#and I think that's partly why we love it as a comfort show

[moonstruckme]

for thawing out, i see how you've already characterized the reader as kind of the calm, even keeled one of the group and i would LOVE to just see her stand up for herself and absolutely blow up after getting pushed too far by the boys (a little mean of me to want her to go through that but-) but yes i love me a good out of character moment that kind of make the characters be like "oh shit maybe we shouldn't be acting this way-" love you babe 🫶

Hi lovely, idk if this is exactly what you had in mind but thanks sm for requesting! Love you <3

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, implied past abuse, hurt no comfort (for some)

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.9k words

When Remus arrives at your apartment the next morning, Sirius is already standing at the front door. His arms are crossed over his chest as he glowers in Remus’ direction, but it’s difficult to find him very intimidating when his nose is pink from the cold. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling awkward. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” Sirius replies drily. “What are you doing here?” 

Remus shrugs. Fine. If Sirius wants to be a prick (and what else is new), he can do that too. “I didn’t think you’d come. Have you knocked already?” 

“Of course I knocked,” he all but sneers. “Why would you assume I wasn’t going to be here? I said I would be.” 

“I honestly didn’t expect you’d be able to drag yourself out of bed.” 

Sirius looks ready to make a retort, but your door opens. You look surprised to see both boys on your doorstep, your smile tentative. Remus still doesn’t understand how you can do that at such an early hour. 

“Hi,” you say. Then you turn to Sirius, grin widening as you pinch the frozen tip of his nose fondly. “You made it.” 

“Obviously I made it!” The other boy’s voice takes on a wounded tone, and Remus has to tuck a smile into his scarf. Sirius must suspect, because his gaze narrows.

“How did you get this address?” he asks Remus. 

Remus feels his brow crinkle. It’s not as if he’s the one you’re in danger of. 

“He texted me last night, and I gave it to him,” you answer for him. “I sort of assumed you’d oversleep.” 

Sirius makes an indignant scoffing noise, but he appears to have nothing more to say. He seems in especially brutish form today. You’re as unphased by his moods as usual, hooking your arm through his. 

“I’m sorry to get you both up so early, but I suppose two guard dogs are even better than one.” You squeeze Sirius’ bicep affectionately, and the look you send Remus is pure sweetness. “It’s really nice of you both to come.” 

Something warm and fond blooms in Remus’ chest. Sirius mutters some disgruntled sort of assent. 

You grin. “And now, we can all buy our own drinks!” 

“Oh, fuck this then,” Sirius’ irritating pugnacious tone is back, though now it’s at least partly for show. “I didn’t realize that was part of the deal. I want out.” 

You only make an amused pffting sound, pulling him playfully against your side. 

Remus falls back to let the two of you walk alongside each other on the sidewalk. It’s odd and occasionally entertaining to watch you, so entirely familiar and at ease with each other. It’s the sort of relationship Remus hasn’t had in years, and he’s beginning to question whether he ever had a bond quite as close as yours. It’s obvious even from the outside that the pair of you know each other inside and out, and that you love each other just as deeply. But Sirius’ love is another thing entirely; the way he looks at you is almost too painful to witness. 

Remus doesn’t understand why Sirius hasn’t pursued you. He certainly prefers it this way; it makes his job considerably easier with things platonic and professional between the pair of you, but it just doesn’t add up. Sirius strikes him as the sort of cocksure prat who goes for what he wants, every time. He’s certainly arrogant enough to be sure he’ll get it, and admittedly, with his looks and devil-may-care attitude, there aren’t many people Remus can see turning him down. (They definitely should, but they likely wouldn’t.) Perhaps, after knowing him so long and working with him so closely, you’re simply too smart to get entangled with the likes of Sirius Black. 

You do eventually look back to call Remus up to join the two of you. Sirius looks irked at this, and Remus wishes he could say he was more mature, but he goes in large part because of it. You loop your other arm through his and make sure to include him in your conversation the rest of the way to the rink. 

The morning’s practice goes by with much of the same forced camaraderie. You’re friendly and receptive, Sirius is loud and irksome, but overall Remus is pleased with how things are going. You’re improving every day, to a degree Remus can’t help but admire. He can easily see you perfecting this routine by the Olympics in less than a month, which certainly defies his expectations from when he first started coaching you. Sirius is the same as always; he’s not as consistent or as controlled as Remus would like, but he doesn’t seem inclined to change and his form is (though Remus wouldn’t admit it aloud even at knifepoint) truly beautiful to watch. 

By the end, he has only one thing to say. 

“I think we need to up the ante.” 

You look up from where you’re putting on your skate guards, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“You’re going to perfect this routine.” Remus can say that with confidence now. A nice little bonus is the way your face lights with bashful pride when he does. “You’ll get plenty of execution points from that, but if you want to really compete it wouldn’t hurt to add a higher difficulty move.” 

Sirius looks up, his gaze watchful. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

“A death spiral,” says Remus. “We could fit it in during the lower-level sequence towards the end. You should be ending with more of a crescendo anyway.” 

You’re nodding. “An outside death spiral?” 

“And backwards, if you’re up for it.” 

“No way.” Sirius’ skates are already in his bag. You look over at him, bemused, but he’s looking at Remus. “You can’t fuck with the program this late. It’s only a couple of weeks before we leave.” 

Reluctantly, Remus turns to face him. His eyes are like a brewing storm. “And would you like to medal whilst you’re there?” 

“We don’t need this to medal.” 

“You don’t know what the competition will be like. You need to bring everything you can to the routine.” 

Sirius kisses his teeth. He stands, looking at Remus with barely repressed malice. “A backwards outside death spiral isn’t something you can just toss in at the last minute. We’re only just starting to manage what we have in the routine already! It’s too risky.” 

Remus fights the urge to roll his eyes. Sirius isn’t subtle; it’s clear what this is really about. “She’s going to be fine,” he says firmly, refusing to back down when the other boy's eyes narrow. “She’s perfectly capable of deciding for herself whether she wants to do this, and your feelings cannot be the deciding factor here. The death spiral is a staple of pair routines. You have to take some risks if you want to compete at this level.” 

“Oh, do you?” Sirius’ laugh is cold and dead. “Is that what you did? If it’s so fucking easy, why don’t we get out there so you can show us how it’s done?” He juts his chin towards the ice, jaw set and eyes blazing. “You can let us see how great it works out to take risks.” 

Remus doesn’t even feel the ache in his hip as he takes two quick steps towards Sirius, towering over the other boy with his blood pounding in his ears. Sirius is forced to look up, but he turns his chin up defiantly. His face hardens as he takes in a short, quick breath. 

You cram yourself between them. 

It’s like snapping back into his body. Remus stumbles back, his hip screaming at the hurried motion. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron, collapsing backwards onto the bench while you put yourself in front of Sirius like a human shield. Your expression is wrathful. 

“Do not do that,” you growl. You reach behind you, taking Sirius’ forearm in your grasp as though to keep him from moving. “God, why do you both have to be such dickheads to each other? We’re done here.” 

You march straight past Remus, dragging Sirius along on your other side like a dog on a leash. He looks about as shell-shocked as Remus feels. Your outburst knocked him flat on his ass, literally. It’s not that Remus didn’t think you were capable of yelling; he suspected you had fangs, but the venom came as a surprise. 

He winces when the door bangs shut behind you. They probably deserve that. He doesn’t envy Sirius, who’s likely to get a lengthy lecture from you on the walk home, but Remus does realize this could mean him losing his job. Trading petty remarks with Sirius had almost begun to feel like part of his role, but he’d never expected to make you so furious. He doesn’t know what it will mean for him that he has. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

During the entirety of Remus’ long, steamy shower, he cannot stop thinking of the look on Sirius’ face. The way his eyes had almost changed color, going from a murky gray to blue like the hottest part of a flame. He’d looked almost pleading, for half a second after Remus first brought up the death spiral, before his face hardened back into harsh stoniness. He keeps fixating on that look, that second where the dynamic between them seemed on the brink of shifting before it didn’t. But maybe it never could have. Maybe Remus imagined the whole thing; it was only half a second, anyway. 

Regardless, he feels stupid for stooping to Sirius’ level. He’s better than that, he hopes, but in the last few weeks he’s let the other boy bring out the worst in him. He decides that if you don’t fire him, he’s going to try harder to be above it. If Sirius wants to trade insults like a child, Remus can treat him like a child; with patience and a repertoire of aloof platitudes, but he won’t engage with him anymore. 

He’s put on a pair of pajama pants and is moving the waistband to hold a pack of frozen peas to his hip when there’s a knock on his door. He leans back to peer through the window, and there you are, blowing into your hands and shivering on his doorstep. 

Remus groans as he gets up. He was really hoping to have at least one night of relaxation before having to have this conversation. 

You must stop rubbing your hands together when you hear him opening the door. “Hi,” you say. 

“Hi,” Remus replies, amused despite himself. They’re having one of those odd nights where snow falls but doesn’t stick, except to you apparently. Little white flakes are tangled in your hair and dusted across your shoulders. Remus can see some between your eyelashes when you blink. You’re stiff as a board, but there’s no hiding the tiny waves of trembles that shake your frame. 

“I hope it’s okay that I didn’t call first.” Your voice is teetering on the brink of a chitter.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” Remus really shouldn’t feel so warm towards you when you’re likely here to fire (or at the very least, berate) him, but you do look terribly cold. “Would you like to come in?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You step inside so fast he hardly has time to make room for you, and the sleeve of your coat brushes against his bare chest, making him shiver. Remus realizes then that he’s not wearing a shirt, but he decides not to care; it is his house (or his rental, at least), and you’re the one who showed up unannounced. He’s entitled to be as underdressed as he likes. 

This small bit of indignance, though founded entirely from a battle within himself, reminds Remus to be miffed with you. 

“If you’re going to ask me to apologize to Sirius,” he says, going to the kitchen to put the kettle on (he may be miffed, but he is still Welsh), “you can save it. I have no intention of getting into a row like that with him again, but I was not the one who was being unreasonable.” 

You rub your lips together, nodding. “Yeah, I agree. You shouldn’t apologize to him.” 

Remus feels his eyebrows draw together. “Okay…good. Because I’m not planning on it,” he says, just to be sure you understand. “He was completely out of line.” 

You nod again. “He was.” 

Remus finds his eyes straying to the door while he mulls over whether he’s feeling impolite enough to ask the next logical question. Then what are you doing here?

You take in a breath, letting it whoosh out of you. “I came because I want to apologize.” 

It’s impossible to keep the surprise off his face. “You?” 

“Yeah.” You rock a bit on your feet, and Remus realizes you’re still wearing your coat. Either you don’t plan to stay long, or you’re too anxious to take it off without an invitation. “I’m sorry I shouted at you earlier. It was really harsh—I mean, I was right, but I didn’t need to be cruel about it.” You glance to the side, a bit of bashfulness softening your voice. “I also shouldn’t have called you a dickhead.” 

A little chuckle escapes him. “We were being dickheads.” 

“You were,” you agree, “but I still shouldn’t have said it. I don’t want to be like that. I’m sorry, and I hope you still want to stay with us.” 

You look back at him, your expression intentionally firm but your eyes beseeching, and some part of Remus melts. He and Sirius get into fights all the time—loud ones, with shouting and name calling and absolutely no holds barred—but you snap at them once, and here you are. Having walked here by yourself in the cold because you feel bad about it. 

“Let me get your coat,” he offers.

You take your tea to the couch, where you curl up automatically on the side opposite Remus’, pulling your legs in so he can pass between you and the coffee table. Remus picks his peas back up as he sits carefully, stifling a groan. It’s a bit embarrassing to ice his hip in front of you, but the pain has become too much to ignore. 

You wince as you watch him settle them underneath his waistband. “Is that because of me?” 

He can’t very well tell you the truth when you sound so guilty. “No,” he says. “I have to do this a lot.” That part’s not a lie. 

You nod, still looking sorry. Remus is grateful when you move on quickly. 

“Just so you know,” you say, “Sirius probably won’t apologize to you either.” 

Remus almost snorts. “Yeah, I wasn’t anticipating he would.” 

You smile ruefully. “I know he probably feels bad about saying what he did—he knows he had no right—but he just gets so caught up in anger sometimes. If it helps at all, today was just an especially hard day for him. He’s always…extra on edge around this time of year. You learn not to take the things he says personally.” 

Remus studies you through narrowed eyes. He blows steam off his tea. “Does he do that to you often?” 

You shake your head. “I don’t typically goad him,” you say with no small amount of humor. Or pointedness. 

He lifts a brow. He’s already told you he won’t be apologizing for giving as good as he gets. 

You sigh, your expression going somber. “Listen, I know Sirius can get really—” you shake your head again, blowing out a breath “—really quite hot headed, but you can’t get in his face like that. His life has—well, it’s not my place to tell you about what his life has been, but even when he says things like that, you can’t act all threatening just because you’re having a spat, okay?” 

Remus feels his brow wrinkle. “Threatening?” 

Your face softens. “You looked like you were about to hit him,” you say gently. 

Something inside Remus gutters. “I did?” 

You nod, looking almost apologetic. He feels nauseous. 

“I didn’t…” 

“I don’t think you would have,” you clarify. “I’m not saying I thought you were going to hit him, I just know how Sirius works. And from his perspective, I know how it looked. You can’t do that to him.” 

“I don’t want to do that to anyone.” Remus sounds injured even to his own ears, and so he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to shut out the pained pinch of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments. “I really had no idea that’s how it looked. I think I got too caught up in being angry about what he said, but it won’t happen again.” 

“I know.” Your voice is gentle. You set a hand on his knee, tentative but there. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. It’s okay, just…now you know. For next time.” Remus opens his eyes again, and you smile wryly. “You can shout at him all you want. Don’t let him dish it out without making him take it, but just stay away from physical stuff like that, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Remus agrees hoarsely. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” You give his knee a friendly pat, leaning back against the couch cushions and sipping your tea. 

Again, Remus marvels at you. Sirius fights for you every day, whether you ask him to or not, loud and bold and relentless in his devotion to you. He wonders if Sirius knows that even when he doesn’t ask, in your own way, you go to bat for him too.

[onthecrescentofthehill]

I feel like this is such a key moment in Shuro and Falin’s dynamic that i’ve never seen talked about and wish was mentioned again in canon. ‼️THIS IS NOT A SHIP POST‼️ for clarity but to me it adds such an interesting layer to how Shuro must feel towards her and the imbalance in their relationship…..

So much of his character is feeling alienated and inaccessible to the people around him, at first in his own family and then culturally after he left home. the party doesn’t even know his actual name. he’s under so much pressure and could feel like anyone Knowing another side of him would compromise his obligations, and partly why he resents what he views as Laios’s compulsive earnestness so much. but at the same time I think him seeing how much patience and love she has for Laios makes him wonder if he could be safe with her. and in the caterpillar scene he sees Falin finding beauty in something others find repulsive and inconsequential (plus in the recent Adventure Bible we learn he also has an interest in critters….)

