#and they both pine for half a season <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[hotshotsxyz]

hope for the future (got me on my knees)

(buddie) (s8 spec) (2.4k words) car crash spec <3 title from bastille's hope for the future, which, imo, is one of the eddie songs of all time cw: blood (like. a lot)

Eddie’s not supposed to be here. He’s not—

He’s—

God, he’s not supposed to be here again. He’s not even on shift. But Buck is.

It was a favor. He’s covering for a last minute absence on C shift. So now he’s—

He’s on shift and he’s lying in the middle of the road and he’s not moving. And Eddie. Can’t. Breathe.

“Buck!” someone shouts, and Jesus it sounds like their entire world just crumbled. Eddie’s throat feels raw like—

Oh.

He’s the one screaming.

Buck’s three feet away from him, sluggishly bleeding out on the pavement. Shannon’s six feet under in a graveyard halfway across the city. Buck’s ribs are giving way beneath Eddie’s hands. Buck’s blood is soaking through his jeans. It’s staining him, his skin, his mind.

He—

“Sir!” Someone snaps. “You need to—shit, Diaz?”

No, that’s—it’s not Eddie who’s broken and unmoving on the ground. It’s not Eddie who’s going to die with or without a tube down his throat.

It’s—

It’s—

Two pairs of hands grab him, yank him away.

“No!” Eddie screams, thrashing wildly at whoever it is that thinks they can keep him from Buck.

“Diaz, stop!”

He can’t. He won’t.

“You have to let them help him.”

They won’t do enough. Only Eddie will fight for him hard enough. Only Eddie knows how to bring him back. An animalistic snarl climbs out from his chest.

“I’ve got a pulse!” a paramedic Eddie doesn’t recognize shouts. She’s a floater, probably.

A floater is holding Buck’s life in her hands. Does she even know? Does she know that the world will stop turning if he’s not in it?

Eddie’s knees hit the pavement. Distantly, he feels the sting. Mostly, though, he feels Buck’s blood. It’s on his hands and soaking through his clothes, painting him red, red, red.

Two firefighters carefully roll Buck onto a body board and lift him to the stretcher. For a split second, it’s 2019. Eddie’s watching his wife die. He’s holding Buck’s hand and trying not to stare at his mangled leg.

“Diaz! Now or never, are you coming with us?”

He doesn’t feel himself move, but between one blink and the next he finds himself in the back of an ambulance staring down at his—

His—

Buck’s eyelashes flutter and Eddie can’t do this.

“Please,” he sobs, clutching Buck’s hand. “You—you have to—”

He’s squeezing too hard. So hard he might break Buck’s hand, but he’s terrified that if he lets go, so will Buck.

The floater moves to intubate, but before she can Buck heaves a shuddering breath and opens his eyes.

Eddie thinks he might be screaming again, only this time the sound is trapped deep inside him.

“Eds… hurt?” Buck manages.

He must be. He’s dying maybe, because that’s the only explanation he can think of for the creeping numbness in his limbs.

“He’s fine, Buckley,” the floater says.

She’s wrong. She doesn’t— how could she? She doesn’t know that every piece of Eddie that’s worth anything is dying right alongside his—

“I can’t wait any longer,” she says apologetically before shoving a plastic tube down Buck’s trachea. He chokes on it, and oh, Eddie’s choking too.

The ambulance slows and Eddie’s about to bang against the wall, about to demand they keep going, when the doors are flung open revealing an entire trauma team dressed in pristine scrubs.

The floater rattles off Buck’s vitals and the injuries they know of.

As they pull Buck from the back of the ambulance, one of the doctors catches Eddie’s eye. He nods, and Eddie hopes to God that means he knows that Los Angeles will be swallowed by the sea if this man doesn’t live.

All at once, Buck is gone and Eddie’s left standing next to an ambulance that could be the last place he ever hears Buck speak.

“Diaz, you okay?” The C shift captain whose name Eddie can’t be bothered to remember right now asks.

No.

No.

No.

He doesn’t answer.

…

There’s blood on his face. Buck’s blood. Eddie doesn’t— he’s not sure how it got there, but now that he sees it, he can feel it too. It’s tacky and drying and God, there’s so much.

Gentle hands turn him away from the mirror.

“No,” Eddie says as his sluggish brain recognizes Bobby. “No, no he can’t—“

Bobby was there when—

He held Eddie. Let him weep into his shoulder. Stood steady as Eddie’s world crumbled to pieces.

“He’s in surgery,” Bobby says.

“They don’t know,” Eddie babbles.

Bobby’s face creases in concern. “Know what, Eddie?”

“He’s— he—“ He can’t force the words out.

“Eddie,” he repeats forcefully.

“I love him,” Eddie croaks.

Bobby, steadfast and solid, cracks.

One sob escapes his chest, then another, and soon they’re both sliding to grimy bathroom floor, trying not to shatter entirely.

“I can’t lose another—“ Bobby gasps.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Bobby can’t lose another child. He can’t lose another spouse. Not now, not when he’s just begun to understand the depth of what he’s been denying himself for what feels like his entire life. Not now, not ever. Not— not, Buck.

The bathroom door bangs open and Hen steps in. Tear tracks stain her cheeks, but Eddie can’t bring himself to analyze her expression further. If Buck’s— Eddie wants to live in a world that hasn’t quite ended as long as he possibly can.

“No update,” she says quietly.

She grabs a few paper towels and wets them in the sink. She kneels in front of Eddie and brings one to his face. He flinches back.

“Eddie?” she asks.

He swallows past the lump in his throat. “What if…”

What if the blood staining his skin is the last piece of Buck he gets to keep? What if he dies on the operating table? What if he’s already dead? Eddie can’t— he won’t let anyone take the last of him away.

A harsh sob drags itself past his lips.

“Oh, Eddie,” Hen whispers, and why do people keep saying his name?

No one— he’s never heard it so many times from anyone but Buck. He doesn’t want to hear it from anyone but Buck. He shakes his head and presses his hands to his ears.

Hen says something else, but all he can hear is the whoosh of his own pulse, and it’s so unfair. Shouldn’t his heart know not to beat until he’s sure Buck’s will again?

“Eddie,” Hen says, taking his hands. “Let me, please.”

He can’t bring himself to agree, but he doesn’t fight back when she raises the paper towel to his face again. She pulls it across his skin in gentle drags, but it’s cold and Eddie can’t help but think uncharitably that Buck would’ve waited for the water to warm before he wet the towels.

When she’s done with his face, Hen guides him to the sink to wash the blood from his hands too. For a split second, Eddie wonders if Buck washed his blood away in this same sink after Eddie was shot. He wonders if Buck’s hands shook the way his are shaking now.

“That’s good Eddie, there you go,” Hen encourages him softly.

He bristles at her careful tone. Nothing she says can make any of this better or worse, not unless she can tell him with absolute certainty whether or not Buck will survive the night.

“I grabbed your duffle from the station,” she continues, and it’s only then that he notices his own bag slung over her shoulder. “Think you can get changed?”

Eddie nods mutely. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is part of what makes Hen such a good paramedic— her ability to meet someone where they are. He peels off his henley and exchanges it for the long sleeve LAFD crewneck she hands him.

He swaps his pants next, and for the first time, wearing a piece of the uniform feels wrong. He couldn’t— he wasn’t a medic today. If it had just been him and Buck out there, Buck would be dead already. He’d, what? Held his torn skin together? As if that was the wound that was going to kill him. Shannon didn’t even bleed when she died.

“Maddie and Chim are waiting for you,” Hen says, nodding toward the door. “I’m going to sit with Cap for a little while, okay?”

Again, Eddie nods. He stumbles through the door and into the arms of a woman who, for all they share, he barely knows.

He can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. She’ll know, he thinks, know that he didn’t do enough. Know that he failed one of the three people she loves most in this world.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks into her hair.

“For what?” she asks shakily.

“I should’ve— I didn’t—“

“You were there,” Maddie says. “You made sure he knows he’s not alone.”

Eddie swallows harshly.

“He knows what he’s fighting for,” Maddie continues. “Thank you.”

He wants to shake her. He should’ve done more. He’d demanded it once of a different team of doctors, and then he couldn’t even—

He was there and it didn’t matter. Buck’s still dying in a sterile operating room.

Maddie pushes him toward a chair next to Chimney in the waiting room, then sits on his other side. They talk to him, Eddie thinks, but he doesn’t hear a word.

…

“Family of Evan Buckley?”

Eddie’s on his feet before he’s even made a conscious decision to stand. Maddie follows quickly behind him, and— oh, Bobby’s in the waiting room now, too.

The doctor smiles at them, and while Eddie’s sure it’s meant to be reassuring, every second that passes without news is more excruciating than the last.

“Mr. Buckley did well in surgery,” she says.

Eddie’s entire body sags, like a marionette with its strings cut. Hen’s subtle but steadying hand on his back is the only reason he doesn’t collapse to the floor right then and there.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor continues, “but his CT was clear and we were able to locate and repair the source of his internal bleeding.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Maddie asks, high and watery.

The doctor nods. “We’d like to keep him a few days for observation, but barring unforeseen complications, we believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

Maddie presses a hand to her mouth and nods, eyes shining.

“The effects of the anesthesia should be wearing off soon, I can take two of you to his room.”

To Eddie’s surprise, Maddie takes his hand. “We’ll—us,” she says.

Eddie looks at Maddie, then Bobby. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Go,” Bobby says. “He needs you.”

Eddie’s not sure that’s true, but he sure as hell needs Buck and he—he thinks this is probably one of those times when he’s allowed to be a little selfish.

“Through these doors,” the doctor says, leading them back with a wave of her key card.

…

He’s pale, unnaturally so. It’s like, despite the massive transfusion he received, there still isn’t enough blood pumping through his veins. Eddie wishes he could wring out his shirt and return every drop he took.

“Eddie, what happened?” Maddie asks softly.

Eddie shakes his head. “I, uh, I wasn’t supposed to be there,” he says haltingly.

Maddie takes his hand with the one that isn’t holding Buck’s and squeezes.

“I don’t think he knew I was there,” Eddie continues. “It was just… God, Maddie, it was a coincidence.”

Eddie closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“It came out of nowhere. They were responding to a fender bender, wouldn’t have even been a call except one of the drivers was stuck in their car, I think. He was helping someone when it—there was a car. And then he was just—I couldn’t—he—”

Maddie squeezes his hand again. “You know, I—” she hesitates, then nods like she’s made a decision. “I’ve never seen him happy the way he is with you.”

Against Eddie’s will, a pained noise escapes his throat. “I don’t know why,” he admits. He looks down at his feet.

“Sure,” Maddie says, blowing out an amused huff.

“He’s so good. He walks into a room and everything gets brighter. He’s the sun,” Eddie says helplessly.

Maddie’s smile turns impossibly fond. “You love him,” she says. It’s not a question.

A smile of his own spreads unbidden on his lips. “How could I not?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

Eddie whips his head around and sees Buck, eyes open, lips parted.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

He should be panicking, maybe. Throat closing, heart racing, but—the singular feeling in his chest is relief.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, incapable of and unwilling to keep the warmth from his voice.

“You—” Buck blinks twice, slow, like he’s trying to keep himself awake.

Eddie lays a hand on his ankle and squeezes. “Rest,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

“Stay… s’nice,” Buck slurs as he slips back into sleep.

“For what it’s worth,” Maddie says after a long moment, “pretty sure he loves you, too.”

Eddie watches the slow rise and fall of Buck’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, biting down on a grin that’s far too wide for the ICU, “I think he might.”

“Could take a second for him to work that out for himself,” Maddie says.

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I know,” he says. “Gives me time to pick out a ring,” he jokes. Kind of.

Maddie laughs and shakes her head. “Is this your way of asking for my permission to propose?”

“Well I’m not going to ask your parents,” Eddie replies, wrinkling his nose.

Maddie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Could you imagine if I said no after all of this?”

“I’d ask him anyway,” Eddie admits.

“Good answer,” Maddie says.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, so that was a test?”

“No,” Maddie replies, shaking her head. “But he deserves someone that chooses him no matter what.”

“I do,” Eddie says with conviction. “I will.”

“Then yes,” Maddie says. “Just—don’t ask him in the hospital.”

[starryneitz]

There are two types of western cartoon fans

The Steven Universe fans who quietly overtime accepted that we will never know what was in the treasure chest in Lion's mane, even though Sugar has said that if people were nice about it they will continue the series.

And then there's Gravity Falls fans who are going apeshit every time they see a triangle, screaming about how they want a season 3 and theorizing that we will get it....even though Hirsch keeps saying he ended the show after season 2 specifically because he didn't want it to drag on and be altered from his original vision.

[oofthwoods]

VICIOUS! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: arthur leclerc likes a certain type of woman: smart, neglects intuition, and not as good as him.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: set in 2021, during echo's formula 3 season. they're both jerks to each other here :/ based on vicious by sabrina carpenter (emails i cant send pretty much defines their relationship). this is short but it's important for her future relationship with a certain someone | i used echo instead of y/n here, but tell me which one you prefer

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 2.09k

"I TRIED TO LOOK FOR THE BEST IN THE WORST BUT LIKE, FUCK ME, THAT CAUSED A COMMOTION."

As the evening progresses in Austria, the bustling noises of the city begin to fade into the background, replaced by the occasional murmur of distant conversations and the gentle swish of car tires on the damp pavement. The scent of rain lingers in the air, mixing with the subtle aroma of pine carried by a cool breeze from the nearby mountains. The warmth of the day still lingers, but it's now more tolerable, just a faint reminder of earlier heat.

Arthur paces back and forth on the soft carpet beneath his bare feet, his footsteps creating a restless rhythm that echoes in his mind. Every so often, he runs his fingers along the curtains, feeling the delicate and cool fabric against his skin. But it's as if he's only scratching at the surface of the problem consuming him.

The third stage of the Formula 3 championship went off without a hitch for the three races. Arthur claimed the fastest lap in the second race, while Y/N took home first place in that same race. Prema and Art teams were locked in a heated competition for points during the first half of the championship, with the French team ultimately taking the lead after Frederik Vesti's win at the last race in the Red Bull Ring.

Throughout that weekend, Arthur barely spoke to her. Despite being swamped with commitments such as hectic meetings, exhaustive tests, and endless interviews, they used to make an effort to connect even if it was just a quick call. However, her messages were always met with prolonged periods of silence before receiving a brief and unenthusiastic response, leaving her feeling confused and frustrated. Every attempt to call resulted in reaching voicemail without any explanation or apology for his absence.

Despite her victory in the second race, he was not one of the people who congratulated her. He also did not attend the podium ceremony for the third race, where she secured an important second place for her team. She had sent him messages, but he only responded with a short "thank you" for her congratulations on earning extra points for setting the fastest lap. He completely ignored her invitation to join her and some other drivers in a celebration.

She finally couldn't take the silence any longer and broke it with frustration. "Can we at least talk? We're not kids anymore, Arthur," she said, sitting on his cluttered bed.

"Are you leaving for France tomorrow?" Arthur asked quietly, still refusing to look at her as he packed his suitcase.

"No. Fernando wants me to go to Madrid and then Silverstone with him during my break. The team doesn't need me at the factory, so I have some free time," Y/N replied with a heavy sigh, feeling the tension between them.

She received only a grunt as a response, which was enough for her to know that it was time to speak up. "Are you going to turn around and actually use words, or are you going to keep grunting like some kind of primitive?" Her voice held a mix of determination and disappointment, reflecting her growing frustration with the lack of communication between them.

Arthur spun on his heels and made his way slowly towards Y/N, his face betraying a medley of conflicting emotions. She stood up from the bed, keeping a close eye on his expression in anticipation of what might happen next.

Their relationship was still new; they had met at a party thrown by a mutual friend who was also one of her teammates. That night, everything seemed to align perfectly for their chance encounter, and the initial spark of attraction quickly grew into something more profound. Through casual touches, shared smiles, and intimate conversations about their interests and preferences, they were building the fragile yet promising foundations of their relationship.

He paused, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the perfect words to express himself. She watched with curiosity, waiting for him to speak.

"Why didn't you let me overtake you?" Arthur asked, sounding unsure.

The girl furrowed her eyebrows, trying to comprehend his question. She repeated it in her head, trying to understand the underlying meaning. "What do you mean?"

Arthur seemed annoyed by her confusion and scrunched his face in response. "In yesterday's race. I was right behind you, but you wouldn't move out of the way."

Her arms automatically crossed in front of her chest, her tone becoming defensive. She didn't like where this conversation was headed. "Why should I let you pass, Arthur? I don't remember breaking any rules to earn my spot."

Arthur released a frustrated sigh, feeling the tension between them escalating with each word they exchanged. He closed the distance between them, hoping to find some understanding in her eyes.

"I'm not accusing you of breaking any rules, cherie." His tone softened, attempting to diffuse the situation. "I just want to know why you didn't make room for me to pass. It seemed like you were intentionally blocking me."

Y/N felt the weight of Arthur's words as an accusation, and it only added to her growing frustration. She couldn't believe they were having this argument now, when there was so much at stake for both of them.

"Of course I was blocking you! We're competitors, remember?" Her voice was firm, but she laced it with a confused laugh. "My team needs those points. I need those points. Why would I let you have them?"

Arthur took a step back, caught off guard by the intensity of Y/N's response. He looked both surprised and disappointed, struggling to process her strong emotions.

"I just thought you would understand," he muttered, his voice trailing off as if he regretted speaking at all. Unable to meet her gaze, he turned away.

She felt a surge of anger within her, a mix of frustration and sadness. She was taken aback that Arthur would question her integrity on the track, especially considering their intimate relationship off of it.

"Understand?" She repeated, each word dripping with disbelief. "Arthur, I want that title just as much as you do. It's not my responsibility to make it easy for you or anyone else. You know that."

There was a tense moment of silence between them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city outside. Y/N felt a pang in her chest at the feeling that something was unraveling between them, something that might never be fully repaired.

"I know," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of weakness. "But I thought we were more than just competitors."

Her expression softened briefly, a flicker of sadness crossing her features before she steeled herself with determination.

"Arthur, I can't sacrifice my career for our relationship," she said, her voice softening slightly. "We both knew what we were getting into when we started dating."

Arthur's voice turned defensive as he tried to justify his actions. "Don't you think it would have been better if I had won?" He glanced at his girlfriend, his eyes pleading for understanding. "You're still new to this category; there will be other chances for you."

She raised her eyebrows, her gaze unwavering and intense. "So, you're saying it would be acceptable for me to lose simply because I'm a rookie?" Her tone was sharp, like a blade cutting through the air.

