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amuyyi · 4 months ago

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she wants me (to be loved) .

synopsis; you have always loved huh yunjin, but not in the way she loved you.

trope; huh yunjin x f!reader, angst, unrequited (?) love, bittersweet ending

wc; 4.6k

cw; idk like one cuss word LMAO

a/n; i swear im still in forever writers block but THIS FIC IS INSPIRED BY THE SHE WANTS ME TO BE LOVED WARRIOR CATS AMV ON YOUTUBE ITS ABOUT BLUEFUR AND THRUSHPELT PLEEEEK WATCH IT AND/OR LISTEN TO THE SONG WHILE READING IM JUST SO ARRGGHHH also its almost 4 am i am half asleep i just realllyy wanted to finish this. also i used to be a theatre kid so.

You have always loved Huh Yunjin. But not in the way she loved you.

You recall very vividly the first day you met her.

It was the middle of freshman year of high school, and you had just moved into New York from out of state. Your father had just gotten a new job opportunity, and practically wasted no time packing all of your things to move in the middle of the school year. Perfect. New place, new faces, and definitely no friends. Everything an emotional teenage girl needed in a cruical stage of her development. All of the other students in your classes were nice enough, but everyone already had their established friend groups by now, and you simply didn't fit what they were looking for.

Despite the different environment, there was one thing that this school provided that provided some sort of familiarity.

Theater.

Back in middle school and for the brief semester you had in your old high school, you had always been a fan of the big stage. The music, the dramatics, the acting… It was all so whimsical and alluring to you. How could you not get involved?

(Okay, honestly.. You had gotten really into musical theater in middle school once you found a Hamilton animatic and it became your sole personality trait for a good two years or so–)

Unfortunately, you were too much of a coward to truly put yourself out there like the actors around you. High school insecurities and poor self esteem truly did take its toll on you back then. So instead, you settled for being part of the stage crew.

You thought that getting involved with a club would make it easier for you to socialize and make friends. You could join a community. Yet somehow, it made everything all the more difficult.

Everybody seemed to already know each other and have their own established friends. On top of that, everyone also seemed to know who they hated as well. You would always overhear what other actors and techies would say about one another and it only just put you off from making friends even more. The whole environment was incredible… cliquey.

Still, you had nothing else better to do, so you stayed. It was… Fine. You still had no real friends, but you did enjoy doing various tasks around the stage. Working with stage lights, helping prepare costumes, painting backdrops. It keeps you busy. It was routine.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to walk in on actors practicing their lines or their songs backstage. Back home, you knew everyone involved within the production– including the actors. You would always compliment them and occasionally even provide help whenever you didn’t have your own techy jobs to fulfill. The main problem? This isn't home. Nobody here was your friend.

But when you found a pretty girl practicing for this semester's production of Phantom of The Opera in an empty hallway, you couldn't help but stop in your tracks and stare. You’ve never seen her before. Well, it's not like you bothered to pay much attention to the people around you anymore— but you feel like you wouldn't miss a face like hers.

She had the prettiest brown hair with highlights and the cutest beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. She was pacing around the hall, script in hand as she did various vocal exercises. The sound of her voice echoes off the walls, and it was just as angelic as she looked.

“Prima Donna, your song shall live again…!” She sings out, her voice at a steady yet powerful vibrato throughout her verse. Her Bel Canto was skilled and practiced, and you can't help but wonder how long she’s been doing this for. Surely she’s overqualified for a simple high school production? You needed to hear more…

She moves her hands in elegant and dramatic forms as she immerses herself into the self-centered character of Carlotta. She played the roke perfectly, considering how most definitely had your attention now.

“You took a snub, but theres a public who needs you, think of the cr—“

A loud thud rings throughout the hallway, startling the mystery opera singer as well as yourself. Shit. You look down and see the culprit. Well, it was you. you caused the interruption— but more specifically, it was a freshly decapitated mannequin head with a wig you were going to more securely attach to the top. It was a bit of a horrific sight, in all honesty.

Now that you think about it, this prop might actually be for her. Though you didn't have much time to ponder that thought considering the mysterious brown haired beauty has now caught you eavesdropping on her singing.

The head rolls across the tile floor and lands at her feet. You feel your face warm to what was most likely a bright tomato red as she picks it up by its shortened neck, the wig threatening to fall off as it dangles limply off of the top of its head.