I’m not sure when the caterpillar scene takes place in relation to his nightmare, either way she literally enters his subconscious and saves his life!! I’m so so so curious about the details tbh. I can’t imagine how humiliating that would feel but at the same time it took away the need for him to confess any of his weaknesses, Falin took it upon herself and the most Insane part to me is he probably doesn’t even remember what she saw, because Marcille didn’t remember the content of hers. and there’s no way he’d ASK, and Falin wouldn’t volunteer that information.

anywayyyyy Shuro knows she’s seen the deep pain and loneliness at his core and guided him out. he wants that, he DID get it, but doesn’t know HOW!!!! so of course he’d try to chase that in reality and he would feel an intense closeness with her because she’s the only one who who’s Literally Seen that side of him, one that he might not have a full realization of.

it rly captures this imbalance between them that I think Shuro really wants to bridge even if he’s unequipped for it, and Falin doesn’t reciprocate. like. You See Me, Can You Please Show Me What You See? he knows, factually, that she could understand and help him. but he only offers to make her “comfortable.” and at the end of the day she does for him what she would do for anyone, often at great risk to herself (imo her desire for independence in the AB demonstrates her wanting to break this) he knows this and it would be enough, he even admires that about her greatly. but it doesn’t leave much room for her own self actualization.

I don’t have a conclusion other than thank you Ryoko Kui. thank you.

[bunnwich]

HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects people to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general, I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this “want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look up to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨

[star-girl69]

Love Song

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

a/n: just needed to do some general hc’s to get all my thoughts in order i hope you all enjoy!!

Love song - Lana Del Rey

warnings: the formatting is weird idk why i can’t fix it but y’all will live, swearing, a little itty bitty bit of violence, every facet of clarisse finding its way here and i love them all, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

i’m sure we all agree on this

but clarisse is very protective of you

even if you’re a very capable fighter, even if you’re even better than her, clarisse is still so protective of you

i mentioned this in one of my fics (maybe so it goes…????) but like the reason behind this is the fact that clarisse is just SCARED

she is terrified of losing you bc you are the only one she feels like she can be herself with

like clarisse is insane!!!!! in a good way!!!!! but also she’s a 17 year old girl…. she wants TO BE LOVED

she tries to talk to you about how she feels about her dad and about everything else in her life, but even though she doesn’t want to be, she’s locked up like a vault

she knows her emotions are always super intense and she has big reactions

major anger issues but they’ve gotten better with age

the problem is she spent her entire life being told that she needed to calm down, that she couldn’t feel like that all the time, and she just tried to shut down

obviously that did not work

but it still makes it virtually impossible to talk about her feelings

when it comes to you tho she’s an open book

she’s a daughter of ares she’s headstrong she’s proud and her fatal flaw is PRIDE

i mentioned this before but she wants everyone to know that you’re hers and she’s yours

your relationship is partly very public

she’s not afraid to touch you or kiss you

she’s not afraid to show you off and (needs to) show everyone that yes your beautiful self belongs to HER

so naturally she gets very jealous

even when you’re like clarisse you are INSANE

there’s been a few times when you first started dating and you were still getting comfortable and weren’t that public yet so like someone would flirt with you

it went like this

boy: hey what’s up you’re kinda fine

y/n: oh! oh yeah no….. no…..

clarisse: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY IM GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU—

then she started attacking him

lost dessert privileges for a month, she proudly declared that it was worth it (besides you would sneak her bites of yours like)

now that everyone knows you’re hers her jealousy is rooted a lot more in delusion and insecurity

you’ll be like in a group talking someone and she’ll pull you closer and be like “i think that guys staring at you a little too much.”

“clarisse no the fuck he’s not what”

b/c of the fact that she isn’t a son for her father she gets insanely jealous if specifically a MAN gets even an inch too close however innocently

she doesn’t want to think it but she thinks you’ll eventually realize her father is right and she’s not as useful or good bc she’s a girl

most of the time when she gets jealous bc of her insecurities she just becomes extra clingy

but also any emotion she feels she gets extra clingy to you so sometimes it’s hard to tell LMAO

she isn’t really a big hand holder but that’s only because she’s actually holding you CLOSER to her by your waist

also one more note about your relationship publically

everyone gets whiplash bc like she’s a BULLY fo everyone else and then you walk over and she’s all heart eyes

i hate everyone but you trope save me

save me i hate everyone but you trope

THIS HAPPENED IN IN A GOOD WAY

clarisse: pushes percy over

you: nuh uh clarissseeeeeeee

clarisse: omg hi beautiful gf

you: touches her shoulder, looks at her disapprovingly

clarisse: fine i’ll go, *scares percy*, bye bye beautiful ily

like she’s just being a bitch and then all of a sudden you come around and she’s like hiiiiiii babyyyyy how is my gorgeous gorgeous girl today??

so outwardly clarisse is just very proud and touchy

privately she lets herself be a little more chill

this is where she really touchy you thought before was worse nah

idk if y’all have noticed but in my fics clar’s always holding on y/n’s hips and that’s just me self projecting bc i have the most horrid hip dips but my point still stands

SHE LOVES YOUR HIPS

would totally call them “love handles” IM SORRYY

but she just likes having a place to hold where she can just like kinda actually physically grab you with her hands

like yeah she can wrap her arms around your waist but she likes to GRAB you

cuddling w her is fun bc like this girl cannot get ENOUGH of you there’s only like three ways you cuddle

you on top of her whether just like completely on top of her (one of her favs) or just with your head on her chest

this is what happens whenever you feel scared

like there was a monster attack just near the barrier and you’ve all been feeling uneasy all day

TRUST you are sleeping in her bed tonight

wraps her arms around you so tight it’s like she’s crushing you

also she’s running your back or caressing your head whichever you prefer

she keeps her spear right next to her bed and makes sure you can see it so you know however subconsciously NOTHING can hurt you bc she’s right there (nothings gonna hurt you baby vibes)

or she’s on top of you this one usually happens when she’s feeling a little extra insecure and jealous and it’s like no one can see you if she’s on top of her so then you’re hers

she isn’t the smartest one in the bunch but she has good intentions!!!!

also she lays on top of you if you get hurt

like after so it goes for example when y/n got that little cut on her hand

you’re like “clar pls you’re crushing me”

“um ok you scared the shit out of me today tho you need to LET ME do this fuck”

third option

you’re both laying on your side and facing each other legs tangled together and she’s probably whispering to you

she’s a big whisperer i feel it in my heart

like tracing her hands on your face and saying your so beautiful or telling you how you make her feel

oh lord take me now

also she loves you the way hozier loves

“someone asked me in the end i’d tell them ‘put me back in it’ // darlin’ i would do it again // if i could hold for a minute”

“when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth no grave could hold my body down i’d crawl back to her”

like she BREATHES for you

if she died and then you were like “i miss you” trust she would find a way to come back to life

totally daydreams about going on such a fantastical quest that the gods offer both of you immortality so you can be together forever and ever and ever and ever and ever

like if the world ends y’all would still be there having a little picnic date

devotion is the only word that comes close

anyways

ok nicknames she calls you:

baby, angel, gorgeous, pretty thing/girl, beautiful, lovely, dummy (lovingly)

(recently saw a few posts abt clarisse saying mama/mamas i may be swayed)

dates she takes you on:

forces you to train w her even if you don’t like it but she lets you win OBVIIIII, under the stars in the woods, take your dinners to go and sneak back to either hers or your cabin to eat together, secret makeout sessions in the bathroom her cabin your cabin anywhere she can get her hands on you

this is so random but i get horrible migraines and i am ADDICTED to these like headache relief frequency sounds on youtube i swear they work and i was like omg you can’t have electronics at chb I WOULD NOT SURVIVE

so if you are a real one like me and get horrible migraines but this goes for being sick in general she’s like a little puppy pretending to be a wolf barely holding it together

she’ll be like at the foot of your bed begging you not to go into the light while shouting at someone at the same time to refill your water

you like have a cold

she would rub your temples if you had a headache and she would literally be like a doll for you to move around like oh you wanna lay on her chest? by all means

you wanna lay upside down with your feet in her face? as long as you get better you can do whatever you want!

you don’t wanna touch her at all? that’s where she draws the line

you’ll be like “ugh i’m hot get away from me”

“okay ☹️☹️”

“why are you touching my feet with your feet”

she places you above everyone else

like yeah other people are ok…….

but you 😍😍😍😍😍😍

this is slightly cringe but she would fr burn the whole world down and not let a flame touch you

LIKE HAVE YALL SEEN THE ANONS IVE BEEN POSTING AND THE CAPTURE THE FLAG THINGS 😱😱😱😱 (y’all always check my blog im always posting the funniest shit bc i’m funny)

“you’re one opposite teams blah blah blah you get hurt clarisse drops EVERYTHING to help you even if just a paper cut” (i have no chill fic coming soon)

THEN THEN the other one that was like “ok but what if you ACTUALLY get hurt like broken leg”

clarisse just goes crazy when you’re hurt

in so it goes: “what if that cut gets infected?”

you’re her WORLD she literally can’t stand the thought or something happening to you or else she starts literally shaking in anger and sadness

but when clarisse gets hurt it’s a whole other story

LIKE FUCK YOU JUST WANNA CARE ABOUT HER AND SHES ALL LIKE “it’s chill.”

NO ITS NOT YOURE GONNA BLEED OUT 😭😭

clarisse never let’s anyone but you see her true emotions

like yeah when you’re in public and you’re being cutesy she starts smiling and everyone is SO confused

but still

she never lets anyone see her as WEAK

so she always downplays her injuries in terms of how much they hurt, but flaunts them off proudly at the same time?? yeah that makes sense

after a capture the flag game you march her to the bathroom with a first aid kit “ok baby take off your shirt”

she always makes some flirty comment like SHUSH NOT RN

then she has all these bruises and every once in a while a cut from someone’s sword

you’re like 😔😔💔

you’re the only one she will let clean her up

unless she like breaks a bone or needs stitches (which has never happened) no way in hell she’s going to the healers

if you’re a child of apollo or smth she’s like “i literally have my own person healer right here…..”

anyways i think that’s all but i will probably be updating this when i think of more stuff bc as we know i have no chill

thank you all sm for reading and reblogging and liking and commenting and sending all of your WONDERFUL asks they make me so happy i’m always giggling when i get one

anyways bye bye 😘

—

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme

[avatar-anna]

I feel like we haven’t seen much of youngmom reader super pregnant with her 7 babies??? Maybe I just don’t remember but I’d love to see y/n throughout her pregnancies! If not it’s okay I love ALL YOUR WORK!! ❤️

Baby Fever

Young Dad! Harry Styles x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

i was too tired to include charlie. sorry!

Simone

Y/n sighed as she looked over her figure in the mirror, her shoulders slumping at the sight of her unbuttoned jeans and swollen belly. Looking down, she glared pointedly at the bump, saying, "Damn you, Harry."

She tried to button up her jeans one last time to no avail, then fell back on the bed behind her. It was Harry's, Y/n didn't feel comfortable enough to call it hers too, even though he insisted his home was hers now. The mattress was plush enough for her to sink into, and the sheets were softer than soft, she just felt like she was a guest staying in someone else's home.

It didn't help that she was alone most days. If Y/n had thought Harry had a busy schedule before all of this, she sorely underestimated the hectic schedule he had on a daily basis. The first half of her pregnancy, Harry was gone on tour promoting One Direction's latest album. When he came back to London, he was gone almost all day for interviews and late night talk shows and performances at radio stations. Work seemed neverending, and when Harry did eventually trudge through his front door, he was pretty much dead on his feet.

It was a weird situation that they were in, but nothing about their relationship had ever been typical.

Not really caring what kind of important meeting or interview he was having, Y/n pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on the right person.

"Y/n! It's good to hear from you! How've you been?"

"Put him on the phone, Louis. I need to talk to him. Please," she said, adding please after realizing how harsh she sounded.

Louis was quick to do as she asked, though. Y/n could hear him rustling and calling out until he eventually found her boyfriend.

There was a time when Y/n didn't think she could call Harry that. She'd always liked him. Since the day they met, they were both absolutely smitten with each other, anyone could see that. But when she found out she was pregnant, things shifted. Y/n and Harry's relationship catapulted into chaos, and before they could even have the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation, they were suddenly nine months away from being parents.

Over time, they got to that place they'd been in before Y/n got pregnant. They had the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation, and now they were happy.

Well, for the most part.

"Hey, love, what's up? Everything okay?"

The sound of Harry's voice soothed and frustrated her all at once. Tears, which had been an unwelcome side effect of her pregnancy, began to well in her eyes.

"My jeans don't fit anymore."

There was silence between them, Y/n's words floating between them until it was eventually broken by Harry's laughter.

"It's not funny!" she insisted, even though she began to giggle alongside him.

"Baby," Harry said once his laughter subsided. "Why are you trying to put jeans on anyway? Are you going somewhere?"

"No, I've just gained so much weight. I feel like a blob, and you're partly to blame."

Y/n knew the baby bump was coming, she knew there would come a time when jeans and tops wouldn't fit and she'd have to buy clothes that were more accommodating to the baby growing in her belly. She just didn't expect to be this emotional about it. It was probably just the hormones.

"I'm sorry, baby," Harry said, a note of seriousness in his voice that Y/n appreciated even though she knew she was being slightly unreasonable. "I still think you're the prettiest girl I've ever laid eyes on."

Groans of protest and disgust erupted from Harry's side of the phone, followed by teasing at Harry's sappy words. "I came in here for privacy! Don't complain when you hear shit you didn't want to hear!" he told his bandmates. He mumbled something about never getting a moment alone anymore and nosy pricks, which made Y/n giggle as he presumably found a new place to talk to her privately.

In a hushed voice, he said, "I don't like it when you cry, baby."

"I wasn't planning on it," she sniffled. "I know I should've anticipated this, but now my belly sticks out and nothing fits me and I look horrible."

"No you don't," Harry said, not missing a beat. He didn't have to see her to know she looked just as gorgeous as she always did. Baby bump or no baby bump. "Put your sweats back on, love. I'll bring home dinner and we'll watch a movie."

"Really?" Y/n asked, and Harry could all but imagine her watery smile. "Because the baby's craving hot wings, and I know you don't like them."

Shaking his head, he promised, "Don't worry. Text me what you want. I'll be home soon."

"I—Thank you. B—Bye."

Harry's breath hitched, his phone still pressed to his ear even after she'd hung up. He knew what Y/n had been about to say, at least he was ninety percent sure he knew. He could only hope she was going to say, "I love you." Neither of them had said it to each other before, not wanting to get lost or caught up in the emotions of having to baby together. But Harry knew. He'd known for some time now. He just didn't want to scare her by just how deep his feelings went.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Harry went back into the green room where the rest of the boys were. He took the ribbing they gave him for being "smitten" and "whipped." But he didn't care. Y/n was waiting for him to bring her dinner, and that was really all he could think about as the minutes ticked by until he could go home.

*.*

Collette

Y/n couldn't help the slacking of her jaw as she watched her husband.

Sure, she'd seen him a number of different ways—working out, doing handiwork around the house, performing onstage, dressed for a red carpet—but here, as he wore a tiara and held a tiny teacup with pretend tea in it and sat across from his daughter, Y/n had never been more turned on in her life.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Yesterday it was the way her husband had offered to go to the grocery store for her, and just an hour ago it was how he hummed to himself while he made breakfast for her and Simone. Shirtless. By now, Y/n was fairly used to her attraction to Harry, but it was as if every little thing he did turned her on.