Arthur paused, searching for the right words to explain himself. "No, that's not what I meant," he stammered, but Y/N cut him off.

"Did you give the same speech to all the other rookies too?" her sarcasm evident.

Arthur's discomfort flickered across his face before he turned back to meet her unwavering stare. "The other rookies aren't in a relationship with me," he retorted with a hint of harshness.

Y/N fell silent, digesting his words. Then, she stepped closer to him, locking eyes with determination.

"Tell me honestly, Arthur," she began calmly yet emotion thick in her voice. "Did you want me to let you win because I'm a rookie or because I'm your girlfriend?"

Her question hit Arthur like a punch to the gut, leaving him struggling to find the right words. He couldn't hide from the truth any longer.

"I…I'm not sure," he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper as uncertainty and vulnerability seeped through. "Maybe it's a bit of both."

Her expression hardened, her eyes showing disappointment and frustration in equal measure. She had expected more from him, hoped that he would acknowledge his own flaws and confront them head-on.

"So you don't trust me as a competitor, as a driver?" she asked, her voice betraying a slight tremor of emotion that she was trying to contain.

Arthur's heart raced as he met her intense gaze. He knew his words had hurt her and shattered the trust she had in him.

"That's not what I meant, cherie." He struggled to find the right words, but they sounded hollow even to his own ears. "It's just…I don't know how to handle the fact that you're better than me."

She was filled with conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to scream at him, to tell him that his insecurities were not her responsibility and she couldn't sacrifice her own ambitions for his approval. But at the same time, she felt a twinge of empathy for him, understanding that his insecurity came from a place of deep vulnerability.

"Arthur, I can't change who I am because of your doubts," she said firmly. "And I won't apologize for excelling at what I do."

Arthur's voice took on a smooth, almost patronizing tone, a subtle edge of superiority laced within his words. "You must be feeling quite pleased with yourself, wouldn't you agree?" he mused, his tone carrying a delicate sting. "Stepping onto the stage as a rookie and quickly grabbing the spotlight. Impressive, definitely, but experience and dedication? Those are qualities that develop over time, babe."

Her brow furrowed slightly, a mix of disbelief and hurt flickering across her features. "I just want us to understand each other," she started, her tone gentle yet resolute. "I'm not trying to belittle what you've achieved. But it's not about placing blame. If you truly have the experience and talent you speak of, shouldn't overtaking me come as second nature, without needing to ask?"

Arthur's cheeks flushed with a sudden surge of anger, the tension between them palpable. "You underestimate what it takes to rise to the top," he retorted sharply, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Talent is one thing, but true success in this realm requires more than just skill. Experience is the key that sets winners apart from the rest."

Her eyes narrowed subtly, a flicker of impatience dancing within them. "What makes you assume I lack dedication and experience?" she questioned calmly, her tone holding a hint of challenge. "Just because my journey in this sport hasn't been as long as yours doesn't diminish the effort I've put in."

Arthur emitted a dry chuckle, his resentment barely concealed. "You've had quite the advantageous start, haven't you?" he remarked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You believe your familial connections and wealth entitle you to success? Reality doesn't operate on such privileges."

Her hands tightened into fists, a surge of defiance coursing through her. She refused to let his patronizing remarks undermine her accomplishments. Her voice remained composed yet firm, slicing through the tension. "Privileges? It's ironic coming from someone who's thrived under their brother's shadow," she countered, her gaze ablaze with determination. "You stand there, relying on your average talent to compensate for the countless doors opened by your surname."

Arthur's complexion deepened with a flush, a blend of shame and anger twisting his expression. He despised the constant comparisons to his brother, weary of residing in his sibling's imposing shadow. This resentment fueled his determination to establish his identity.

"I'm not my brother," he snapped with intensity.

She met his gaze steadily, her defiance unyielding. "No, you're not. And that's the problem," she countered sharply, her tone slicing through the air.

The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, the air crackling with unspoken animosity as they stood facing each other. Her eyes burned with fury, her hands clenched tightly by her sides. She was done playing nice.

"I'm not carrying anyone's burdens," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "I have my own stuff to deal with. You don't like the fact that your girlfriend is better than you? Consider this problem solved."

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley , @stinkyjax , @namgification , @judespoision , @cha-hot , @disneyprincemuke , @itsjustkhaos , @trouble-sistar , @ihateyougunthersteiner , @treehouse-mouse , @cherry-piee , @fangirl125reader , @cassie0sstuff, @be-your-coffee-pot , @elijahslover , @flannelforthetoads , @m0cha-bunny , @ironmaiden1313 , @glitterquadricorn , @spideybv28 , @celesteblack08 , @thatgirlthatreadswattpad , @itscrzy, @canihavemyhoodieback , @eugene-emt-roe

[whispersoftheton]

Hello!

Do you think you could write an anthony x reader angst turned fluff/smut fic?

They’ve married out of duty but both have feelings for each other they refuse to admit

Hi! This is also my first fic for this fandom and I got kind of carried away with it, hope you don't mind :) Thank you for requesting btw <3

dont worry the next request i post will have smut in it and im posting that one this weekend >:)

Anthony Bridgerton x F!Reader

Warnings: reader and Anthony are married, pining, death of parents (reader), angst, kissing, fluff at the end

Word Count: 2.4K

The day dawned crisp and clear, sunlight peering through the flowing curtains and illuminating your path along the long hallway of your lavish home. The sounds of maids bustling through the estate and the gravel crackling beneath the horse's hoofs from outside filled your ears. Your mind raced with the many tasks at hand for today as you straightened out your dress. The last ball of the season was a significant one indeed, and you had the honor of hosting it tonight. The last few days were filled with overseeing that every detail of the evening, no matter how small, was managed and executed perfectly. 

As the maids fetched accessories and floral arrangements for you to approve ahead of the festivities, you pondered how your life had drastically changed. A mere three months had passed since your wedding day. Still, it seemed a lifetime ago. You had every reason to be happy, you had married well, living more than comfortably, and your husband was not unkind towards you like others you've heard about. But your marriage to the viscount wasn't exactly the love story of the century, to say the least. 

After the passing of both your parents, Lady Danbury had taken you in as one of her own. Raised you to be a lady of society in every way she saw fit and even sponsored your coming out last season. The very same season, the Queen appointed you as her diamond. Not long after, none other than Anthony Bridgerton set his sights on you, surpassing any honorable suitor that even thought about appearing at your doorstep. The entire courtship, along with the proposal, felt purely transactional. Anthony berated you with questions, encounters feeling more like interviews than any courting you were used to. It was not as if you were not attracted to the man if you were being entirely honest with yourself; you'd spent the better half of your time bottling up whatever it is that blossoms in your chest when he is near. And you hated yourself for it. For feeling something you couldn't even name for a man who treated as nothing more than an object. Every public outing where he was caring towards you, even kind and every bit of charming you could ever hope for, raised your hopes high only to see them crashing down at the indifference towards you the moment you were alone without the peering eyes of the ton on you.

Your wedding and honeymoon came and went in a blur. Not even able to consummate the marriage properly due to an argument that left you both enraged and unable to look each other in the eye in the days that followed. The following months were a string of simple greetings in passing and only speaking to one another when absolutely necessary. The empty house you now lived in was becoming your own personal void without so much as the company of your supposed husband.

"Viscountess Bridgerton, are you alright?" Your maid questioned as you snapped out of your haze and directed your attention back to the bouquets before you.

"Yes, this one will be lovely for tonight, thank you." You made your final decision as Anthony strolled into the room. Your maids quickly making themselves sparse, leaving the two of you alone.

"My family should be arriving any second; I assume everything for tonight is in order, is it not?" The underlying sarcasm and questioning of your ability as the lady of the house crawled right under your skin, any lingering feelings you had been contemplating only a moment ago for the Viscount gone in an instant at his distasteful manner.

"Yes, Lord Bridgerton." You replied dryly.

"Dear, we are married and have been for some time now. I would very much like it if I did not have to tell you to address me by my first name while we are in our home." You audibly scoffed at his command while standing from your seat.

"And I would very much like it if my husband would not treat me as though I do not exist." You snapped. Anthony's jaw clenched as he tensed before you. "Seems like neither of us shall get what we want. Now if you'll excuse me, my lord, I have some preparations still pending for tonight. I am sure you can see your family to their rooms for now." 

"Now, you will not even greet my family. Do you have a distaste for them as well?"

"Never. I adore your mama and siblings as if they were my own." Anthony searched for any sign of deceit but instead found honest eyes staring back at him, making his heart ache. "If anything, I am grateful. Alas, there shall be a Bridgerton in this home I do not dislike." 

Your thoughts betrayed you abruptly exited the room and returned to your bed chambers to prepare for the evening, shutting the door and leaning against it in an attempt to steady yourself. Damn him. His scent blurred your thoughts and inhibited every one of your senses as you attempted to concentrate on the anger portrayed in his words. Instead, your mind wandered to how his white shirt hugged every curve of his chest, the plumpness of his lips, and the curve of his jaw. It was alluring in the most intoxicating way. You knew you had to compose yourself before the night began; the last thing you needed was to be distraught at your own ball.

------------------------

You stepped into the ballroom in your new dress gown the modiste had spent a significant amount of time making especially for this occasion. The staircase was beautifully adorned with white roses and touches of lilacs cascading down onto the main area. Candelabras and other flourishing arrangements were stationed around the refreshment tables your guests gathered at, and the thrumming rhythm of classical music whispered into your ears as you took notice of everyone enjoying themselves before greeting them. 

Unbeknownst to you, Anthony stood at the opposite end of the ballroom, observing how you conducted yourself gracefully amongst the guests—making light conversations while extending your kindness to everyone. He marveled at your ability to make each person feel as though they had your undivided attention; although he would never admit it, he found himself yearning for that same attention from you.

Early on, Anthony knew you fit all the requirements he had given himself for a wife. Someone honorable and suitable enough to hold the role of his Viscountess. It was precisely why he had chosen you, but that wasn't the only motive. You were the only lady's company outside his sisters; he did not particularly hate. Every potential partner he sought that season out had come up empty, whether it had been on the conversation or any other unfulfilling matter they discussed. You were different. You carried a conversation like no other, educated in far more areas than he could've hoped for, but none of that quite captured his heart in an unsuspecting manner like your character. You were kind and compassionate in a way he admired; you challenged him in ways that irritated him to no end, yet he found himself entirely enraptured by you. This is precisely why he had no choice other than shut you out completely. Anthony knew letting you get too close would be going against everything he wanted for himself. He couldn't let himself love another or have another love him; with love came loss. That he knew for certain.

"All seems good with the two of you, I see." Daphne smiled while moving to stand by Anthony as she spoke, breaking his train of thought.

"Good? I do not follow, dear sister." Anthony cleared his throat.

"Yes, good. With the way you were just openly admiring your wife, I assume it is only because the two of you have finally gotten over yourselves and admitted whatever it is you feel for one another." Anthony practically rolled his eyes at his younger sister, beginning to regret ever being forthcoming with her about the circumstances of his marriage early on. "Oh, do not tell me you are still playing this game? At this stage of marriage? Anthony-" She began scolding him, but he interrupted and led her to a more private area of the ballroom. 

"There is no game. We married because it was our duty to do so. Nothing more, nothing less. You will have to accept that, Daphne." Anthony's voice grew stern as he furrowed his brows at his sister.

"And I do. What I will not accept is the way your love for each other goes unspoken when it is clear to everyone around you." She spoke her following words in a hushed tone as to keep anyone who may be standing near from listening to them. "There is no doubt you hold love in your heart for her, brother. But if you do not tell her soon, I fear you will lose her and your only chance at happiness forever." With that, Daphne offered him a soft smile before walking towards Simon, who busied himself greeting Lady Danbury and her mama.

The night went on better than you could've hoped for. The dances and mingling were without a flaw, and even Lady Bridgerton and the Dutchess were quick to praise you on how well everything had turned out. Soon the guests started to filter out, making their way home after a long night of celebration. You strolled over to your husband after bidding goodbye to her majesty the Queen and ensuring everything had been to her liking. Anthony couldn't help but take notice of how stunning you looked tonight. How your dress fell perfectly over your figure, gems scattered throughout to match his mother's necklace laid in the most alluring way on the supple skin of your neck and chest. He was entranced in a way he'd never been before. Perhaps Daphne had been right. There's a sentence he never thought he'd utter, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had let his fears control him for far too long.

You had barely noticed your ring slipping from your fingers to fall at Anthony's feet as you approached him. Both of you leaned down to reach for it in unison, fingers ghosting over one another, making your breath catch and your eyes meet as he placed it upon your finger once again. The intimacy of such a small moment becoming too much to bear far too quickly.

"I must go." You could not bear to withstand one more moment under Anthony's intense glare, the part of you that wanted to finally divulge all the feelings you'd fought so hard to suppress after all this time threatening to break through at any given moment. You suddenly stepped back, picked up your dress the best you could, and walked hastily to avoid attracting unwanted attention from lingering guests. As you paced through the gardens, an overwhelming and uncertain feeling washed over you before you overheard Anthony's steps behind you.

"Why? Why is it that you distance yourself from me?" Anthony shouted in a hushed tone toward you. 

"Me? I am not the one stuffed in my office all day, coming to bed at late hours of the night when I am asleep and gone once I wake. Avoiding me day in and day out as if I am a plague to you." Tears welled in your eyes, making Anthony's breath hitch. He could not stand to see you like this. Every nerve in his body burned to fix whatever was troubling you, even if he was the one who caused it. Every feeling he had worked so hard to bury all this time, convincing himself he did not love you, could not love you, surfacing with every word that escaped your lips. "You treat me as though you do not care for me." Your voice was just low enough for him to hear, eyes cast downward, unable to give him so much as a glance through his silence. 

"Do not care for you? It is as if I am being consumed when I am with you. I cannot hold a breath or do the most ordinary task without you racing across my every thought. I feel as though I am losing my sanity because I cannot bear to be without you for one second. And when you are near me, it is positively intoxicating in ways I did not know to be possible." Anthony stepped cautiously toward you, fingers ghosting over your cheek, eyes dancing along your features with adoration filling them. "I love you. I love you as much as a person can love another. I do not wish to hold it inside anymore. I love you."

"I love you too." A sob wracked your chest as you responded without hesitation. The reflection in your eyes conveyed the devotion and tenderness he yearned for. It was as if you indeed saw the pieces of him but only sought to love him as he was, incomplete and perfect in every way in your eyes. As your husband.

Your heartbeat quickened as Anthony stepped close enough so that your noses practically brushed against one another—a familiar desire spreading from your heart to your chest.

Anthony cupped your face, his thumb tenderly stroking your cheek. Chills spread along your skin at the warmth of his touch. Unbridled affection flowed freely and filled the space between you. Your lips met for what felt like the first time; his other hand settled at your waist, prompting you closer to him and deepening the kiss. His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency. It was as if nothing else mattered, the past becoming more of a distant memory the further you melted into him. There was only this moment. Anthony unwillingly pulled away, leaving your foreheads pressed against one another, his hair slightly disheveled from your fingers running through it, lips swollen and thoroughly kissed. A deep sigh escaped him before he spoke.

"I would marry you again if I could. Do it all over from the very beginning." His voice slightly wavered at the sentiment; it suddenly weighed on him how much he truly meant it. He wished nothing more than to turn back time and love you the way you deserve from the very beginning. Things would have been so different.

"Anthony, you do not need to embellish. We already married." A chuckle escaped you, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "What?"

"You called me Anthony." 

I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

[adoredawn]

✧˖° — adventures in babysitting

pairing: joe goldberg x fem! reader

type: imagine (1.6k+ words)

requested: no

summary: joe and love decide to get a babysitter for henry after dottie’s breakdown. who would’ve thought she'd spark joe's interest?

warning(s): one-sided pining (-ish). rushed plot / dialogue. no use of y/n.

note(s): not my gif. not my divider. this takes place during season 3! i’ve seen sooo little joe love on here, so i thought i’d write some! i haven’t written a full fledged fic in nearly 4 years, so please bear with me while i try to regain my skills. reblog & comment if you enjoyed it / want a part 2!

adoredawn’s masterlist

“if you want to make some calls to any previous parents i’ve worked with, there are some cell numbers i can give you,” you said with a smile, looking between the husband and wife before you. you sat opposite them on a plush loveseat as they were side-by-side on their gray sofa adorned with decorative pillows.

“oh that doesn’t seem necessary, we’ve heard great things.” love grinned as she patted joe’s knee lovingly. “cary and sherry just could not recommend you enough!”

you giggled and shook your head, smoothening out your summer dress. “i did have my hands full with those twins, that week and a half was a wild one…”

there was an uncomfortable silence. the house was eerily quiet for a toddler to be living in it, though it was his nap time. your eyes drifted down to what trinkets littered their coffee table. coasters, a book on home décor, and toddler toy keys.

as you had walked in earlier, you noticed their home was eerily clean. a family portrait of the three was already hung in a hallway and other pictures were framed on bookshelves and end tables. their home was modern, yet vintage at the same time. it felt like a showroom, but one you could call home.

you could feel their eyes on you, studying you, as you gazed around their home.

joe cleared his throat and sat up straighter, love looked at him expectingly and you mimicked his movements, snapping out of your thoughts. “so… how soon can you start? how’s your schedule?”

you opened your mouth to answer, reaching beside you to grab your purse and look at the calendar on your phone, but a cry rang from upstairs.

love sighed, “sorry about that, i guess nap time’s over! i’ll go get him and we can introduce you.” she sprang up from her seat and made her way up the staircase, glancing back once to eye joe.

joe watched as his wife traveled up the stairs to soothe their toddler, and as he turned back to look at you, he caught your stare. you momentarily forgot what he had asked, flustered. “oh-uh, well i can start as soon as you need. i’m available all week really. i’m taking a break from school for a semester.”

joe seemed to perk up, and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “huh, what’re you studying?”

“education, with a focus on advanced literature in secondary education”

he licked his lips and you couldn’t help but watch. your hands balled into fists in your lap, crescent moons forming in your palms from your nails digging in.

“you enjoy reading?” his voice buzzed lowly with curiosity and you nodded softly.

“mhm, i plan on being a high school teacher or a professor once i graduate.” you paused, looking behind joe at the staircase, and wondering what was taking love so long. you shook your head slightly, focusing your attention back on joe, trying to remain cool. “do you read?”

“i do. i was a bookstore manager for some time.”

“really? that must’ve been fun-“

“here he is, say ‘hi’ henry!” love came down the stairs carrying henry on her hip. joe turned and watched them both come down, reaching for henry once love had sat beside him again.

you waved at little henry, and he barely paid you any mind, focusing on his mother and father. love turned him around to sit facing you, where you could see that his white pajama onesie was covered in blue moons and yellow stars.