“I'm assuming this is yours?” She smiles kindly at you, though a bit wary. Understandable, really. You would be wary of yourself too if you were in her shoes.

“Y-Yeah, sorry…” you nervously laugh, taking the head from her hands as you try to pat the wig back into place.

“You sounded good, by the way!” You quickly stammer out, absentmindedly hugging the head to your chest, “Like… really good. Seriously.”

The mystery girl laughs at your flustered words, and she waves her hand dismissively. Her cheeks warm bashfully as she shakes her head.

“Thanks but… I have a lot to work on. My tones off, and I still need to memorize these lines by tomorrow…” she trails off, moving to press her back against the wall, sliding and sitting down on the floor.

Fiddling a bit with the mannequin head, you don't allow yourself to think too hard before you suddenly blurt out.

“I-I can help!”

You watch as her pretty brown eyes widen slightly, and

“Really? You sure you arent too busy?

You were actually quite busy, but she didnt have to know that.

“Of course not,” you lie confidently, sticking a hand out, “I’m y/n.”

She eyes your hand curiously, but ultimately shakes it, “Yunjin. Jennifer, if you’d like.”

From then on, you would spend every other day after school with Yunjin, helping her recite her lines, fitting her for costume changes, and even finishing that mannequin head prop for her.

Soon after, your after school hangouts turned into out of school hangouts and then eventual sleepovers every weekend. You learned everything possible about Yunjin. Like how she had always dreamed of being a performer, how she wanted to make it big in the Kpop industry, how she loves snakes…

Since then, you knew you loved her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

On one seemingly normal spring afternoon, you were abruptly torn away from your sunkissed siesta with the sound of your door being kicked open.

With the growing bond between you and Yunjin, you made the mistake of giving the girl a spare key to your own home. (Oddly enough, your parents werent against the idea. They considered Yunjin like a second daughter.)

You whine out as she grasps at your half asleep form, shaking you aggressively.

“I got accepted into a company, y/n!! I'm gonna be a trainee!”

Eyes shooting open, you try to sit up through the aggressive grip Yunjin had on you.

“No kidding?” You croak out, looking at her with disbelief.

“I'm not!” She cheers, bouncing happily through your bedroom. Trying to match her energy through the grogginess, you slip out of bed, stumbling a bit as you tumble into her arms. Yunjin laughs at your state, wrapping her arms around your waist to keep you steady as she jumps excitedly.

“I’m going to move back to Korea next month— this is so exciting!!” She squeals out, and your smile falters ever so slightly. Move? To Korea?

Still, you bite back the sickly feeling developing in your stomach as you squeal alongside her.

You were happy for her, and did nothing but support her all throughout her time in Korea. Called her every night after training, sent her pictures of school life without her, even voting for her in that odd survival show she participated in. You did anything and everything you could to be the best friend you could be.

Yunjin always had the stars in her eyes. But in yours? There was only ever her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The day that everything truly changed is still fresh in your mind.

After spending years chasing after Yunjin, it feels like you have finally caught up to her. She's back in the states after her time in Korea, and she's planning on staying. She looked a little different than before, but it was the same old Jennifer you knew and loved— even when missing a few moles and deeper eyebags.

Upon her arrival back home, it was like no time had passed. Once again attached at the hip, as it should be. You practically made it your job to crawl into her skin at any given moment and to pamper her with all of her favorite things.

You would treat her to meals, spontaneous shopping sprees, and simple girls nights out. All of the good stuff to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, your attempts to keep your best friend happy came with their own obstacles. you would occasionally find advertisements or clips of idols that would show up during your time together, and for just a brief moment, you would see that usual spark within Yunjin’s eyes falter. It was a stark reminder of what she could have had.

It hurt you to see her get reminded of her time as a trainee. It truly was everything she wanted and more. But it was okay, you were here now, and you weren't planning on letting her go this time.

You’d drop any and everything for Yunjin. You allowed her to vent whenever she needed, to come over whenever she wanted, and to indulge in spontaneous late night meals whenever you two felt like it.

Needless to say, your wallet was crying by the time summer was nearing its end, but you didn’t mind at all. Yunjin was back. She was happy. You were happy. Things were finally returning to normal.

The two of you decide on a college to attend together in Boston, both pursuing a major in business. It's neither of your first choices in majors, but it's a good enough money maker in the long run.