She'd read about this in a couple articles online and pregnancy books, that some pregnant people sometimes became extremely horny due to the hormonal changes happening in their bodies. When Y/n was pregnant with Simone, she never really...felt that way. Perhaps it was because she was so nervous and overwhelmed by the situation at hand, but now she was feeling it tenfold.

Needing to distract herself, Y/n went upstairs to the nursery to fold laundry. To nest, as Harry liked to tease. They'd been working on the nursery together for weeks in preparation for their second baby, and now it was nearly finished. Y/n and Harry let Simone pick out some of the decorations, like the fuzzy lion rug and Winnie the Pooh themed pillows and pick out toys she thought the baby might like. And now it was pretty much done, all that was needed was for the baby to be born.

Y/n had gone upstairs to distract herself, to keep Harry out of her line of sight so she wouldn't openly drool in front of Simone, but now she was alone with her imagination which was starting to run a little wild. She folded the baby clothes carefully as her mind stubbornly wandered. Harry's hands, his arms, his broad shoulders and sharp jaw. He was all she could think about, and the more she thought about him, the more she wanted him.

Would he want me?

They'd never really hooked up when Y/n was pregnant. Things were different then, more complicated, but Y/n didn't think Harry would be into her when she was significantly more round than usual. She didn't feel sexy or attractive, and she could only imagine Harry felt the same. They kissed and cuddled in bed, but since they found out she was pregnant, they didn't do much more than that. Y/n could only guess it was because she was showing now.

Later that afternoon, Y/n was in bed resting, the baby in her belly moving around a little too much to be comfortable. Simone was napping, and Harry was taking care of some things downstairs. Overall, it was a pretty relaxing day.

Minus the horniness, but Y/n tried to push that down.

She'd been doing a pretty good job of it until Harry burst into the room, sweaty and grimy and without a shirt, the article of clothing in question in his hands and covered in dirt and oil stains.

A flare of heat went straight to Y/n's cheeks as she subtly crossed one leg over the other, her stare zeroing in on her husband's chest. Before she could be caught, she blinked, meeting his gaze.

"What...What happened to you?"

"Your car needed an oil change," Harry said, as if that explained everything. "Might have run into some hiccups along the way, but it should be good to go."

It was enough to shake her from her lust-filled haze. "Why couldn't we just take it into the shop?"

Harry shrugged again as he headed for the bathroom, ditching his clothes as he went. Was he trying to kill me? you thought helplessly, your crossed legs doing nothing to soothe the ache between them.

"I did it. It's fine." Then the sound of the shower filled the bedroom, and steam slowly began to roll past the bathroom door. "The baby still kicking?"

His voice was echoey and faint, and Y/n didn't need much encouragement to imagine her husband all soapy and wet as he rinsed off. He didn't even invite her to join him. If this was what pregnancy did to her sex life, she was never getting pregnant again.

"Y—Yeah. A little."

"I'm sorry, Mama. You know, I read something about babies kicking at this stage. It..."

Y/n wanted to listen, but she just couldn't. She wanted him so bad she could barely think straight. And it frustrated her to no end that Harry probably didn't feel the same. He just breezed right past her when he came into their bedroom, barely even looked up as he shuffled into the bathroom for his shower. Every inch of her body was lined with need for him, and he...he just kept ignoring her.

Harry was still talking as he shuffled out of the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips. The man standing before her was one big walking, talking tease—rivulets of water running over ridiculously prominent muscles, tattoos that she just wanted to touch, or kiss, or maybe lick, skin slightly pink from the shower, and that towel that seemed to be hanging onto him by a thread. If only she could just—

"Mama? Everything okay?"

Blushing, Y/n tried to pretend it wasn't taking everything in her to not jump him. "Yep. Perfect."

"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically. "You look a little flushed. Should I get you a cold towel—"

Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Unhindered by her baby bump, she sat up and surged forward, planting her hands firmly on Harry's shoulders and kissing him. To her surprise, he didn't recoil and instead rested one hand on her waist and one in her hair, pulling her closer to him.

His skin, still warm and a little damp from his shower, had never felt so delicious against hers. She wanted him to rip her clothes off, she wanted him to use a little force and push her back onto the bed, she wanted him to be rough with her. Tightening her grip, Y/n sunk her teeth into Harry's lip, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him.

"Mama, maybe we should—"

"Fuck, nevermind," she huffed, pushing Harry away from her. Falling back onto the bed, Y/n tried to make herself comfortable. She would've put her back to him and rested on her side, but her belly wouldn't have made that very possible.

"Y/n?"

"Go away."

"Baby, what—what's wrong? I just—"

Y/n, who had been pointedly not looking at Harry, glared harshly at him. "I get it. You find me repulsive now that I'm pregnant, which, can I just say is despicable—"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Y/n wrapped her arms around herself. "You won't—I mean you haven't—Okay, I'm just gonna say it. I'm horny all the fucking time, and you're—you barely even touch me!"

"That's not—" Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. "That's not even remotely true, Mama."

"Don't Mama me," Y/n said, not believing him entirely.

"Let's get one thing clear, Y/n. I don't find you repulsive," Harry said, inching closer to Y/n on the bed. "I—I don't even think that's possible."

"Then why won't you have sex with me?" Y/n asked, and when he began to laugh, she swatted at his arm. "Don't laugh at me! You don't get it!"

Before she could even think to protest, Harry hauled Y/n on his lap. She tried to stubbornly push him off, but he held her steady, on hand tilting her chin to look at him. "I've been worried about the baby."

"Huh?"

"The baby, darling. I didn't want to, like, hurt you or her or anything by, you know...going too hard." Harry's cheeks flushed, but he pressed on. "You really thought it was because I didn't want to be with you."

Y/n's nod was shame-filled at the hurt in his voice. "I can barely get you to wrap your arms around me, and these hormones are driving me absolutely insane, H."

Gently, Harry kissed the top of his wife's cheekbone. Smoothing back some of her hair, he said, "You honestly think I could resist you, Mama? It's been torture."

"Yeah?"

"Baby," he said, leaning Y/n back toward the bed. "You really think you're not an absolute dream right now? You think I don't want my mouth all over these gorgeous tits? You think I don't want my hands all over you? You think I'm not aching for you all the time?"

"I didn't think—"

"If you think for one second that I don't find you irresistible, then I'm a terrible husband." Harry made sure Y/n was comfortable against the pillows before kissing her once, then pushed the t-shirt she wore past her chest. "I'm sorry, Mama. I've just been looking out for the baby, I swear. Let me make it up to you?"

"H—How?"

"We'll be gentle. For now," he added at Y/n's squawk of protest. "I really don't want to do anything wrong, so let me just love on you, okay? Let me show you how fucking breathtaking you are."

Harry kissed a line down Y/n's entire body, and she struggled to keep it together when he made it to her thighs. Her breaths suddenly became unsteady, Harry's chuckle making her squirm when he finally moved her underwear aside.

Before he went any further, though, Y/n called his name, making him pause. "You really think I'm beautiful. Even with the belly?"

Eyes softening, Harry shimmied back up the bed to kiss Y/n on the lips. His mouth was soft against hers, but firm, a promise in them that she accepted happily. Harry's tongue was both familiar and reassuring against hers, warming her up from within.

"Believe me when I say that I've never seen anyone more beautiful than you, Y/n," he murmured. "I'm sorry I made you feel otherwise."

Blushing, Y/n beamed before kissing Harry repeatedly all over his face. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she said. "Now I really need you to fuck me."

Chuckling, Harry pushed his hair out of his face. "Let's start with make love, okay?"

Y/n wanted to pout, but she knew that was perhaps the safest option. It was sensible of Harry to look out for the baby, but now he had some making up to do. So she nodded and settled further into the pillows, kissing her husband once more before letting him worship her.

*.*

Maeve and Julian

"Just like that, Mama. That's perfect!"

Raising an eyebrow at her husband, she asked, "Are you even taking pictures of my face?"

Harry peeked his head from behind the camera. "Well...not right now, but this shot is perfect, I promise. Just a couple more seconds."

Y/n humored Harry just as he asked. He'd been really set on doing an at-home pregnancy photoshoot. Nothing extravagant, just her in a pair of jeans and a bouquet of flowers. Y/n of course said yes, but perhaps she was a tiny bit incentivized by a bubble bath and a back rub from her husband.

She tried to remain still, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. "Simone! Easy!"

Harry looked over to his daughter. Simone played on the lawn where Harry decided the photoshoot would take place, spinning around and around in circles until she fell down in a heap of giggles. The second time she'd done it made Y/n nervous Simone would make herself sick, but Harry put a hand up to keep her where he wanted her.

"Come here, peanut! Let's take a picture with mummy," he called out, beckoning Simone over.

Simone rushed over, face flushed and eyes bright. She looked so much like Harry in that moment—big, squinty eyes, cheeky smile, crinkled nose—that Y/n nearly did a double take.

Setting down the bouquet of flowers, Y/n quickly shrugged on the loose robe she'd worn before Harry insisted on her taking it off. It was light and airy, perfect for the hot flashes she got on occasion, and perfect for what she imagined Harry had in mind until he told her his idea.

"Just trust the vision, Mama, he'd said before offering to untie the strings himself.

Once it was on, she reached for Simone and hoisted her up. Y/n ignored her husband's warning, opting to kiss her daughter's cheek instead. It was so important to Y/n that Simone didn't feel left out or upset about a new sibling when Y/n and Harry found out they were pregnant with Collette.

So far Simone had been positive about having another baby sister in the house, but Y/n was still cautious, still conscious of her oldest daughter's feelings now that she was pregnant again. And baby bump seemed to be growing bigger by the day, and she wanted to hold and cuddle and play with her daughter as much as she could before she couldn't do much more than waddle around.

"I'm sitting on the babies!" Simone giggled, making Y/n laugh too. Harry had stopped his protests, which told Y/n that he was back to snapping his pictures.

"What do you think, little melon? Should we get baby Collette in the picture too?" Y/n asked after Harry had snapped photos from a few different angles.

"Will you at least sit down?" Harry asked, exasperated by Y/n trying to overexert herself.

"You worry too much," she told him, but did as he asked anyway after taking Simone from her bouncer.

Collette nestled against Y/n immediately, her little cheek squished and lips puffed out as she rested on her mother's chest. Simone stood over Y/n and Collette, peering down at her sister's face curiously.

"She's sleepy, Mommy," she said, reaching down to gently hold Collette's hand.

"Yeah, it's almost nap time," Y/n told Simone. Then, to Harry, "How are we doing, Daddy? Collette's going down and I have to pump."

"Go ahead and put her down. Simone and I will play for a little bit, won't we, peanut? Maybe take a couple more pictures?"

"Yeah!"

Simone was always game for anything Harry suggested, as if each word that came from her father's mouth was pure gold. Y/n admired how much she loved her dad, but sometimes they could be a troublesome duo, Simone asking for something and Harry giving in without a thought.

After Harry trotted over to help Y/n to her feet, she shuffled inside, heading up to the nursery to lay Collette down for a nap. She planned to set Collette down in her crib, but something made her head for the rocking chair in the opposite corner of the room instead. Settling herself down with the baby, Y/n began to rock back and forth, humming idly as she waited for Collette's eyes to close.

It didn't take long, but Y/n kept on holding her daughter anyway, content to rock back and forth and rest her legs after the trek up the stairs. She'd never admit it to Harry, but being pregnant with two babies instead of one this time around was taking a toll on her much sooner than her other pregnancies. Her husband was already a mother hen when Y/n was pregnant, she didn't need to add fuel to that well-kept fire.

"Isn't that a sight."

Looking up, Y/n found Harry at the foot of the nursery, looking at where Collette slept soundly against her bare chest. Y/n had undone her robe once more for skin-to-skin contact with the baby, something she liked to do when she was alone. It made her feel more connected to Collette somehow, and she found that Collette fell asleep easier that way. It was a lazy afternoon, there wasn't much Y/n needed to worry about—it honestly felt pretty perfect.

"She sleeps better this way," Y/n said by way of explanation.

"I believe it," Harry replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Y/n pointedly ignored.

"Where's Simone?" Y/n asked, still rocking.

Harry gestured behind him with his camera. "Downstairs watching a show. We agreed on two episodes before bathtime."

Y/n raised an amused brow at their daughter's negotiation tactics, but decided not to comment on it. "I'll come down in a bit. I still need to put her down and pump."

Grinning, Harry said, "You couldn't get out of that chair, could you?"

"It's a comfortable chair," Y/n said with a shrug, not wanting to let her husband know he was spot on.

"Oh, I know," he said. "I've fallen asleep in that thing more times than I care to admit."

Coming into the room, Harry carefully took Collette from Y/n, kissing her head before laying her down in the crib. Once she was settled and Y/n's clothes were righted once more, Harry reached a hand down to her. She let him help her up, even let him tie up her robe again, resigned to his fussing.

"You need to take it easy. The doctor said early labor is common with twins."

"I know, I am," Y/n reassured. "How can I do anything but take it easy when I have my own personal nurse?"

Harry looked at his wife flatly. "Ha. Ha. Now get your cute butt to our room so you can pump and then help me with bathtime."

"Simone's really quite reasonable—"

"She insists that I do it wrong," Harry said, genuinely confused by his daughter's antics.

Kissing his cheek, Y/n checked on the baby monitor once before leaving the nursery. "I'll be as quick as I can, then I'll show you how it's done."

Harry followed her out, heading for the stairs while Y/n went to their room. "Mum of the year!" he said before jogging down to Simone.

Too right, Y/n thought, a smile spreading across her face.

*.*

Geneva

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, babydoll?"

"How does baby sister get in your belly?"

Y/n's eyes widened as she looked down at where Maeve was pressed against her side. They were relaxing by the pool, watching from the shade as Harry tossed the other kids and splashed around in the shallow end. Maeve had joined in on the fun before, but she'd waded out of the pool a few minutes ago for a break from the sun. Her little cheeks were red, long brown hair stringy from the chlorine. Y/n brushed Maeve's hair away from her face as she tried to come up with an answer. Coming up short, she rested her hand on her protruding belly.

"Why are you asking Maevie?"

"Daddy said baby sister is in your belly," Maeve said, poking Y/n's baby bump with a sun-warmed finger. "But how did it get there?"

"You know...that's a great question," Y/n said, raising her hand to shade her eyes as she looked over to where Harry was waist-deep in the pool. His dark hair was plastered to his neck and shoulders in a curly tangle, water droplets glistening on his tan skin.

To this day, Harry was still the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on. Now that they were stuck at home, he took his brief moments of alone time in the form of working out, but only after baking had gained him a few pounds. Y/n never minded, she loved his body any which way it looked.

Eyes dipping down to his waist and below, she definitely couldn't hide how much she appreciated his body now.

"Mommy!"

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she looked down at Maeve, who was clearly determined to get to the bottom of the baby in her mom's belly.

"Right. Sorry babydoll." Y/n hoisted Maeve onto her lap. "Mommy and Daddy...love each other so much. So...when mommies and daddies love each other, they...make a wish on a shooting star...for a baby."

"Really?"

Y/n tried not to laugh at her own ridiculous response as she nodded. "Of course. And then our wish came true, and in a few months, we'll have baby sister."