“henry, say ‘hi,’ bubba!” love encouraged him, grabbing his arm to wave at you, causing you to smile and wave back. she looked up from him, to you, a serious look on her face. “do you want to hold him? he’s not very fussy around newer people.”

you hesitate, looking back and forth between love and joe, as if asking for permission, even though love has already granted it. meanwhile henry babbled, spitting drool over his onesie. “sure sure, i’ve got him,” you said confidently.

you stood and bent over the coffee table separating you from the couple, reaching for their toddler. as love passed him to you, henry giggled, flailing his legs and flapping his arms while he’s in the air, causing the three of you to also begin laughing.

you felt joe watching you as you held henry, and you tried your best not to return any glances, wanting to maintain your focus on henry.

you sat back on the loveseat, bouncing henry on your lap a few times. “hey, henry, how’re you doing, buddy? i’m gonna be your new babysitter.” you tell him your name, chanting it as you point at yourself a few times. he looks at you and smiles, grabbing at the bottom hem of your dress and tugging.

you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched as you had henry in your lap. of course you were being watched, you told yourself. joe and love just wanted to make sure they would be leaving henry with someone who knew what they were doing. and you very much did.

after a few minutes of holding henry, he began to stretch his arms out, pleading to go back to his parents. you held him back safely as he whined and yearned to reach the other side of the coffee table.

joe grunted an “i got ‘im,” before he walked over to you and picked henry up off of your lap, his hands brushing yours. you felt a pang in your heart as you touched, but squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to ignore it.

once joe got a hold of him, henry began to shriek. joe tried to calm him down, patting his back and rocking him side to side, but he didn’t let up. love quickly got up from her seat and took henry from joe, patting his back.

“it’s okay, forty, it’s okay, momma’s here…” love soothed him, and whispered “sorry!” she sat back on the couch, trying to calm him down.

joe ran a hand through his hair, frowned, and sighed. you watched him with a frown, and he caught your gaze, to which you stood and stuck out your hand. “it was really great to meet you you both.”

joe took your hand in his and shook, smiling softly at you. “it was nice meeting you, miss... i’ll walk you out.” you blushed lightly as he recalled your name and turned to love and squeezed her shoulder goodbye. she muttered a soft “bye” and you rubbed henry’s back and said bye to him as well.

joe kissed love on the cheek as she settled henry down and followed behind you. you reached for the doorknob, and joe followed suit, his fingers brushing against yours again. they lingered for a second, and you turned to look up at him as you retreated your hand.

he smiled gingerly as he grabbed hold of the knob and twisted the door open. you’re both greeted by the gorgeous california sun and birdsong and you take a step outside. you turned, expecting to say your final goodbyes, but joe followed you out.

“thank you, again, for coming out to see us and meet henry. i assume love already gave you our numbers?” he asked as he closed the door behind him. he leaned against the door frame with both hands in his pockets and quickly looked you up and down.

you nodded, “yeah, it was no problem. and she did. do you have mine?” you began pulling your phone out of your purse before joe spoke.

“yes, i can send you a text to make sure it’s the right one?”

before you could agree, joe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and began typing. soon enough, you heard a familiar ding! from inside your purse, and went to read the message:

Hello, you.

you smiled, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, “i’ve got it, thanks.” you turned away to leave before stopping abruptly. joe had already turned to leave as well, and faltered as you came back. “sorry, uh, i was just wondering when would i be starting?”

joe stuck his tongue in his cheek, in thought for a moment, and you took this time to fully drink him in. he had one hand in his pants pocket, the other rubbing his chin. his dark curls fell perfectly over his forehead, and you wanted to brush them away to get him to look deeply into your eyes. his gray sleeves hugged the curve of the muscles on his arms so right, that you nearly melted at the thought of being trapped in them.

you couldn’t be thinking like this, you scolded yourself. you'd never suddenly gotten this rush of feelings when meeting someone before. he’s happily married with a kid that you’ll be taking care of. get. it. together!

“how about monday? i’ll be home for a few hours, and i don’t think love would mind if i stay and show you henry’s schedule.”

you nodded eagerly, “absolutely, just let me know when to get here. thank you, again, for having me!” you waved goodbye as you trekked down their concrete walkway and to their white picket fence toward your car. you covered your eyes from the sun and once you made it to your car, you searched for and waved at joe from across the street.

joe waved to you and watched as you settled into your vehicle. he didn’t take his eyes off of you until your car had driven out of his sight, eager for the weekend to fly by and see you on monday.

[dhampling]

the kitchen two 18+, 2.7k

nobody pining over the potwasher with the pretty face and snide tongue, and it feels like such a damn shame.

-

this started as a joke and now you're touching astarion up out back of a pizza express/olive garden/insert generic chain restaurant you both work at.

part one here.

cw: fem!reader x astarion, 18+, astarion is a potwasher, sex, reader smokes, astarion vapes, fingering, frottage, workplace copulation, not beta read, porn without plot pretty much, oh no, not gn reader as tags initially stated because im awful and copy pasted them over

FATTEST THANK YOU TO @bhaalism AND @lipstickghoulie for DEALING WITH ME as always <3

-

“You need to get laid.”

You take the vape from a waiting hand and hold it in your teeth. Feel the ridges where his own have left small indents in the plastic and nestle yours in the shiny crooks. 

“Hm?” 

“You. You’re practically drooling.” He blinks slowly as you look up to the clouds.

“I’m afraid my harem of devastatingly beautiful lovers are all indisposed. On the yacht, obviously.” You pull a face, huffing a long inhale and releasing the smoke in soft stutters. He snorts. 

“Ah. That’s why you reek of hormones, then?”

You smile.

“Probably. New schedule has done little for any conquests, I’ll be honest.”

Astarion takes a moment as you pass him back his vape, flipping it absentmindedly between deft fingers and scrunching his face.

“Unfortunate.”

You playfully slap his arm and he recoils in a brief snarling laughter, ending on some churlish half-smile as he leans back on the wall.

Those fingers. Slender, pale; always moving to some comment or chore with a slight flourish. You note how surprisingly unblemished they seem for his line of work, and the fact you’ve never seen him with hand balm. Even in the low light spilled scarce from the doorway they have a certain sparkle to them. Poise. 

He knows you’re looking, and you’re a little surprised it seems to matter. Coy as he inhales something deep. 

Obviously, it’s a possibility. It happens.

The nature of your work leads to frequent hookups amongst you, as it always has - some incestuous tangle of ex-lovers and yearning hopefuls all weaving the same sticky tables and navigating the age-old sore break-room banter when it inevitably cools between the sheets. Word travels fast, and not one of your workmates has escaped the hated minimum-wage service tradition of copulating with your colleagues in some drunken fumble after a particularly awful shift - but him, though. You can’t say that you’ve put out feelers per se, but his name has never been mentioned - either positively or negatively - on the grapevine, not that you can recall. Nobody pining over the potwasher with the pretty face and snide tongue, and it feels like such a damn shame.

In all fairness, he doesn’t lend himself to open fawning. He doesn’t mingle like the rest do. Never attends the seasonal socials thrown by upper management nor stays after hours drinking with the rest of the kitchen, as if he’d opted out of the greasy workplace ham-slamming ecosystem entirely. 

Above it all. Godlike. You can’t have that. 

You could invite him in, you think, as his head tilts ever-so-slightly toward you in the cool smoke. His nails tap mindless against gaudy green plastic and you picture little but those now-familiar obscene vignettes of him, those very same fingers taking the warm fat of your flesh by the fistful, bending you - pliable in the desperate chase of wanton heat - over the stainless steel of the chef’s station, with a forceful hand to the waist; smushing your face sideways on the counter as he humps you to visceral burning delight over and over, the relentless piston of hungry hips as he pounds into your drooling hole, and;- 

“At least they have each other, I suppose. Aboard that gorgeous yacht.”

Your eyes meet his, a mutual hum. Silence as the rain smatters on gravel.

It’d be easy. Sidle past him through the walk-in door left slightly ajar - vaping, of course; why else would the pot washer be in the cooler? - and feel the looming hope of flesh so close. A crooked smile in silent greeting. Take your time in bending for the lemons, apron ties bowed over your rear as some awful present. He’d never slap your ass so crudely. The lingering want for a tap of flesh, for him to feel the soft jiggle of solid fat on a quick palm; never to move to touch you until you’d made your intentions abundantly clear.

Your intentions.

You could accidentally back up against him whilst still bent and oh-so lost in search for whatever perfect fucking lemon takes this long to find, ass smacking onto his crotch, mouth shaped as an ‘o’ where sudden realisation takes hold, through layers of standard-issue service garb - a barely-there cant of your hips at the surprise friction of his cock. 

He’s been watching. Ogling. Angling himself toward you, as if having pictured how best to bury himself inside you should the opportunity arise. 

Would he grab you by the hips? Take rough handfuls of heated skin and flesh, pull you in to rub over his growing erection with an obscene snarl and heavy lids in a sharp frenzy? Snaking a deft hand down the front of your apron and under the waistband of your trousers, unhurried but firm; searching for the evidence he can practically smell; proof that you’ve been melting, the pool of slick in your panties growing gummy between stolen moments of fantasization on the floor and the molten rumble of low-laughter as he bends you over the mesh shelving, his lower abdomen being thoroughly stickied with a liberal helping of your arousal.

“What are you doing tonight?”

You turn to him with a nonchalant smile and he groans, upper lip curling toward his nose.

“I’ll be here. Same as you, I presume?”

“Not for too much longer, though - how about after?”

Astarion runs a hand through his hair coolly, vape returning to his pocket as he stands off the wall. 

“Not there yet. Who knows?”

The slight of a fox-wink as he twirls back through the door, jacket flaring out behind him before disappearing into the back-of-house once more.

-

Time passes as if stuck stiff under a violent gutter-sun.

The softest visions of him lit by the dented metal of the big old dishwasher, shifting to adjust himself under linens; and after much thought you decide he’d be so very pretty, touching himself something mad. Even more so than usual. Leaky and hot and gasping in mindless carnality under the blacklight of the back bathroom with penis in hand, wincing at the fevered paw moving dumb to offer any relief in his plight. A delicious sigh whilst rolling the hot skin back, bit-by-bit from the tip, working the gathering glisten ever-so-softly over his aching slit in delicate strokes. 

A stolen glance through the service window, through the bumbling hordes in their whites; a shock of silver hair, short sleeves cuffed, brows furrowed as he scrubs at some porcelain bowl with a strange blase determination. 

It’s effortless. He’s not posing, wholly unaware that you’re watching. Scalding from the heat lamps as your fingertips press into the ledge, waiting for plates for one of your tables and teetering back and forth into the gap. He picks another bowl from the crate with a practised hand, tossing it gently into the other and dunking it in the water with finesse. Scrubs. Holds the curving gloss to the light for a moment and narrows his eyes before repeating the process, then loading it onto the dishwasher crate. 

Mindless. 

God. All mindless. You could offer to help him after a busy evening, perhaps; take charge of the pre-wash as he loads the machine, well oiled in your steps as they grow ever closer to one another - surprisingly so, with your lack of practice. Let the hose spray free down your front in a fumble with the pressure lever on the side, and the moment of shock as you gasp; the warm water turning ice cool on your chest, no disguising the quick pebbling of your nipples underneath your sodden underclothes. 

Maybe it’s panic that compels him to dab at your chest with a dry towel as opposed to throwing it to you in a tight-scrunched ball and continuing to load the washer - but maybe it isn’t. 

Maybe it’s something else altogether. Those red eyes darken to a plush carnal smoulder and he tilts his head, begging you to close the gap, to give him permission; to stretch a palm just a little further over to the swell of your breast and cup the soft, heavy flesh through the thin layer of wet cloth.

He’s right, of course. Desperately so.

You do need to get laid.

-

Black sky overhead, speckled with pinpoint stars and laced with the twinge of cold that makes your nose feel funny - and you suspect he’s one of the last to leave this evening, so you wait a minute or two for management to finish their final walkthrough.

He appears with a flourish. Your lean-back on the wall remains as composed as it can as he barrels through the doors, bag high on his shoulder; and begins to fish in his back pocket for his vape.

“Astarion!”

He spins and meets your gaze with a fantastic grin, incisors sharp as his vape meets his lips. You can do this. A quick fuck. Everyone here does it, christ. 

“Yes, love?”

“Have you got a minute?”

“For you? Always.”

Purring. He’s purring.

You wave management farewell as they lock the doors - a small smile, yet you can’t let him slide from you. You can’t let the moment falter. The wet patch in your pants becomes horrifically apparent as you shift from side to side in the cool air, and you surmise that this needs resolving before your humility suppresses the want to have him between your legs - so you extend a hand. You reach for the vape between his lips and you bring it to your own, ever so slowly; holding it between your teeth in a coy stand-off.

“Bold.”

“I’m feeling bold.”

“Oh?”

“Walk with me.”

He offers you an arm in an exuberant display of mock-chivalry, bowing almost; and you take it to pull him closer to your side. 

“You’re in a good mood.” You muse, steering him down the dark alley and toward the main street whilst he sighs a laugh.

“I presume you’re about to buy me a drink, which is always most welcome.”

“I’ve never bought you a drink?”

“The pleasure is more in the receiving of the drink, not whoever’s buying it.’

He turns to look at you while you walk, tugging you closer. 

‘Unless you’d like me to find pleasure in you, my generous benefactor?’

You stop in your tracks, and he grins in place.

‘Because that’s what this is about; isn’t it, little lamb?’

Time stops, signalled by the slow stutter of your heart as his voice drops silken, taking both of your wrists in hand.

‘I can practically smell it, you know.”

“What makes you so sure?”

He pulls a face. Looks at you softly.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Sorry.”

“I won’t pretend it’s not been on my mind, though.”

“Hm?”

Astarion sidles closer, toes touching; breath cool on your cheeks. Mint. 

“Burying myself inside you. All kinds of-’

His hands gesture lightly around his head, controlled as they close in on your face.

‘Wicked images. The things we could do.”

Your eyes flutter closed as he cups your face, lips grazing the edge of his palm.

“I watch you too, you know - oh, it makes me hard just thinking about it. Humping the sink counter like some wanton… bitch;- whenever can I get a moment, just to get some friction, clothes ruined time and time again over obscene visions of myself buried deep inside-’

Takes your chin between pointer finger and thumb.

‘Your. Desperate. Cunt.’

He breathes a giggle.

‘Just as I assume yours are now, hm? Ruined? Oh, the sheer debauchery.”

Tuts. The breeze fades and he comes impossibly closer, hands ghosting the broad of your shoulders then cutting across to the dip of your waist and you inhale and that smell of him. The scent of by-your-side and beleaguered evenings, laced with something heady. Salt. You whimper when you eke the words out.

“You smell so good.” Practically whining, metaphorical drool linking the two of you as if invisible string. A deep beat of laughter.

“Sweet one. So do you.”

His nose buried in your hair, fingers grasping at the warmth of your hips through layers of sweaty workwear. Your core blazes white hot, legs failing you - he’s here. He wants you. God, you’d never thought it’d feel this good, even in your wildest fantasies; and yet you’re standing out in the bitter cold locked tight in by his hands and it exceeds every conceivable outcome for this conversation, ever, despite his cock not yet prodding you once. 

He takes the vape from where your fingers hang frozen and puts it into his pocket, guiding your fingers to the front of his trousers in your obscured embrace and pressing your palm to the front.

Hard. He’s ridiculously hard. Warm and pulsing with strong hips writhing as your hand gives him something to push against. 

“Fuck.”

“Nicely, now.”

His hand moves under your coat and to the front of your own trousers as you feel him through his, scrunching your fingers around his length; whilst he slides deft under the fixings just as you’d imagined he would. Ice to a fire. Moves quickly in the search for your slick like a moth mindless toward a flame, when he finds your slit and takes a single finger to press between your folds. 

“Ah. There she is.’

Your breath catches on his words,  

‘My darling girl, you’re soaking. How long have you been like this?”

“Just today, or on the whole? I can’t remember a time where I’ve not wanted you, not since that first day outside.”

He groans quietly, eyes rolling back into his skull as he coaxes more of your spill forth onto the flat of his palm with a skilled finger toying at the hood of your clit. It feels incredible. Like a warm bath or fresh pizza times a thousand. 

“Did you like the idea of my spit in your mouth, love? Forgetting your smokes on purpose, buying me treats just so you could share? So you could… take me, in your mouth, and wallow in having me there in secret? Bad girl.” A sordid whisper. Heady. Love. Bad girl. You’re struggling for air, newly weakened flesh bowled completely over by his brutal advances, and it’s heaven. You could die here in this alley and you’d be wholly satisfied with life knowing he touched you. He was hard for you, his cock desperately seeking solace in the warmth of your core, to christen your cunt with lashings of himself inside you. Yours. You. 

You thought your resolve was stronger than this. That you could match him in whatever game he potentially wanted to play and do it with flair - but as he stands in front of you, hand crudely down your trousers round the back of your shared workplace; you have no desire to play coy any longer. He’s giving himself to you. 

“Kiss me?”

And he does. A heady drawl as his lips stoop to meet yours, a string of yes-yes-yeses whispered flush into your open mouth as he moves with you, fingering with reverent strokes whilst your hand fiddles hungrily with his underclothes and he laughs with a satisfied ease as if a Roman Emperor, hosting a banquet on the eve of some grand resounding victory. 

Right here, by the bins under the watchful eyes of the CCTV cameras dotted along the brick - it doesn’t work. It can’t happen here. Your brain fizzes all shades of yellow and orange as you take his arm, breaking the open-mouthed kiss with urgency and tugging his head down until his ear hangs dazed a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“Yours or mine?”

“Where’s closer?”

Gravel. Cheeks flushed, hands frisking your waistband once more as you swat him off.

“Yours, probably.”

“You checked the staff files, didn’t you? Naughty thing.”

You huff into a slight hunchback, bemused by his deduction.

“Maybe. Are you mad about it?”

Your hand grabs at his cock through his trousers once more and offers a hard squeeze, a stuttered moan from his mouth.

“Meh. So long as you make it up to me, yes?”

He pauses to press a chaste kiss to your mouth as you both rebutton and fumbles to take your hand in his. 

“God. Yes. I promise.”

“Come along then, temptress. Mine -’

Another to the back of your hand, soft and deep.

‘- it is.”

