shoving yourself off the ground.

ethan grabbed the camera behind you, swinging it towards the killer before they could get back up. he shot them with webs, unable to stop himself from wanting to slow them down. even with the mask, you could see the genuine shock the killer had on their face as they made quin work of trying to get out.

"c'mon!" grabbing his hand, you ran to the back where the others were. ethan made you run ahead of him (much to your chagrin). if anyone was going to get hurt, it might as well be him.

ghostface was hot on your heels and it was much too cramped and small of a space for you to turn around and shoot them, especially since ethan was in the way. so you could only grab his hand in yours, dragging him behind you as you ran behind chad.

you ran into the snack bar, ethan throwing down the popcorn machine behind him. but ghostface prevailed; he lunged after chad, who dodged one of the killer's swings before they forced themselves onto him, pinning him against the wall. you, tara, and sam all forced the killer off of him, before the killer send a punch towards you that you narrowly ducked under to grab your knife at your side, stabbing them in the stomach, twisting it, and pulling it out.

"what the fuck—" sam's eyes widened in fear when she saw your weapon, realization dawning over her face. you hadn't said anything to kirby about being armed.

"you?" tara asked, horror ghosting over her face.

"no! not me— why would you come to this place and not be armed?" you yelled in exasperation, ethan moving quickly past you to tackle ghost face to the ground, his advanced strength making him over power him easily. ethan turned to you and the others, eyes frantic as he yelled, "go!"

your eyes widened in horror when you saw two other killers appear from the sides, their knives flashing. one jumped on top of him, but ethan had already sensed them, grabbing their arm and throwing them off of him. but then another came up to his side, shoving him to the ground, giving the other two time to stand up.

"ethan—" you screamed, already grabbing for your gun, but chad was already grabbing you.

"y/n, let's go!" chad yelled as tara and sam ran back into the theatre.

"i have to help him—" you protested, reaching for your gun and pulling it out, shooting at one of the ghost faces. it hit their shoulder, making them turn around eerily. their blood seeped into the black fabric of their cloak, but you knew that a single bullet wouldn't stop someone determined for revenge.

ethan shot a web at their feet, stopping them from walking further towards you, his eyes panicked when he saw two of them turn their attention to you and chad.

"did he just shoot a fucking web?!" chad screamed, his movements faltering and making you escape his arms, pointing your gun at one of the ghost faces and shooting repeatedly before shooting the other.

your face fell when you saw they barely winced. they were wearing bulletproof vests.

one of the killers was still focused on ethan, and with his mind solely on your protection, he failed to stop the knife from sinking into his side. you watched in horror as the killer twisted it, the wet sound of gushing blood making anger run through your body.

you watched as the light dimmed in his eyes, ethan's face paling as his eyes stayed on yours. the killer grabbed at his wrists, feeling the web shooters and tearing them off of his body and slamming them to the ground. the two killers who were webbed cut themselves free and advanced towards you.

"ethan—" you screamed, aiming your gun and trying to get a good shot, to no avail. one of the killers swiped at your stomach, making you narrowly dodge it. chad punched them before they could try more. but as your attention was on them, you failed to miss the quick swing the other killer made towards your arm, cutting deeply along the expanse of it and making you drop your gun.

immediately, you tried to go for it, injured arm desperately reaching for the gun as one of the ghost faces did the same. you kicked them in the stomach, grabbing your gun and hiding it as they tackled you. their knife was right in front of your face, threatening to stab you right in the eye. you could see the shine of the blade right in front of you as you screamed, using all your strength to get them off.

ethan shoved off the killer with his strength, ignoring the pain as he ran up to the killer on top of you, grabbing them and throwing them against the wall. chad kicked the ghost face he was taking care of in the stomach, his hand on the new stab wound on his side before running into the theatre. "let's go!"

"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," ethan said, pushing you and chad into the theatre, slamming the door shut behind him. he felt your hand over his hand, applying more pressure to his stab wound, and he offered you a strained smile. "y/n, i'm gonna be okay."

you swallowed the worry that brewed in your throat, not giving him a response. blood seeped through your hand.

"dad! dad i fixed it, i swear i fixed it—" you sobbed, shaking your unconscious father. you could feel the blood that stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly turning cold.

ethan grabbed your hand, pulling it away from his stomach and squeezing it. his eyes immediately clouded over with worry when he saw the large gash that ran up your arm, the blood seeping from the deep cut like a faucet. it reached all the way up to your palm, making you hold your gun in your nondominant hand.

the three of you ran towards sam and tara, who were standing in the middle of the huge shrine. your back was to tara's as you held the gun up, watching as the ghostfaces came up all around you. it stank of the poignant smell of iron, the blood spilling out of all of you filling the air with its stench.

the sound of a gun ricocheting made you all duck. kirby, crazed with blood flowing from the side of her face, pointed the gun all around the theatre.

"you," you seethed, eyes narrowing as you began to raised your gun at her.

"it was you the entire time," sam breathed, making kirby shake her head quickly.

and as if it was all on cue, detective bailey walked into the theatre, his own gun pointed at kirby. he was practically vibrating in anger as he spat, "was it you? did you kill my daughter?"

"dad?" ethan asked in shock, face falling when he saw him. but something was wrong. something was horribly wrong, and he felt it more than he felt everything else. that pit in his stomach that foreshadowed what was coming.

"she killed her, ethan!" wayne snapped at his estranged son. "she killed our quinn!"

"jesus christ! whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him— he's probably the killer!" kirby hissed, making you look at detective bailey, your gun still pointed.

your eyes narrowed as it travelled down to the white webbing stuck on the side of his shoe. and right as kirby screamed that something was right behind him, you shot at his side. but it was too late; two shots already hit kirby, making her fall to the ground. and immediately, his gun was pointed to you. ethan immediately moved in front of you, his hand on his bleeding side.

looking down at the gunshot into the side of his torso, wayne grinned, pulling his shirt up to reveal his bullet proof vest. police grade— of course. "good job," wayne praised, a sadistic smirk appearing on his face. both the ghostfaces walked up next to him, their knives stained with your blood in their hands. "both of you."

"you?" tara asked, and wayne shrugged.

the cop rolled his eyes. "ah, 'course it's me. i honestly expected more from the two of you after what you did to us," wayne said with a growing smirk. "i'm sure ethan here can tell you all about it."

"what?" ethan felt everyone's eyes on him, realization on his face when he connected the dots. all the effort to get away from what is older brother did. all the effort me made to change his name, to move across the country, to leave his own family because despite how he grieved, ethan never forgave richie for what he did. all the lies his father said about wanting to escape from richie's crimes.

he lied to him.

"ethan, what is he talking about?" you asked ethan, expecting him to deny something. anything. to say that his father had just gone batshit, to say that his father was just trying to drag him into his killing game.

but ethan stayed silent, avoiding your eyes.

"ethan, what're they talking about?" chad asked again warily, backing away from his roommate, tara right behind him as he protected her.

"you didn't.." ethan breathed, and suddenly he felt like he was sitting alone at richie's funeral again, silently seething as his mother and father praised him for being such a wonderful man, for being such a wonderful son, even though they knew they were raising a future murderer. "you killed her? you killed quinn?" he asked, his voice breaking as he felt the bitter taste of pennies in his mouth.

"how 'bout you tell them your real last name, ethan?" wayne pushed further ignoring his words and pointing his gun at you aggressively. "about who you really are? tell everyone! including your fucking girlfriend here—"

"fuck you," you growled, and wayne's eyes shone bright in anger.

"you weren't part of the plan. you and that pathetic excuse of a son," wayne yelled, his gun pointing to ethan now. he was careless as he waved it around, obviously at the brink of sanity. and then, he broke into mirthless laughter, still pointing his gun towards whoever he pleased. "take off your masks."

the ghostface to his right tore off their mask, revealing a woman with dirty blond hair and an angled face. she was tall, around the same height of wayne, and her thin lips were in a sadistic smirk. her siren-like eyes stared daggers into tara and sam, and you would've crossed her off as some psychopath extra character if it weren't for the color of her eyes, which made your face fall; they were the same golden brown hue as ethan's.