"Oh." Maeve seemed to think about it for a moment, a small finger on Y/n's belly. "And you wished for me and JuJu too?"

Y/n nodded, holding Maeve's cheeks in her hands. "Absolutely. We wished so hard we got twins!"

Maeve scampered back to the pool a few minutes later, calling out to Harry to help her put on her water wings so she could jump in the pool. Content to watch all the fun from her lounge chair, Y/n stayed back, smiling faintly at all the giggles and squeals of joy as Harry repeatedly tossed one child after another into the pool.

Now alone, she thought about Maeve's question a little more in-depth. As far as she and Harry were concerned, they were done having kids after the twins. Four kids was just the right amount of chaos, and things were finally getting back to normal—or as normal as they could be amid a global lockdown—after the separation.

Not that anyone else in their family seemed to be, but Y/n and Harry were surprised to find out she was pregnant again. At the time. Of course, in hindsight, there was a night when Harry and Y/n couldn't keep off each other. It had been after the first night they'd really spent together as a couple again, and after that, it was as if a dam had broken and Y/n and Harry were reliving their honeymoon phase.

But surprised as they were, they took it in stride. Both of them were nervous about Y/n having a baby in such serious circumstances, but they would take the proper precautions to ensure her and the baby's safety. They were ready for this, ready to do it all again.

"You know Maeve asked me where babies come from today?" Y/n asked later in the evening.

Everyone except for her and Harry were fast asleep, tuckered out from a long day of playing in the sun. Harry had just come back from tucking the twins in and singing them a song like he always did, and now he and Y/n were side by side in their shared bathroom as they got ready for bed.

"Did she? Wait—Can you help me?" Harry asked, gesturing to his red shoulders and back.

Y/n picked up the aloe lotion she kept around just for this reason and squeezed some into her hand and began spreading it over her husband's back. "Not in those words, but she asked how her baby sister ended up in my belly."

"We've never gotten that question, have we?" he mused. "What did you say?"

"That we wished on a shooting star," Y/n shrugged, then explained her short conversation with their daughter about how babies ended up in bellies.

Harry became quiet for a moment. He'd been listening as she rubbed lotion onto his shoulders, but this was different. No one else would've been able to notice his subtle change in demeanor, but Y/n did. She'd known him long enough to read every shift of his posture and line of his body.

"What is it?" she asked, turning him around to face her.

"I just...I just barely stopped short of wishing on stars to have all this again."

Things didn't immediately go back to normal when Harry moved back in. Y/n put on a good front for the sake of the kids, but it was awkward. Neither of them knew how to act around each other, and it took a few weeks for Y/n to trust that Harry was back for good. Even when they had to quarantine, she worried he'd check out, turn to his music for peace of mind. Harry knew all of his wife's reservations, of course, and he didn't blame her for having them. He'd left, that was a choice he made. At the time, he'd done what he thought was best for his family, but he knew now that he only put more distance between himself and his kids, his wife, and he'd regret every minute they spent apart for a long time.

"I love you, H," Y/n said, cupping his cheek in her hand. It was scratchy under her palm, as Harry had taken to being more lax about shaving during lockdown. "I—We would not be...here if I didn't want this, all of this, with you. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded, eyes closing for just a moment. Harry knew he would've been spending his days in a guest bedroom if Y/n wanted that from him. But they worked past their issues, were still working on them, in some ways.

"I know," he promised. "It just hits me sometimes how lucky I am to have you. Not just as a wife and mother, but you, Y/n. I can't—I couldn't handle a single moment without you."

Looking away, Y/n fanned her face, blushing furiously at the tears that welled in her eyes. "You know I get emotional at the drop of a hat, you ass."

Harry merely smiled, letting the somber moment pass. Taking her hands in his, he led her out of the bathroom. "Doesn't make what I said any less true."

Rolling her eyes, Y/n said, "Whatever. Let's go back to talking about how you played mermaids for two whole hours with Simone and Collette."

"I still don't really get it," Harry said, pulling back the fluffy comforter of their bed back. "The girls changed the color of their tails every two minutes. And why does a mermaid need to control fire? Talking to animals I get, but what good is fire underwater?"

Harry looked genuinely perplexed, but Y/n could only laugh. Her husband indulged in almost every one of his daughters' whims, and games where he had to pretend to be a mythical creature was no different. She wouldn't be surprised if packages filled with mermaid paraphernalia arrived in the mail within the next few days so that everyone could really get into character.

She didn't think it often, but right then, Y/n wondered what people would make of the Harry Styles pondering the continuity of his daughters' favorite pool game.

*.*

Natalia

Harry: At the grocery store. Need anything?

Y/n: Your dick, please.

Harry: So...is that in the same aisle as the condoms or...?

Y/n: Don't be mean. I need you.

Harry: That's why I'm going to the store, baby. You asked me to pick up snacks for you this morning for your cravings.

Y/n: I changed my mind. The kids are napping and/or playing in their rooms and/or watching tv.

Y/n: Come fuck me.

Y/n: Please???

Harry: As soon as I get home I'm all yours, baby. I promise.

Y/n sent an image

Y/n: You're really saying no?

Harry: Mama...

Harry: That's from the pregnancy shoot we did.

Y/n: Ass. I'm putting my clothes back on.

Harry: Don't you dare.

Harry: You really want me to abandon the cart? I was just grabbing the pizza bagels you liked.

Y/n is typing...

Y/n: Get the pizza bagels. THEN come home and fuck me.

Harry: Got it. Get ready for me, Mama.

Y/n: !!!

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

I don't know if you're accepting anymore requests for the Creator Baby Daddy thing, but if said baby daddy was a certain redheaded teetotaler that runs the Dawn Winery? 😗

Their grace had a

Firey headed child

Wc: 1k

As the soft sunlight seeps inside the room you open your eyes, a bright red mane moving softly up and down as it rests on your chest, its curls framing Diluc’s jaw and nose.

It seems like the finger you ran around his hair and cheek woke him up. “Rise and shine, little prince”

Bright red eyes look at you with tenderness and his lips kiss your sternum and arms tighten around your waist.

“We can cuddle for a bit but remember I have to leave after breakfast to Liyue” he nods but sighs against your skin “even after I leave you will be forever in my heart”

“And my heart will always ardently burn for you, your grace” he kisses your lips as he mumbles sweet nothings, both of you fully under the cotton covers and enjoying the last few minutes of time together.

“It's been quite a while, Diluc” you sit down on the stools in front of the bar, it's almost closing time and the few people left are gathering themselves to go home. Even Diluc was surprised to see you at this hour but he holds back from asking about it straight on.

“It's been almost three months, I think? I believe you were scheduled to return for the next Ludi Harpastum, in two more months” without hesitation he keeps the conversation going smoothly, so used to chatty drunkards going on and on and still expect an answer.

Looking at him doing the closing chores so focused delays your answer a few seconds, but honestly who could blame you? His white shirt was rolled up his elbows and the top few buttons were undone “Mhh there was a change of plans, for reasons I will stay a season in mondstat”

“I see… I guess you just arrived?”

“That is right, we hurried back and managed to make it here in two days”

Throwing the towel he was drying the whiskey glass with over his shoulder he leans forward, resting his back from standing for so long and causing a few stray crimson hairs to stick to his thinly sweaty skin, the warmth of the tavern almost making you break into a light sweat after a few minutes inside “Would I be so bold as to offer you a drink, your grace?”

“I would love it, just please make sure to not add alcohol to it”

He nods and turns to pour a small layer of grenadine in a glass “as you please”

“aren't you going to ask me why?”

“Why you don't want alcohol? I was just guessing you didn't want today”

“Well, it's partly because of that but there is also another reason” softly you lay a hand down on your lower belly, sure he would understand the implication.

“Upset stomach? Alcohol does irritate the stomach's lining” but when turns to pour orange juice he sees your deadpan expression and the hand between your hips, soon the connection is made “was that from…”

“Yes, indeed! I do hope your heart is still burning for me”

“Always, your grace” a soft smile grace's his face, if the candles were dimmer it might have been impossible to see. Closer to a gasp or a whisper he leans forward and swears “I would rather rip my heart out than to stray from you”

During the pregnancy his hands and sight seem to always find themselves stuck on your body somehow, a constant reminder to himself that you are safe and this is something nobody nor anything will be able to take away from him and even if they attempted he would fight to defend.

Any comforting words that you might attempt to soothe him with fall to deaf ears so it might be better to hold in the good news until you start to show to enjoy to the max your boundless liberty before making good acquaintance of the dawn winery and periphery, it's not like he would force you to! He would never dare to order you around, it's just his face that makes you the slightest bit guilty when you leave and travel alone. Even if you wouldn't consider four knights of favonius alone he still seems to hold resentment and mistrust.

People say that firstborns always look like their dads, nature's paternity test some claim, but regardless of how your baby looked (even you must claim that as soon as your beloved baby came out it was hard to find any resemblance with humans) the firey red fuzz on his head linking him to his father in a second. Not like Diluc doubted it for a second.

“This selection is a chardonnay” Diluc holds a white grape before smashing it between his fingers and giving it to your toddler to happily chew “it makes a wine of the same name” when the kid swallows he hands them a dark one and does the same procedure “this one is Malbec, a staple for most of our red wine” but this time he spits in back on the ground, seemingly too bitter.

“Why don't you stick to feeding him normal grapes?” You ask from the table under a shadow, sipping grape juice and reading a book.

“When he grow up they might want to work here and with so many types of grapes and things about the winery to know I should teach him young” he turns around from besides the vine, he from may you know where decided that he needed to teach your year old about the multiple varieties of wine grapes and their wines.

“Fine~ if you feel like you want to do it teach him, I doubt much knowledge will stick right now but I will be rooting for you here” he turns around to face the plant again and you keep watching his arms show from under the rolled shirt and how they tense when reaching for a new grape and the love with which he teaches his child, quite possibly reminiscing about his father doing the same with him.

[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. 

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter two

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): mentions of blood (finger cut), mansplaining 🤢, angst

author's note: second chapter! sort of a filler chapter while we see a glimpse into jj and reader's relationship. the plot picks up the next chapter. also thank you so much to the lovely people who already joined the taglist, i hope i don't disappoint <3

join the taglist | series masterlist

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“Come on, you piece of crap,” Y/N mumbled, falling back on her hands and giving her knees the relief she needed from squatting for the past fifteen minutes. She groaned as she removed the flashlight lodged between her teeth. The generator for the charter shack had shut down in the afternoon but with all the Pogue’s campaigning to get people to show up to the impending courthouse hearing, the shop had been closed and no one bothered fixing it. 

Y/N looked out to the water, staring at the moon as it hung low over the water. She hadn’t wanted to come out here to fix the generator, much preferring the comfort of the hammock she had been lying in, but she doubted anyone else was thinking about it. If she didn’t get this thing working tonight, the lights would be shot for the early-morning charters, and JJ would never let anyone hear the end of just how much business they were losing – even though he could’ve been out here trying to fix the problem.  

As much as Y/N wanted to try to repair the generator with a begrudged attitude, she knew she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit JJ was partly why she was out here so late. She didn’t hate JJ Maybank, not by a long shot. Y/N believed hatred should only be reserved for people with dark hearts, full of evil and malice. JJ was not only far from that level of rotten but also a good guy. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was probably one of the best guys on this island. But knowing someone wasn’t a bad person didn’t mean you had to like them all the time. 

And God had she spent the last few months severely disliking him. She just wasn’t the type of girl who could exercise enough patience when someone like JJ ran amok. John B had told her a few times that JJ had a rough go at life and sometimes that made him act irrationally, impulsively. But hadn’t they all? It wasn’t even a question– she knew they all had been dealt some shitty cards. She never understood the way the Pogues would let him off with an exasperated expression or a few angry words when they’d all seen hard times. They had lost all the money they’d gotten from the El Dorado gold over stupid decisions and she felt like she couldn’t even be mad about it. 

Sure, there was a rare beauty in what they’d created due to the aftermath of those decisions. She hadn’t felt the sense of belonging she got when she was with the Pogues in this eclectic home they’d built since she was thirteen. She’d known other types of love, like the love she received from Terrance, but it wasn’t like this, like the love only a family could give you. Terrance had taken care of her and Cleo in ways a father should have, but that didn’t change the fact that he was their captain. She answered to him and had to follow his every order, no matter how she felt about it. That kind of dynamic couldn’t produce unconditional love, even if she knew a deep kind of love still existed. With the Pogues, she knew it wasn’t like that. She’d gotten through the tests of loyalty they never explicitly told her she was taking and that gave her a permanent spot on their DIY family tree. But why did that love have to mean they stayed broke forever?

So, yeah, she couldn’t always stand JJ and his quirks, sue her. Yet, here she was, on a late night, the only light around her from the moon and the flashlight she held, trying to make sure JJ could do something that made him happy tomorrow. She could admit, probably only to herself, that she cared enough about him to want that. Since she’d stolen Genrette’s letter from JJ, her stomach had twisted every time she thought about it. JJ’s tense family relationships, or lack thereof, weren’t a secret, though Y/N didn’t know the extent of how bad it could get. To think that he now had to deal with the possibility that everything he had known was a lie and that everything he had endured growing up hadn’t been written for him made her feel sick. The one thing she could cling to on nights when her mind seemed to play a constant loop of her worst childhood memories was that she knew where she came from. She knew her name and she knew what that meant, even if her name was all she had left to show for that part of herself. JJ might not even have that. 

At some point, Y/N had found herself closing her eyes as she listened to the distant slap of waves against the pilings and occasional creak of the shack. There wasn’t much Y/N could do for JJ, nor was there much she wanted to do for him, but she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to repair some dingy generator. It’s not like she didn’t have experience doing these kinds of jobs.

Sighing, Y/N stuck the tiny flashlight she’d brought back between her teeth and resumed her crouching in front of the black and yellow box. The beam of her flashlight shook slightly as she spoke her next steps aloud, trying to find where she kept going wrong. Y/N wasn’t a patient person, though, and as more time went on she felt the same frustration creep up. Her movements began to grow quicker with every passing second, trying anything and everything that could work. In her franticness, her fingers slipped, grazing a sharp edge, and she hissed pulling it back to examine her finger. Sucking in a breath, she rolled her eyes at the cut on her finger. Somehow she’d managed to cut herself deep enough that she’d need to wipe off the blood and find a bandaid. Just as she was going to get up, she heard the sound of familiar footsteps padding against the deck. Y/N could recognize the sound of  JJ’s workboots anywhere. There was a time she used to look forward to that sound, though she’d never let anyone know. That was before the blond-haired boy had shattered her trust. 

“What are you doing out here?” JJ asked, not waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge him. With one last glance at her finger, Y/N moved to look at JJ. From the light of the moon, she could see he was wearing a muscle tank and some shorts, his hair tussled in every which way indicating he’d likely been sleeping before this.

“Fixing the generator,” Y/N said, flicking her flashlight to the box behind her. “It shot out earlier today.” She turned the flashlight back towards JJ, causing him to flinch from her shining the light directly in his eyes.

“Jesus, don’t blind me,” JJ covered his eyes with his forearm, waiting until Y/N moved the light and mumbled a ‘sorry.’ He moved closer to where Y/N was standing to try to get a better look at the generator behind her. “I didn’t realize the generator was acting up.”  