The pair of you sat in Yunjins bedroom, with you comfortably propped up against her bedframe on the floor whilst the brunette lay comfortably on the mattress. You hugged the djungelskog plushie you had gifted Yunjin some birthday ago close to your chest as you atared at your phone, with Yunjin crunching away on cheez-its as the entire La La Land soundtrack softly plays from the record player in the corner of the room.

Its nearly less than a month until move in day at Boston University, and you feel beyond giddy. Actual independence? And spending it with your best friend slash secret crush? Your dreams were coming true. Looking through your college dorms on the website, the pair of you converse about the future.

“What kind of theme do you think we should go for our dorm?” you ask, leaning your head against the bed to look up at Yunjin, who was still crunching away contentedly at her snacks.

“I'm not sure… But I do know I want to cover my wall with all of my posters…”

“Ooh! Yeah!! I can add fake flowers on the walls…”

“ Of course, we need a bit of girlish charm— oh! we need to make room for a record player and my guitar.”

“Google maps says there's a 7-eleven near the campus…” you murmur, your short attention prompting you to immediately shift to another topic.

“ Should we go got late night snack runs?”

“Duh.”

“Or maybe if we get tired of the dorm food, we can get equally as crappy convenience store food for instead–”

Suddenly, the music from Yunjin’s phone gets cut off, being replaced with her ringtone (it was Come Inside Of My Heart by IV of Spades ) as she huffs.

“ sorry, hold that thought..” She murmurs, answering the call.

You didn't know any Korean, the only bits you’re familiar with are the phrases Yunjin taught you to talk with her parents (which you also butchered) so you naturally begin to tune out whatever she begins to say on her end. Despite this though, you easily pick up on the shift in tone as she speaks. Professionalism, skepticism, to Shock. That was all you could read off of Yunjin as you looked up from your phone, curiously glancing at her. Her eyes were boggling out of her skull, and she placed a hand over her mouth before ending the call.

The brunette remains frozen in place, hand still over her mouth as a silence passes over the room.

“So….?” You ask, crawling up onto the bed to sit next to her.

Yunjin’s voice is shaky, yet laced with a twinge of excitement and disbelief as she speaks, “I just got a call from Hybe. I… I have the chance to debut.”

You don’t know what came over you at that moment. It felt like the world came collapsing down on you. Right now, you should be happy. Jumping for joy, focusing all on Yunjin and her chance for success. She's been given a real chance to make her dreams come true, even after it seemed impossible, even after all the years of rejection and work. This was all she wanted in life and more— you should be happy? Right?

But you’ve always been a selfish person. Or maybe you convinced yourself you were ever since that day. You don’t know. Maybe in that moment, you realized you could lose everything you’ve been waiting for. You’d lose the girl you've chased after for so many years now. If you didn't do something now, you wouldn’t have the chance to do it ever again. You were a greedy person, so you confess.

“Yunjin, I love you. I always have.”

The words feel like a slap to the face, and it shows. It shows in the way her eyes widen and smile falls. This was a bad idea, but you can't back out now. Your eyes begin to water as your voice cracks.

“I… I don’t want you to go— to leave me…” you choke out, “What about uni? Our dorm? What am I going to do without you?”

You knew you were being manipulative, you knew you were being selfish. But you didn’t care. You wanted her to know how you truly felt. You didn’t want her to leave you, not again. Your heart couldn’t handle it.

Through tears threatening to spill out, you can see her cheeks slowly dust a faint shade of pink as she processes your words. She seems… hesitant. Over what? You weren’t too sure. You weren’t too sure if you even wanted to know.

The silence that washes over the two of you is beyond suffocating. You feel like you’re drowning, digging your nails into your palms as you look away. If you looked at her, you were scared you’d break, and the tears would begin to flow. After a few moments that feel like hours, she finally responds.

“I believe you have feelings for me…” she begins, voice soft yet strained. For some reason, those words leave a bad feeling in your gut. You muster up enough courage to meet her gaze. She looked just as hurt and conflicted as you felt. Yunjins grip on her phone tightens as she takes a deep breath, continuing, “...but I can’t give this up, y/n. It's my dream.”

That was the moment you knew you truly lost her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

In another life, you and Yunjin would be at Boston University together, pursuing that business degree that neither of you want.