"ethan," his mother crooned, voice dripping with disdain as she eyed her youngest child with contempt. "you've grown," she drawled, unimpressed eyes looking over him.

"mom," ethan breathed, his face paling. he could hear his blood roaring in his ears and his skin pricking with goosebumps as his senses went haywire. suddenly, he was hyperaware of every fiber of his clothing sticking to his skin, of how there was win rushing into the theatre from the exit doors on the roof, and how his mother was looking at him the same way she looked at weeds in her garden back home.

and to make matters worse, the other ghostface removed their mask too, revealing familiar red hair that made ethan's throat run dry and tears well in his eyes.

his sister always had eyes that he had been envious of; they were grey, like a constant storm that would brew over the ocean. he always thought they were so cool, much cooler than his brown ones, but when he looked into quinn's eyes, he saw no constant storm. he saw that sociopathic glint that richie always had when ethan did something that he hated. that glint that showed no remorse, no care, and no love.

"hey, roomies," quinn dragged out, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she stared at tara and sam as though they were her prey. and then, and then, she turned to ethan. and the way she looked at him.. it was as though he hadn't grieved for her the entire week. as though he didn't constantly blame himself for not doing more to save her, as though he wasn't the same boy she used to care for as a child.

quinn looked at him as though he was a parasite.

"quinn," ethan choked out, voice cracking as tears began to blur his vision. he wanted to bring himself to be happy, to hug his sister and scold her for ever making him go through that mental turmoil, but ethan didn't move. because he realized that quinn would easily make him go through it all again without a care in the world.

"hey, baby brother," quinn said in acknowledgement, grey eyes of steel sparking with fire as her smile turned into a grin. "nice to see you finally got some," she said, eyes flicking to you as she took a step forward.

"you better back up," you hissed, pointing your gun right at her and making quinn's face contort in anger.

"you're a fucking bitch," quinn sneered, pointing her knife at you. ethan grabbed your arm, moving his body to protect yours. quinn laughed. "of course ethan would get attached to a fucking liar just like he is."

"ethan, tell us the truth right now," sam said lowly, making you grip your gun tighter.

"yes, ethan," ethan's mother said, narrowing her eyes at her son in anger. "tell them the truth."

ethan's jaw clenched as he shook his head. "you know i was trying to get away—"

"say our last name, ethan!" wayne yelled, making ethan jump. never had he felt so much like a child again, crying as he was blamed for yet another one of richie's sadistic 'pranks' that borderlined torture.

and just like ethan did when he was a kid, he began to plead.

"dad, please—" ethan forced out through gritted teeth, only for wayne to laugh in disbelief.

"ethan kirsch." ethan's mother spat, as though the mere mention of his name on her lips brought poison to her tongue. "the name i gave him when he was born was ethan kirsch." she flashed a smile at sam, tara, and chad. "sound familiar?"

he couldn't breathe. the constant onslaught of reveals and the realization crashing over him made him unable to move. he was only vaguely aware of tara and sam's reactions as they finally connected the dots, of chad's loud questions as he desperately tried to get him to talk, and his family's demands for him to speak. it was all jumbled up for him as his breathing and heartbeat quickened.

and he could only feel you move in front of him as though you had the superpowers, not him. your gun was aimed at the three of them, shaky breaths escaping you as you put yourself between ethan and his family.

another person's history didn't dictate you own. you knew that first hand. and to hear sam and tara yell at ethan for lying, for being a traitor and for never uttering a word of his connection to richie, and to had chad stay quiet because he knew he saw ethan shoot a web moments before, that ethan was spider-man, and yet he stayed silent, only protecting tara behind him.

quinn and her mother began to walk around the theatre, slowly circling the four of you as they looked at you like wolves with their prey. quinn jumped forward, slashing tara's arm teasingly, a laugh escaping her lips as tara yelped in pain.

"i don't know what you believe," sam began, keeping an eye on ethan's mother as she circled them slowly. "but i didn't commit those murders in woodsboro—"

"they're not here for that, ethan said warily, sniffing harshly as he glared at his father. despite the sensory overload, his anger still shone through as clear as day. "they're here for richie."

wayne scowled at that, his eyes darting to ethan for a second before returning to sam again. "we know you didn't commit those murders in woodsboro— what, do you think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? who do you think started all those rumors about you in the first place?”

quinn raised a knife-wielded hand towards sam, smiling triumphantly. you could hear wayne's sadistic laugh behind you. "do you know how easy it was to turn sam from the hero of woodsboro," she said with faux dreamy eyes, "into the villian? how easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people, rather than the best."

"and all the best lies boil down to one truth; that you, sam," wayne said, pointing a finger towards her, "are a killer."

"she was never the killer, dad," ethan scowled, pointing a finger to him, "you and mom raised one and did nothing! nothing, because you were just as fucking insane as he was!"

quinn jumped forward and tried to slash ethan's bicep, only for his other hand (which was supposed to keep pressure to his wound) grabbed her wrist. he kicked her back against the glass case, golden brown eyes now brass as he glared at her. "you don't get to talk about him like that!" quinn hissed. "you were just jealous of him. jealous because he was the son you never could be—"

"shut up."

your eyes met sam's, her eyes set on the gun you could barely wield due to your injured. wordlessly, you nodded, backing away from ethan until your back met sam's. your gun slowly lowered and you made a quick switch into her hand. your uninjured hand grabbed your knife and held it up.

"you can ask our parents now!" quinn yelled in disbelief, eyes crazed and dilated with adrenaline. "go on, ethan, ask them! 'was i never as good as richie?' i can tell you the answer now if you want—"

your fist collided with her face before she could say another word. the sickening crack of her nose made the pain in your body all the more bearable. your injured hand grabbed ethan's as sam shot at ethan's mom's leg, making her move away from you quickly.

you all tried to make your way to the ladders, the three of them immediately running after you and stopping you yet again.

"real great parenting job, by the way," tara said with a sneer, making quinn's eyes flare in anger over her bloody nose.

"shut your whore fucking mouth," quinn screamed, making sam shoot at her before she could step closer. the bullet grazed her ear, narrowly missing her head, and the redhead grinned at ethan's avoidance in looking at her. "what, can't handle a little blood?"

ethan only ignored her.

"did i overindulge in richie's love for these little movies? yeah," wayne sighed. "maybe! for me they're just a little dark. but.. " tears welled in his eyes, making yu grip the knife tighter in your hand as he stared at ethan. "richie really loved them. didn't he, ethan?"

"don't even talk to him," you snapped, making wayne grab your injured arm, his thumb burying into the gash inside of it. the feeling of his finger inside the fresh cut made you scream in pain, the sound echoing in ethan's mind and making him see red.

he shoved his dad hard, hard enough that he nearly stumbled and his back hit the edge of the stage. above his head, the sight of a young richie made ethan's blood rush louder in his ears, the sight of his oh-so-innocent looking older brother making him almost physically sick. and wayne only laughed a maniacal laugh at ethan's face.

"your girlfriend's fiesty!" wayne laughed. "richie would have loved her." he said, watching as your face contorted in anger.

"you better shut up," ethan growled, brows furrowing as his fists clenched at his father's words.

sam was practically shaking with anger, the gun pointed right at wayne as she forced out, "what happens next? what, after you're done with us, you'll just disappear?"

"no! i gotta hurry over to the hospital to make sure mindy and gale won'e pull through— which will be harder because my dear son decided to intervene with mindy's stabbing last minute — because everybody dies, sam!" he pointed the gun right at her, ignoring the gun she had in her hand. "everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son suffers and dies."

yells of encouragement from wayne's wife and his daughter echoed in theatre. "so now," wayne said lowly, "sam, put on the mask."

sam's eyes fell, as she sighed, the indifferent look on her face making tara look at her in disbelief at what she was doing. "he was.. so pathetic."

"maybe not the best time to say that, sam!" chad said, hands gripping a brick he had found earlier.

"what? no he wasn't." wayne said, gun aimed straight at sam's chest.