That was odd. JJ always noticed when something was wrong around the store, especially if it could influence his chartering. He must have been really out of it today if he hadn’t noticed something as big as the generator being out. 

“Yeah,” Y/N said, deciding against pointing out how worrisome it was that JJ hadn’t noticed. “But it doesn’t look like the piece of shit can be fixed. I’ve checked everything that could be wrong.” 

“Did you check the fuel levels?” JJ asked, sticking his hand out for Y/N to pass him the flashlight. 

“First thing I did.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N let him have the object. No point in stopping the inevitable.  

“What about the oil levels? Or the air filters. Maybe they’re blocked.”

“Nope, checked both those things.”

“Alright let me just check the wiring. It cou–”

“Already did that,” Y/N’s voice was a bit louder now, forcing JJ to snap his head up. “And I have a cut to prove it. Now is there any more advice you want to mansplain before I leave?” Y/N’s arms crossed across her chest, not trying to hide just how irritated she was with JJ. When did she ever?

JJ blinked, his mouth opening and closing. He shook his head, looking down. The slight tilt of his head was her only indication in the low lighting that he looked ashamed. He kind of looked like a scolded child. She hated that she found it cute. 

“No, ‘m sorry,” JJ muttered, moving away from the generator and stopping directly before Y/N. “Here, let me see.” 

Before she could try to stop him, JJ flashed the light to where Y/N’s hand now rested uncrossed. Comparing both her hands, he reached for the one that was bleeding, before mumbling a curse under his breath. JJ’s touch was gentle as he tilted her hand to assess the damage. JJ’s thumb grazed the back of her hand in a steady pattern. Y/N wasn’t sure if he noticed the way his touch lingered or if it was just an unconscious reflex, but the moment his thumb skimmed across her skin, she felt a rush of warmth spread through her, settling deep in her chest. Her breath caught and she couldn’t figure out why such a simple action was suddenly making her so aware of him. 

“Got yourself bad,” JJ said, his voice coming out in a whisper as if any increase in volume would shatter this moment around them. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to shatter it either.

“I-it’s nothing,” She assured him, the level of her voice matching his. “Just a cut.”

“Yeah, but you’ll still need to clean it.” JJ’s hand lingered on Y/N’s for a moment longer, before stepping back and giving the girl some much-needed space. “I’ve got a first aid kit, one sec.” 

“The first aid kits we bought are in the house, not here,” Y/N reminded him, her voice returning to its regular cadence, when he stepped towards the door of the shack. “Remember?”

“I keep one here,” JJ explained, stepping through the doorway that led to the tiny store. A moment later he returned with what looked like a blue and white first aid kit. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the box in JJ’s hands. The Pogues had bought a bundle of two first aid kits when they had opened the store because Pope insisted that it was important to keep one on hand. But those kits had been red and white, so when had JJ bought this? Or why? It seemed kind of a waste.

Without saying a word, JJ sat himself down on the steps that lead up to the deck and motioned for Y/N to join him. 

“JJ, I can clean the cut. You don’t have to worry about it,” Y/N assured him, not moving towards the stairs.

“There ain’t much light, otherwise I wouldn’t insist,” JJ called back, shifting through the supplies in the box. “I know you’re tougher than a little cut. I just want to help.” There was something in his tone that told her it might be more than a want. “I won’t screw it up, don’t worry.”

Y/N suppressed a sigh, letting her head fall while he couldn’t see. Maybe she was too harsh on him. She didn’t want him to feel so dejected around her, she just expected more from him. Hesitating for only a minute longer, she moved to sit next to him on the rickety staircase. Wordlessly, she positioned herself so her knees were turned towards JJ, her bare skin brushing against the fabric of his shorts. She waited as JJ pulled out the necessary materials and took the flashlight from him when he held it out to her.  A moment later, JJ looked up at her, making her breath catch again.

The shadows softened the sharp edges of his face, hiding most of him from her view, but the faint moonlight caught just enough – the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and the faint outline of his lips. The limited light didn’t do much to illuminate his features, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken. The way his eyes, even in the dark, seemed to fill the gap of silence between them, was unnerving. The shadows seemed to lean into him, framing his face like a half-finished sketch that was the most captivating piece of art she’d ever seen. JJ was handsome in every light, but there was something enchanting about him in the moonlight.  

“I’m gonna need your hand,” JJ spoke, breaking Y/N out of her trance. 

“What?” Y/N asked, too dazed to cringe at how dense she must’ve sounded. She watched JJ’s lips stretch into a smirk and again, even in the dark she could see that teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Your hand? You know, to clean the cut?” JJ broke eye contact with Y/N to look at her hand, which was tucked away at her side. With JJ’s eyes concealed from her, Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and looked down at her hand too. 

“Oh, right.” Y/N extended her arm, so her hand hovered above the first aid kit in JJ’s lap, silently berating herself for her lapse in focus. She thought JJ would definitely be letting that go to his head, but instead of taking this moment to embarrass Y/N, JJ simply took her hand in his grasp.

“Flash the light this way,” He said, his voice only slightly teasing. “Perfect.” He worked in silence, letting go of her hand to open an individually wrapped alcohol wipe before his warm fingertips wrapped back around her palm. The silence would have been a nice change of pace from JJ’s incessant need to fill any quiet moments, but right now Y/N didn’t trust herself. The less they talked the more she’d stare.

“Thanks,” Y/N controlled her voice so that it didn’t betray any discomfort as she spoke. “So um… how are you doing?”

“Hm?” JJ asked, the small sound endued with confusion.

“About the letter,” She clarified. “That news is a lot to handle.” She felt JJ’s hand tighten for a moment before loosening up. He chuckled, not stilling his movements as he placed the bloodied wipe next to him.

“You could say that,” JJ’s tone carried a sense of amusement, but she knew it was just a front. He let her hand go again, to unscrew the cap of the generic Neosporin. When he began applying the ointment to the cut, he didn’t take her hand in his again, instead letting it hang in the air. “I’m fine. Don’t really believe any of it anyway.”

“You don’t?” 

“You do?” JJ said, looking up at her. Y/N turned the flashlight in her hand to get a better read on his expression, causing JJ to flinch back like before. Shielding his eyes, he shouted, “Stop doing that!” 

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Y/N said frantically, but her apology was overpowered by a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously! You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna need a seeing-eye dog, woman.” JJ quipped, causing her to laugh even harder.

It took her a moment to calm down from her laughter and when she looked at JJ he had a small smile on his face. Simply chuckling, he shook his head and started to apply the ointment. Not wanting this conversation to pass them, Y/N continued with her earlier thought. “It’s not that I do believe it, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility. It could be real.” JJ’s smile disappeared, but she could tell from the position of his shoulders he wasn’t upset. 

“It feels like it is…. Impossible, I mean.” Y/N nodded as he spoke waiting to see if he’d elaborate. When he remained silent, she didn’t push. JJ needed to talk to someone because she had seen how everything played out disastrously when he didn't. But she wouldn’t push him to talk to her. They’d been better friends at one point. JJ had been one of the first people she bonded with when she’d joined the Pogues, aside from Sarah who she had felt an immediate inclination towards on Terrance’s ship. It didn’t matter though, that she’d once considered him her (second) closest friend in the group because she definitely wasn’t that person for him. She probably had a large part to play in that, but acknowledging that didn’t change how things were. She knew she had no right to force him to talk, so she shifted her attention to something else to fill the space between them. As she searched for another topic, she noticed JJ was already wrapping the bandaid around her finger, meaning he was almost done. 

“So, since when do you keep a first aid kit here?” Y/N asked, not wanting him to leave just yet– not after their first good moment in a long time. “This one’s different from the ones we got with Pope.”

“I’ve had it for a while,” JJ shrugged, throwing the bandaid wrapper to the growing pile of trash next to him. Y/N aimed the flashlight at the box of medical supplies, taking a proper look at it for the first time. It was a total wreck: silver wrappers spilling out, oversized bandage wrappers crumpled haphazardly, and a few tools resting on the rubbish she couldn’t properly identify. She’s not sure why the mess surprised her considering the kit belonged to JJ and he could be a bit clumsy, but how had he used so much already? 

“How long is ‘a while’?” Y/N pressed, leaning forward to shuffle through the mess. She shifted through the mess, tugging out a half-crumpled roll of gauze. “This thing’s been through the wringer. No wonder it took you so long to find the stuff.” She tossed the gauze back up in the box, noting the moment his expression changed. 

“Yeah,” JJ said before his jaw tightened and he stood up abruptly with the box in his hands. “It works fine.” JJ roughly set the first aid kit on the ledge of the shack, turning to face away from Y/N. 

Y/N frowned, not intending to have stuck a nerve with him. “Hey, I didn’t mean–”

“You know what?” JJ interrupted, spinning completely to face the generator. His movements were sharper now, less fluid. “I’m just gonna check one more time. There’s gotta be a way to fix this.”

Y/N rose to her feet, her stomach already clenching with the fear of an impending mishap. “JJ, stop. Leave it. I already–”

“I’m sure you checked it properly,” JJ cut her off as he crouched beside the generator. JJ’s hands moved frantically, tugging wires, and removing lids. “You probably just missed something, that’s all.” 

“JJ, hold on,” Y/N urged, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and shining her flashlight where JJ was still working. “Let’s just—”

JJ shrugged her hand off, his movements growing more erratic.“No– relax…just relax. It’s fine, see? I’m just gonna–” JJ kept twisting wires and prying things that didn’t need prying, parts that even Y/N hadn’t dared to touch despite spending the better half of her life on various ships.

“Please. Stop,” Y/N insisted. She knew this JJ, she’d seen him too much recently. “You’re making it worse.” JJ visibly flinched at her words but didn’t slow his movements.

“I’ve got it!” JJ snapped, his voice loud in the silent night. “I can fix this. Just let me fix it.” Y/N heard the way JJ’s voice waivered at the end, but she didn’t have time to figure out what it meant. Suddenly, JJ began to hit his hand against the side of the generator mumbling, “It just needs a little push.” 

Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as JJ continued his harsh beating of the generator, his movements extreme as if the generator had personally insulted him. JJ’s didn’t stop, until finally, miraculously, the entire deck lit up. Y/N looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. There was no way…

“See?” JJ got up from the floor, his arms spread out on either side of him as his breath began to slow down. “Just needed a magic touch.” As he walked closer to Y/N, JJ gave her a pointed look that was no doubt meant to say ‘I told you so.’ Y/N pursed her lips, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting he’d fixed the problem. It wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to do it herself. It was because once again JJ had let his impulsive behavior take the wheel and this time he just got lucky. Pushing past her ego, Y/N was about to say thank you when –

A loud SNAP interrupted her, followed by a mechanical whine before she was met with complete silence. And darkness. Save for the orange sparks flying out from somewhere in the generator. JJ cursed under his breath, as he and Y/N ran down the stairs and off the deck. It was silent as they watched to make sure nothing else happened and the sparks didn’t lead to a fire. When she was sure there wouldn’t be anything else, she turned to JJ, her jaw set in annoyance. 

“You’ve got it?” Y/N repeated his words back to him, dripping in sarcasm. “You broke it, JJ.” 

JJ didn’t take even a second before defensively responding, “Well, it was already mostly broken.” 

Scoffing, Y/N looked to the sky, praying to anyone who’d listen to give her patience. “Mostly broken? It was off, JJ. Off and fixable. Now it’s dead. You just killed it.” 

JJ’s hand moved to the back of his neck, as he muttered something under his breath. He tilted his body away from Y/N which made her furious. Stepping to the side, she faced him head-on. 

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, huh? Why do you always have to–” 

“I was trying to help!” JJ argued and she couldn’t miss the unguarded, almost raw way he sounded, but she had to ignore it. Because no one else would tell him how bad this really was. “It wasn’t working before either, what’s the difference?”

“The difference, JJ,” Y/N said, her teeth grinding against each other. “Is that before we could have called a mechanic to fix it. Now, we need to buy a brand new generator. With money, that I don’t need to remind you, we don’t have! And we’ll be cut off from any profit we get from everything in here.”

They stared at each other, the flashlight beam caught awkwardly between them. JJ’s face was once again shrouded by darkness, but she could see the pout of his lips. 

“I’ll figure something out,” JJ’s voice was quieter now. “It’ll only cut into the early morning charters. We can keep track of profit the old school way– pen and paper.” 

“The early morning charters are half our business,” Y/N shook her head. “Just– stop making excuses, alright?”

JJ’s shoulders fell as he nodded, “Okay…” 

Y/N stared at JJ, not responding or furthering her chastising. JJ wouldn’t meet her eyes and she was glad. His usual bravado was missing as he tugged at what she presumed were loose threads on his shorts. If he had the gall to keep arguing right now, she would’ve lost it even more than she already did. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, so she just shook her head and left back towards the house.

“Y/N,” JJ called, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible over the waves. Y/N just ignored it and continued on her path. She wanted to turn around, she wanted to tell him they’d figure it out. But she didn’t know that they would and she hated to lie. With that explanation to herself, she kept walking away from JJ, not knowing she was delivering the final blow to his heart.

taglist: @tpwkyarely @ayy1234567 @theater-bitch

[i4oba]

nct dream’s ideal types / MARK version! ✿..

[aka who i think would suit the members :D]

i feel like, since mark is pretty laid back most of the time, someone a little more.. adventurous? would suit him a lot, just to get him out of the comfort zone

i’m not talking literally, you don’t have to be indiana jones or something, just someone who’s open to try many many new things ? constantly seeking some type of rush from everything New (if that makes sense)

i can totally envision him with someone who’s like… it may sound weird, but doesn’t view themself as “pretty” or “attractive” yk… i’m not talking about the usual lack of confidence tho

it’s just that they never really prioritize their looks and all. i mean, of course they would CARE but wouldn’t think it’s that important

i also think that someone, who’s always deemed as “weird” and “unusual” would TOTALLY be something mark would go for

not only because of the doses of something extraordinary but because he’s interested. you can pique his interest if you say something so outta pocket that would normally cause a few harsh replies

i feel like mark is the type that doesn’t want to be limited, who knows he has limitless potential, not just talent wise but overall, as in… he knows he’s got greater purposes on this world

hence why i said a partner who’s curious enough to bring that out of him—sometimes he can get caught up on work and stuff so he needs Relax time, but not like the laying down and not doing anything kind

the type where you go round and round, finding the deeper meaning of things, such as talking about philosophical questions etcetera

that’s why i partly feel like he would be into someone who’s really really smart. he would love the constant feeling of fascination whenever his partner would say some random, niche fact on a topic he’s never heard of

he’s the type of guy, in my eyes, who loves to absorb knowledge and always tries to do so, which makes place for a partner who’s able to kind of stimulate him in that way?

if you know what i mean LMFAO

i feel like opening up fully for mark, would take a bit longer…? and he would absolutely stay in this “bro zone” kind of situation as well, so someone chill has to be the one he finds

he’s all about keeping it lowkey and if you’re impatient… well, your loss

and it’s not because he’s ashamed of you or something, it’s just that it’s more comfortable for him? in a way? feelings can be a little bit scary sometimes so you gotta leave him to handle it himself

so the keyword here is Patience

you cannot rush things!!!!!!!

especially since i genuinely believe that he… wouldn’t necessary look for love, you know

i can totally envision him just befriending someone and then comes all the cliché, him falling in love blah blah

he’s SO friends to lovers in my eyes, what can i say… falling for the bros is NOT on the list LMFAO and then here we go

but you know, it’s easier like that, and he works sooo hard, he never really focuses on finding a partner, not dating that actively because he’s busy

(i can totally see him panicking when he first realizes that he’s in love with one of his closest friends… he would be Shocked AHAH)

so yeah, developing feelings for him would definitely not take that much of time?? in my opinion?? it’s just him accepting it kinda, you know

being chill and pretty cool is something he would definitely find attractive, especially because, i think??? he doesn’t care about looks that much

he’s the type of guy who’s all about what’s on the inside :) so he needs someone who’s got the same mindset????

that’s a big thing for him anyways.. he wants to feel secure? like he’s not alone!

don’t leave him alone!!!!!!! he’s a cutie patootie, he needs love!!!!!!! even if he doesn’t show it!!!!!!!! he Does need it!!!!!

have so much love for him, be easy going and open minded and honestly, you’ve goz mark lee on his knees :,)

FEEL FREE TO DISAGREE THOUGH!!! this is only my perception of him! :)

& for some visual representation — STYLEBOARDS! :) <3

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Lucifer NSFW alphabet

Aftercare

what they're like after sex

He's a lot softer after sex and he'll take all the measures necessary to make you feel comfortable. He's a doctor, so he knows how to patch you up. Asks Buer to make the two of you tea since it helps relax.