It's a dream that used to occasionally return to you when Yunjin was overseas. Every now and then, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, and you’d check Yunjins location. She’d still be in Seoul. It was okay though, because you knew she’d always come back. She always came back. Now it haunts you every other night.

The dream is always so incredibly vivid and real. You would wake up to Yunjins many alarms that she somehow manages to sleep through every single time, and you’d peel your eyes opened to your shared dorm room. Though you didn’t have much time to admire the beauty of it all through the sound of an alarm continuously dragging you out of your slumber. She’s always been a heavy sleeper. you’d have to jump on Yunjins sleeping form to even stir her into some form of consciousness.

Yunjin groaned in protest, but you knew her. She wasn’t truly bothered, not when it came to you. Instead of entertaining your futile attempts to wake her up, she would wrap her arm around your waist, dragging you down with her as you squeal out.

She's warm. Her brown bobbed hair has grown out by now, black roots peeking through the top of her head as you join the mess that is her bed (and hair.) She smells like vanilla and wood, and you can't help but laugh into her embrace. You’ll be late to the dining hall for breakfast, but it doesn't really matter. There was a 7-eleven nearby that could provide breakfast while the two of you rushed to your classes– in which you had meticulously planned to have almost every single class together.

After a long day of school, you would return back to your dorm both collapsing on your respective beds as exhaustion settles in. It was decorated just the way you two liked it. With both boy and girl band posters littering the walls alongside some fake vines, flowers, and a multitude of polaroids you two have accumulated over the years.

Once the two of you move out of the dorms and graduate, you’d find an apartment to share. Dual income and no children, that was the way to live. Alongside a cat and a dog, of course. You’d have a black cat named Binx, and a golden retriever named Dug, something you two had discussed many times before.

It’s beyond perfect. You lay on the couch, comfortably in Yunjins arms as a blanket is lazily draped over your forms. Binx is settled upon your lap as Dug takes up the space on the rug. The tv is playing Coraline— a staple movie for you two, and you'd smile. Yunjin would lovingly return the grin, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

And then you’d wake up, the grim reality of your situation compared to your dream sending tears flowing down your cheeks. You’re constantly reminded how Yunjin wasn't yours. Not in this lifetime. And it hurt more than anything else.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You’ve always been there for Yunjin, both before and after she became famous.

In High school, you of course supported her throughout your brief time in the drama club. But you also provided a shoulder to cry on, a free source of math homework answers, a friend.

When she moved back to Korea to become a trainee, you helped her through the rough patches. Hours of dance training, rigorous workouts, and unhealthy dieting took a toll on her. But you were always there through the phone, no matter the time.

Even after her debut, you remained loyally by her side. Yunjin grew busier and more distant over the years, and it was understandable. You were busy too. With college, internships, and general “adulting,” it was a challenge to remain in contact. Still, when you two did find time to talk, Yunjin would tell you stories of her members, of the rumors and scandals that would plague the group. It hurt to see her hurting, especially knowing you couldn't be there for her like before. But you were glad to see her achieving all she wanted and more.

You hop into one of Yunjins late night livestreams (even if it was the morning for you.) It wasn’t like you couldn’t just call her whenever you wanted, but it was just another one of the little things you would do to continuously support your friend. Yunjin never made a scene whenever you popped in, but always made sure to look for your comments and read them out every single time.

“Sing something from Phantom or you’re lame?” She reads out, a soft laugh slipping past her lips as she does so.

The idol gives the camera a knowing look, one that only could be read by you, and you smile as she clears her throat. Phantom of the Opera is what brought you two together, after all. She spends a few minutes doing short vocal exercises to warm up her voice, and the sight is oddly nostalgic. Yunjin then sits up straight as she begins to sing, and you feel your heart twinge slightly at her song choice.

“Think of me,

Think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye.

Remember me,

Once in a while,

Please promise me you'll try.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Now here you were, in a completely foreign country, placed in more than accommodating seats within the VIP section of this unfamiliar venue you’ve never even heard of before. There were hordes of men around you, all cheering in a deep voiced mass for the girls on stage. You stuck out like a sore thumb. Yet, there was Yunjin. You watch her, shining brightly on stage whilst donning a fresh head of bright orange hair. It suited her. Her fiery passion, her fierce determination that got her here in the first place, her glowing smile. It was all only a physical expression of who she was on the inside.