"yeah, your son," sam said, finally looking up at wayne with emotionless eyes. "he was a man baby who made his girlfriend do all the killing." her eyes darted at you, your head lowering slightly in understanding. "he was a limp dick little fuck who cried before i slit his throat."

"shut the fuck up!" quinn screamed, running towards sam before chad slammed the brick against her head. sam immediately shot at ethan's mom, who ducked under her shots and tried to lunge towards her, making her dodge it quickly, groaning when she felt a cut to her stomach.

using your uninjured nondominant hand, you threw the knife at wayne, making it lodge deep inside his side before ethan kicked the hilt, making it dig deeper. his scream of pain only fueled you as you and the others took advantage of his weakness and ran. tara began climbing up the ladder with sam and chad hot on her heels.

but you and ethan stayed behind.

"go with the others! we'll take care of this!" ethan yelled at them, tara's eyes widening when she looked down at the both of you.

"are you crazy?!" tara screamed frantically, climbing into the balcony and looking down at you. "come with us!" a shot towards her made her duck, chad immediately going to cover her with his arm.

"we have to go," chad urged her, pushing her towards the exit.

you turned away from them, swallowing thickly as you looked at where wayne stood, his gun pointed right at your head. you ducked under another bullet he shot, ethan grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him as you dodged his bullets.

"just like you to run away, ethan!" wayne yelled, knife still in his side as he watched you.

ethan's mom hummed in agreement, golden eyes shining with vengeance as she walked closer and closer to you. "changing your last name," a shot from wayne, "moving across the country," another shot, "ignoring your brother's death!" she stood in front of you and ethan, knife glinting in the dim light. her eyes met ethan's. "i'd rather you have died instead."

that sentence had been circulating in ethan's head much longer than he would admit. hearing her say it only confirmed his past thoughts, but that only made him angrier. with how she treated her, he could barely call her his mother.

ethan's jaw clenched as she lunged forward with her knife, narrowly missing his stomach. he grabbed her head with his hands and kneed her in the face, making her groan but prevail. she slashed at his leg, the pain making him only wince before he was slamming a punch into her face.

a shot that grazed your arm made your head snap towards where it came from. wayne's crazed smile made you immediately duck as another shot was sent towards you, and another, all making you farther and farther away from where ethan was. "oh, y/n," wayne srawled as you hid behind a glass case, eyes darted around as you tried to look for something to defend yourself with.

"you know, we did a search on you— there never was a y/n vaughn until around 10 years ago." wayne peeked behind a glass case, disappointment flashing over his face that quickly disappeared.

the mention of your change of last name made you swallow hard, ears listening to your surroundings behind richie's homemade movie still playing on the projector. "someone went to great lengths to change your name, you know. couldn't even find anything in the department," another peek, only to find nothing behind the case. he scowled at that, his patience wearing thin. "no mention of any parents. no guardians— just child protective—"

you jumped on wayne's back, grabbing the knife from his side and using it to dig it into his shoulder, his gun firing behind him wildly as he tried to get you off of him. but you were far too agile, for as soon as you stuck and twisted the blade, you were gone again, hiding behind some souvenir with the knife in your hand.

a beat followed your attack, the sound only being your rapid heartbeat as you tried to calm yourself. you were weaker now, especially because of your wound that seemed to continuously gush blood.

another beat. another pause.

and then you heard the rapid footsteps.

it made you turn around as ethan fought his mom, and as you turned around you came face to face with quinn mid air as she jumped at you. your duck was a second too late before you found yourself pinned to the floor. your head hit the concrete ground with a sickening crack, the power of it making you dizzy as quinn raised her knife to her throat, her hand holding your wrist with your knife.

"i knew there was something off about you ever since i caught ethan staring at you," quinn seethed, her bloodied mouth and nose dropping blood onto your face. "i also knew," she began to grin bloodily, showing her missing teeth from chad's punch with the brick, "that you were just some slut who wanted to fuck a superhero."

you groaned as her knife pressed deeper against your neck, hard enough to draw blood.

"i should've known little ethan was spider-man. it makes sense you know— he's always been too much of a coward to do shit on his own—"

"you and your family talk too fucking much." you raised your injured hand to your knife, quickly grabbing the hilt before you stabbed her lower abdomen, using the knife to push her off of you and for you to get on top of her. taking your knife out, you raised your knife and stabbed it into her again, listening to her gurgles as you stabbed her again. and again. and again.

but you underestimated her thirst for revenge. quinn's hand went up to stab you in the middle of your torso, twisting it back and forth with a horrible squelch squelch sound. the pain was unimaginable, radiating out everywhere as she forced you off of her. you wanted to get up. you needed to get up, but you had lost so much blood already. consciousness kept slipping out of your fingers as you laid there on the ground, blood seeping out of your mouth.

and yet again, you were alone. you only heard water in your ears, as though you were submerged under the ocean. you knew quinn's dead body was next to you, but she had already long succumbed to her wounds.

and you would've too. it felt as though you were 16 again, sobbing after killing the first two people you had ever killed in your life, desperately needing someone to come along and hold you and comfort you. but as you stared up at the abyss of the black ceiling, you found the abyss staring back at you.

you had no one then and you had no one now. you had pushed everyone closest to you away. you had put yourself here.

and to die alone was a scary thing. to die alone would be to dying just like your father, shot dead right at the edge of freedom, right before he could go home to his little girl.

until you heard him. his frantic voice calling for you, and suddenly, the waves disappeared, and all you heard was him.

and when he saw you, he could only feel panic. ethan had felt all of his family members' deaths as they happened. first his sister, then his mother, then his father, who sam had come back to take care of on her own.

he had no one before, but he truly had no one now. no one except for you. and to see you practically choking on your own blood on the ground, he was frantic because he couldn't lose you.

ethan was too stubborn and too selfish to lose you. maybe he was more like you than he thought.

he rushed to you, lip quivering when he saw the state you were in. "hey— hey—" ethan's hand came to hold yours as he put your head on his lap.

tears pricked his eyes as he looked down at your face, so beaten up and weary, but still looking up at him.

studying him like your favorite painting. taking in the color of his cheeks, the color of his eyes, the color of his lips— everything. and weakly, your hand went up to trace his face like you always wanted to, shaking hands remembering his every angle. his every curve.

"ethan—" you choked on your own blood, tears falling from your eyes as you stared up at him. his lip was cut and he had horrible bruises all over his face, but he was here. you weren't alone. not when he was here.

"i'm here," ethan said, tears dropping onto your face. he swallowed thickly as his senses went off again and his father's anguished scream echoed through the theatre. millions of nerves in his body practically electrified him at once. and there went his father.

"it's over. it's done. it's over, y/n."

but there was no witty remark. nothing but your eyes staring up at him and blinking slowly with every passing second. still staring, still studying, still remembering.

because once you closed your eyes, you'd never be able to see your favorite painting again.

sam walked up to the both of you, face falling when she saw you in ethan's arms. he was holding you so tight to him, your head almost limp as you struggled to stay ground. "the ambulance will be here any minute," she forced out, unable to look at the deep hole in your torso.

"hurry," ethan begged, looking back down at you. his eyes widened as your head began to fall back, his heart pounding out of his chest as he struggled to keep you with him for just a little longer. "stay with me, okay? i need you to—" he choked on his own tears. "i need you to stay with me."

"i'm sorry," you breathed, hand caressing ethan's cheek softly as he cried. you wanted to punch whoever was up there playing with your fate. you wanted to curse them out for making you die now, right when you realized that you would stay as long as ethan asked you to.

"don't say that, please," ethan pleaded, brushing tears from your eyes as he sniffled harshly. "you'll make it up to me. you'll make it up to me for treating me like such shit," he reveled in the weak laugh you let out, his own tearful laugh escaping him, "and we'll be okay. the deal won't matter and we'll be okay."

ethan's lip quivered as he stared at you, your eyes half lidded as you struggled to keep yourself with him. "you just need to stay with me. that's all i want— y/n?" ethan's face fell when your eyes shut and didn't open again. he could feel cold rush through his body as he shook you.