Body Part

their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's

His favorite body part used to be his wings, but now it's his fangs. He likes the effect they have on you and how he's the only one, Heaven or Hell, to have them so pronounced

His favorite body part on you are your eyes. Not only can they cry so pretty, but they also show your true feelings. As they say, the eyes are the windows to the soul. (Plus he has a thing for eye contact and seing himself in the reflection of your eyes, but that's a post for another day)

Cum

anything to do with cum, basically

His cum has healing properties so you always feel better after he cums on/inside you. If you want, he'll give you a bottle of his cum to use as cream when you're hurt, since you already love drinking it from a bottle so much.

Also, if you can get pregnant, he'll be very worried about possibly leaving you with a baby, so he takes birth control pills religiously.

Dirty secret

pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs

He had a threesome with Adam and Eve where he actually came in Adam's ass. He'll never admit this, not even to God.

The second time he decided to visit humanity, he found a cult that worshiped him and he still finds the idea of mortals praying to him arousing.

Experience

how experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?

Bro participated in orgies, he knows how sex works. Though, after he fell from Heaven, he stopped having sex. Not because he's practicing chastity or anything, but the oportunity never showed itself.

Also, he knows how to have sex with angels, but he's never done it with a human before. So he might assume that you can take as much as an angel. It's fine, he's a fast learner so he won't overstimulate you... that much.

Favorite position

this goes without saying

He doesn't have one, but he hates all the positions where he has to lay on his back. He also likes holding your hands while you fuck because he knows you'll try to pull on his wings and he doesn't trust you. Other than that, he has no favorites.

Goofy

are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?

Even if he tried to tell a joke, his voice is so monotone that you couldn't tell. He'll also be very confused if you started cracking jokes in the middle of sex. He never laughs, he just looks at you with a bewildered and partly judgemental look on his face.

Hair

how well groomed are they?

We are in headcanon territory, so, I think angels don't have hair, they only have feathers. Their "hair" is actually fluff that baby birds have. So, in conclusion, I think Lucifer's dick is fluffy.

Intimacy

how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect

He would prefere doing anything else but sex to show you how much he loves you. He'll be more sensual and take things slow because he has no reason to rush. No matter how hard he tries to act like one of those porn stars you so admire, you always get the impression that he's mildly bored. He's only doing this because you like sex and he likes you, so, in part, it is true.

Jack Off

masturbation headcanons

He doesn't masturbate. He just doesn't see the use in it. If he's feeling horny he'll just call you over and have an actual passionate night of sex. Why would he bother jacking off when he has you for that.

Kink

one or more of their kinks

Dacryphilia, that one is canon, but I also think he has a thing for overstimulation. Will make you cum until you cry and ask him to stop and depending on his mood he may or may not listen. He usually doms because it's in his nature to do so, but he might indulge you once he likes you enough. When he subs he only accepts praise, the moment you degrade him he just bitch slaps you and leaves. He's not a prideful bitch, he just knows his worth/s

Location

favorite place to do the do

His garden. It's pretty, it's outdoors, you get some fresh air. He's probably really into botony so he'll show you plants as he fucks you. He also really likes the texture of grass, more so than his bed, so this is where you're having sex.

Motivation

what turns them on, gets them going

Seeing you cry especially if it's from something he did. Being a doctor and checking up on you as he randomly takes blood samples or gives you jabs that he refuses to eleborate on. His ideal partner is someone that's afraid of medical supplies. He likes scaring you, making you cry before saving you with an embrace while he coos about how brave you were.

No

Something they wouldn't do, turn offs

Getting called "daddy" or "brother" during sex is his biggest turn off. He had to deal with an incestous brother, please don't remind him of him.

Oral

preference in giving or recieving, skills, etc.

I preferes the idea of recieving, but he doesn't want to hospitalise you, so he'll be giving for most of the relationship. He's very good at giving as well, but he's a little shit about it. He never gives you full tongue treatment, you only get small kitten licks and nothing more. He'll give you a gynaecology/andrology check up since he's already there.

Pace

are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?

He likes it slow. He drags out the forplay, usually it lasts more than the actual sex and then fucks you swiftly. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't be rough because his dick is twice the amount a human can take. He hates rushing, let him take his time.

Quickie

their opinions on quickies, how often

He's very against quickies. He likes to take his time, and if something urgent needs to be attended to soon, he'll push you away and deal with that before even considering having sex. The prep for sex with him is 3/4 of the sex experience, why would you want to pass it.

Risk

are they willing to experiment? Do they take risks?

It depends. He might experiment with some kinks if you express interest in them, but nothing too extreme. If you insist on doing extreme stuff with him, he'll just pay someone from Abaddon to do it. No, he won't let you step on his cock, he already has erectile disfunction.

Stamina

how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?

He gets tired after speaking for 3 minutes, he has the stamina of a malnurished sloth. He's mostly fucking you out of professional obligation, so he'll give you one or two turns of action, about 5 minutes each and then he does the after care. If he's feeling very horny, and I mean very horny, he'll make sure that not even his cum can cure your soreness, but he lacks that motivation 9/10.

Toys

do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partener or themselves

Do needles and jabs count as sex toys? He doesn't use them often, but he does sometimes indulge in that fantasy. He can also tie you up like he does to Marbas if you want. He'll never use toys on himself because he considers them ungodly. But if they please you, sure enough.

Unfair

how much they like to tease

Honey, teasing is the sex when you're with Lucifer. You better have an hour free in your scheduel just for the forplay. It's his favorite part of the experience because he gets to do stuff that isn't 100% sexual while being sexual enough that they please you.

Volume

how loud are they? What sounds do they make?

His very quiet, to the point that you sometimes doupt he's enjoying himself. When he does makes sounds, usually when he's close, he'll groan or choke, before realeasing with a melodic moan. He also shooes and gives you orders about what to do. He doesn't like a partner that's very loud, only Gamigin has the green card when it comes to being noisy.

Wildcard

a random headcanon for the character

Lucifer is a sex neutral asexual. He doesn't experience sexual attraction and he only has sex if someone else that he likes asks him to. He doesn't see the hype around it, and sex is the least important part of a relationship for him.

X-ray

let's see what's going on under those clothes

I'll be honest with you, I've never seen a penis in real life, I have no idea how those usually look like. His dick is 30 cms, I'm not sure that's physicly possible, but who knows. Wouldn't a dick that big be uncomfortable to live with? I am very confused. Just imagine a baguette and boom, that's his dick.

Yearning

How high is their sex drive

Nonexistent. Before he met you, he only had sex during the annual angel orgies because it was tradition. It's not that he hates sex, but as stated above, he just has no interest in it. When you see naked people daily for your job, you stop being excited by nudeness.

Zzz

how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

He only falls asleep after he makes sure you did. Usually sleeps in a seperate room from you, but, after he gets attached, he'll insist that you cuddle in your sleep.

[ever-eilish]

Hii! Can you write a fic for billie eilish? Fem reader is scared of the dark and Billie cuddles us in bed to make us feel safe.

Scary

billie eilish x fem! reader

you are forced to face your fears, not meaning you have to do it alone

author's notes: this one is very sweet! i really enjoyed writing this, so I hope everyone likes it as well; thank you so much for your request, sorry it this is not what you wanted! once again, english is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes! enjoy💕

warnings: reader has a panic attack, but I did not write much about it; overall is very sweet and pure fluff!

You don't know exactly when it started. You don't exactly remember being a scared child, or fearing the dark as much as you do now.

The only thing you know is that, after a certain age, night lights become increasingly useless in comforting you, and what started as 'just a night' of sleeping with all the lights on, has become a habit.

You knew that at some point in your life you would have to overcome this irrational fear of the dark, but you just felt like the time wasn't now.

The lights were on, obviously, as night fell behind your window on the right side of your queen-sized bed, and Billie was on your left side, her head resting on your chest, legs tangled together, as she did something on her cell phone, while you were just staring at the dull, white ceiling, while thinking about absolutely nothing, just enjoying the company of your beautiful girlfriend.

We should buy something to decorate this ceiling, you made a mental note, this being your first coherent thought in a few minutes.

Just as you were about to go back into the sea of ​​'thinking about nothing' while staring at the ceiling like a maniac, Billie's voice fills the room.

"Darling, did you know that penguins-" her speech is cut off when a large thunderclap hits the ground, making a huge sound throughout the house.

Before you could even process what was happening, the lights went out and everything went silent.

Your breathing hitches, your fear of the dark showing as you quickly begin to hyperventilate.

Damn, why did this have to happen right in front of Billie?

Despite not wanting to have a meltdown in front of your girlfriend of a few months, your brain quickly starts to go haywire due to the lack of light.

Billie quickly realizes what was going on, and although it's not a frequent topic in your conversations, she remembers having already heard you mention your 'irrational' fear of the dark, so in one swift movement, Billie lifts her head from her chest and sits down, pulling you to sit on her lap in a way that both of your legs were to one side and your body to the other.

"My love, breathe with me" Billie says, and begins to breathe slowly, hoping you will follow her example.

"I'm fine, it's just-" you are cut off by Billie placing a loving peck on your lips.

"Just breathe with me, okay?" she says, and you decide to follow what she says.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, and you could already feel yourself getting better, your breathing stabilizing and your fears calming as Billie rocked you back and forth in a calming motion.

"Feeling better?" she asks, her voice small and, although you can't see her face because of the dark, you could almost feel her big smile on her face.

"Yes" you answer almost in a whisper, partly because you're embarrassed for having a small panic attack in front of your girlfriend. Billie noticed your discomfort quickly and hugged you tighter.

"You have nothing to worry about, princess" she says "I love you and I want to see you well"

Even though both of you had already said 'I love you', hearing her say it so naturally still sends goosebumps and butterflies in your stomach, in the best way possible.

Suddenly, the dark didn't seem so scary anymore.

“I love you too,” you say, laying your head on Billie’s chest.

Maybe you could even get used to the dark, if it meant you had Billie to comfort you every time.

[srslyscary]

Late Night Calls

contents/warnings: SFW, reader is written as she/her, slightly ooc, lowercase intended

including: felix x reader

note: inspired by “late night calls” by p1harmony. lately I haven’t been able to stop listening to that song, it’s really beautiful. seob’s part in it too is SO addicting. this was really last minute because I’ve been wanting to update but I recently started an 8hr nonstop shift, and I’ll be keeping that shift till next Friday. I hope you enjoy!

“Our secret late night calls. Dreamlike, beautiful sound of you and me.”

_

felix sat on the edge of his hotel bed, the afternoon sun streaming through the partially drawn curtains. his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and his fingers danced nervously over the screen of his phone. he took a deep breath, feeling the familiar flutter of excitement and nerves that always accompanied the prospect of hearing her voice. with a glance at the clock, he realized that back home, YN would just be winding down for the night.

fifteen hours. the time difference was brutal, but they'd found ways to make it work. their relationship was partly built on these late-night calls, stolen moments of connection amidst the chaos of touring. felix smiled, thinking about the countless nights they'd spent talking until the first light of dawn.

he swiped his phone screen and tapped on her contact, his heart skipping a beat as it started to ring. on the third ring, she picked up.

“hey, lix,” YN's voice was soft, a little sleepy, but full of warmth.

“hey, love,” felix replied, a wide smile spreading across his face. “oh- wait did I wake you?”

“no no, I was just lying here. how’s the tour going?”

felix leaned back against the headboard, picturing her lying in her bed, surrounded by pillows. “it’s going great. we had an amazing show today. STAYS were incredible. but I miss you.”

“i miss you too,” YN said, her voice tinged with longing. “it’s always hardest at night when you're not here.”

“i know, angel. I feel the same way. but these late-night calls, they keep me going. they remind me why I’m doing all this.”

YN laughed softly, the sound like a melody to felix’s ears. “you and your sweet words. you always know how to make me smile.”

felix’s heart swelled with affection. “i just speak the truth. how was your day?”

“it was good. busy, but good. i’ve been working on that project we talked about. i can’t wait for you to see it.”

“i can’t wait either. everything you do is amazing.”

they fell into a comfortable rhythm, talking about their days, sharing stories and little moments. felix loved these conversations, the way they could make him feel close to her even when they were thousands of miles apart.

after a while, felix heard YN stifle a yawn. “you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“a little,” she admitted. “but I don’t want to hang up yet.”

“stay with me, then,” felix said softly. “even if you fall asleep, just stay with me.”

“i’d like that.”

felix shifted on the bed, making himself more comfortable. “do you ever think about the future? I mean.. with us.”

“of course I do. why wouldn’t I silly?”

“not sure.. I guess that was a weird question.” felix said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “i was thinking about the future, what it means for us.”

“and what do you think it means?” YN replied. “i’m curious cutie.”

“i don’t know what it means, that’s why I asked angel.“ felix laughed slightly, sighing after breathing in.

“sorry sorry,” YN said, her voice barely above a whisper. “you know.. your voice is my favorite sound.”

“really?” he took a second to think, smiling to himself. “of course, it brings me comfort in so many ways you probably wouldn’t know.”

felix smiled again, not saying much. they fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts, connected by the invisible thread of their love. after a while, felix spoke again.

“do you want me to sing for you?”

“yes, please. i’d actually really love that.” YN said, her voice filled with anticipation.

felix cleared his throat, closing his eyes as he began to sing. his voice was soft and tender, filled with emotion.

YN sighed contentedly. “you always know how to make everything better.”

felix smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. “that’s my goal, to always make you happy.”

“you do, love. you always do.”

they talked for a little while longer, their conversation growing quieter as YN's eyelids grew heavier. felix could hear her breathing becoming more even, a sure sign that she was drifting off to sleep.

“goodnight, angel,” felix whispered, his voice filled with tenderness.

“‘night, lix. I love you.”