-

[perseephoneee]

caroling [ficmas 2024] [elijah mikaelson x f!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

@wholoveseggs : Hiii darling!! I have a request for ficmas!! Elijah Mikaelson (duh!) with either caroling (hilarious) or hot cocoa ☕��

warnings: caroling

author's note: lissa my beloved i hope i did elijah justice <3 this fic took me like four buffy episodes and die hard to write :p

playlist:

christmas (baby please come home) -- darlene love

that's christmas to me -- pentatonix

snow song -- adrianne lanker

The holidays were one of your favorite times of the year, full of community and lightness in times of darkness. Even with Mystic Falls becoming a frozen wasteland, you enjoyed going downtown and seeing all the decorations and bright lights adorning the streets. 

Your job as a librarian was also enriched by the season. Although Mystic Falls library was small and not often used, you did your best with the other staff to create a welcoming environment. This included hosting a book drive, lots of community craft events, and caroling. 

You loved to sing since you were tiny but hated caroling season in Mystic Falls. It was a community-wide thing, and it was also a competition to raise money for the Mystic Falls Foodbank. Except that Nancy Springborg won every single year. And loved to rub it in your face. 

The caroling groups involved many of the students in the various elementary and middle schools, especially the foster kids, who usually didn't receive much during the holiday season. All the kids were assigned to the different caroling hosts, and somehow, even with the random assignments, Nancy managed to have the best-sounding group with the best choreography to win the stupid competition. 

Not that you were bitter. 

"If you hate caroling so much, why do you continue to sign up?" Arielle, your co-worker, asked you as she cut more snowflake decorations. You both were assistant librarians hoping to work your way up the ladder. Currently, that meant doing the menial work of holiday decorations. The backroom was too small to work in, so you were both at the front desk.

"I don't hate caroling; I hate the caroling competition. It's stupid and doesn't achieve anything," you scoffed, aggressively snipping the paper. 

"Except money for the food bank."

"Don't argue semantics with me."

"It's supposed to be fun, and the kids look forward to it," Arielle grinned, pushing her glasses up her nose. You ripped your snowflake out of anger and let out a noise of frustration.

"It'd be fun if Nancy lost. She's such a bitch."

"Who's a bitch?"

You looked up to see Elijah Mikaelson, fingers tapping the counter as he looked at you with a half smile. You had never heard him say a swear word before, and it took your brain a few seconds to compute.

"Nancy Springborg. Y/N's arch nemesis," Arielle responded for you, finishing her snowflake. She sent you a knowing glance as you opened and closed your mouth like a fish. 

"Archnemesis? My, I didn't take you for the vengeful sort," Elijah tutted. 

"That would require you to know more about me," you replied, rolling your chair over to the counter. "Can I get something for you today, Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Elijah. And yes, I have a few archival books on loan that I'd like to pick up."

Elijah had been dutifully working on recording the town's history. He had managed to add a lot more information than was previously recorded. It was almost like he had lived through it.

"I can grab them. Be right back," Arielle nodded, leaving you alone with Elijah. In addition to recording Mystic Fall's history, he had also been coming in at least once a week and had become a subject of infatuation. Arielle wished you would just ask him out, but that would require bravery, which you were sorely lacking. So, instead, you pined from afar and whined when you had one too many to drink. 

"What makes this Nancy Springborg your archnemesis?" Elijah asked.

"She always wins the godsdamn caroling competition and has to be an asshole about it. I always get second," you frowned, twiddling your fingers. "I know it's for the kids…but I really just hate her smug expression."

Elijah chuckled. "I know people like that."

"How do you handle it?" you questioned.

"You, my dear, are too kind for how I deal with it."

You furrowed your brows in curiosity, but Arielle came back right at that second with two heavy tomes that left a satisfying smack on the counter. You scanned the books out to his library card, watching him not even stress a muscle as he put both under his arm. 

"Have a lovely day, Y/N. Arielle," Elijah nodded, heading out the door as your gaze followed him wistfully. You could almost hear Arielle shaking her head from behind you. You swiveled in your chair. 

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," you chimed, returning to your snowflakes as Arielle laughed.

The assignments for the caroling groups came out after your shift. You were already at home, the sky dark at five p.m. It was a frozen dinner night, and you were nursing a cup of green tea while you looked at who you got this year and went through your emails. You had a few new kids and a couple you've had before. One of them, Olive, was a girl you got every year. Her Mom was a widow who worked night shifts and often couldn't do much for Christmas. Still, her Mom gave you cookies every Christmas as a thank you. 

You were debating putting on a holiday movie when your doorbell rang. You weren't expecting any guests but went to check anyway. Surprise crossed your face as you saw Elijah outside. You opened your door. 

"How do you know where I live?" you inquired, leaning against the door frame.

"Arielle told me," Elijah smiled. "May I come in?"

"Uh, yeah. Come in," you said, moving out of the way. He entered, taking a glance

around your apartment. It wasn't very organized; you had books spilling everywhere. But it was clean; you weren't unhygienic. You shrugged.

"I have a librarian's salary, can't afford much."

"I think it's lovely," Elijah nodded, looking appreciatively at all the titles on your shelf. You shifted awkwardly. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. M– Elijah," you caught yourself, crossing your arms. 

"I used to sing when I was a young boy," he spoke, turning towards you. "My Mother would bring me to all the different houses with my siblings. As I got older, I stopped singing and got into playing piano. I still enjoy a choral piece or two." You maneuvered your way to the kitchen, pouring Elijah a cup of tea. He nodded appreciatively. "I was hoping I could help you with the caroling competition."

"I'm sure you have better things to do than participate in a caroling contest," you rolled your eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

"Anything one desires is worth doing," Elijah sipped his tea, nodding appreciatively. "Rose?"

"Cherry blossom. Got it for springtime, but I am still working through it."

"It's good," Elijah put his cup down. "So, caroling?"

"I hope you're not expecting some fancy choir. It's me and a bunch of children."

"Then I'll be in good company."

Was Elijah flirting with you? Maybe not by traditional standards, but he sounded interested. You weren't used to anything like this and didn't want to look too hard into it. 

"It's a week of rehearsals for one night of caroling; we start Monday," you raised your brow, almost in a challenge. Elijah grinned.

"I look forward to it." His gaze caught on the television. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"I was going to put on a movie, that's all." You shifted your weight as you debated your question. "Do you want to stay? I got delicious frozen food."

"It would be my honor," Elijah replied, removing his jacket and hanging it near your front door. He was dressed in the same suit from earlier, and you realized you had never seen him in anything other than the finest. In comparison, you were in loose lounge pants and a T-shirt. "What are we watching?"

"The best Christmas movie ever– Die Hard," you grinned, going to your pantry to find your popcorn.

"Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?" Elijah questioned, causing you to stop in your tracks. 

"Don't ask stupid questions," you tutted. "Let me introduce you to the wonder of John McClane saving Christmas."

Elijah ended up enjoying the movie, although he had many questions throughout. You had to pause several times to tell him to trust the process. He also participated in your frozen dinner buffet, which was entertaining since he dressed like he was going to a Michelin-star restaurant. He ended up leaving hours later. When you closed the door, it took you about thirty seconds before you descended into a giggling mess and called Arielle. 

Monday couldn't come fast enough. Rehearsals were scheduled for after school at the library, and you had already set out snacks and refreshments when Elijah showed up. He was still dressed to impress. You spun around with a snack tray in your hands. 

"Cheese cube, Mr. Mikaelson?"

"You really know how to impress a man," Elijah chuckled, picking up one of the cheeses. Somehow, he made eating cheese seductive. You turned away, swallowing. "Am I too early?"

"Not at all; children are just too late." Even as you said it, though, your usual favorite, Olive, showed up. She bounded through the door, her braided pigtails bouncing behind her. 

"Hi, Miss!" she squealed, going to give you a hug, which you returned greedily. 

"Hey girlie, how's sixth grade treating you?"

"It's really cool because I get a locker now, and I have more than one teacher, and I like my classes," Olive rambled, dropping her backpack onto the floor. You raised a brow, and she picked it up and put it to the side. 

"I'm glad school is going well."

"Yeah, but I'm still excited to go home. Although this time, I'm excited to sing."

"It's not caroling without you, Ollie," you grinned. Olive finally noticed Elijah and peered at him expectedly. 

"Who's this?"

"This is Mr. Mikaelson. He's going to help us out this year so we can beat Nancy."

"Oh good! I want her to perish. That's a new word I learned in class. Perish."

You rolled your eyes. Elijah crouched down to her height, narrowing his eyes.

"That's quite a big word for a small girl like yourself."

"I'm a big girl," Olive huffed, crossing her arms. Elijah acted disinterested, hiding his smile. "Miss! Tell Mr. Mikaelson I'm a big girl."

"That's a battle you'll have to fight yourself," you grinned as Olive returned to chastising Elijah. The other kids soon showed up: Graham, Norman, Sarah, Maddy, and James, and you guys got to work practicing your song. You decided to do "That's Christmas To Me" this year, as it was a completely choral piece with many parts for each kid. Nancy always chose a piece she could do a solo in, and somehow, she still won. Completely defeating the spirit of Christmas. Your practice ended well, and Elijah ended up walking you home since it was dark already. 

"Thanks for helping out," you shrugged, looking over at him. 

"My pleasure," he smiled. "You have a lovely voice."

"Eh, it's fine. I stay on key."

"I would love to hear you sing more without many youngsters overlapping."

"'Youngsters?' What are you, 80?"

You both laughed over that. You arrived at your door before he could respond. You stood there awkwardly, looking at your boots. 

"Perhaps you can entertain me one of these evenings with a solo performance?" Elijah postured, stepping closer to you. There was a doormat worth of distance between you and him. You had trouble meeting his eyes. 

"Perhaps," you gulped. "Good night, Elijah."

"Good night, Y/N," Elijah nodded, stepping away and leaving you to your home. 

The rest of the rehearsals went virtually the same. 

Many of the kids liked Elijah, although Olive still found enjoyment in teasing him. You guys sounded a lot tighter than your groups usually did, and by the time the caroling day came along, you felt semi-confident. 

No group took the same route; otherwise, citizens would be exhausted from hearing music all night. Instead, every group met at city hall and got an assigned route, and a judge accompanied them. Part of you thought that maybe Nancy was sleeping with the judges, and that's how she won. Except that the judges were all elderly women and a gay man, so unless they were attracted to the Devil, it was likely not the case. 

You were waiting inside the foyer of city hall, nursing a cup of hot tea from the refreshment table, when the Devil approached. 

"Y/N, don't you look, darling," Nancy crooned, coming to stand in front of you. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled, and she wore a sweater dress with an expensive-looking brooch. You narrowed your eyes. 

"Hi, Nancy," you groaned, forcing on a smile. 

"I think it's cute how you do this every year," Nancy smiled, touching your arm lightly. She glanced around, finding something more interesting. "Good luck."

"You too," you grimaced, sticking your tongue out as she turned away. Elijah decided at that moment to show up and hid his grin at your behavior. 

"She seems pleasant," Elijah chimed, hands in his trouser pockets. You were still scowling. 

"If you like people with sticks up their ass, sure," you added, downing your tea in one gulp and throwing the cup out. Elijah bit his lip to hide his laughter. You pretended not to notice. "Are the kids here yet?"

"They're around the corner getting hot chocolate."

"That's good…good," you trailed off, staring after where Nancy walked off. Elijah came to stand in front of you. 

"Worry does not serve you, my dear," Elijah murmured. "Tonight will be great, and it is because of you and your resilience." His eyes were molten pools of understanding, and you felt that if you stared into them, it might give you the answers to all of your questions in life. It was the first time you truly looked in his eyes, as most of the time, you were too afraid to. 

"Okay," you mumbled. You gave yourself a shake, blowing out your lips. "We got this. Let's rally the troops."

It took you about two houses to get your rhythm and for the kids to remember the pitch. You're pretty sure some of the moms tipped you more because of Elijah charming them, but you weren't going to complain. Still, you were a hundred shy of your goal by the end of your route, and you saw Nancy's group parading down the street, already overflowing with cash. 

"This is bullshit," Olive swore, glaring at Nancy's group.

"Language," both you and Elijah said at the same time. 

"Why do they have matching outfits?" Graham asked, speaking loudly with his ear muffs. 

"Because Ms. Springborg has too much time on her hands," Elijah sighed. Sarah and Maddy both giggled, elbowing each other. You were pretty sure they thought Elijah was cute, and you couldn't disagree. James, a quiet boy with glasses, tugged on Elijah's sleeve. 

"A-Are we going to do the thing?" he murmured, voice small. Your brows furrowed. 

"What thing?" you inquired as the other kids piped up. Elijah shushed them and turned to you. 

"We had an idea if you would consider it," Elijah postured.

"When did you guys come up with an idea?"

"When you weren't around," Elijah smirked. "We practiced another song; what if we tried it at the last house?"

"B-But I don't know the song."

"Yes, you do; I've heard you sing it when you work," Elijah whispered the song to you, and even as nerves gripped your stomach, you agreed to do it. The kids looked excited enough to convince you it was the right thing to do. 

You went up to the last house, palms sweaty, as Elijah climbed the steps to knock on the door. It appeared to be a Christmas party, which meant a lot more people than you wanted to perform in front of. A middle-aged woman answered the door.

"Good evening, ma'am. What a lovely home you have," Elijah smiled. "We hope you will give us the pleasure of listening to our song this evening." He tacked on some more compliments for good measure, and you could already see the woman swooning. Elijah came back down a moment later, nodding that it was time to start. You sucked in a breath. Elijah counted down for the kids as they started singing. 

"Christmas,"

"The snow's coming down," you sang. Your voice was shaky but loud enough to carry on. Elijah and the kids kept up the backing vocals as you sang the lead. "I'm watching it fall; lots of people around; baby, please come home."

The rest of the party guests came out on the porch, and a couple of other houses also came to see. Your hands were shaking, and all you wanted to do was shove them into your pockets. Olive came up to your left, grabbing your hand in support. Elijah came to your right to take your other hand until all of you were in one happy, hand-holding circle. 

"They're singing 'Deck the Halls.'

But it's not like Christmas at all

'Cause I remember when you were here

And all the fun we had last year,"

As you sang, you couldn't keep your eyes off Elijah for more than a few seconds. He couldn't keep his eyes off you, either. 

The song finished before you realized, and your group enveloped you in a hug as applause broke out from the houses. You saw Nancy down the street, scowling at you as everyone pitched in their money for your performance. Just as the kids let you go, you also turned around to hug Elijah. Some part of your brain thought it was also totally normal to kiss him. You pulled away almost immediately, cheeks burning. 

"Did we win? Did we win?" Olive chirped, grabbing your sleeve and distracting you. You laughed, completely forgetting about the competition the second you started singing. 

"Who cares? I'm just happy I got to see Nancy look that unhappy," you shrugged, waving to Nancy as she stormed away in a huff.

"I'm happy I finally got to hear you sing," Elijah whispered to you. You jumped, spinning around to face him. "The kiss was an added bonus."

"I-I didn't mean to, I'm sorry–"

Elijah kissed you, cutting you off. His hands wrapped around your waist, his lips a firm reminder of everything you loved about the holiday season. His arms stayed around you even as he pulled away. "I should've done that sooner."

"Yeah, we were all waiting," Olive said, rolling her eyes. "Norman bet me a Hershey bar on it."

"Did not!" Norman retorted, and he and Olive broke down into semantics. Elijah pulled you back to him, eyes crinkled in amusement from the two kids. 

"Hi," you whispered. 

"Hello," Elijah brushed your hair away from your face. "Can I kiss you again?"

You nodded, letting him pull you back in, feeling like you won the caroling competition already. 

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter Six

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist chapter seven word count: 4.1k a/n: I've been dying for this chapter to come out! thank you guys for all the support on the story and i can't wait to get into the season 3 rewrite! warnings: lots of flirting and steve pining for reader. vulnerable steve word vomitting his love for reader. If you would like to be added to the taglist please comment below! Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things ~1984~

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The first day back to school since that night at the Snow Ball felt like a new chapter, but also strangely the same. The night had been a whirlwind—the kind of night that changes everything between two people, but with all the excitement and the rush of emotions, neither of you had really had the time to process it. You had accepted it, both of you. The unspoken bond, the undeniable connection. You were together now, but there was still so much left to say, so much to figure out.

But right now, there was no time for deep conversations. Not with the hustle and bustle of the school day, not with the kids around and teachers calling your name. And, of course, there was Steve—his eyes darting to you every few seconds like he couldn’t quite believe that you were finally his, that you were together.

So instead of talking about it, you decided to have a little fun. You leaned against your locker as Steve fumbled with his own, making sure you were standing just close enough to him for him to feel the heat of your body next to his. You could practically see his mind racing, his thoughts trying to settle as you did everything you could to make him squirm.

As you reached to grab your books, you made sure to brush your waist against him slowly. His breath hitched, and you caught the way his eyes momentarily closed, trying to steady himself. You gave him a knowing smile and watched as he tried to act casual, but you could tell he was fighting the urge to grab you and kiss you right then and there.

“Having trouble, Harrington?” you teased, your voice low and playful, watching as he struggled to keep his composure.

He shot you a half-grin, but there was something almost desperate in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was tight, like he was holding back more than just words. He shifted a bit, clearly uncomfortable with how close you were.

You leaned in a little closer, just for a second, brushing past him as you walked to your next class. You felt the tension in the air, thick and heavy, and you could see him try to focus on anything but you.

“I’ll see you later, Steve,” you said, flashing him a grin, making sure the teasing edge in your voice lingered.

He just nodded, his lips slightly parted, and you could tell he was fighting to hold it together.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself. You both knew what had happened between you two. You both knew what was coming. But until you could have some real time together—just the two of you—you were going to have a little fun and make him feel just how badly he wanted you.

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Later that afternoon, the two of you accompanied Dustin to the arcade. The dim lights of the arcade flickered around you, casting a colorful glow that only seemed to emphasize how effortlessly captivating you looked. Steve leaned against a pinball machine, arms crossed, pretending to watch Dustin annihilate a high score on Dragon’s Lair. In reality, his focus was entirely on you.

You stood at the air hockey table, locked in a heated match with Max, the small crowd cheering as you slammed the puck back toward her goal. Steve tried to keep his attention on the game, but his resolve faltered when you leaned over the table, your shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. Every move you made—how your hips swayed as you celebrated a point or how you bit your lip in concentration—was a direct assault on his self-control.

“Come on, Harrington. Pay attention,” Dustin said, nudging him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention,” Steve muttered, though his eyes betrayed him as they flicked back to you.