"y/n, c'mon." ethan shook you again, tears blurring his vision as he tried to get you to wake up. he wanted you to open your eyes and smile that genuine smile of yours and call him stupid for ever thinking you'd die just like that. he wanted you to kiss him and tell him that everything was okay and that you would be oaky, and he'd take you to museums and watch you stare at your favorite pieces of art and ramble to him just like he does to you. he wanted that.

but he received nothing of the sort. nothing but the warmth that was slowly disappearing from your body.

"no, no, no, no—" a broken scream left ethan's lips as he hugged you tighter to his chest, his back heaving with repeated sobs. "don't leave me. don't leave me, please don't leave me, y/n," he begged you, pleading with a dying body for something akin to a miracle. ethan was begging something— a person or a god, it didn't matter —to keep you with him. but whoever he was begging to was cruel, because he received nothing. and ethan could only cry as he continued to beg.

the blanket was cold. ironic for its purpose, but that's all ethan could think about as he sat in the ambulance.

his family was dead. he was the last one alive, and maybe he would've felt better about if it he didn't continuously replay the image of the knife he wielded going into his mother's throat. or the sound of her drowning in her own blood before ethan heard his sister do the same.

he blamed it on the heightened senses.

they were retrieving your body now. they had to practically force ethan out first so that his wounds could be dealt with.

his emt was more than mildly surprised when she saw how his blood vessels were steadily healing. she gave him a bandage that he had to stitch up at the hospital (much to his chagrin). but ethan hadn't uttered a word ever since everything happened. his vocabulary didn't seem to stretch past just a few nods, shakes of his head, and grunts. his empty eyes couldn't even look up from the ground.

tara and sam were both getting patched up already. he guessed chad was doing the same, until he felt someone sit next to him with a sigh.

chad didn't say anything. he just sat with him, and maybe ethan appreciated that more.

"spider-man, huh?"

nevermind.

ethan could only nod once. he couldn't even manage a whole spiel on how he got bitten, or how he didn't want chad flaunting that his roommate was new york's friendliest hero. but chad understood that, because he only nodded in response. "nice."

silence enveloped the both of them as they sat next to each other in the ambulance. kirby passed by them on a stretcher, barely hanging on to her life, followed by three body bags. ethan almost turned away just at the sight of them, but he forced himself to look with angry tears slipping down his face.

he wished it was anyone but them. that whoever was behind the mask wasn't the very people ethan was trying to get away from, because it was different to have them be across the country instead of dead in a body bag. he was so full of anger towards them. for being so encompassed with revenge and vengefulness that it led to their own demise, that they hated ethan so much that they were willing to kill all his friends and him, that they resulted in your death. your lifeless body on the ground with a gruesomely made hole in your torso.

but then he saw the last stretcher come out, and his throat ran dry. it was you, attached to an oxygen mask and barely hanging on, but it was you.

EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— posting this right before finals week lol but i hope you guys enjoyed! remember, there's still an epilogue so look out for that

#TAGLIST— @ethanlvndry , @iloveneilperry , @starsfilm , @goosenoggin , @aminatic , @wenvierismycomfort , @l5byrinth , @wroetoslut , @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @oliviapopewannabe , @wzrlds , @raggedyoldwitch , @hotweeb , @marsyay78 , @valenftcrush , @bonkyandsteeb3000 , @bubs-world , @danis-stuff-is-here , @nuhteyam , @ravenstrueluv , @taeversity , @heartipods , @gcidrvsh , @theapulidooo , @volturi-girl-imagines , @duolingofanaccount , @buorke , @grxcisxhy-wp , @strangerdangerwrites , @mrslandryy , @michaelangdonsslut , @netey6m

[fanaticsnail]

Bar Shift: Part 3

I am so sorry. As much as I'm a sucker for a trinity, it looks like it's going to be a four parter due to length. I couldn't leave out playful banter, it was simply too cute to cut.

Word count: 1,898

Part 2 is here.

You smiled as you made your way over to the darked silhouette of the intimidating swashbuckler with the crystal decanter containing the full contents of the GSM he had requested and filled his awaiting glass with a small sample of the dark liquid.

“Is that all you’re planning on giving me?” he asked, quirking his brow upwards at the insufficient amount you poured for him. You giggled in response.

“Oh, no darling,” you leant forwards onto the bar slightly, placing the decanter down to the left of you, “that’s just a sample to ensure your absolute satisfaction.”

He narrowed his eyes at your playfulness and proceeded to raise the glass to his lips with an unnerving amount of eye contact. He rolled the liquid over his tongue and breathed some air into his mouth, creating an almost whistle-like sound as he affectively sampled the wine.

“It will suffice,” he exclaimed with an arched brow and placed the glass onto the counter for you to fill his glass. You smiled and executed an appropriate 150ml pour into the chalice before turning to place the decanter on the shelf behind the bar. You began collecting empty glasses from the bar top and place them in the rack for Tori to sort out with her washing and polishing duties. She smiled at you and took the rack from your hands.

“Jacob said you can have fifteen minutes,” she said to you, “now that you sorted the broody one at the bar.”

You laughed a little at the comment, watching Tori as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

“Tell Jacob that when I come back, you can go if you like,” you responded with a smile, “even have a drink with the staff, we’re pretty quiet so I don’t see why he’d want to keep you longer than needed.”

“You sure? You’ve already pulled more than a double,” she countered.

“Yeah, but I promised Sanji I’d make his knock-off tonight. Gotta repay him for breakfast somehow,” you laughed before heading off to take a small break.

You stepped into the barely lit section of the bar away from the patrons and retrieved a small pouch of tobacco from your pocket. You collected a filter and a wafer-thin paper and began to roll up the dried leaves into your desired, cylindrical shape. You brought the paper to your lips and pressed your tongue against the small, glossy tab of the paper to make it tacky enough to stick together before bringing the filter end to your lips. You patted your chest first, then the pockets on your hips before searching your rear pockets for the location of your lighter before mentally hitting yourself at the knowledge that Sanji claimed it earlier.

You let out a small groan and pulled the cigarette from your lips and held it in your hands between your index and middle fingers.

“Looking for something?” you heard a cocky voice calling behind you. You grinned and turned to face the blonde chef who was slowly coming into your view. He was twirling your lighter between his fingers with a sly grin adorning his handsome face.

“You didn’t give it back,” you slumped back into the railing of the dimly-lit bar and looked at him with an accusatory expression.

“You saw me use it!” he laughed at you, coming closer to your relaxed form and taking a place leaning beside you, “you even shared my cigarette after you saw me use it.”

“That I did,” you nodded, staring at the ground and kicking it slightly with your toes. He chuckled and reached down, taking your unlight cigarette from your hands and slowly bringing it to your lips.

You held a puzzled expression, but accepted the object between your partially parted lips as he offered it to you. He used his other hand to bring the small, metallic object to your face and flick the flint before bringing the small flame to the end of your unlit cigarette. You smiled at him and brought your face closer to the flame and ran the end of it, successfully igniting it before inhaling deeply. You removed it from your lips and blew it away from his vicinity before offering it to him.

He smiled and used his index and middle fingers to claim the object before bringing it to his own lips and inhaling deeply.

“You on another break or are you done for the night?” he asked you, removing the cigarette from his lips and exhaling the nicotine riddled smoke.

“Take a guess, love,” you laughed playfully, reaching for the small cigarette again and claiming it between your own fingers and raising it again to your lips.

“Another halfa, then?” he asked you, nudging your shoulder against his.

“Not even,” you shook your head with a smile, “I’ve only got a quarter this time.”

He smiled and hung his head a little, looking at the ground you nudged with your foot moments prior. You both sat in comfortable silence as you shared your hand-rolled cigarette, swapping it between you with organic ease.

“How’s it been out here?” he asked you with a small quirk of his brow.

“Oh, I can’t complain. Lots of regulars, a couple of younger ones,” you shrugged, “I got to flirt with the pretty red-head you had your sights on earlier.”

“So it’s been a good shift, then?” he chuckled at you with a slight warmth.