Yunjin had insisted on getting you these tickets– even going out of her way to even cover part of your plane ticket here despite you having a very stable and office job now. You tried to tell her you were happy enough to see her from the nosebleed seats in the back, especially since it was all you could afford on such short notice. But she refused, pulling some strings to give you the best seats possible. She wanted you here. More than anyone else.

You’ve seen Yunjin perform before. How could you not? You could vividly recall the way she would sing out and capture the entire crowd’s attention from the stage of your high school’s auditorium. How she would perform with such confidence and precision, how she performed like she was made for this.

Things have changed a lot since then. There was no business college in your future together anymore. No planned dorms together. No more late night talks. No 7-eleven snack runs. Yet oddly enough, despite the changes, this was seemingly no different than before. Every person in the crowd was entranced, immediately allured by her natural charm and her passionate voice. You included. Just like those many years before, she still managed to have you bewitched on the sidelines while she chases after the spotlight.

So you cheer. Joining the roaring crowd as you call out Yunjins name, a bright smile playing on your lips as you do so. You’ve always been her biggest fan, after all. You swear you saw her make eye contact with you, seemingly providing her an energy boost as she sings out to the audience. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

Once the show is over, you find your way to the backstage area. You tried your best to explain to the security how you were friends with one of the members, and how she invited you back there. Unfortunately, your Korean was less than conversational, and you pretty much looked like an embarrassingly desperate and obsessive fan until Chaewon came and saved the day.

“y/n-nnie! Come, Come!! I saw you in the crowd!!” She chirps out sweetly, abruptly pushing past the guard and dragging you backstage, leaving the security both confused and a bit exhausted. This might not have been the first time the girls have tried to meet with their friends after performances.

There were people everywhere. Stage hands, stylists, makeup artists, and more, all rushing around you two and occasionally praising Chaewon. You felt beyond out of place, and probably looked the part too. Despite having Yunjin as a friend, you’ve never once felt like you were friends with a celebrity. She was simply your Jennifer, and that was more than enough. Being here though, you could truly see the extent of the impact she had on people. How so many people respected her and admired her.

Lost within your thoughts and observations of the crowd, you barely notice when Chaewon lets go of your arm, leaving you to fall victim to a bright orange mass stampeding your way. Without warning, you’re tackled into a hug by none other than Yunjin herself. You swear you see stars as the air gets forced out of your lungs.

“y/n!! You made it!!” She beams, giving you a firm squeeze pulling away to fully take in the sight of you. Her arms are still firmly wrapped around your form as her eyes almost sparkled with pure affection for you. Your cheeks warm at the contact, and you can't help but shyly avoid her gaze. Even after all of this time, she still has the same effect on you. After letting out a soft breath, she quietly murmurs, “I was singing for you, y’know.”

And your heart aches. Aches for what you two could have had. Aches for feelings she chooses not to reciprocate. You want to be angry with her. Despise her for leaving you behind and living this luxurious celebrity life.

Yet your heart also swells. Swells with pure affection for the girl you love. The way she holds you, how she insists on having you attend, how sweetly she says your name. All of it makes you crumble all too easily. She truly cares for you, and never let the fame change that. You truly were lucky to have her.

“Really, now? You sure you weren't singing for the sea of men you forced me to sit with?” You laugh out, gently shoving her, “I swear I heard a guy say he ditched a family dinner to be there.”

Yunjin loudly laughs at your comment as she shakes her head, “How about you come over to our dorms to celebrate tonight, yeah? We’ll even let you pick a movie – or I’ll make them watch whatever you choose… Please?”

You were a bit hesitant. These were Yunjin’s friends. You didn’t want to intrude, especially after a crazy night like this. Yet, despite your reluctance, Yunjin stares down at you with those damn puppy eyes, and somehow manages to get Eunchae and Chaewon to join in…

“... Okay, fine,” you groan out, feigning disappointment as you see Yunjins eyes light up. “but we’re watching Coraline.”

The girls all cheer and pull you into a tight hug, with Yunjin holding onto you just a bit tighter than the others.

Huh Yunjin loves you. But not in the way you want. Yunjin wants you to be loved.

And loved you are, even if it means she can't be yours.