You caught him staring and smirked, a mischievous glint in your eye as you reached up to adjust your hair, your shirt lifting ever so slightly again. His pulse quickened. He shifted uncomfortably, gripping the edge of the machine like it might anchor him.

When you finally scored the winning goal, you turned, triumphant and grinning, your gaze finding Steve’s immediately. 

“Looks like you want me to show you how it’s done next,” you teased, sauntering toward him with a confident sway in your hips.

Steve raised an eyebrow, trying to mask how flustered he felt. “Oh, yeah? Think you can take me, huh?”

You leaned in slightly, close enough to make his breath hitch. “Oh trust me, I’m trying to,” you murmured, your tone dripping with mischief.

Steve groaned under his breath, running a hand through his hair as you smirked and walked off to join Dustin at another game. He stood there, completely wrecked, watching you with a mix of frustration and awe. If he made it through the night without losing his mind, it would be a miracle.

Steve came up from behind you, his presence warm and unmistakable as his hand casually slipped into your back pocket. You gasped softly, the unexpected move sending a jolt of heat through you.

“You have no idea how difficult you’re making this for me,” he whispered, his breath brushing your ear, his tone low and teasing.

You turned your head to glance at him, your heart racing, but his smirk was already in full effect.

“Oh, am I?” you teased back, feigning innocence, though the flutter in your chest betrayed you.

“Absolutely,” he murmured, his fingers giving the slightest tug against your pocket. “Keep this up, and I might just forget we’re in public.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and his smirk deepened before he pulled away, leaving you momentarily stunned—and just a little breathless. Two could play this game, and clearly, Steve had just raised the stakes.

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The diner buzzed with the usual Friday night chaos—clinking silverware, laughter from nearby booths, and the low hum of conversation filling the air. You sat across from Steve in a cozy corner booth, the soft light above casting a warm glow over his face. The week had been a whirlwind and life had kept you too busy to really process the weight of all that was said last weekend. The tension simmering just beneath the surface made every shared glance feel electric.

You lifted your milkshake, drawing the straw between your lips with an exaggerated slowness, hollowing your cheeks as you sipped. Your eyes met his for just a moment before you glanced away, letting your tongue flick over your lips to catch a stray drop of whipped cream. The movement was subtle, casual even, but the way Steve’s eyes darkened didn’t go unnoticed.

His jaw tightened, his fork pausing midair before he set it down on his plate with deliberate care. You swirled the straw idly, letting the sound of the ice cream melt fill the silence, and then took another slow, deliberate sip. This time, your gaze lingered on him, and you caught the way his fingers gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled.

“You okay there, Steve?” you asked, feigning innocence, the corners of your lips curling into a teasing smile as you set the glass back down.

Steve cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like it suddenly felt too small. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his voice a little too casual, betraying him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the booth with a playful smirk. “No reason. You just seem… distracted.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Distracted? No. Not at all.” His voice was clipped, but his eyes betrayed him, darting to your lips before quickly looking away again.

“Oh,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “just making sure.” You reached for the straw again, this time letting your lips brush against it lightly before taking a slower, smaller sip. “It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?”

Steve’s jaw flexed, his shoulders tensing. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “It’s been agonizing.”

You could feel it in the way he shifted in his seat, the way his gaze couldn’t quite meet yours for too long. His hand drummed restlessly against the edge of the table as if he was fighting to keep himself in check. And you loved every second of it.

Finally, Steve leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his eyes locked onto yours, heat sparking behind them. “Careful,” he said suddenly, his voice low and teasing. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Me?” you replied, your voice dripping with seductive sarcasm. “I’m just enjoying my milkshake.”

“Sure you are,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned in slightly. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing. All week. Every time you’ve done… this”—he gestured vaguely toward your glass, his gaze flicking briefly to the straw—“I’ve been keeping track. You’re not getting away with it.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Getting away with what, Steve?”

“You know exactly what,” he shot back, his voice quiet but edged with frustration and something else—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could retort, the waitress arrived with a plate of fries, breaking the moment. Steve straightened up quickly, offering her a polite nod and a quick “Thanks,” but the tension between you two remained thick as ever.

“Tomorrow,” he cleared his throat.

You reached for a fry, popping it into your mouth with a grin. “Tomorrow, huh?” you said, your tone light but your eyes glinting with mischief.

“Tomorrow,” Steve said firmly, leaning back in his seat but keeping his eyes locked on yours. “No interruptions. Just us.”

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning in just a little. “Can’t wait.”

Steve’s smirk deepened, his confidence growing as he added, “Neither can I. But just so you know, payback’s coming, and I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.”

The unspoken promise hung in the air between you, the anticipation for tomorrow making every moment of teasing and tension feel even sweeter.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The end of the week couldn’t have come soon enough. After days of stolen moments and your relentless teasing, Steve had had enough. He picked you up just after sunset, the summer air warm and sweet. His car smelled faintly of the cologne you loved, and the soft hum of the radio filled the silence as he drove. You didn’t ask where he was taking you—you trusted him implicitly—but there was something in the way he kept glancing over at you, a small, secretive smile playing on his lips, that told you tonight was going to be different.

When the car finally slowed, you realized where he had brought you: Skull Rock, the secluded spot near Lover’s Lake where the stars always seemed brighter and the world felt a little quieter. He parked and got out, coming around to your side to open the door for you like a proper gentleman.

“Skull Rock?” you asked, smiling up at him. “Planning to scare me?”

“Not tonight,” he replied, his voice low and teasing as he took your hand. “I thought we could use a place where no one can bother us for once.”

You let him lead you through the trees, the sound of crickets filling the air. When you reached the clearing, your breath caught. Spread out on the grass near the rock was a blanket, a small lantern casting a warm glow over a picnic basket. He’d set up everything perfectly: sandwiches, strawberries, even a small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked along the way.

“You did all this?” you asked, your heart swelling.

“After all you’ve put me through this week,” Steve said, his voice thick with barely-contained tension, “being so tempting and making me lose my mind… and after everything we’ve wanted, everything we’ve been waiting for, for this to finally fall into place for us…” He stepped even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “We deserve this.”

You smiled, stepping closer to him and resting your hand on his arm. “It’s perfect, Steve. Really.”

The two of you sat on the blanket, sharing the simple meal and talking about everything and nothing. For the first time all week, there were no interruptions. Just you, Steve, and the stars above.

When the food was gone and the conversation lulled, Steve turned to you, his eyes soft and warm. “You know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been trying all week to get this right. To find the perfect moment.”

You tilted your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “And?”

“And…” He shifted closer, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, brushing your cheek as his eyes searched yours. “I think this is it.”

You didn’t reply—there was no need. You leaned in, closing the gap between you as his lips finally met yours. The kiss was everything you’d been waiting for: soft and slow, yet filled with all the pent-up longing and emotion you’d both been carrying. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as you melted into him, the world around you fading away.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together, and he let out a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin. “Took us long enough, huh?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb against his jawline. “Worth the wait.”

He grinned, his eyes shining with a happiness you hadn’t seen before. “Yeah,” he murmured, kissing you again, this time slower, sweeter. “Definitely worth it.”

Steve took a deep breath, his hand holding yours as you sat together at Skull Rock. The cool night air settled around you, but the warmth from his body was enough to keep you comfortable. He seemed quieter than usual, his expression thoughtful, almost somber, as he turned his gaze toward the lake.

“You know,” Steve began, his voice soft but heavy with vulnerability, “these past few weeks haven’t been easy. Honestly? I think the pain I’ve felt is worse than fighting off a bunch of demodogs and getting my ass kicked by Billy combined.”

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, the nervousness in his movements betraying the weight of his words.

“Only you could make me feel so much that it physically hurts,” he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before. But if it’s for you… it’s worth it. Every single second.”

The silence between you was palpable, thick with all the words you both wanted to say but couldn’t quite form.

Steve broke it first, his voice quieter this time. “I’ve been thinking a lot about those letters we wrote to each other. Back then, it was so easy to pour our hearts out. How did we go from that to having no clue how to tell each other how we really feel?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I don’t think either of us were willing to risk it as we got older.”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head firmly. His tone sharpened, emotion breaking through. “You’re wrong, Y/N. I’ve been willing to risk everything for you for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t know how to say it. And you know it. But I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I knew it—it feels like it’s always been there.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, his voice trembling. “Maybe it was the night you fell asleep in my bed for the first time and I stayed up just watching you breathe. Or maybe it was that stupid party where we got shoved into a closet for 7 minutes in heaven, and you said you wanted to kiss like we were strangers. I knew we could never feel like strangers to each other though.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop. “Or maybe it was the way you’d run your fingers through my hair while my head was in your lap, singing those Journey songs, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Or the time I got blackout drunk, and you helped me shower without a single word of judgment, just because you wanted to take care of me… even when I didn’t deserve it.”

His voice cracked, raw with emotion now. “I’ve been yours, Y/N. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been yours. And the truth is, I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Steve swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground as his voice softened. “You know… after that night,” he began hesitantly, “the first night we slept together, I was ready to give you the world, Y/N. I swear, I was done pretending. I didn’t want to play it safe anymore, didn’t want to keep hiding what I felt. I was ready to give you everything—my whole heart, everything I had.”

His voice faltered, and he ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “And I know we’ve already talked about this—about how much it hurt, thinking you weren’t willing to risk everything like I was—but…”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice trembling. “Those few days we didn’t talk… I couldn’t—” He stopped, taking a shaky breath as he looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I couldn’t breathe without you, Y/N. That’s when I realized I don’t know how to exist in a world where you’re not mine.”

The rawness of his words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved, his pain and longing so palpable it felt like it might crush you. “I don’t care if it’s messy, or if we screw it up,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I just can’t keep pretending anymore. I can’t lose you again.”

It broke you.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, your chest tight with emotions bubbling over, desperate and uncontainable. You move closer, your hands trembling as they reached for his face, your voice unsteady and filled with everything you’d been too scared to admit. “I love you, Steve Harrington.” The words came out in a rush, your desperation bleeding through every syllable. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry I didn’t meet you halfway back then. I was scared, I was stupid, but I’m here now. I’m risking it all, just like you. I’m hopelessly, endlessly in love with you.”

His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours for any sign this wasn’t real, that this wasn’t another cruel trick of the universe. But all he found was you—raw, open, and vulnerable, baring your heart to him. His hands moved to yours, holding them against his face like he was grounding himself in this moment, in you. “Really?” He whispers in disbelief.

“I never stopped,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Not once. And I never will.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as your words sank in, their meaning crashing into him like a tidal wave. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just sat there staring at you with eyes that glistened under the dim light. Slowly, he tilted his head, the weight of years of longing and heartbreak lifting from his shoulders as tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice trembling. His hands cupped your face now, his touch reverent, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. He blinked hard, his emotions too overwhelming to hold back. “I love you,” he whispered finally, his voice cracking under the weight of the truth. “God, I love you so much, Y/N.”

His body felt weightless, like the ground beneath him no longer existed, like he was floating in the freedom of finally saying the words he’d carried for so long. He leaned his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours as his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping them away.

Steve suddenly stood up, his hands leaving your face as he wiped at his eyes. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what he was about to do. Then, out of nowhere, he spun around and stepped toward the clearing, standing tall and throwing his arms out wide like he was daring the universe to try and stop him.

“I AM IN LOVE WITH Y/N! AND I WANT THE WHOLE WORLD TO KNOW IT!” he shouted, his voice ringing out into the night, echoing through the trees and carrying over the quiet hum of Hawkins.

Your jaw dropped, and for a second, you just stared at him, stunned. But then the ridiculousness of the moment hit you—Steve Harrington, declaring his love for you loud enough for the whole town to hear—and a giggle bubbled up in your chest, slipping out before you could stop it.

He turned back to face you, a triumphant grin breaking across his face as he took in your laughter. “What? It’s true!” he said, shrugging like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“You’re insane,” you managed between giggles, clutching your stomach as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—this time from laughing too hard.

“For you? Absolutely,” he said, stepping closer again, his grin softening into something sweeter. “I’d scream it a hundred more times if it’d make you smile like that.”

You shook your head, still laughing as he pulled you up into his arms, holding you close. “You’re impossible, Steve Harrington,” you muttered against his chest, the words muffled but full of affection.

“And you love me for it,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips as you nestled into his embrace. “I really do.”

Steve looks at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

His breath catches, and you can feel the tension in the air between you. "Do you remember at the Byers' house when I said there was a lot more I was thinking about doing than just talking with you?"

You nod, your heart pounding, the air feeling thick as you notice the intensity in his eyes, the way his breath comes out in short, uneven bursts.

He licks his lips, a nervous but desperate edge to his voice. "If you're okay with it... I need to do those things now."

A breathless gasp escapes you, your pulse quickening, and without thinking, you nod.

"Please."

A relieved, almost frantic sigh escapes him, “Oh thank God.” In an instant, his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you toward him with an urgency you've never felt before. His lips surging into yours with a force that steals your breath, as though he's been holding back for far too long.

You both sink back down onto the ground. He instantly moans as if every bit of pent-up tension, all the years of waiting and wanting, are finally coming to a head. You arch into him, an instinctual reaction to his cries of pleasure. Stretching your fingers through his hair, you anchor yourself amidst the heat growing in your stomach.

Steve trails kisses down your neck as his arms hook under your legs, lifting you onto his lap. You frantically search for the hem of his shirt desperate to remove any and all barriers from between the two of you. His hands tremble as he helps you remove your clothes. He leans back, savoring the sight of the moonlight dancing across your skin. 

“Did I die a few weeks ago? Because this feels like something I’d only experience in heaven,” he says, his eyes wide with awe.

“You act like you’ve never taken a peek when I was changing in my room….”

“Yes, but this never gets old,” he says, “and besides, I can officially claim these as mine now.” His fingers graze the sensitive skin on your chest. 

He pulls you close, his gaze locking with yours, filled with seriousness and passion. “This isn’t going to be like the first time,” he says softly. “This time, I get to show you just how much I love you. I want to take our time.”

And he does. He worships your body. Steve dedicates himself to every inch of you, not a single area of your body going untouched or unappreciated. His lips sing praises to your name. And as your body writhes under and over him, you sink into the ecstasy that is being in love…in love with your best friend, in love with Steve Harrington.

[bellaxgiornata]

All These Years [Part 11: "Last to Know"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 6.9k

a/n: This is another longer installment that brings us through season 3 (I'm planning a different angsty fic to really focus on season 3) and begins to bring us closer to the end of angst...but we're not quite there yet. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks

Sitting across the table from Foggy and Karen, you drew your steaming latte to your lips for a drink. You were partially listening to Karen discuss the new article she was working on for the Bulletin, the newspaper she'd inevitably started working for shortly after Matt had disappeared and Foggy had disbanded their law firm. He had taken a job over at Hogarth, Chao, & Benowitz so he could continue to pay his bills, unable to continue to afford to work at Nelson and Murdock with the other half gone. You had recently thrown yourself into your own work over the last few weeks, gaining a new position with a pay raise and the ability to work from home for your company. Which had proven too convenient because you usually rolled right out of bed and stayed in your pajamas all day, showering after work just to throw on another pair of pajamas. 

It had been almost two weeks since you'd stopped going to Clinton Church now, too. You barely left your apartment anymore since you didn’t need to leave for work. Oftentimes you lost track of time and had been clocking in hours and hours of overtime at your computer. You’d had nothing else going on and you didn't want to think, so you’d found yourself hyperfocused on coding. Your boss had certainly been praising your initiative.

This morning was actually the first time you’d left your apartment in days. You hadn’t even left for groceries, having ordered them and had them delivered to your apartment a few days ago for convenience. Foggy and Karen had been worried about you, frequently telling you as much over texts lately. Which was why you'd eventually caved and met them for coffee this morning. But if you were being honest, you weren't mentally fully present with them. 

Your attention had shifted outside the window as Karen continued on with her animated conversation, Foggy just as enthusiastic as she was with whatever they’d been talking about. You’d unintentionally lost your focus as you often did outside of work lately, your eyes absently lingering on the place outside the window just above Karen’s shoulder. The sidewalk outside the coffee shop was busy with the usual Saturday morning foot traffic and you blankly watched as a multitude of colors swam by. You weren’t sure how long you’d sat staring out the window like that before you realized Karen was snapping her fingers in front of your face. Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daze and focused back on her and Foggy. Worry was written clear across both of their faces as they stared back at you.

"What?" you asked.

"I was trying to ask you how you liked your new position," Karen said. "I asked you like four times now."

"Sorry, I uh, I was distracted," you replied, sitting up straighter in your chair as both of your hands wrapped around your warm coffee cup. "It's good. It's going good. Working at home is–is good."

Foggy leaned across the table towards you, concern still clear in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. "Because you've been distant ever since…"

"I'm fine," you answered automatically, forcing a smile onto your face. 

Foggy and Karen turned and exchanged a look with each other for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you watched. The strained smile on your face was quickly growing uncomfortable. When Foggy focused back on you, he shook his head slowly. 

"No," he disagreed, "you're not. You haven't been fine for a long time. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," you replied defensively. 

From across the table, Karen sent you a sympathetic look. You knew the one. You'd seen it plenty of times now. 

"It's because of what's been popping up in the news, isn't it?" she asked. "The little rumors."

Your head tilted to the side as you eyed her curiously. "What little rumors?" you asked back. 

Karen's gaze flickered to Foggy before it returned to you. Her fingers began drumming on her coffee cup nervously. 

"About the man in black?" she said, voice lowered. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, your back straightening further in the chair. Hope filled you instantly as your eyes searched Karen’s face for answers.

"Matt?" you whispered. 

She opened her mouth to speak but Foggy raised a hand, waving it firmly in the air between the pair of you. The gesture instantly cut her off before she'd even begun.

"It's not Matt," Foggy stated sharply. "Hell’s Kitchen has become ground zero for all kinds of copycat vigilantes lately. It's not him, so don't go giving her false hope, Karen."

Your eyes further narrowed at Foggy. "How do you know it's not him?" you challenged. 

Foggy’s expression softened, a hand running across his forehead. "Because," he answered softly, "if it was Matt, he'd have reached out. Told us he was alive. You know he would. It's been just over a couple of months now, he's had plenty of time to reach out to tell us he survived Midland Circle and he hasn't." He sighed deeply, shaking his head at you. "You need to accept it. He's gone."

"Foggy," Karen gently reprimanded, "that's not–"

"No," Foggy countered firmly, his focus shifting to Karen. "She needs to hear this. She needs to accept it and stop doing what she's been doing to herself! And whatever this bullshit in the news is–it's not Matt." Foggy’s attention returned to you, his eyes pleading. "You have to let this go. You need to accept the fact that Matt–” Foggy winced, “–he's dead.”