“Well, I had a good start to my day,” you smiled at him, returning his earlier shoulder nudge, “woke up early, went to the gym for a bit, finally got to giving my hair a bit of attention, had a wonderful breakfast, and got hit on by my grumpy boss.”

You both let out a massive laugh at that final comment, reminiscing the sheer amount of embarrassment at the response Zeff conducted at your non-serious challenge. After teetering down your laughter and the end of your cigarette was dissipating, another comfortable silence fell between you.

You turned to Sanji as he looked down at you through half-lidded lashes. He reached his hand up to some of the hair that had fallen into your face slightly, and made to tuck it behind your ear.

“I did notice your hair looked extra spectacular this morning,” he whispered to you, keeping his hand on the side of your head as he looked over your glossy locks, “although you always look beautiful to me.”

“You tease me,” you smiled and playfully swatted his hand away from your head while pursing your lips. You placed the diminished cigarette butt in the ashtray near the railing to your side before turning back to Sanji.

“How much longer do you have?” he asked you while looking down at the ground.

“On break? Around five minutes or so, I think. You?” you asked him, massaging the back of your neck with your right hand to relieve some of the tension you picked up from working.

“I’ve just gotta julienne some carrots and capsicum for breakfast prep and then I’m done I think,” he shrugged in response, still holding his gaze on the ground in front of you.

You brought your hand back down from behind your neck and stepped forward towards him. You brought one of your hands to his and gave it an affectionate squeeze slightly. He brought his gaze up from the ground to pause at your hand before bringing them up to look into your eyes.

“You going to come up when you’re done? Have a drink with me?” you asked him, still maintaining your hold on his hand.

“Absolutely, princess,” he said in response, returning your squeeze with his own hand before bringing it to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss against your knuckles, “what are you making?”

You smiled at his actions, allowing him to continue to hold your hand within his own.

“I’m not sure yet, but I’m sure it’ll come to me,” you replied with a smile before shrugging, “I need to make sure my work-husband knows how much he’s appreciated.”

“Work husband?” he asked you with a smile, slightly furrowing his brows at this title.

“I mean, that’s how the bloody front of house staff see us,” you laughed, freeing your hand from his grasp and checking over your uniform for any miscellaneous irregularities. He gawked at you as you continued to search your uniform and pick at anything that didn’t belong attached to you. He shook his head and attempted to come up with any kind of response to this declaration.

“That’s funny, I don’t remember proposing,” he chuckled, “was it arranged, or?”

You laughed at his comment, before reaching into his hand again and taking the metallic item from his hand.

“Everything is so literal with you, love,” you giggled, bringing the lighter to your pocket and securing it in place. As soon as your gaze fell away from his, he allowed himself to fully give in to his adoration for you and exposed it freely on his face. He didn’t care if he was caught with this love-struck expression by anyone, the only one he truly cared about potentially seeing it was you.

You checked over your back for any smears or smudges of any undesirable discrepancies in your attire before you brought your sights to Sanji once more.

“How do I look, husband?” you mischievously asked him with a broad smile, closing your eyes slightly as you awaited some silly, flirtatious verbal response from him.

“You are the most beautiful woman in all of the seas,” he whispered, prompting you to open your eyes and stair inquisitively at him. There was no humour in his voice. He was completely serious with his compliments and he stepped over towards you.

“T-Thank you,” you managed to stutter out with a small amount of shock, “not the kind of response I was expecting.”

“What kind of response were you expecting?” he interrupted you, stepping away from the railing and bringing himself towards you.

“Something light-hearted and flirty, knowing you,” you taunted him with a smirk.

“And you know your husband so well,” he taunted back with an arched brow and a subtle smirk growing on his face. You held his gaze, feeling a swell in your chest at the proximity. He was so close to you, you could almost feel what his lips would taste like pressed hungrily against your own. Your gaze fluttered between each of his eyes, flickering slightly to his lips and returning back to his eyes triangularly.

“I have to get back to the bar,” you whispered airily, accidentally allowing your desires to escape from your lips.

“I know,” he whispered back, allowing his own yearning for you to be known through his semi-breathless tone. You stood there silently for a moment before squeezing your eyes shut and ridding the welling emotion from your chest.

“Come see me after,” you suddenly ordered him, patting his chest with your hand. He laughed at your jab and nodded his head in confirmation before watching you retreat back to the bar.

“Yes, Misses,” he responded playfully, watching your retreating form as you ventured back to the bar.

You shook all thoughts of the proximity of your prior flirtation with the blonde sous-chef from your mind as you began the final stretch of the bar shift.

Part 4

[lennadanvers]

Hmm i wanna ask your opinion about how Simon Riley once had fallen in love with someone that share similarities with him but this person is much more complicated than him. More reclusive, secretive and has extreme trust issue. You think how Simon would act around them?

This is a little old, but I'm trying to reply to my asks, so here it goes. Keep in mind I'm in no way a Simon Riley expert: this is just, broadly speaking, how I think he may handle things (based off of my idea of him and the media I've consumed regarding his personality). Also, it is my first time aproaching a character this way.

I think that Simon himself couldn't be much more reclusive, secretive and have more trust issues, honestly. The man doesn't show his face or use his own name. He is also pretty complicated himself. So it's kinda hard to imagine someone even more reclusive, secretive and with more trust issues. Also, he is complicated, as a character and as a person (with this I mean that, in his own universe, he has both a complex history and ways to interact with people; even if it doesn't always show).

That said, I think it really depends on the way you're picturing him. I've seen him written in more of a protective role, with most of his issues resolved. In that light, I think he'd be patient and understanding. He'd try to get close to them, but really slowly, the way one tries to help a wounded, but dangerous, animal. He'd understand and wait for them to grant permission before getting closer. It'd be a slow process (very, very slow, he could be at if for years). I think Simon would try to prove he is trustworthy, and that, even if they try to push him away or emotionally hurt him, he wouldn't budge. I'm thinking a calm Simon, maybe a little sad because he can't protect them from the things he went through. It'd be hard for him because it'd be like reliving it all over again.At the same time, every small victory would bring him a thousand times more satisfaction. I bet he blushes down to his chest and hides his smile against his pillow when he remembers the way they chose him for an exercise in pairs during training.

On the other hand, if he hasn't resolved his issues, I think it would be a little more dangerous. He'd know it can be a bad idea: one of him is bad enough. He wouldn't be able to stay 100% away, though. He'd be there without being there. Silence, quick glances, always an inch of air between his body and theirs. I picture lots of acts of service and very few words. At least very few honest words. Maybe too many jokes (not explicitly directed at them, but still) just to feel like they know he's not dark, scary and hiding all the time. He'd be (even more) scared. And confused. Terrified of rejection, of doing even the tiniest bit of damage, of overstepping, of them seeing him the way he sees himself. The way I see this working is the both of them working together to heal. This road would have more bumps, I think, but Simon doesn't give up, period. The man won't lose a battle against himself, and he sure as hell ain't losing to their demons. Just lots of angst and some autodestructive feelings/actions. But a happy ending anyway.

[quinndominion]

Still bad at tumblr...buried new pics behind 'read more' cut in a reblog...defeats the point of pictures!

Peni said:

(P.S., I'm pretty sure that's Mary, voted "Girl Most Likely to Pull a Cart" four years in a row in high school.)

Mary. Of course, it's Mary!

But you get all the cookies, or virtual sweets of your choosing, for making me delirious-laugh at that line. I've gotten plenty of sleep since and it still cracks me up. Maybe because she is high school age here. And with only two classmates she'd also be voting that for herself for it to stick, lol.

Doesn't surprise me that most sim stories aren't finished. When Life happens, and it will, this time-consuming hobby with no visible objective value will be one of the first things to go. It brings in no money(unless maybe you've got a decent Youtube following). And the emotional satisfaction of writing a story and of having someone read said story are, as you allude to, rather different things.

I spent a dozen years (more if you count TS1) telling myself stories with this game, with no interest or intention of sharing them. I loved that way of playing the game and at a story level there's no real qualitative difference as I am, basically, the same sims player and the same storyteller. I couldn't create my own poses then (a skill that's become both the best and the worst thing to happen to me as a simmer!) but I still made liberal use of poseboxes just as soon as they came on the scene, for pictures no one but me was ever going to see. And still it's such a different endeavour putting these things together for an audience, real or imagined.