“I love you way more.”

felix stayed on the line, listening to her gentle breathing, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. these moments, these late-night calls, were the lifeline of their relationship, the threads that kept them connected despite the miles and time zones that separated them.

as he lay back on his bed, felix thought about the future. he knew that one day, they’d have more time together. but until then, he would cherish these calls, these stolen moments of intimacy that made everything worthwhile.

_

“Late night calls, so sweet. Just tell me you love me.”

[tomurasghoul]

SHOTO TODOROKI X (G/N) READER FLUFF

Summary: You and Todoroki go ice skating together and fall in love <333

Includes: pure fluff.

WC: 783

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN)

Todoroki had asked you to go to the ice-skating rink with him, which came as a surprise, because you two don't talk that much and he isn't exactly the social type either, but, nonetheless, you agreed to go. He said he just wanted to hang out with you.

You had to admit it, though... You wouldn't have minded if he had asked you out on a date instead of a hangout. Regardless, it might be nice to get to spend some alone time with him.

Now, you were walking into the skating rink, looking around the big, global building to see if Todoroki had arrived already. And there he was, already waiting for you by the bleachers, skates in hand.

He looked so cute in his winter attire.

'I'm glad you could make it.' He said in his usual monotone voice.

He scanned you from top to bottom.

'You look... nice.' He sounded like he was having trouble chosing the right words to use. This was pretty out of character for him, because he's usually confident and plain-spoken.

You thought that maybe, he was just trying to be nice, so you just smiled at him in response and sat down to put your skates on, which you were having quite a bit of trouble with.

'Here, let me help you.' He kneeled down to assist you.

You blushed at his chivalry.

As you carefully walked over to the ice, you tried to make conversation.

'So... I assume you're a pretty good skater.'

He didn't respond. Instead, he got on the ice and showed off his figure skating skills while you could barely keep yourself standing.

He stopped next to you.

'What do you think?'

You grabbed the wall of the rink to balance yourself.

'You're such a show-off!' You rolled your eyes at him sarcastically.

He looked down at the ground awkwardly. It seemed like you had upset him.

'I didn't mean to make you mad. I just wanted to impress you.' He confessed.

You should've remembered Todoroki has trouble with sarcasm.

'No, no, it's my fault.' You put your hand on his shoulder, partly to comfort him and partly because you were hard to take seriously clinging onto the wall like that.

'Anyway... If you want to learn how to skate, I could teach you.' He grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him.

'You need to push your feet out to go forward and keep them a bit spread to balance yourself.' He informed you unsolicitedly.

Even after you did what he told you to do, you couldn't seem to get the hang of it. Were you just that bad at skating? Or were you stumbling like that because you were holding hands with Todoroki?

'You're really bad at this.' He said bluntly as you almost fell for the 5th time. 'Let's go take a break.'

He was holding you by waist as he guided you off the ice, making you even more nervous than before.

He noticed your nervousness and let go immediately.

'I'm sorry. Did that make you uncomfortable?' You could tell he was feeling guilty.

'I'm trying to be chivalrous like Kirishima told me to be, but I'm just making it awkward, aren't I?'

'Why did you talk to Kirishima about our meet-up?'

'I have a crush on you.'

Well, he definitely didn't beat around the bush.

You were surprised at his sudden confession. When you arrived at the skating rink's cafe, you still hadn't answered him.

'So... I'm assuming your silence means you don't feel the same about me.' He said as you sat down.

'No! I definitely feel the same about you! Sorry for not responding. I was just surprised, I guess.'

He smiled at your response, and he doesn't do that often. He had a smile on his face all throughout the rest of your 'date'. You hoped you'd get to see that more often.

As the day neared it's end, the two of you decided to call it quits. You felt sad that it was over already.

When you arrived outside, you both just stood in silence for a while, neither of you wanting to leave yet.

Until the silence was broken by Todoroki.

'Are we a couple now?' He tilted his head curiously.

'If you want us to be.' You answered.

'Yeah, I would like that.' He looked at the ground shyly. 'Also, you can call me Shoto from now on.'

'Alright then, see you tomorrow, Shoto.' You put emphasis on his name.

He softly kissed your cheek.

'Yeah, see you tomorrow, (Y/N).' He copied the way you emphasized his name.

That's when he walked off, leaving you standing in shock.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Definitely a Date- Lyney x Neuvillette's child!Reader

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Recovery date: April 18th, 2024

Description: Hello 👋, I just wanted to say I loved the Neuvillette story and I would like to see a continuation where the relationship with Lyney and the reader was explored, but if it's not to much to ask I'd also like some more context with the relationship between Neuvillette and the readers mother.

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with @crystalkat6747, we thank her for her contribution. This was fun, and ended up being super long. I clearly have favorites, lol.

Part: 1 2 3 4

Word count: 2 699

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"I’m going out with Lyney today,” Y/n said before taking another bite of their croissant. “We might leave the city.”

“Very well, I won’t wait for you at dinner time.” Neuvillette stopped spreading the jam on his bread. “And if you could, ask him to stop climbing up to your window. He’s going to get arrested one of these times.”

Y/n inhaled sharply and began choking on their food. They grabbed their tea cup and chugged the drink before coughing some more. Neuvillette watched them carefully, pushing his chair back in case he needed to help.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m-” they coughed some more, “I’m fine,” they wheezed. “I didn’t think you knew about that,” they muttered, pouring themself more tea.

“I had my suspicions, but that was how he came looking for you the other day.”

Y/n cringed a bit at the mention of the other day. It had been three days since they and their siblings had scared their father shitless, and a day since the twins had gone back to Liyue where they were currently running a small legal business. In that time Y/n had stayed close to their father and been helping around the Palais Mermonia; whether it was their way of making up for scaring him or them trying to comfort themself was uncertain.

“On a different topic, I’ve been giving your question some thought.” Y/n’s brows furrowed in confusion. “About why your mother and I are no longer together.”

“Oh.”

“I believe it was as I said before, my duty as your father is to protect you, and your mother did not believe we could do that here. She’d always taken the prophecy seriously, and as the water level began to rise she became more anxious about what might happen. However, I refused to abandon my duties here and while she could not make you leave with her– at least you would have somewhere outside of Fontain you could go.”

“I’m guessing there was more to it?”

A small smile pulled at Neuvillette’s lips. “Yes, but it doesn’t concern you.”

Y/n leaned their chin on their palm and watched their father as he flipped to the next page of the Steambird. His eyes were solemn in a way akin to how they looked after a trial. They’d always known that he hadn’t liked the idea of the divorce, but they’d also gotten the feeling it was partly because he blamed himself. After their mother had left Fontain, he’d made it a point to spend his lunch break with them and take them to see shows they expressed interest in as though he were trying to make up for his previous absence caused by work.

In fact, they’d been in the audience together when Lyney and Lynette had debuted in the Opera Epiclese.

“So, when-”

A knock echoed through the house and Y/n rushed to the front door, Neuvillette close behind.

“Hey,” Y/n breathed out.

“Good morning, Y/n.” Neuvillette heard Lyney say just before he turned the corner. To his surprise, the magician was not in his usual clothes. Instead he was dressed in black slacks and a red dress shirt, sans his usual hat. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, let me just-ah!”

Y/n turned around to find their father standing at the end of the hallway.

“Enjoy your day.”

“Mhm,” Y/n nodded.

Lyney held out his arm for Y/n to take, and they waved goodbye to their father before stepping outside and linking their arm with his. Neuvillette watched them walk down the street, arm in arm, before closing the door to finish his morning routine.

“Nice outfit,” Y/n hummed, leaning into the magician’s side.

“Thank you, you look good too.”

They walked past shops with windows full of mechanical toys and fancy jewelry, occasionally stopping to talk about the items on sale. Y/n shared the story of  a new line of accessories they came across, and how the melusine who was sourcing the material had gifted them one of the first watches made. Lyney smiled as they went on about how pretty the watches circuitry was, which ended with them asking about Freminet’s recent inventions.

Lyney was more than happy to share about Pers’ latest upgrade as they headed towards Cafe Lutece. 

“What are we doing here?” Y/n wondered aloud as Lyney led them up to the counter.

“Grabbing snacks.”

Y/n shrugged, and ordered a batch of conch madeleines. When they turned back from getting their mora out, they found the exact change already on the counter. They turned to Lyney who grinned and pulled them away to a table where they could wait.

“I could have paid for myself.”

“It’s no problem, I like treating you when we go out.”

Y/n let out a fond sigh as a white box was set on the table. The young adults thanked the shop owner before Lyney took the lead once again, dragging Y/n to the aquabus station.

They boarded the Navia line and found themselves reminiscing about the recent flooding of the nation at the mention of their friend. The melusine went on with her speech, occasionally catching the interest of the two as she pointed out animals nearby. Y/n let their head rest against Lyney’s shoulder, unable to see the way the tips of his ears turned red.

In the sky, the sun shone brightly– unobstructed by clouds.

“You know…” Lyney started once they’d separated from the rest of the aquabus riders on their way towards the Opera Epiclese, “when we uncovered the whole scheme behind my first show here, I had nightmares for a week straight that you’d been the one drawn.”

He squeezed their hand but didn’t look at them. His eyes were trained forward as they turned away from the rainbow roses lining the path to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the frown adorning their lips.

“What brought that up?”

Lyney’s eyes flickered to their before he looked away again and started steering them towards the Icewind Suite installation.

“I figured you’d be home the other day, and when Monsieur Neuviellette barged into your room and you weren’t there…” He trailed off. “I’m not saying you have to tell someone everytime you go out,” he backtracked frantically when he caught Y/n looking away. “It was just, so unlike you to disappear like that.”

“Sorry. For scaring you guys, I mean.”

The two fell silent as they took a seat along the edge of the installation. Lyney set the box of treats between them and Y/n leaned back on their hands to watch the dancing machines.

“Oh, one, I’m supposed to tell you to stop climbing up to my window before you get arrested. Apparently the other day wasn’t the first time father’s caught you.” Lyney nearly choked on a blubber profiterole as his face turned nearly the same color as his vision, making Y/n laugh. “Secondly, why did you come looking for me the other day?”

Lyney stumbled over his words for a minute, still stuck in a coughing fit as he regretted not bringing anything to drink.

“I-” he coughed a bit more, “I wanted to tell you that Lynette and I got a show in Sumeru.”

“Really?” Y/n gasped, clapping their hands together. “That’s amazing, when is it?”

“A few months out, but Lynette and I have to visit the venue sometime next month to make sure everything will work.”

“That sounds fun.”

Y/n took a bite of one of the madeleines, turning back to the sweeping dance. Lyney propped his elbows up on his knees and leaned against his palms, watching them.

They looked over at him from the corner of their eye before inclining their head in confusion.

“What?”

“I want you to come with us.”

“For the show?” Y/n asked around another mouthful of madeleine. They shielded their mouth with their hand before swallowing. “Obviously, if you need me backstage.”

“No, well yes, but I mean next month. I want you to help us make a unique trick for our first international show.” Y/n stopped mid bite as Lyney continued. “I know right now you just come and go as you please, and that’s fine if you want to keep working at the Palais Mermonia, but I want to offer you a proper position in our show.”

Y/n sat up straight and stared at their half eaten madeleine for a moment before popping it into their mouth. 

“I’ll think about it,” they said after they finished it.

The answer seemed to satisfy Lyney as the magician smiled and turned to watch the dancing mechanisms. Across from them, the sun began to droop low enough that it washed out the show– its light glancing off the shiny metal and into the audience's eyes. They took this, and the completed sweets, as a sign that it was time to move on.

Lyney once again took the lead, looping his arm around Y/n’s and leading them back to the aquabus station.

Once back in the main court, he dragged them off to hotel debord where they had dinner before he once again dragged them off without an explanation.

“Alright, I wasn’t going to ask, but what’s all this about?” Y/n laughed as the magician dragged them through the court.

Streetlight had already turned on as the sun was hidden behind the high walls of the court. Lyney was no longer holding their arm but had a tight hold on their hand as they raced through the city.

“I haven’t seen you in four days, need to make up for lost time,” he laughed.

Lyney dragged them all the way out of the city before he slowed down again so they could walk side by side. He gently swung their hands back and forth, smiling as they ran their fingers over some of the calluses on his. They followed a practiced path down to the beach as the sun cast a golden glow over the landscape.

Y/n stopped suddenly when they hit the sand, causing Lyney to be yanked back, and took a deep breath. Lyney found himself smiling at this as he took off his shoes and socks.

A gentle tap at their knee lowered Y/n’s gaze to their feet Where Lyney was kneeling.

“What are you doing?” They asked, feeling their face heat up.

The magician grinned and carefully raised one of their feet to his knee where he began to take off their shoe.

“Taking your shoes off.” They yelped and grabbed his shoulders to balance themself as he removed the shoe and sock. “Other one.”

“I can definitely do that myself,” they laughed awkwardly.

“But I’m trying to spoil you,” he hummed as he set their other, now bare, foot down. He wrapped his arms around their legs and rested his chin against their abdomen. “Now how about a swim?”

“Are you trying to get me in my underwear?” They laughed, trying to ignore the heat spreading across their face and down their neck.

Y/n was so preoccupied with their own embarrassment that they missed the red tint that had also begun to cover Lyney’s face.

“If it makes you feel better I can strip first.”

“Ah, you’re serious.”

The realization stunned them, their thoughts running a mile a minute as they wondered if this had been a date in the first place. Not that they minded, but they couldn’t recall Lyney calling it a-

“AH!” they shrieked as Lyney wrapped an arm under their knees and the other around their back.

“Or we could just do this,” he laughed.

They shrieked and flailed as the deceptively strong magician picked them up and carried them over to the soft waves, then tossed them in. Y/n spluttered as they surfaced, wiping the water from their eyes just in time to watch Lyney jump in after them.

The wave hit them in the face, causing them to inhale water and start choking again.

“Are you okay,” he laughed, standing next to them in the water.

He wrapped an arm around them, patting their back as their head hung between them.

“You jerk,” they wheezed. “Now our clothes are wet.”

They sighed and kicked off the seafloor to float on their back, and Lyney joined them. He intertwined their hands so they wouldn’t float apart, and the two lay there watching the sky darken and the stars appear.

“Lyney?”

Y/n’s voice was muffled by the water in his ears.

“Yes?”

“Was this a date?”

The magician swung his feet under him and began to tread water as they’d floated away from shore. Y/n did the same, but grabbed Lyney’s shoulders to stabilize themself leaving the two practically nose to nose.

“No, if it was a date you’d definitely know.”

“And how would I definitely know?” Y/n inclined their head.

“Well for one I would have brought you flowers when I picked you up, two I wouldn’t let you pay for anything-”

“You didn’t let me pay for anything.”

Lyney cleared his throat awkwardly. “And three I would certainly hope you’d remember me asking.”

“So your sister helps you dress up for all your outings with friends? And you always walk arm in arm and pull out their chair?”

“How did you know Lynette helped me pick this out?”

“Lyney, in all the time we’ve known each other I’ve almost exclusively seen you in your show wear. For the first month we knew each other I wasn’t sure you owned anything else, then I just found out you’re a bit of a workaholic,” Y/n chuckled and moved their hands to cup Lyney’s face.

Lyney moved his hands up to their waist.