Your throat felt like it was closing up, tears welling in your eyes. How could Foggy just accept that as fact so easily? How could he just give up on Matt like that? He had been both of your best friends for so long. Wasn’t there any part of him that had hope?

“Foggy, that’s a little harsh,” Karen chastised. “You’re being really unsympathetic here.”

Foggy shook his head, once again rounding on Karen. “She’s been denying the facts for almost three months now!” he exclaimed. “And look at how she’s been doing! She’s clearly not handling it alright. It looks like she’s barely sleeping and taking care of herself. Every time we see her she’s barely present. And she’s been paying for his apartment for months now!” 

His head spun in your direction, startling you at the abruptness. Your lips were quivering as you sat there, feeling like you were about to break down in the middle of the coffee shop with everything he was saying. 

“You can't keep paying for his apartment and holding onto his things. It's not good for you," Foggy stated sharply. “It’s not sustainable for you to pay for two rents, either. You need to let this go!”

“Foggy–”

“ No !” Foggy growled at Karen. “I’ve already lost Matt, I’m not losing her, too!”

Sniffling loudly, you swiftly rose from the table and wiped the back of your hand across your tear stained cheeks. Both Foggy and Karen’s attention shifted to you instantly. Karen mouthed an apology as Foggy’s face fell beside her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” you croaked out.

Ignoring Foggy’s pleas to stay, you quickly turned and left the coffee shop with your coffee clutched between both hands. You did your best to duck your head, trying to hide your face as you silently cried the entire walk back to your apartment. 

What a shitty past few days it had been. 

While Matt had been out last night, he'd been stopped in his tracks the moment he realized his hearing had fully come back to him. He could hear the sirens of ambulances approaching where he’d just stepped out onto the street, the sounds of the city around him, the buzz of a neon sign nearby, and the commotion in front of the hospital he’d just exited. He had been stunned, a wave of gratefulness washing over him in that very moment because he could fully hear again . But what were the first words he’d heard in the commotion around him when God had finally decided to restore his hearing?

The FBI had let Wilson Fisk out of prison.

Could God have been laughing at him any more than he already had been? What a fucking cruel joke to restore his hearing just in time for him to hear that Fisk had been released. Matt had been furious . Even more furious at God than he had been lately. But despite his rage since that moment, he knew there was something he needed to do tonight.

If Fisk was free from prison, in any capacity, he knew he’d be seeking revenge on himself, Foggy, and Karen for having put him away. And while Matt Murdock was safe from his vengeance because he was supposed to be dead, Foggy wasn’t. And neither was Karen.

Which was why Matt had donned his winter coat, the baseball cap, and some sunglasses before making the long trek to the bar he knew Foggy frequented near his new place of work outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Despite wanting to have his friends continue to think he was dead, knowing it was safer for them, Matt had admittedly kept tabs on Foggy on and off for weeks now. He didn't let himself ponder the reasoning, though.

But it had only been Foggy he’d checked in on. He couldn’t bring himself to see what you were getting up to. He’d known you’d stopped visiting Clinton Church not too long ago. The last few times you’d visited he’d heard you from the church basement. You would always end up softly sobbing to yourself before you left. And each time you had, Matt had curled up on the basement floor just beneath the pew you’d been sitting in, just to feel some semblance of being near you again, and he cried with you. When night had fallen those nights, he’d immediately gone out as the man in the mask and let the Devil take over, not wanting to feel anything. 

But he hadn’t gone anywhere near your apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to.

And now he was standing outside the bar Foggy was sitting inside at this exact moment. Matt could tell Foggy was upset by how much he’d already had to drink, having known the amount because he’d been standing outside in the alley from the moment Foggy had first showed up and stepped inside. He’d been struggling to get up the nerve to go inside and talk to him, to warn Foggy about staying away from Fisk and letting him deal with things. Because clearly the law wasn’t going to achieve anything on its own at keeping Fisk where he belonged, so it was up to Matt to make things right.  

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy going inside and talking to him, though. Just standing in the alley and knowing he was about to go in there and reveal to Foggy that he wasn’t dead, that he’d been lying and would need Foggy to yet again lie for him–to people both Matt and Foggy cared about– hurt . 

Matt needed to keep his distance to keep you all safe, though–now more than before. Fisk was dangerous, and he was certainly going to come after Foggy and Karen, so Matt needed to make sure both of them stayed out of Fisk’s way. He certainly didn’t need Karen to go chasing after him as the reporter she’d become and further put herself on Wilson Fisk’s radar. She didn’t need to end up like Ben Urich. And he didn’t want Foggy going after Blake Tower for signing off on the FBI’s decision to release Fisk for information–that would certainly garner Fisk’s attention.

But you–Fisk didn’t know about you. You weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock. Fisk had no reason to know about you, which meant you needed to stay far away from Matt and the Devil so your name would never cross Fisk’s lips.

Which was why he could only go to Foggy. He knew he’d keep the secret in order to keep his friends safe, even if he would absolutely hate Matt for asking that of him. 

And he also needed to steal Foggy’s wallet for his New York State Bar Association license for what he planned to do tomorrow. 

With a sigh, he pushed off of the wall and forced himself to turn the corner and enter the bar. It wasn’t very busy for a Tuesday evening, so Matt easily made his way over near where Foggy was drinking at the counter. He paused when he was just a few feet behind him, nerves twisting in his gut. Foggy was entirely oblivious to Matt’s presence, though, still swirling the alcohol in his glass absently. Squaring his shoulders, Matt steeled himself for the emotional pain that he was about to inflict on both Foggy and himself.

“Fog,” he called out softly.

Matt heard the way Foggy’s head slowly turned towards him, his brows having drawn together in confusion. For a moment Foggy just stared at Matt in perplexed silence. Matt could practically hear the moment when Foggy realized who was standing before him in his slightly intoxicated state. 

“This isn’t real,” Foggy said. "You're not really here."

Matt’s teeth ground together as he gave a single nod at him. “It’s real,” he said softly.

He could hear the way Foggy’s lips drew into a big smile, the only one that had been on his face in the hour that Matt had been standing outside. The bar stool Foggy had been sitting in slid back on the floor as Matt heard Foggy rise to his feet just moments before he felt his friend embrace him in a tight hug. Instinctively Matt’s hands flew up, hugging Foggy in return. He could smell the salt of his unshed tears in the air.

“Hey, Fog,” he greeted quietly.

“How?” Foggy asked in disbelief, still clutching Matt tight. “Where? We thought you were dead!”

Foggy abruptly pulled away from Matt, clearly taking a moment to scan him over. Matt’s hands returned to his cane, fidgeting nervously with it as he practically felt Foggy’s eyes roving him. Seconds later, Foggy said your name and Matt’s heart felt like it shattered instantly. 

“Does she know you’re alive?" he asked. "Does Karen?” 

Pressing his lips tight together to keep from crying, Matt reached a hand out and gently grabbed Foggy’s shoulder.

“Take a seat, Fog,” he ordered.

Foggy did as directed, returning to the bar stool he’d just been seated at. Matt slowly lowered into a stool near him. He braced himself for what he was about to have to say and do now.

“I’m not back,” Matt told him firmly.

Matt heard the smile once again spread across Foggy’s face and the joking tone when he spoke next.

“Well I know I’m not drunk enough to be hallucinating quite yet,” Foggy teased.

Matt shook his head once. “I’m not back,” he repeated. “Matt Murdock isn’t going to be a part of me anymore. I’m…leaving him behind. He isn’t who I am.”

The smile quickly fell from Foggy’s face. “What?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, Matt tried to keep the waver and emotion out of his voice. “The only reason I came here was to warn you and Karen about Fisk now that he’s out. You’re both in danger.”

“Dude–”

“I’m going after him, Foggy,” Matt continued briskly, cutting him off. “I’m going to bring Fisk down. But I can only do that if I know that you and Karen are safe.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Foggy said, waving a hand. “I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re here. Alive .”

“I know that you and Karen are going to want to get involved,” Matt told him, his foot tapping lightly on the bar floor. He needed to get out of here soon before he lost his resolve. “To try to fight him in some way, but I’m telling you that I need you both to stay out of it and leave it to me.”

There was a brief pause after his words. Matt heard the way Foggy slowly shook his head in response. 

“No,” Foggy told him.

“No?” Matt asked in disbelief. 

“No,” Foggy replied more forcefully. “You don’t get to show up after months of me–all of us–thinking you’re dead, say something like that to me, and then just–just expect me to be cool with it. You’re my best friend , asshole!”

Matt’s heart tightened in his chest at the hurt in his best friend’s voice. Foggy’s words stung despite how much Matt knew he deserved them–truthfully he deserved a bigger verbal lashing. But he needed to end this and get out of here. Now.

“I was wrong to become your friend, Foggy,” Matt told him, ignoring the way his own heart beat irregularly at the lie as it left his lips. In time he'd make himself believe it. “I put you in danger and it was selfish of me. While I can’t change the past, I can stop making the same mistake. We’re done, buddy,” Matt said, quickly rising from the bar stool. “It’s over.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Foggy snapped, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt agreed, once again fighting the emotion from creeping into his words. "Just stay clear of Fisk. Tell Karen to do the same," he ordered. "And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her you saw me.”

Matt turned to go, desperate to get away and attempt to control his own emotions. He felt close to tears himself and was grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. He managed two steps before he heard Foggy once again call your name after him. Matt winced at the sound of it, his feet inevitably coming to a stop as his back remained turned to Foggy.

“What about her, huh?” Foggy asked. “You know she’s been a mess since you’ve been gone? She refuses to believe you’re dead, Matt. Am I just supposed to let her continue thinking that now that I know it’s a lie?”

Behind the sunglasses, Matt’s eyes clamped shut. He felt a tear escape and he tried to hide wiping it away as he ran a hand over his mouth. Exhaling a shuddering breath, he tried to keep his voice steady when he answered.

“Yes,” Matt replied, voice softer. “She can’t know.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Foggy roared at his back. “You’re going to do that to her? Make me do that to her?”

Matt sighed, shaking his head but still refusing to turn around. “Fog, she can’t–”

“She’s paying your fucking rent, man,” Foggy spat bitterly. “For months now she’s been paying it. She thinks you’re still out there. Alive. That you’re too injured to find a way to reach out and that’s why it’s been months of us not hearing from you. But no,” he continued, anger clear in his voice, “you’ve been intentionally letting us think you’re dead all of this time.”

Matt couldn’t speak, his throat feeling like it was closing up on him. His hands gripped his cane even tighter. You were paying his rent?

“Why?” he managed, the word breaking.

“Why?” Foggy repeated in disbelief. “Because she cares about you, you idiot! She misses you! You’re one of her absolute best friends, man. She doesn’t want to believe you’re gone.”

Matt tried to swallow but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his own mouth, the gesture feeling near impossible. Fuck, he didn’t want to do this to you. He really didn’t. But he didn’t have a choice, he needed to keep you away from himself to keep you safe from Fisk. From whoever it was that came after Fisk if Matt survived this. It was for your own good.

“Tell her to stop paying for the rent,” Matt told him.

“ I have ,” Foggy ground out. “And you know what she did? She ran home crying and hasn’t answered my calls in days because of it.”

A grimace pulled at Matt’s face. Why were you holding on so tight to him like this? Why couldn’t you just let him go? He wasn’t that great of a friend. He was nothing special. Why couldn’t you just mourn him and move on?

“She–she can’t know,” Matt repeated. “She’ll find some way to get involved or Fisk will figure out she’s close to us and she’ll get hurt. Right now, Fisk doesn’t know who she is, Fog. She can’t know I’m alive.”

“So that’s it?” Foggy asked defeatedly. “I just continue to lie to her for you?”

Matt felt like he couldn’t stay here any longer, he could feel the dam holding his own emotions in check about to burst. He wanted to turn back around and embrace Fog, to apologize and tell him he was wrong for everything he’d done since Midland. He wanted to run to your apartment and beg your forgiveness on his knees for making you think he was dead. To feel you wrap him in your arms and tell him everything was okay and that you forgave him. 

But that couldn’t happen.

“I–I have to go,” Matt muttered.

Without further hesitation, Matt made his way out of the bar, ignoring the way Foggy was shouting his name after him. He hurried down the alley he’d initially been hiding in, pausing at the end of it when he didn’t hear Foggy pursuing him. 

Burying his face in his hands, he sank to the dirty ground and broke down in tears. 

Opening the door to Matt’s apartment, you stepped inside and were instantly hit with a chill. You shivered as you shut the door behind yourself before bending down and picking up the stack of mail that had been shoved under the door for this week. You frowned when you saw a few more overdue bills. Even with the raise you’d received, you were starting to really struggle under the weight of two rents and all of your own bills. 

With a sigh you made your way into the empty apartment, heading straight to the coffee table where you’d neatly organized Matt’s mail in separate piles. Taking a moment, you sorted the mail in your hands into the appropriate stack before you unbuttoned your coat. You slowly slipped it off of yourself before draping it over the arm of Matt’s leather couch. 

The emptiness of Matt’s apartment was only further making you feel the weight of loneliness you’d been experiencing lately, your eyes dancing across his sparsely decorated and overly spacious apartment as your eyes watered. Foggy and Karen had been avoiding you lately, always too busy with something to make time for you. They’d been acting strange for the past few weeks and you didn’t understand why. And it had only added to the hurt you'd been experiencing after everything with Matt.

Foggy had suddenly decided to run for District Attorney, which you’d been shocked about but excited for him nevertheless. But he was always claiming he had something to attend and he’d get back with you later. Karen had been saying she was busy with some story she was following, never having time to even chat on the phone. Though recently you'd heard she had been fired after the attack from a fake Daredevil killing people at the Bulletin–and that in itself had further confused you, but both of them had said it was something to do with Fisk and wouldn’t tell you anything more.

You’d been so lonely you’d finally called Adam back up and eventually gotten together with him for drinks last week. He’d been understanding all those months ago when you’d ended things because of Matt’s supposed passing, claiming you just couldn’t focus on a relationship after the unexpected loss of one of your closest friends. Though now it felt like Adam was all you had left.

And Matt’s apartment. Empty as it always was.

You stepped around the leather couch, your fingers running along the red plaid blanket neatly folded over the back of it as you walked. Stomach sinking as your grief once again hit you, you continued your usual tour of Matt’s place, the same as you did when you stopped in every week to collect his mail and check on the bills you needed to pay for him.

You always started in the living room first, pausing to appreciate the obnoxious billboard you’d grown fond of outside of the windows. Then you’d make your way into the kitchen, marveling at how little he actually had in there. Though you supposed it made sense that he hadn’t cooked much with what he spent his evenings doing. Eventually you’d make your way to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway and wondering what it would be like to be standing there in your pajamas in the morning, a cup of coffee in each hand. One for you and one for Matt. Imagining him waking up in his bed, his hair a ruffled mess and a sleepy smile on his face just for you as morning light seeped in through the windows.

Your heart twisted at the thought and you quickly pushed the mental image away, continuing on. You made your way to his closet where his suits were still all neatly hanging, fingers running along the braille tags on each hanger. With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave the room, but your eyes fell on Matt’s dresser. Coming to a stop, you paused as you eyed it for a moment. As if your feet were moving on their own, you made your way over, pulling open one of the drawers. A handful of neatly stacked, neutral colored shirts met your eyes. Fighting back the tears threatening to spill over, you ran a hand over a worn, dark gray tee-shirt on top. It was incredibly soft.

You didn’t know what it was that came over you, but you found yourself pulling the shirt out of his drawer and bringing it up to your nose. It still smelled like him–that clean detergent scent you loved. A choked noise fell out of you as you buried your face further in the material, wishing it was on Matt’s body and not just crumpled between your desperate fingers.

It was a few minutes before you'd managed to regain your composure and collect yourself. But as you closed his dresser drawer, you still held onto the worn tee-shirt in your hands. And even as you slipped your coat back on in the living room before exiting his apartment, locking it up behind you, you never parted with it. 

You'd spent so much time going back and forth on whether or not you would attend the mass for Father Lantom’s funeral this afternoon that you'd ended up showing up just as people were milling out of the church afterwards. You'd felt bad for having missed it, even if you'd only had a few conversations with him after Matt's memorial service before you'd stopped going to Clinton Church entirely. From your brief time with Father Lantom, and from what Matt had always said about him, he sounded like an amazing man. What had happened to him–whatever it was that had someone attacking a church –had been absolutely horrible. 

But you knew there was a wake being held at Foggy’s family's butcher shop nearby from the announcement you had read in the paper. You hadn't spoken to Foggy or Karen in almost a week now, but you figured you'd end up at least running into one of them there. As you neared the shop, you wondered if they'd continue to ignore you like they'd been doing for weeks now. 

Their silence had only opened a new wound for you, causing you even more pain in Matt's absence. You'd ended up growing closer to Adam over the weeks since they’d been avoiding you because of it, often spending a few evenings a week together. He didn't have answers for why your friends had been ghosting you and cutting you out of their life, but he at least offered the much needed comfort you'd been craving for months. 

Outside of Nelson's, you spotted a few people lingering on the sidewalk talking in small groups. They were dressed in all black and had clearly just come from the mass for Father Lantom at the church. You slipped around a group outside, offering a soft apology as you reached for the door handle beside them. Pulling it open, you stepped inside and immediately side-stepped out of the way of a couple who sent you friendly smiles. As your eyes scanned the busy shop around you, you eventually spotted Karen and Foggy at a table nearby with drinks in their hands laughing with–

Eyes going wide, you swore your heart entirely stopped beating in your chest. You couldn't breathe. Even your brain felt like it hit reset at the sight before you.

Foggy and Karen had been sitting at the table laughing and having drinks with Matt as if he hadn't been missing and believed dead for the past few months. 

Entirely frozen on the spot, all you could do for a moment was stare in shock at Matt laughing at something Karen had said. Mouth dropping open, you watched as all three of them raised their glasses as if in a toast before clinking them together. 

That's when the tears came. Watching all three of them sitting there as if they'd known Matt had been alive for longer than five minutes. As if they were celebrating something. 

And you'd been entirely left out of whatever it all was. 

Heart beating harder in your chest, a small, strangled whimper fell out of you. At the table, Matt's head immediately darted in your direction, the smile falling from his lips as his focus landed on you. Karen and Foggy’s attention soon turned towards you next, curious as to what had caught Matt's attention. Abruptly you turned and pushed the door to the shop open, hurrying out onto the sidewalk.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you felt the tears steadily falling as you darted away from the building. You ignored the groups of people outside curiously eyeing you as your breath came in fast and sharp. Vaguely you heard Foggy calling your name as you briskly walked down the sidewalk and headed away from Nelson's. Your pace didn't slow as he continued to call after you.