But anyway, my point was that I'm not so sure it was always the case that most sim stores weren't finished. Maybe. I never read Exchange stories when the Exchange was around but I feel like a lot of the ones I read archived on that clockwatching site were completed. (Hope that site's still up. Been a few years since I checked...) And yeah, I guess, most of the old stories on LJ weren't really completed but a lot of them went on for years and years - with dozens or maybe even over a hundred chapters - so it didn't really feel like an abrupt, 'wait, wha' happened?' when reading them. And I think that's a function of community and engagement, which is ironic since sooo much more of the community is here on simblr, but it's not really designed for more than ephemeral engagement.

I was lucky in that even though I didn't finally join LJ until it was dying, there were still enough active simmers there that finding friends was way easier than 'accumulating' followers. (Find folks writing stories you like. Tell them why you like it. Easy peasy. Not so with tumblr which also operates on a kind of 'clout' since it's a kind of social media.) I've noticed the new Communities thing that's been rolled out (new to me) and even on those devoted to storytelling I still don't see much traction getting people to respond to words with words, which I suspect is the currency most writers most want.

Oh well, I'm just an old-head, ranting at time itself, wishing forums were a thing again.

End ramble. (But it's just wild to remember a world where a perfectly ordinary - but funny - sim story post might have 10 or 20 or 30 actual comments and responses whereas now getting 10 whole likes on a non-cc post means you're winning at simblr, lol.)

[lost-inthemeadow]

Somethin' stupid - Daisy Johnson/f!reader (AOS one shot)

Summary: In which Y/N and Daisy are best friends, but they secretly like each other, thinking their counterpart doesn't feel the same way. During Karaoke Night, the rest of the team starts to notice.

Features most of the team.

Word count: 1481.

Karaoke nights were a rare occurrence around the base. They happened only if the team wasn't on an "end of the world" kind of mission, so they all cherished them wholeheartedly.

Tonight was one of those infrequent nights. While Coulson set up his precious karaoke machine, everyone settled down in the common area. Daisy and Y/N were together, as they always were, sitting next to one another on the big couch. The two were inseparable, the best of friends, two pieces of one single being, like Fitz and Simmons.

Hunter arrived, bringing a cooler full of beer, followed by Bobbi, who carried the eight boxes of pizza as if they were filled with feathers. The group cheered when they saw them enter the room, and Fitz ran to Bobbi to take three of the boxes and then started passing the food around.

Y/N grabbed a slice of pizza just as Coulson finished. He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "Who's going first?" he asked as he fished a beer from the cooler.

"Y/N!" said everyone in the room with one voice. It wasn't a mystery that Y/N was the best singer of the bunch; after all, singing was what kept her from sleeping on the streets when she was younger, so she loved to do it anytime she had the chance.

She gave her pizza a quick bite and stood up. "Alright," she said, handing her slice to Daisy for safekeeping. Daisy bit into it playfully, and though Y/N protested, the fact that she was laughing just encouraged the brunette to take another bite.

"Do you have anything in mind?" asked Mack. "Because I'd love to suggest a song."

"I do, actually. I think Coulson's going to like this one." Y/N grinned as she took the microphone, looking at him.

Daisy frowned, curious about what her best friend had chosen. She picked at her brain to recall the music Coulson liked, but nothing of the sort was something Y/N would sing on a normal day, let alone Karaoke Night.

"I am?" asked the man.

"I think so. I've heard you play it a few times in your office. It's really different from my usual picks, but I like it," Y/N replied as she searched for the song on the list. "Ah! Got it. Ready?" she asked, clearing her throat before starting.

"Please!" exclaimed Simmons.

Y/N hit play, and the Frank Sinatra song started playing. Sounds of amusement came from around the room. Even Daisy, who knew Y/N so well, was surprised by the song choice.

Coulson's face lit up the moment he heard the first note playing. "You're right, I love it!" he said, smiling widely.

"Told you," Y/N replied.

"This is definitely not your style. Are you turning all old-timey on me?" asked Daisy teasingly.

The song's intro wasn't too long, so it was almost time for her to sing. "Shut up, flower," Y/N managed to reply with a laugh before starting.

Flower. That was the nickname Y/N had given Daisy when she changed her name. Y/N was the only one allowed to call her that, so she used it to her advantage anytime she could.

Y/N closed her eyes and started singing, not needing to read the lyrics on the screen: "I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me." She let her melodic, beautiful voice fill the common area. It traveled through the air and extended to every corner of the room.

As the sound reached her, Daisy allowed herself to close her eyes as well, taking advantage of the fact that Y/N couldn't see her. She had always liked her friend's voice, but ever since she got her powers, Y/N's singing pierced through her heart like one of Cupid's arrows. Her ability to feel vibrations made it so she could sense it on every bone, every muscle, and every nerve, and she was addicted to how good it felt.

"And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me." Her tone adjusted to the tune perfectly, making it sound as if it belonged to her. "And afterwards, we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two". She opened her eyes and looked at Daisy, knowing that the next part belonged to her and her only. "And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you'".

She had lied, of course, when she said that she picked the song because of Coulson. This song said precisely what she felt for Daisy, and if she couldn't say it, she was determined to sing it. It told the story of the dilemma she was going through—how she thought that by expressing her feelings, she would lose Daisy forever and ruin their friendship for good.

Bobbi, who was sitting on the armrest of the smaller couch, elbowed Hunter, having noticed what had just happened. "Did you see that?" she asked him in a loud whisper.

"See what?" he asked with his mouth full of pizza.

"How Y/N looked at Daisy. I think she likes her!"

"That's old news, love," he replied. Y/N had confessed her feelings for her best friend to Hunter not long ago, and despite how out of character it may seem, he had kept her secret until now.

"Wait, you knew about this?" Mack chimed in; he was sitting next to Bobbi on a simple chair. "I always suspected it, but I'm glad I was right. Do we know if the feeling's...you know...mutual?" he asked.

"No idea," Hunter replied.

"I practice every day to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come through, but then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you." Y/N continued, unaware of the conversation going on around her. "The time is right; your perfume fills my head; the stars get red; and, oh, the night's so blue. And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, 'I love you'"

Daisy couldn't help but look at Y/N as her friend sang the words she so desperately wanted to hear directed at her. They had said "I love you" to each other a million times, but never in the way Daisy so deeply wanted.

The short instrumental interlude interrupted Y/N's singing, which Hunter saw as an opportunity to sneak a little dance with her. He jumped from his seat and chivalrously offered his hand to her. She took it with a giggle, and they both started dancing in circles while the rest of the team cheered.

As her feet moved along with Hunter's, who was the closest she had ever had to a big brother, all she could imagine was what would happen if she had the courage to do this with Daisy.

When it was time for her to sing again, Y/N pushed the man aside to have the imaginary stage for herself. Hunter went back to his seat just in time to hear Simmons, who had caught up to their previous conversation, say to Mack:

"I don't know. I've never seen anything out of the ordinary. Though I do hope she does, they'd be perfect together!"

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you." Y/N sang the last stanza, her eyes closing again to focus. Daisy looked at her, lost in how beautiful she looked, and sang the words with her in a whisper, dumbly smiling.

"Look!" exclaimed Jemma.

"Oh, she definitely does," added Bobbi.

"We have to do something about this. We can't let them just silently like each other forever," said Mack.

Everyone in the room clapped after Y/N's performance ended. People asked for another song, but she declined, wanting to give her friends a chance. Coulson stood up from beside Daisy, which is where he was sitting, and took the microphone from Y/N's hands. As she went back to her seat, she found only the crust of her pizza was left—the only part Daisy didn't like.

"Pizza thief," she whispered to the brunette, taking another slice from the pizza box on the coffee table before them.

"Yes," Daisy said proudly, "and you love me for it."

"Oh, I so do," said Y/N sarcastically. But oh, how she actually did.

"Alright," Coulson interrupted their moment, speaking into the mic. "Now that we heard the only person in this whole base who can actually sing, who wants to go next?"