“This isn’t a date,” he said, causing Y/n to look at him incredulously. “I was going to ask you out on a date when I brought you home,” he grumbled, making Y/n laugh.

They dropped their head to his shoulder as theirs shook with every laugh. Lyney hugged their waist as they moved closer and pulled them back to where he could at least stand.

“I-”

“Nope. I’m still going to ask you, so save your answer for then.”

Y/n pulled back with a wide smile and nodded before the two wadded back to shore.

Lyney used his vision to dry them off, and they headed back into the city– once again hand in hand.

As soon as they arrived back at Y/n’s place, they turned around with an expectant grin. Lyney had to admit that he was less nervous than he’d expected, probably because they’d already made their answer very clear.

He flicked his wrist, and a rainbow rose appeared in his hand. They giggled as they reached for it, but Lyney pulled it back slightly.

“Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Would you do me the honor of going on a date?”

“I would love to go on a date with you, Lyney.”

Lyney didn’t let them take the rose, moving it away again as they reached for it, and instead tucked it behind their ear.

“How does dinner tomorrow night sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” they hummed as they reached up to hold the hand lingering near their face. “Goodnight, Lyney,” Y/n whispered as they pressed their lips to his cheek.

---

“So-”

Y/n yelped, nearly falling off the stool at their vanity when Lyney spoke from behind them. The magician was perched on their open window sill with one leg crossed over the other and the day’s Steambird in his hands.

“Good morning,” he grinned at them. “Anyways, maybe it was a date.”

He stepped into their room and handed them the Steambird.

There, on the front page, was a picture of them watching the Icewind Suite. Lyney was leaning towards them with his chin in his palm and a lovesick look in his eyes and Y/n was watching the dance. The headline read Magic and Justice on a date?!

“Lynette?” Y/n sighed.

“Lynette.”

[earthtooz]

earth... i saw that anon abt rin x afterglow but hear me out... reo x sweet nothings........... WE'RE SO NORMAL ABT HIM

x : SWEET NOTHING :*+ﾟ i find myself running home to your sweet nothings.

in which: reo doesn't think he has many loveable traits. you show him otherwise.

warnings: domesticity fluff, 2k words, gn!reader, mentions of insecurity and food, pet names for the reader, there's a little angst but this is comfort, semi-unedited, semi-coherent writing sorry y'all it gets worse LMFAOOOOOOOO yolo.

a/n: this is 2k words of me purely loving reo. reo if you're reading this... hmu baby... WE ARE SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM. HERE. 2K WORDS THAT I WROTE ON A TOTAL WHIM THAT I DROPPED ALL MY DRAFTS AS SOON AS I SAW A REO ASK. this is the fastest ask i've ever whipped out. thanks for requesting :>

reo doesn’t think he has many lovable traits.

sure he’s popular, well-liked, whatever, and as much as he’s aware of how large his social circle is, reo can’t help but wonder if all of it is… just for show. that if the people around him know nothing of genuinity and dance towards him in exquisite gowns made of money, refined manners, and masks carved in ‘円’ symbols with expectations of expensive favours and luxury. 

it sickens reo a little when he thinks about it. on his worse days, he thinks that it’s all he’s worth: money upon money upon money.

is there anything else he has to offer? 

he returns home squeezed dry, mind racing with questions and he finds himself sinking under. everyone is up to something, everyone wants everything from him. he wonders when he’ll be able to take some of it back. 

the smell of steak cuts through his thoughts, filling his nose immediately as the athlete steps foot into his apartment. reo hadn’t registered how hungry he was until now, not having had anything to eat since lunch since he thought he’d have dinner but he left before it could even be served. got too fed up of the company to stick around.

since when did he become so… picky about his company?

walking into his property, he’s greeted with the sight of you dashing around his kitchen, plating multiple things at once whilst a pan sizzled atop the stovetop. it was his favourite; ichibo steak. reo’s stomach rumbles just thinking about it.

(he has an answer to his question: since you came into his life, showing him what it was like to be loved with the same fervour that he loves the rest of the world.)

“oh my-” you abruptly say, frozen when you notice the figure in the hallway, relaxing when you register that it was just your boyfriend who hadn’t the effort to make himself known. “reo, welcome home.”

he walks over to you with a small smile ghosting his lips. “hi love,” he greets, the two of you meeting halfway in a comforting embrace, one that reo melts right into. you press your face into the cold fabric of his suit, chilled by the cold weather outside. the smell of his cologne lingers. “what a pleasant surprise.”

you part, both wearing a lovestruck grin. “i hope it’s okay, you just texted me that you hadn’t had dinner and i thought it’d be nice if we eat together. sorry for dropping in without notice.”

he doesn’t know why you’re apologising. if he came home to this sight everyday he’d be over the moon.

hand cradling your cheek, he presses his nose against yours. “‘s more than okay,” he mutters before closing the gap in a gentle yet breathtaking kiss. his heart stutters back alive, pumping wildly when he feels you, so warmly, so comfortingly, so real, smile against him. 

“how was your high school reunion?” you ask, parting first. reo scrunches his face in distaste. partly at your question, mostly because he thought you pulled away too soon. 

he doesn’t want to think too hard about the bar he was at not too long ago, booked out specifically for said reunion to happen. doesn’t want to hink about the people crowding around him, asking about his career as an athlete and as the ceo of such a successful company. their praise leaves a sour mark in his heart. after two hours of the same questions, he had enough.

“left two hours in. should tell ya enough.”

“aww, sorry to hear that. hope you’ll feel better over dinner.”

“babe, i already feel amazing now that you’re here.”

you giggle at his shameless flattery before patting his shoulder, a subtle way of telling him to ‘knock it off’. “go get changed and relax. i need to cook the steak before it gets past how you like it.”

how he likes it.

reo is reluctant to go, making that known as he frowns whilst his hand squeezes your waist. you push him away with a gentle shove. “go.”

“okay,” he sighs.

after five or so minutes, reo emerges, dressed down into some comfortable pajamas. dinner is prepared now and you’d taken the time to prepare some juice as well- probably the one his dietician recommended for his athlete diet. he doesn’t like drinking it, you know that, and the only time he does is when you force him to (you promise to give him kisses in exchange and the drink is down in three seconds).

he stares at it in disdain. you, knowing him too well, reads his mind and began laughing, recalling all the inside jokes you have around this pesky little beverage. “c’mon, let’s eat,” you prompt and reo doesn’t even have to think twice before complying.

dinner is simple. it’s a really random assortment of dishes, you both have a bowl of udon, a plate of veggies to share, and there’s miso soup on the side. he appreciates the effort you put into getting all the nutrients he needs despite how demanding it can be. 

“thank you for the food.” 

reo digs in without hesitation, humming at the first taste of a warm meal after such a cold and unforgiving night. it warms him from the inside and suddenly, all misfortunes he’d experienced tonight become nothing but forgotten memories that’ll eventually be left to rot in the crevices of his mind, outshone by the sight of your smile and affectionate gaze.

“is it good?” you ask.

it’s amazing. incredible. the best food he’s ever had because of who it was made by. he doesn’t get to express that though so he just nods viciously, glancing over at your laughing form as he slurps his udon very ungraciously.

you don’t judge. you never judge.

“i’m glad, but please slow down.”

“sorry, i’m just really hungry,” reo confesses.

“i can see. you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. he keens at your touch, putting down his bowl to drag your chair closer, his thigh now pressed against yours. you chuckle a little at his actions, flustered by the small action.

this is love, reo thinks. you’re laughing together under the bright lights of his kitchen and this is the epitome of love.

he’s home. he’s welcomed. he’s safe. he’s him. he’s loved.

dinner goes by uneventfully, save for when you needed to feed the purple-haired the juice in order for him to drink it, causing you to mock his face of disgust and reo kissing you to shut you up. after a while of talking over empty plates of food, your legs have somehow ended up in his lap whilst he mindlessly draws on your thigh. a heart, his name with yours, and quick scribbles of ‘i love you’ over and over again. 

tonight was disruptful. his soul feels deconstructed, but with each passing second in your presence, he feels okay again. you strip him of his tiresome prestige and welcome him into the realm of normality, somewhere he has craved to be all his life. 

you kiss his scars and leave promises on them, loving all the beautiful and ugly parts of him, parts that he had never let anyone see before you.

the yawn that escapes you ends the conversation abruptly and you hum contemplatively, lulling your head back a little to emphasise your sudden wave of fatigue. 

“i should get going now, let’s wash u-”

“going where?” your boyfriend questions, grabbing your hand for the comfort of holding it and as a way of telling you that he doesn’t want you to leave.

“home?”

he tugs on your wrist. “don’t go. you’re not busy tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not.”

“perfect. you should the night.” you should stay forever, he wants to say. one day he will; reo’ll muster the courage to ask you to move in.

in faux hesitation, you hum, raising a hand to his cheek as reo leans in to your touch. “you’ll miss me otherwise, huh? fine. i will.”

the smile he beams rivals that of a thousand suns. you wonder how you managed to be with someone as loving and adoring as reo who is willing to love you and all of your flaws. even after such a long time together, that look of awe never faded whenever he looked at you.

“i need to take a shower. care to join?” reo asks, smirking at you whilst standing up to his full height. despite the lilt in his tone, it’s devoid of any lust or ulterior motive, extending the invite to you for another chance to be close and intimate like lovers are- something he seemingly can’t get enough of.

you roll your eyes, playing off his suaveness. “you’re awful.”

“only for you.”

“i’m okay,” you reject his offer, trying not to give in to your temptations. 

reo is insatiable though. “c’mon, are you sure? would be such a lovely way to end the day though, can’t you grant me that?”

as selfless as reo may be, he loves taking in return. as a business man, it’d only make sense that he’d make use of return investments. “you’ll live.”

“please?”

“fine.”

the shower doesn’t take long. you two do your night routines beside each other, reo drying your hair for you whilst gently combing through it, brushing your teeth together, and finishing with skincare. he’s close to you the whole time, bumping his hip with yours gently as he litters kisses all over your face, causing you to swat him away sometimes with a bright laugh. 

it’s with a six-foot athlete clinging to your waist that you climb into bed, diving under the covers with little hesitation. reo takes the initiative of shifting himself to lie half-atop you, pressing into you with a relieved sigh as he feels your hands run up and down his back. 

he feels okay again, now healed and rejuvenated once more.

reo’s too soft. he lets people in when he really shouldn’t, gets to know people too quickly, too superficially, that he never sees to far into their person before moving on. he has left trials of faces in his mind with no true attachment to any of them, none that he would make the effort to hangout with. he has been an empty void his whole life, moulding himself into versions that other people want to see.

addendum. he had been an empty void his whole life. 

but now that you’re here, he has a constant to dive in. you scold him for changing too much of himself to become your perfect lover. he didn’t need to swap the roses he orders every week to freshen up his dining room to be that of your favourite colour, he didn’t need to swap the candles, shampoos, conditioners- anything else of the sort, to match your favourite scent. he didn’t need to always wear his hair up because you said you liked it that way.

no, because you love reo for reo, regardless of the ‘influences’ you had on him. you love him because he’s a great conversationalist, he’s organised, driven to a healthy degree, selfless, will always hype you up especially when insecurities become unforgiving, pulling you from the depths of your mind the same way you do with him. 

all you’ve ever wanted from him was sweet nothing. 

reo’ll run to you every time, no matter what. if it’s been a shitty day and he just needs to hide from the world or the best day of his life, he’ll always come to you to make it a little better.

the theory still proves true now as he nestles himself into your embrace, breathing you in with each inhale- letting his senses memorise all of you that he can, that you’ll allow.

“i love you,” is the last thing he murmurs before letting consciousness slip away, surrounded with nothing but bliss and love to pull him away. he’ll dream of you. he’s sure of it.

you and your sweet nothings that highlight every loveable trait of his.

(you'll kiss the 'bad' ones with the same amount of love too.)

[azaharinflames]

I’m loving your theories on the whole BuckTommy (sorry Lou ilu but the name BuckTommy has stuck with me) arc. So I have to ask… why do you think people (read: fandom people) are convinced this is the last season? I really don’t see ABC/Disney undertaking this big of a show (money and following wise) and being like “yeah we’ll put time and effort into this production, but only for one season”

Thank you! Glad you love them, I feel slightly less of a clown when people understand how I think lol. Also - I was rooting for Tevan hard, and even Firefly, but I've accepted Bucktommy and now it has a special place in my heart.

As for your question... I think it all comes to change.

Let me explain. For shows to have a long life, they have to change. They have to evolve. We cannot feel as if we are tuning in to the same thing every week, especially when the same thing has long become boring. I will put Modern Family (my ultimate comfort show) as an example: the whole eleven seasons are of constant change. We are growing with the characters, we are happy, frustrated, sad, whatever, with their actions and choices. And because they are changing, we want to tune in next week to see what will be next.

911 has a severe issue of lack of change. The characters go through these cycles constantly; we said Buck was in a hamster wheel, but the truth is that every single character is in there, too. The writers are somehow unable to find new storylines or conflicts, that aren't what we have seen already, only this time with a new context.

This is partly the reason why so many people, and why a big part of the GA, latched onto Tommy and BuckTommy so quickly - because they were a breath of fresh air, and they felt like the much-needed novelty we were all expecting. If we don't have them, we go to the same repetitive stories - with Buck, but with everyone else, too, to be honest.

And if there is no change... people get bored. There are just so many times you can see Henren on the brink of losing their kids, or Buck trying to find the one (it's stopped being cute, especially when he just had the perfect partner for him walk away), Eddie being unable to move on or forget Shannon (because as much as he's 'better' - has he actually dealt with it?), Madney having either a kid storyline or a Dough-influenced storyline, Bathena having issues with communicating... eight seasons is a long time of this. And unless they change it up, just how much longer can they go? We joke about Grey's sometimes, but the fact is that they are constantly changing.

So. That's partly it.

But (without wanting to make this a whole novel), there were also rumors that some cast was hesitant to continue. Take this with a grain of salt, please, but rumor has it that Peter was kind of ready to walk away a while ago. He even has said in interviews he cannot do this for much longer, as 911 is a very exigent show to shoot. He even wanted Bobby to be killed off at the S7 opening emergency. Angela has also expressed a desire to be on Broadway, so that could also be conflicting. Again, take it with a grain of salt.

And as for ABC - you're right, they bought 911. But with the upcoming spin-off, one can't help but wonder if it is not complimentary but, rather, a substitute. Perhaps they are planning on moving someone from the OG there, who knows. The fact is that they managed to catch the audience's attention with the OG, enough that if they lose it but immediately have a variation of it, they might tune in. And this new show would be cheaper than OG is right now because let me tell you - it ain't cheap, as far as I am aware.

If you want my personal opinion on this - I am 50-50. I think it would be a very weird final season if this was the last, but I wouldn't be that surprised if we find out it is. I can see them going for a ninth season, but I cannot see them going further than a tenth, and that is being really generous. If they prove me wrong and are willing to adapt to change, I will happily eat my words.

PS: I do think if this is the last season, or even if we have it in the next couple of years, they could bring Tommy back (if they haven't yet), as a sort of rushed HEA. Kind of playing with the whole 'right person, wrong time', just bringing it to the right time finally.

Thanks for the ask <3