Matt was alive.

Matt was alive .

You had been right. All this time and you'd been right. But why the hell had Karen and Foggy been so adamant about him being dead–wanting you to let him go–when they knew he wasn't? How long had they known and not told you? How long had they known and just continued to let you grieve? To let you keep paying for his apartment? To keep scouring the news about the man in the mask? They’d been telling you it wasn’t Matt despite you noticing the strange fake Daredevil in the news in relation to Fisk’s prison release. They’d made you feel like you’d been going crazy.

And why had Matt not let you know he was alive? Why had he let you continue on thinking he was dead but not Foggy and Karen?

Did you mean so little to him?

Foggy’s voice loudly shouting your name broke through your thoughts and you stopped, spinning on the spot towards him as your tears continued to fall. Foggy caught up to you quickly, his own face filled with guilt and shame. Behind him, you could see Karen escorting Matt, the pair of them rapidly nearing where you'd both come to a stop.

"How long?" you asked Foggy, voice cracking. "How long did you know?"

Foggy winced at the question, his face growing even more solemn. "A few weeks now," he answered softly. 

Your eyebrows rose up onto your forehead, eyes once again widening. Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you tried hard to search for words. 

"You–you knew?" you breathed out. "You knew for weeks? And you just didn't tell me he wasn't dead?" 

"I wanted to!" Foggy replied in a rush. "Believe me, I did! But it wasn't safe for you to know!"

"Are you–" you paused, pinching the bridge of your nose as a multitude of emotions fought to rise to the surface. Anger and relief were fighting at the forefront. "I don't fucking care if it wasn't safe!" you eventually roared at the three of them, Karen and Matt stopping beside Foggy now. "You let me think he was dead for weeks when you knew he wasn't! You both ignored me for weeks!" you yelled, fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. "Left me to grieve the loss of Matt and my friendship with the both of you on top of it!"

"I–"

"No!" you raged at Foggy. "Do you know how much that fucking hurt? To feel like I’d lost all of you? And then I come here and see you all just laughing and having fucking drinks and I'm still in the dark about everything ?"

"We were going to tell you today!" Karen cut in quickly, her voice catching your attention. "We were dealing with Fisk’s release. That was why we knew Matt was back–and he had been a very closed off asshole, too, for the record,” she told you, Matt frowning deeper beside her. “But we were trying to keep Fisk from learning that you were connected to any of us. To keep you safe from him." 

"What?" you asked her.

"Fisk wanted revenge," Matt said.

Your eyes flew directly to him. His voice, after months of wondering if you'd ever hear it again, managed to slightly calm you. For a moment your eyes took in the sight of him standing there–something else you’d thought would never happen again. He was wearing one of his nice suits and his usual red glasses, which meant he must have stopped by his apartment at some point. The one you’d been paying the bills for him for. There were a few cuts bandaged along his face and his knuckles looked torn and bruised, but he was alive. 

He was alive.

“He tried to kill me when he realized I wasn’t dead,” Matt explained. “Tried even harder when he learned who I was. He was trying to go after Foggy, too–which was why he ran for the D.A. position, to make him more of a public figure. And he went after Karen.”

“The Bulletin?” you asked, eyes darting to Karen. “That was…?”

Karen nodded. “And what happened at Clinton,” she told you.

“It wasn’t safe,” Matt said, taking another step towards you. “I only told Foggy because I wanted him and Karen to let me handle Fisk. But he didn’t listen to me and told Karen.”

“Because she was in danger and needed to know,” Foggy snapped at Matt.

Matt’s mouth twitched at Foggy’s words but he didn’t respond to him. Instead he kept his focus on you as he spoke.

“But you weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock,” he continued, shaking his head. “Fisk never knew who you were. I wanted to keep it that way. Initially I wanted to let you all think Matt Murdock had died so I could go out and be Daredevil without worrying about putting any of you in any more danger. But…” he trailed off, sighing as his shoulders dropped. “I couldn’t do it. I–I need you all. As my friends. To keep me from losing myself to that other part of myself.”

Wiping the heels of your palms over your cheeks, you tried to wipe away the tears. A few were still falling as you stood there. Admittedly you were still pissed–at all of them. Karen and Foggy for keeping his secret even if it was to keep you safe, and you were pissed at Matt for letting you spend months wondering if he was dead or not. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt said softly.

“I’m sorry, too,” Foggy added quickly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I hated every second of it. You have to know that.”

Swallowing hard, your eyes flew over to Karen when she spoke up.

“I didn’t want to lie to you either,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, too. We really were going to tell you today. After Father Lantom’s wake. We just wanted to make sure the threat of Fisk had passed first.”

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Matt assured you.

Foggy’s arms raised, opening wide towards you as he shot you a hopeful look. “Can you forgive me, bestie?” he asked. “Hug it out?”

Chewing your lip, you took a step backwards. Collectively all three of their faces dropped at the gesture. Slowly, Foggy’s arms lowered to his sides.

“I just–just need a bit to process this,” you muttered. “I can try to understand why you did it but–but it still hurts.”

Both Foggy and Karen nodded, but between them, Matt’s frown somehow continued to deepen. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, committing the sight of him alive and breathing to your memory before you turned and made your way back down the sidewalk. You wanted to go home and cry before you tried to make sense of all of this. It didn’t help that your body’s reaction was confusing you. You were overjoyed and grateful, but also incredibly pissed and deeply hurt. You wanted to scream at Matt but you also wanted to hug him and never let him go.

You’d barely made it a few steps before something had latched on to your wrist and you froze, head turning to glance down at what it was. Matt’s large and battered hand was encircling it firmly, clearly not about to let you go. Pressing your lips tight together, you tried hard to refrain from crying as your gaze slowly made its way up to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. After that building fell on me and I somehow still woke up alive…I’d lost almost all of my senses. I was in a dark place. And when my senses came back, Fisk had been released and I found myself in an even darker place.” He sent you a sad, apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to lie to you. Didn’t want you to keep believing I was dead. I swear I didn’t. It was just to keep you safe.” 

Your watery gaze tried to focus on Matt’s eyes behind the red lenses. You could feel the tears once again getting ready to spill over in your own eyes.

“I visited Clinton Church every day for weeks after you disappeared, Matt,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he whispered, that sad smile still on his lips. “I was recovering in the church’s basement that whole time.”

You winced at his words. He’d known? He’d known you’d been there crying over him all this time? Day after day praying he’d come back to you? And he’d been there this whole time? Fresh hurt and anger burned in your veins, another wave of tears spilling out of you.

“You knew that too?” you breathed out. “You were right there and never said anything?”

He nodded slowly, shame and guilt written across his features. As the tears fell yet again, you finally gave in to the mix of emotions fighting inside of you to reach the surface. Your hand slipped out of Matt’s hold before you reached out and pushed against his chest roughly. For a moment he looked taken by surprise at the gesture, but his surprise quickly vanished as he stood there and allowed one of your fists to weakly slam onto his chest.

“Fuck you, Matt,” you cried out in a broken voice. “Fuck you for making me go through that knowing how hard it was on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his own voice breaking.

Your fist slammed onto his chest again. “Fuck you for hurting me like that,” you continued. “For making Foggy and Karen hurt me like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“How could you?” you wailed. “I thought I mattered to you!”

Matt’s hands were on your shoulders, gripping them firmly as he tried to pull you towards him. You tried to shake him off, struggling against his hold, but he only held on tighter as your fist slammed down onto his chest again, tears endlessly streaming from your eyes.

“You do matter,” he croaked out. “More than you know. You do matter.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed, your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his suit coat. “Fuck you, Matt.”

Matt’s hands released their hold on you, his arms swiftly wrapping around your shoulders as he drew you into himself. You didn’t fight him this time, burying your face into his dress shirt and tie and letting yourself break down against him. Relief and heartache and love and anger all poured out of you simultaneously as you clung to him, your body shaking with your sobs. Matt had buried his face against the top of your head, clearly crying himself as he clung to you just as tight. You could feel his tears dampening your hair and hear the muffled sounds of his own choked sobs filling your ears. 

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you begged, shaking your head against his chest. “Don’t make me go through that again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

[END NOTES]

I'm leaving end notes this time because I feel like they're needed (but if you read my fics over on AO3 I always give quite detailed end notes that I don't usually share on tumblr because it's just extra time I don't have trying to get two posts together).

So much happened in this installment though because we practically sprinted through season 3! This fic isn't meant to delve into that season though, but I wanted to include the angst of it in here (don't worry, I have another angsty fic planned for season 3 for another day). Reader was clearly struggling with the loss/absence of Matt for the months he'd been gone in this one. She was also the one paying for his apartment and his bills because she didn't believe he was dead. But she was also the last one to know he was alive--hence the title of this installment! And shit did that hurt when she didn't know why Foggy and Karen were pushing her away for weeks, which only led her back to the attractive vet tech, Adam (in case you didn't catch that). And then she didn't find out Matt was alive until she saw him at Father Lantom's wake at the Nelson's butcher shop. Despite being able to understand why they kept her in the dark, she's still pretty hurt and pissed. Especially at Matt. But clearly, Reader will never stop loving Matt.

I have a couple more angsty things up my sleeves that are getting closer to punching you in the gut next, so be prepared, friends! The angst isn't over even if the confession of feelings draws nearer... I currently don't have a title name to tease for the next installment yet either because this almost 7k beast of an installment took up all my brain space for two days, but I'll share a post about it when I do.

Feel free to scream at me now 🙃

[loverslockets]

guess who's back from their semi-hiatus and looking for long term writing partners (21+) on discord? that's right, it's-a-me (26, she/they, gmt). my activity can be sporadic as i get overwhelmed easily, but i'll often be around to chat ooc and send random head canons or inspo. i like making pinterest boards and playlists in order to keep my muse as high as possible and simply because it's fun. at the moment i prefer m/m & f/f ships, but in some cases i'm open to f/m as well. besides that i'm also interested in exploring familial and platonic relationships, and am a big fan of world-building and turning a plot into a mumu. nsfw is encouraged, but i prefer fading to black because i can't help but cringe at the smut i write. i use tupperbox and like a combination of text messages & threads.

under the cut are a few plot ideas. message me if any of these speak to you or like this post and i'll come to you! <3

two farm hands helping out at the same farm over the summer (or any other season). bonus points if they’re both awful at identifying and expressing their emotions.

the aftermath of two friends/frenemies getting married in vegas on a drunken whim. do they spend the days days that follow trying to piece together what happened that night or are they trying their best to forget? are they going to try to make it work or are they doing everything in their power to annul the marriage?

text-driven long distance relationship/flirtationship.

two (best) friends who live together but act like an old married couple. either they’re both oblivious to the romantic tension between them, OR one of them has been pining after their friend for ages while the other is too unaware (or in denial) to notice.

guess whose challengers brainrot has persisted throughout the entirety of 2024? mine! give me a muse vicariously living through their partner's career, an injured athlete turned sports journalists who becomes obsessed with a professional, tennis rivals-to-lovers or any plot vaguely based off this movie pls.

drew starkey and harris dickinson (thanks variety’s actors on actors!) as estranged (half-)siblings reuniting under unexpected circumstances and unintentionally wreaking havoc on each other's lives.

[miwiheroes]

Narrative-wise and character-arc wise based on what we know up until s4, do you think Mike and El break-up is better before or after the time skip?

aghhhhh this is such a hard question because it could actually work both ways tbh but it would just have to handled differently <3

If it's before the time skip:

this would feel extremely rushed and disingenuous if it is not done correctly. It would honestly feel like the Duffers just decided to fuck with their viewers by giving milkvan a 'good' moment in the last ep of season 4 and then taking it all away in season 4. I think if they were to do it before a time skip, the whole of the first episode would have to be before the time skip so it feels like the episode doesnt just BEGIN with like a big breakup, because closure to a storyline doesnt usually get done in the first episode or the beginning of the first episode.

I know, I know, we really want milkvan to break up immediately and have no romantic moments or whatever. I don't think this will be the case, I think if it's before the time skip, then El will likely break up with Mike, but honestly I have no clue how they will write it. Because the situation is way way more complicated than people actually write in fanfiction (I have literally written a milkvan breakup but i dont think it will happen in that way).

I think the only way that Mike can know about the painting is if he hears it from El, and I think it makes the most sense for her to tell him during the breakup, but this will make less sense if this breakup happens before the time skip. HOW IS MIKE MEANT TO RUMINATE ON THIS FOR A WHOLE YEAR AND A HALF ??????????????

If it's after the time skip:

this would be so weird because like <3 what do you mean they've been in this weird limbo space for a whole year and a half?

however, i think if it's after the time skip, it would make sense if mike keeps saying i love you to el and is now able to because he said it in the pizza place, but el still thinks that he is being fake. but then again it makes NO SENSE for her to not confront him about this for over a year yknow? therefore if this happens after the time skip then it would have to be mike breaking up with her after realising he's gay or something - therefore it would not be in episode one and would have to be after he's had a self-discovery arc. Maybe he realises what the painting really means, leading him to break up with her.

i would not like this however, because it does not make sense for his character to do this up to this point, since he has been so afraid of losing her, so honestly i think it needs to be el exercising her autonomy to break up with him if that happens, but this again makes no sense to do after a year and a half IM JUST SO CONFUSED ON WHAT THEY WILL DO HELPPPPP THIS IS JUST A STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AT THIS POINT................

okay sorry for that rambling: honestly i think that it should happen before the time skip, and that pre-time skip should occur for a whole episode (episode 1) and the break up should happen around the end of the episode, where mike finds out about the painting so he can think about it for a longer time (1 year) which i guess means he can be the one pining yay

TLDR; i have a breakdown

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Gravity Falls Thoughts: Ford and Trauma™ Part 2 (Forced Insomnia)

Annnnnd here we are with Part 2 of Ford and Trauma™!

Last time, we tackled the likelihood of Ford living off of pills and coffee over the last 30 years. So, what’s the logical next part?

Perhaps one of the most popular Ford ships out there!

Ford x Sleeeeep!!!!

Or…his problems with it. Let’s go with that.

If Gravity Falls went a bit longer (like if it had 3 seasons), this could have been a running gag of sorts for Ford, his lack of sleep or at least the repercussions of said lack of sleep, such as him dozing off in weird places.

And you can blame a certain dream demon for that.

Not long after Ford learns of Bill’s true colors, Ford did anything he could to prevent Bill from having any control of the situation…that includes depriving himself of sleep due to his deal with Bill.

…Yeah…um…there is a glaring issue on that plan, I must say. And that is the fact that depriving yourself of sleep…will not be beneficial in the long run.

According to Healthline, there are 5 Sleep Deprivation Stages, each stage is determined by the many hours of no sleep.

Stage 01 is after 24 hours of no sleep. A personal fact here, y’all: I’ve done this before twice in my life, staying up for about 24 hours…it was not fun both times.

While not necessarily a cause for major problems, there will be some issues, such as decreased alertness, drowsiness, fatigue, increased risks of mistakes…

Stage 02, after 36 hours (A day and a half), and you’ll start experiencing severe cognitive impairment. Not to mention an overwhelming desire for sleep and the likelihood of having microsleeps (short bouts of sleep that lasts for about 30 secs) is possible.

Come Stage 03 (after 48 hours) and hoooo…boy, things aren’t lookin’ good at all! This is where hallucinations can start setting in. Which, in Ford’s paranoid case, is a definite cause for concern. And there’s depersonalization, anxiety, heightened stress levels, increased irritability, and extreme fatigue. Microsleeps becomes more of a guarantee. And you won't realize it.

At Stage 04 (after 72 hours), along with more frequent and longer microsleeps, the hallucinations could get more complex.

Then finally, at Stage 05 (after 96 hours and more), you’ll start to experience a little thing called sleep deprivation psychosis, when your perception of reality is severely distorted due to lack of sleep.

So…not much of a shock to see this…

And we don’t even know how long Ford had been trying to keep himself awake. Even Journal 3 (I have the regular edition) doesn’t provide the answer for this except for the mad scrawlings of CAN’T SLEEP and the hellish amount of coffee he drank.

This can also explain his insistence on preserving his journals instead of just destroying them. He’s not thinking clearly due to lack of sleep.

It is possible to recover from this, though, it will take a while.

It can take days or weeks to recover from a bout of sleep deprivation. Just 1 hour of sleep loss requires 4 days to recover. The longer you’ve been awake, the longer it will take to get back on track.

And considering that Ford got sucked into the Portal before he could have a moment for well deserved rest…kind of a similar situation to his crap diet while on the run, how often was Ford able to get a full night's rest? I mean...look how he sleeps now, in day wear with his coat, glasses, and boots on, like he has to be prepared to book it...

It’s honestly a wonder that Ford came back to our dimension without sporting some eyebags that would give Shouta Aizawa (or even Toshinori Yagi) a run for his money.

…Question: So, Bill had free reign of entering Ford’s mind when he sleeps, right? Did Bill still do that during Ford’s travels up until he got that plate installed?

...So, what should I talk about next? The bullying Ford had to endure? Father of the Year, Filbrick Pines? Possible complex PTSD? Major Guilt? Wounds and potential complications? Bill -fucking- Cipher and the abuse?

[pumpkinpot]

Dilf Sebastian pt. 3 Christmas drabble (stand alone but the series is cute)

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

A/N: I gave youngin a name.. or rather a nickname? Ro. so when you see it that's why. No beta.

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Sebastian wasn't really a Christmas creature. He found the whole event terribly troublesome and what reprieve there was to be found did not make up for the nuisance of it all.

Thankfully, you were simple. You'd found joy in the mundanity. He sometimes wondered if you did it for his sake but it wasn't his place to ask. Or maybe he didn't want to.

The season had officially exploded onto society. Not a single place could be seen without Santa impersonators or twinkling lights which meant it was soon to creep its way into your home.

Even so there was a level of decorum that was preserved in the home you'd built. where there would usually be string lights there was candles. where there was excess sugar was the in season fruits and warm ciders.

where there was belief in Santa there was myth books and fables. You'd never told Ro that Santa was or wasn't real but allowed them to view things through the means literature. Saint Nick, Joulupukki, Gryla and Krampus.

Ro had gotten in trouble for bringing a book about Krampus, their favorite Christmas figure into class for show and tell.

A qualm Sebastian quelled with a reaming of the school board for the lack of diverse winter holiday representation in school. They compromised by dropping Ro's suspension in favor that they not speak of the matter again and they be allowed to share their books at will.

If there were more complaints there was never any word of it.