"Daisy!" Mack, Bobbi, Hunter, and Simmons yelled together.

"Me? Why me?" asked Daisy.

"Oh, you'll see," Mack replied. "And please, choose a love song.

[godlizzza]

"Hold still," Strahm barked, yanking on the needle harder than he probably needed to if Hoffman's answering wince and muffled grunt of pain were anything to go by.

"You're slow," was all Hoffman managed to get out between barely moving lips but even those two mumbled words clearly pained him. He'd mostly avoided talking altogether, and what with the sizeable gash torn through his cheek Strahm can't really blame him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My first aid skills not up to par? Maybe you'd like to do it yourself?" Strahm snapped, but when Hoffman reached to take the needle from him, he batted his hands away. With a huff Strahm recommenced his task, more gently now. "Just wait, okay? I'm almost done."

Hoffman lowered his hands back to his knees, his face flinching every time Strahm pierced the needle through his skin. He thought about the searing pain in his neck as he'd been forced to jab a pen through his throat to survive. He liked to think of himself as the bigger man but he couldn't help but relish every sharp breath Hoffman inhaled as he stitched his face back together. Maybe that would get the error of his fucking ways through his head.

It'd been enough to pull Strahm up short when he'd kicked the door of the old warehouse in, ready to slap some cuffs on Hoffman and bring him in, only to find the man slumped over a worktable. He'd been pawing through a first aid kit while holding a bloodied rag to the side of his face. It was soaked through, dripping blood along the floor to gather in a puddle around the stool he was sat on. Strahm had demanded Hoffman put his hands in the air. He hadn't lowered his gun until Hoffman had done just that, revealing the ruined, pulpy mass that was his right cheek.

Jill Tuck sure had done a number on him.

Sometime after that Strahm had pulled up a chair in front of him and flipped open the first aid kit. He didn't want to think about what had switched in his mind that led him from starting at arresting Hoffman then ending at helping him.

"What happened?" Strahm asked once he'd tied off the final stitch and snipped the thread.

Hoffman just grunted in response, bringing a moist rag up to wipe some of the blood from his cheek. Strahm examined the jagged line of stitches he'd sewn from the corner of Hoffman's lip, stretching nearly to his earlobe. The skin was still ragged and raw, trickling blood and edged with glistening pink. He tried to imagine what it would look like once healed--some kind of wicked raised scar, leaving Hoffman looking like a Bond villain. It'd suit him, Strahm thought with a vicious satisfaction. At least now Hoffman wouldn't be able glide by his past transgressions, unphased. He had the mark as evidence of his bloody misdeeds, branding him for what he was.

There's nothing past about it! his brain screamed. Your colleagues are cleaning up bodies right the fuck now!

Right. He was supposed to be arresting Hoffman.

But then Hoffman was mumbling into the rag, "My hand."

Strahm frowned, leaning forward to catch Hoffman's breathy words. "What? What about your hand?"

Hoffman held it up in answer and Strahm winced at the mangled fingers dangling from his inflamed palm.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, taking Hoffman's wrist to turn his hand over this way and that. The only sign Hoffman gave of any pain was the slight twitching of his eye. "What'd you do? Get into a fight with a brick wall?"

"I had to. It was the only way to survive."

"Survive what?"

Hoffman nodded to the desk, tentatively licking his scratched lips. "That."

Strahm followed his gesture and found himself looking at a few bands of metal screwed together. It took him a minute to place it, but then he noticed the blood flecking the outer band and his eyes widened. He remembered pouring over the files of all the previous Jigsaw cases, all the traps and torture devices sprung from John Kramer's demented head. His mind flashed back to one of the first games they'd been able to place chronologically, involving Amanda Young. They had the video Jigsaw had left for her, showing just what that device had been built to do, and Strahm still shuddered every time he remembered the sickening crunch of it springing to life.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, releasing Hoffman's wrist.

When he turned back around, Hoffman was trying to flex his crumpled fingers, wincing at the slightest twitch.

"That's a little outside my wheelhouse," Strahm said, looking at Hoffman's hand.

Hoffman tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. "Your concern is touching enough."

"Fuck off," Strahm growled, rising to his feet. He peeled off the disposable gloves painted with Hoffman's blood and tossed them into the nearby waste basket. "What's your big plan now, huh? I'm guessing Jill trying to kill you kind of threw a spanner in the works."

At the mention of Jill a shadow passed over Hoffman's face. That glacial coldness sweeping through his blue eyes made Strahm want to shiver. It reminded him of being back in a hospital room, his throat torn to shreds as he was told to fuck off if he knew what was good for him. It's what he should've been doing in that very moment.

"First things first," Hoffman glowered, "I need to see my doctor about giving me a hand. Think you can give me a lift, Agent?" He accompanied this last question with a faux sweet smile. It would've been ridiculous on his regular face but with the fresh cut torn through his cheek it looked absolutely demented. "I'd drive myself but I'm a little tied up right now."

Strahm just glared at him. "You're lucky I don't shoot you."

Hoffman seemed a little put out by his response, which Strahm thought was just a little outrageous, considering he'd tried to kill him twice.

"Call me a cab then?" Hoffman mused.

Strahm's glare intensified and he bared his teeth. "I can't. My phone's being held as evidence for a crime you tried to frame me for!"

Hoffman let out a long-suffering sigh that Strahm felt in his bones.

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

Can I request an Oberyn Martelle x plus!size reader I was thinking maybe Oberyn and the reader used to be married until he left the reader for Ellaria they were both a happy normal couple until he met Ellaria and fell in love with her and he cheated on the reader because she found them having sex in their shared home when he left the reader he told her that he was in love will Ellaria and he was going to marry her the reader just told him to be happy when he left the reader was pregnant she raised her son alone she named him Max so the reader had to attend that wedding that they where having and she ran into Oberyn and his wife Ellaria she ran into them when she was trying to talk to Tyrion Lannister about how it’s not good to give her son weapons so he could practice being a freaking hero max was only 5 he just ignored her Oberyn and Ellaria where making out in front of the reader so time passed and when the reader attended the festival max was running trying to chase his new pet that’s a little baby wolf but when he was chasing his pet he ran into the circle where Oberyn and Ellaria where talking max bumped into Oberyn the reader found him and said to be careful and not to run off Oberyn saw the resemblance to himself and max the reader told max his dad was dead to protect him from the ugly truth when max left to get some candy Oberyn held the reader back a asked if max was his son the reader told said yes he asked her why didn’t she tell him she didn’t tell him because he was going to marry Ellaria so what’s the point in telling him ( No happy ending here)

OBERYN<3

i love my fellow bisexual with all my heart.

Bad Omens | Oberyn Martell x Plus size!Reader

inspired by Bad Omens by 5 Seconds of Summer

warnings: allusion to smut, mention of pregnancy, infidelity, talk of body image

wc: 1K

masterlist

The beautiful prince of Dorne chose you to be his wife, his little wife is what would he say to you. You always rolled your eyes at the word 'little' because you weren't a frail girl from the brothel, you were plush in the hips, thighs, and stomach. But 'little' was for how much younger you are than Oberyn, the innocence you possess. He loved he could dominate your body and your mind. 

You both worked because you were able to submit to him easily. He never wanted to take over your being but you wanted him to. He loved how you would always be there waiting for him with your open heart and legs. 

Embarrassment was an understatement for what you felt when your prince was slamming his hips into another woman. Not just any woman but the breathtaking Ellaria who spent nights between your thick loins and your husbands. The nights spent together never separate until the day you found out you are carrying his child. 

You wanted to run and hide from the world around you. This love was going to be the death of you and you knew that you promised to be his forever. "I found myself in another, my soul is bound to her," Oberyn's cut deep into you and he just watched you bleed. You didn't want to give the satisfaction of crying over him but you told him that you can not hold the prince back from being truly happy.  

Giving up the person who was your air and water was change that made you not see the next day to come. You wanted the hurt to go away and would do anything to not still love Oberyn.

You would have dreams of you crying in his dark brown eyes. You watched yourself die the day he left you. Life was growing inside of you and pushed the dark days because you had to do for the love inside of you. 

It was all a rumor that he had another child out there with the woman he once loved. You couldn't bring yourself to let the world tell him the truth and it was best that it was kept as a tale. You would tell people that the child on your hip was a foundling. That the lords gave you a mission to be a mother when you lost a chance of family to a child who needed a mother. 

People believe anything they hear so when they believed the small fabrication it made life easy for you to move on from the past life you had ripped from your hands. 

-

When you gave life to a boy your heart was welded back together, he was the spitting image of your old heart. The same dark brown hair, the nose, the pouting bottom lips. As Maxwell got older his curious mind grew with him, asking you to tell him about his father. "Your father, he...he would've loved you," You tried to find the words to explain to the young boy. It was easy to lie, "He's dead and there's nothing we can do change it."

You got word about the wedding of Oberyn and Ellaria from the people in Kings Landing, and you wanted to scream and plead for the news to not be true.

The truth hit you right in the face when you caught a glimpse of the display of affection, seeing his lips attached to hers. Your throat became tight since choking back the tears carried with memories of loving him and everything that was encased with him. 

You wanted to rip him from her claws, but the vows were said and done. Your son, looked at you and could see the tears falling down your face. He pulled on the embellishments of your dress, you looked down at him and smiled to play off you were happy for the couple. 

-

Another festival where people stuff their faces. You sat and watched Max follow around his new pet that you allow him to bring everywhere. You talked with a couple of people seated around you, Maxwell wanders out of your sight and knocks into the man who you wanted to keep him from. Your son looks up in horror as he didn't mean to run into anyone. Oberyn smiles at the small boy and looks at him.

He thinks he's looking into a mirror of the past, he sees him as a child. You could sense that your son was in trouble, you excuse yourself and start to look at the grounds for him. You walk upon your son and Oberyn mirroring each other, you wished that ground would swallow you up. Max looks at you and runs to your side, hiding himself behind you. 

"Maxwell, go wait for mother at the table," You said as you stepped closer to Oberyn, you waited for the footsteps to sound out of reach. The energy between the two you was high, you wanted to fall in his arms and feel his warmth.

You wanted to be back with him, but he wasn't yours to keep. He searched in your eyes for the answer to his unasked question. You couldn't bare to look at him a second longer. 

You turn yourself around and pulled back before you take the first step to walk away. "Is the child of my blood?" The tone of his voice seemed like he was begging. It seemed foreign as the question left his lips.

You kept silent because you couldn't trust yourself to be strong enough to not cry to him. "How did you not tell me this news?" another beg left his mouth, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. The heat from his skin seemed to blister your skin making you want to run away. 

"The hidden secret would have not brought you back to me. To bare myself to you once more was a pain I would not put myself through again," You didn't want to be right but your words were the truth for the time. He looked at you like you committed a crime in front of him. "You bounded yourself to another and my love for you is greater than ruining your chance at having heaven on earth." you choked on your words.

He saw how selfless you still were, how willing you were to put him before yourself still after a divorce and bearing his child. "You don't owe me or him anything. All he knows is that his father is dead," Your words washed over him and Oberyn wanted to give you the life deserved. To be kept and cared for but it will never happen again.

[bloodlustngore]

Kitchen Counter - Jennifer Jareau

I was gonna wait to upload this, but ppl told me I should today! So heres a little filthy treat for you all ;) Listen, I know I'm not the best at smut but I do try.

18+ ONLY!

Female!reader (as always)

Basically just JJ eating her gf out on the kitchen counter ;)

"Ah ah JJ, those are for the boys to quickly eat before Will picks them up" JJ pouts as her girlfriend who had just made Henry and Michael a quick breakfast, leaving JJ out.

"Don't look at me like that jayje, you can have breakfast after" Y/n smirked.

The boys had finished eating, JJ offering to wash the plates since Y/n cooked for them. This was almost routine every morning Y/n spent at JJ' place. The blonde watched as Y/n laughed with the boys. She was so good with them. JJ got lucky.

The blonde looked at the window, Will' car had just parked outside. "Boys your dads here! Let's go!" JJ added, saying their goodbyes to Y/n.

When JJ said goodbye to her kids for the weekend, she walked back into her house with a purpose, and one thing on her mind, finally some alone time with her girlfriend.

she grabbed Y/n' hips, the younger woman letting out a gasp as she got backed up against the kitchen counter. "Now I believe, my beautiful girlfriend said my breakfast is after" JJ chuckled, Y/n bit her lip knowing exactly what JJ was getting at "that is correct, Jayje". And the moment the blonde woman crashed her lips against Y/n' the kiss was anything but soft, it was full of want and desire. JJ' hands fell to Y/n' ass as she squeezed it, Y/n knowing what JJ wanted as she hoisted herself up on the counter.

"You won't be needing that" JJ mentions as she swiftly takes the tank top off Y/n, revealing the black bra she wore, but in no time that was discarded to. "JJ, be patient" Y/n chuckled.

"Screw patient" JJ added, attaching her lips to her girlfriends neck, leaving marks along the way, kissing down her collarbone, to her chest. Y/n moaned the moment JJ' took one of her nipples in her mouth, and started toying with the other between her fingers. Y/n could feel heat pooling between her legs, knowing that the panties she had on would be so easily ruined.

"JJ please" Y/n begged, she couldn't rub her thighs together yo relieve some of the ache between her legs, because JJ was stood between them. "Whatever you want baby" JJ says as she stops her assault on her girlfriends breasts, her finger under Y/n' chin forcing her to look directly at her.

"JJ! please, want your tongue, fingers, anything!" Y/n moaned.

"Good girl" JJ said quite seductively, her hands undoing Y/n' jeans, Y/n lifting her hips up slightly so JJ could get her jeans off. The way JJ said 'good girl' could have Y/n cumming on the spot, there was no doubt in that.

Bringing JJ up for a quick kiss, the blonde got on her knee's licking her lips, when she saw the growing wet patch on Y/n' panties, wasting no time, she hooked her fingers in her panties and pulled them down in one quick movement, discarding them on the kitchen floor. "Oh baby, you're so wet, is this how I make you feel?" JJ questioned, although she knew the answer already.

"All for you" Y/n admitted. JJ started teasing, like she always does. Kissing and nipping at Y/n' inner thighs, hearing the soft moans leave her girlfriends lips. It was music to her ears. "Sit up baby, and move forward a bit" JJ instructed, and Y/n did exactly what she was told. As the blonde hooked her arms around both Y/n' thighs to hold her in place. Licking an experimental strip from her entrance to her clit. Humming in satisfaction.

"Fuck!" JJ loved hearing her Y/n like this, it was her favourite thing. One of Y/n hands flew into JJ' blonde locks, her other grabbing on to the end of the counter, knuckle turning white. Throwing her head back in pleasure when her girlfriend began sucking on her clit. Practically screaming out when JJ entered two fingers inside her wet cunt.

Y/n' grip on JJ' hair tightened, a moan escaped from the blondes lips, sending vibrations to Y/n' clit as she sucked again. "JJ, oh god". She could feel her walls tighten around her fingers as JJ hit her g-spot.

"I'm gonna cum!" Y/n screamed out, trying to tighten her legs around JJ' head but the blonde had a tighter grip on them, nails digging into her flesh, leaving crescent shaped marks. "Jayje!" Y/n came with a cry of her girlfriends name, feeling herself hush all over JJ' fingers and chin. She rode out her orgasm as JJ moved her fingers slower. Y/n practically yanked the blondes head up, her lips and chin glistening in her cum.

She didn't waste any time bringing her in for a kiss, tasting herself on JJ' tongue. The two pulled away after a minute, for breaths. "You taste so good baby, maybe I should have you for breakfast more often" the older woman smirked.

"Maybe you should. Now, it's your turn" Y/n added, as she finally caught her breath.

"Shower sex?" JJ chuckled. And with that Y/n nodded in agreement despite the fact they had already showered this morning, the two of them heading upstairs to the bathroom, JJ crashing her lips against Y/n'.