Tonight's activity was one you loved most. Drying Oranges and cinnamon for garland. you'd spent near a half hour picking the perfect oranges and a bag of cinnamon sticks.

Sebastian was appalled when you'd put the cinnamon pinecones in the shopping cart. He took them out promptly.

Suddenly what was meant to be an hour project became a days side quest.

He drove you both out of the city right then. You had no idea where he was taking you, but it was usually best not to question his determined brow.

The roads became windy and buildings sparce. Trees rushed by in a blur or browns and greens. When he finally did pull off there wasn't a sign of civilization to be seen.

He bundles Ro up in his scarf, wrapping it once around their head and again around their neck. Next he stripes his coat drapping it over your shoulders.

The forest was too thick for the inches of snowfall, except in small patches but ice and chill still nipped at you.

"won't you get cold?" Ro asks.

"Are birds often cold in the winter?" He retorts, mostly kidding.

It was meant to bring back the conversation they'd had as a family when Ro revealed they knew he was a "Crow." but when he turned he wasn't met with the excited wonder and curiosity but inquisition and sadness.

"I don't know," they say, looking up into the trees. "I hope not."

Sebastian paused. What was it like in a body filled to the brim with empathy? it seemed so harrowing to experience. He couldn't even say that he knew if birds got cold because he hadn't ever wondered about the creatures.

"Birds that don't migrate in the winter puff out their feathers and store fat to keep themselves warm," you read from the google page on your phone.

"Sort of like bears," they ask.

"Sort of like bears," you agree.

The answer seems to satisfy them because they wander off immediately.

"Thank you," Sebastian whispers.

You hum. "birds might not get cold, but I do. What are we doing out here?"

He looks up at the trees. "we're collecting pinecones for the garland."

He showed you and Ro which were preferred and you all searched.

within the hour you had two bags of pinecones. Enough to conclude the search. On the way back to the car Ro darted between trees a flash of red from Sebastians scarf zooming around.

"Look!" Ro shouts, pointing just out of your sight.

As you and Sebastian get close Ro sprints to a pine tree just the size of themselves.

"It's me sized." Ro says.

"It is," you say with a sniff. both yours and Ro's nose had become bright and runny.

"can this be our Christmas tree?"

"No" you say just as Sebatian says. "I don't see why not."

the two of you look at one another. "we don't have a saw or a way to get it home."

He smiles. "Let me worry about that, here you take these pinecones and I'll meet you home."

you drive carefully home and when you pull into the driveway Sebastian opens the front door welcoming you back.

"How did you beat us here?" you ask.

"He flew here obviously." Ro says finitely.

There was nothing else to be said. you knew better than to press for a better explanation and Ro's was likely the closest there would be to one.

Inside was the tree you'd just seen in the woods, positioned perfectly on the corner of the living room.

Ro struts to it none the wiser of how amazing its appearance is. "It's perfect!" they say.

"You really are incredibly, you know that?" you whisper to him.

It was only in this decade could he be seen doing acts like this and be called incredible and not "Demon or witch."

He'd felt affection more in the last eight years than he had in the previous thousand. It overwhelmed him in uncomfortable ways so he hummed and took back his scarf and coat to hang next to the door.

The night was further spent with Sebastian teaching you and Ro how to make cinnamon pinecones and how to harvest pine nuts.

the tree was decorated with dried oranges, roasted cinnamon sticks and little white candles.

before bed during the nightly wind down you all made pesto flat bread with the aforementioned pine nuts and re read Ro's favorite version of the Krampus tale.

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Hey if you like this content there is more on my Master List

[cornyonmains]

I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about season 3 of The Witcher, but one thing is for certain, I'm loving Jaskier's progression as a character.

I think it goes without saying that a huge turning point for Jaskier was his falling out with Geralt on the mountain in season 1. As I read his character at that point, he was quite in love with Geralt, and very much suffering from the belief that he wasn't enough for Geralt in any sense of the word, not as a lover, a friend, or a traveling partner. You see this insecurity ramp up throughout the entirety of the season 1 finale, and to think Geralt hadn't noticed that was lunacy. He did, which was part of the problem. Geralt needed to lash out, he needed someone to lash out at, and there Jaskier was, already wounded, the easiest of targets, and Geralt goes full savanna apex predator on his ass. Then he left him, on a mountain, that he knew Jaskier didn't know how to traverse safely. He said fuck off, and also die.

Jaskier could have crumbled, and for awhile, he probably did. But this led to a key moment of character development, because it caused Jaskier to take himself out of Geralt's shoes and get back into his own. To introspect. And Jaskier realized that he was enough, that he'd done a lot for Geralt, and that Geralt's refusal to embrace his own humanity while still wanting Jaskier as a friend resulted in him becoming an emotional punching bag. And Jaskier, rightfully pissed off after reaching these conclusions, channeled that anger into the post-break-up banger of the century, Burn Witcher Burn. But at the core of what ultimately makes Jaskier one of the most sympathetic and relatable characters in this show, is that he didn't do it so much as he was angry, but because he wanted Geralt to hear it. Because his songs are how he expresses what can't be spoken. The tragedy of Jaskier's character is that he was always going to forgive Geralt. That he was always going to drop what he was doing to trail this man with an affection even Yennefer doesn't easily mock, because it would be entirely too cruel. He wrote that song so Geralt would come and say he was sorry and Jaskier could go back to settling for scraps of his time.

So then we come to season 3, and enter Radovid. Enter the first person Jaskier's met in 30 long years that intrigues him as much as Geralt, and he's absolutely taken off his guard by that sentiment being returned after he's spent over half his life accepting something like that could never happen for him. He's 50 years old. Jaskier has accepted his fate of endless pining at this point. So when Radovid asks him to sing a song about his white-haired witcher, Jaskier slips up. He reveals too much, and it gives Radovid the chance to say exactly what Jaskier needed to hear.

"Does the witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

I imagine it's rare for Jaskier, who spends his life finding the right words for others, that someone would find the right words for him. It's little wonder he was so immediately fascinated by Radovid, and so immediately heartbroken.

For 3 seasons and multiple decades, we see Jaskier's entire character formed by the hurt he endures being part of Geralt, Yennefer, and Cirri's life. And despite all that hurt, all the rejection, the betrayal, the torture, harassment, manipulations, and political intrigue we see Jaskier progressively becoming a better and better person. He helps Geralt, Yennefer, he helps the elves as the Sandpiper, and watches Cirri without a word of complaint. He throws himself into any dangerous situation asked of him, and helps Yarpen's men. He doesn't let the pain make him bitter. He still thinks love is beautiful, even when it hurts. He drinks, he fucks, he makes merry. He writes sad songs about Geralt.

Jaskier's development, his portrayal as a character, has been a true highlight of this series.

I sometimes think the djinn, in some cruel last jab at Jaskier and Yenn, used them both in Geralt's wish as a form of punishment. For Jaskier, his punishment for wanting so much, so quickly, was to spend his life wanting the one thing he couldn't have. That thing being Geralt, because to punish Yen, who so badly wanted control of her own destiny, he tied it to Geralt's. It's like a magical ouroboros of misery. And for Geralt, who tried to put a stop to the madness, the djinn rewarded him with the thing he wanted most. A family. A wife, a daughter, and a best friend who would never leave. It's some dark and complicated shit, and I think it rings true to the tone of the story itself.

Never has any character in this history of everything deserved to bone a hot Redanian prince more.

[lalaverdecia]

My Thoughts On The ‘Ghosts’ Season 3 Finale

🎶 Guess who’s back, back again, the Ghosts-obsessed-bitch-who’s-still-super-salty-about-the-writers-breaking-up-Isaac-and-Nigel-like-what-the-hell-why-would-you-do-that… tell a friend 🎶

Why hello fellow Ghosts fans. Isn’t this just a lovely surprise. I haven’t posted anything about Ghosts since before the season 3 finale. And I think we can all guess why that is. But I will get to that in a minute.

Firstly, I wanna address something before y’all read my Ted Talk/emotionally fulled rant. I needed to take a break from the Ghosts fandom all together before collecting myself. The reason why I did that is because I realized I was too obsessed with the show. I get pretty into certain fandoms but with Ghosts it was different for some reason. And because of that, I did something incredibly stupid and wrong. I was so upset with how the season ended, I went to Twitter (or X fuck you Elon) and started blasting Joe Port (one of the producers of the show) for it. I was saying ‘how dare you fucking do this, don’t you know how important this show is to people?!’ And it was during this hate filled rant that I suddenly realized, I had a problem. And I was taking it out on others. I immediately stopped and deleted the tweets and messaged him apologizing for my behavior. It was NOT okay of me to do that and I’m so ashamed that I was capable of doing something so beneath me. So I decided I needed to take a step back from the Ghosts fandom before coming back. I’m still a huge fan of the show, don’t worry, but I’m working really hard on trying not to let my emotions affect other people. I can be a huge fan of something but without being a dick about it basically.

So with that being said, let’s discuss the big ass elephant in the room.

HUGE DISCLAIMER:

These thoughts on the show are just my personal opinion and in no way trying to dictate how the series should go. Please do not go and harass anybody who works for the show like I did.

3x10 ‘Isaac’s Wedding’ Discussion

Oh boy was I upset. Isaac left Nigel at the altar and decided to break up with him. He explained how he thinks there’s something missing in their relationship and decides he can’t be with Nigel without that something. This didn’t just upset me, it seemed to upset a LOT of people. And for good reason I might add. It seemed to fall into the ‘Bury The Gays’ trope that television seems to do too often.

(I couldn’t post the link for some reason but here’s what the video looks like for reference)

In this video, it explains what ‘Bury The Gays’ means and the origins of it. It also gives examples on the different types of tropes there are here. Where Isaac and Nigel seem to fall under is the ‘Miserable LGBTQ+ Lives’ one. It explains that these queer characters face way too much angst and turmoil before/if they can even be happy.

Now I know, Isaac and Nigel come from a different period in time so it’s to be expected that they’re a bit set in their ways. But the amount of progress they’ve made up until 3x10 seems to have been thrown out the window. Along with why Isaac decided to break things off. It’s implied by the writers, BSJ, and the characters in the show themselves, that one of the reasons for why it ended was because Isaac had just realized he was gay and went for one of the only other gay male ghost at Woodstone.

But there’s the huge problem with that. For two and a half centuries, Isaac and Nigel have been pining over each other. Isaac may not have been openly gay but knew that he was in love with Nigel and vice versa. In 1x08 D&D the other ghosts explain to Samantha that their playful back and forth flirting has been going on since they both died. It wasn’t out of convenience because they were both attracted to the same gender, it was because they both genuinely liked each other. Hell, even before they both died, Isaac was spying on Nigel in his camp because he was infatuated by him. He had no idea Nigel was gay as well and probably didn’t at first when they died. But along the way, he seemed to have started to pick up on the fact that Nigel liked him too, but didn’t want to say anything out loud. There’s also other gay male ghosts that he could have pined over. (AKA Jenkins, George, and let’s be honest I wouldn’t be surprised if one of or all the other main male ghosts were queer in some way) So no, their love was NOT out of convenience thank you very much.

Nigel’s Character Arc (or lack there of)

People have mixed feelings about Nigel as a character. Some say he’s the best side ghost character in the show. Others say he sucks and is one of the worst characters.

Ever since Nigel first appeared in season 1, his past and personal information have always been up to debate. He has yet to have an episode or an A or B plot dedicated to just him and learning about him as a person. Most of the time, he is seen around Isaac. Rarely is he alone with the other ghosts in the mansion. Yes he established the ant watching club with Thor and Pete but it would have never really happened if it wasn’t for the conflict between Isaac and Thor in 2x01 ‘Spies’.

You’d think with the fourth season coming out in October, we would have learned a lot more about Nigel by now. All the main ghosts have already had an episode centered around them. Now you can argue and say that Nigel has had that with 1x08 ‘D&D’ when he was first introduced, but even then it was mainly about Isaac and learning that he had killed Nigel and trying to apologize to him for it.

Like stop and think for a second here: can you name 3 things about Nigel’s personal life besides being in the Revolutionary War? Where did he grow up? (And yes I know it would be somewhere in Britain I’m asking where specifically) What was his family dynamic like? Was he ever married? Did he have children? What kind of jobs did he use to have if at all before the war? When did he realize he was gay? How did this affect him when he was alive? Was he open to others about being gay? Or did he have to hide it to protect himself during a time and place where being queer was really dangerous for people? Okay I get that the last few questions are too personal to just bring up in conversation but you get my point. We barely know ANYTHING about the guy!

So What Now? And How Isaac And Nigel Can Fix Their Relationship

Now, y’all are gonna be shocked to hear this from me, but after doing some thinking and consideration, I’m actually kinda glad Isaac and Nigel are taking a break.

WHAT?! I hear you say?

Look, am I happy with HOW they broke up? Absolutely not! The writers could have done a much better job at hinting to the break up between Isaac and Nigel. But instead they just sprung it onto us at the last possible second. But what’s done is done, so the big question is what’s next?

Back to why I’m sorta glad Isaac and Nigel broke it off. They both need some time apart to sort themselves out. Because let’s be honest, as cute as they are together, it could be better. For example, their communication skills need improvement. Like, by a lot. They just need to say upfront what they both want and need from the other person and speak up when one of them crosses a line. But in order to get there, they need to be apart from each other to work on their own personal issues first.

Nigel may be the more open and laid back person in the relationship, but he has a few problems he needs to recognize and work on. Like his temper. He’s not rude or abusive, god no, he just tends to get upset a little too quickly. (We on the ‘Ghosts’ discord server have described this as him being feisty. He’s a feisty little crumpet) Another issue Nigel has is his forwardness. What I mean by this is that Nigel seems eager to move quickly in his relationship with Isaac. Wanting to share a room/bed, wanting physical intimacy, etc. Which on its own isn’t a bad thing. But when you get into a relationship with someone (especially when the other person hasn’t been in a gay relationship before) you don’t wanna rush into things. And Nigel needs to recognize this before getting back together with Isaac.

But now on to Isaac…

My god where do I begin.

Anyone who has ever seen the show knows this man’s got some problems. He has some toxic traits he needs to fix ASAP. Some petty, narcissistic traits but others being internal struggles with his identity and trying to find out what he REALLY wants with a partner. Now his internal issues aren’t the problem, it’s how it’s effecting his relationships. His way of thinking led him to be engaged to Nigel too quickly. Instead of taking his time and realizing, ‘Wait, I literally have forever to figure myself out’, he felt it was necessary to propose to Nigel because he was worried about sharing a room with him. So it made it easier for him to justify sharing space with him because that’s what married couples do. But when he realized he made that mistake, it was too late. He and Nigel were at the altar and Isaac had to break things off before he could hurt Nigel even more than if they were married. As hard as it was, he knew he couldn’t afford to put Nigel in an unhappy marriage like he thinks he did with Beatrice.

And it’s not just Nigel he has had problems with, it’s with almost everyone else in the mansion. I mean, he dumped Crash’s head in a tree stump because he was bored. He wanted Jay to dedicate his restaurant to him and theme it around HIM. He does care about others yes, but he is also really selfish and needs to work on that before getting back together with Nigel.

CONCLUSION

Phew 😮‍💨

This was the longest ‘Ghosts’ post I ever made. And exactly 3 months after season 3 ended. And I didn’t even plan for that. I hope you enjoyed my spiel or Ted Talk or whatever you wanna call it.

I’m not sure what season 4 will bring, but we can all agree on one thing…

We better get another Nisaac kiss because we’ve only gotten 1 so far throughout this entire show like EXCUSE ME?!

[justyourcasualidiot]

Just a rant about buddie maybe becoming canon in 911 season 8 and why it should take time for it to happen

Okay so most of us are expecting (more like hoping but wtv) to have buddie becoming canon this season. Season 8 is expected to be around 18 episodes or so, episode 4 comes out tonight (I have yet to watch it), but if it's really to become canon in s8, I do not want it to happen before the second half of the season and that's being generous. Don't get me wrong, I want them to get together as much as anyone, but if I see it happen in 3 episodes imma be real disappointed. As long as it happen, the longer it takes, the better tbh.

Now, why is that? Well, there's still a lot of things that needs to happen first;

Eddie needs to come out as queer (gay, bi, doesn't matter, as long as he comes out as queer and realizes he likes men)

Buck and Tommy need to break up (I refuse to have buddie start on a cheating scandal. God knows we've had more than enough of that storyline not just in media in general but in 911 as well. Not to mention Eddie literally just got out of one)

Both Buck and Eddie need to realize they have feelings for each other

And finally, they get together

Some of these can happen at the same time, like Eddie could realize he likes men by having the realization he likes Buck. Hell, that could happen before Buck and Tommy break up, giving us some good old jealous Eddie with "one-sided" pining and "unrequited" love (for now). Point is, as long as it doesn't start on a cheating arc, we're good.

If all this happen in 3 episodes, I'm genuinely going to be mad. It's just going to feel rushed and I'm pretty sure most of us would hate that. It needs to be a slow burn. The slowest slow burn ever seen. It could be beautiful.

Which is why I think they need to become canon at least during the second half of the season minimum. The latter the better.

That's not to say they can't have feelings for each other before that though. By them becoming canon I mean them actually starting a relationship. They can pine, they can flirt, they can have their own angsty moment thinking it's unrequited. But actually legit dating?? No. That needs time. It's just going to be better in the end.

If you were to ask me what my best case scenario would be, it'd pretty much go something like Eddie realizes he likes Buck (and consequently men, or vice-versa) while Buck is still dating Tommy, causing him to have to deal with his feelings while still trying to be supportive. Then Buck and Tommy break up for an unrelated reason (I'd like to mention that while I know a lot of people dislike Tommy, this is Buck's first queer relationship and I want it to be a good experience over all for him so an amicable break up sounds better to me but that's just my personal opinion on the matter) leaving Eddie kinda relieved but also trying to be good supportive friend. Then it's Buck's turn to realize he has feelings for Eddie. Cue some moments of pining and flirting, that can go on for more than one episode, ideally a few. While this happen, they can both talk about it with other people, like Buck with Maddie for exemple. Then something happen and they realize their feelings are mutual. Now, would they get together then or would they try to take things slow depends on how it plays out.

That's just how I like to imagine it happening. I'd love for it to last a while before they actually start dating, or at least before they make they relationship official enough to tell the others about it. But I might be biased because I've always been a sucker for a well made slow burn.

Anyways, those are just my thoughts on the matter, we'll see how it actually goes (if they become canon at all).

Still manifesting buddie becoming canon, if not dating then let at least one of them canonically have feelings so we can start going somewhere eventually