#kpop fanfic #gg fanfic #kpop #kpop x female reader #gxg #kpop gg #kpop x fem reader #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x fem reader #wlw #gxg imagine #yunjin x female reader #Spotify

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syluscore · 7 months ago

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I'm a Loser, Baby

~loser, creep, disgusting, vile! König x fem! Reader~

Word count: 1103

Content warnings: harassment, cyber-bullying (digs at reader's personality, appearance, dead loved ones, and telling her to kill herself), stalking, nonconsensual touching(while sleeping), gross stuff (involving a toothbrush, silverware, and menstrual blood), male masturbation, fantasies about period sex, defiling corpse mention

!!!!!!STRICTLY 18+ BLOG! MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!

He’s obsessed with you and you never really pay attention to him. At first, you were intrigued by the giant masked man, but he’s so awkward and says the most unsettling things that you’re completely put off. And it irritates the shit out of him.

It’s his personal mission to knock you down a few pegs. He starts anonymously bullying and harassing you. So many mean messages from random numbers and throwaway emails. You block every single one, but he always has more at the ready and makes more as needed. Apps such as TextNow have made this so much easier for him.

Fucking stupid. Useless woman. No one wants you around.

Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.

No wonder you have no friends. Bet your family hates you too.

Your laugh makes me gag and your teeth are disgusting. Cover your mouth, tramp.

I hope you hate yourself everyday, and if you ever forget, I’ll always be here to remind you.

Ever thought of just killing yourself? Doing the world a fucking favor.

Your body is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen. Seen whales built better than you.

If you blew your face off, you’d be a lot more attractive.

If you hung yourself in front of everyone, they’d just watch. Wouldn’t even try to save you. Worthless.

Personality is about as good as unseasoned chicken. Waste of space.

You ever stared at your side profile? Obviously not since you haven’t killed yourself yet.

He finds people online to send you messages and even call you too. All he has to do is send a little money their way and your contact info, they do all the rest.

He watches the light slowly fade from your eyes as the messages get more and more elaborate. People online can get really creative. When you change your number and make a second email, he chuckles to himself and immediately forwards them along.

You’re in your head a lot more now. Not paying attention much to everyone around you, fucking up in training which only makes you feel worse. Gives him extra time to go through your things and watch you in your oblivious state.

You don’t notice the little chew marks on your toothbrush. Him sneaking into your bathroom at least twice a week to suck on the object while he jerks himself off into your skin. You set your dirty spoon in the sink and the second you’re gone, he’s sucking and licking on that too. Groaning knowing your saliva is inside of him.

It continues to escalate until he finds himself going through your things. All of your things. He rummages through your trash casually. Your bathroom trash isn’t safe from his dirty hands either.

Your monthly cycle is his favorite. He’s always enjoyed the sight of blood and yours makes him fucking feral. He keeps himself from outright touching or tasting the blood, but when he finds a pair of blood stained panties that you couldn’t be bothered with trying to clean or keeping for another cycle, he loses his mind.

It’s probably one of his favorite keepsakes of all time. Using the piece of fabric as a fidget toy of sorts. Whenever he’s alone in his room, he has them in his hands just rubbing them between his large fingers. Jerking himself off with the blood stained fabric numerous times. Always wondering what it’d feel like to fuck you while you’re bleeding–how much blood would coat your thighs and his cock.

In a locked drawer in his own room, he has almost a shrine dedicated to you. Little things he’s stolen from you and so many pictures of you. All taken when you’re unaware of them. An obscene amount of them from when you’re sleeping. Of him touching you when you’re sleeping. Of his cock touching your face and hands when you’re sleeping.

One day he’s leaned back in a kitchen chair, arms crossed over his chest while he thinks of what to do to torment you next, when you walk in eyes bloodshot. Like you’d just been crying. Which you had been thanks to a really nice message getting under your skin. One about defiling your dead relative’s corpse because it’d be more desirable than you.

König stares at you, not moving a muscle or making a sound. You avoid eye contact as you aimlessly stare in the fridge.

He finally speaks up. “Okay. What’s wrong?” You try to brush it off, telling him it’s nothing, but he keeps pressing. And soon tears are falling from your eyes again and it has his cock hardening in his pants.

You spill your guts. The harassment. The constant texts and emails. The bullying. The threats. The thing about your loved ones corpse. And König silently listens until your sobs finally stop.

“You know, I know some people who can deal with this sort of thing. Could make a couple calls and make this disappear.” He fails to mention it’s because he’d call off his specialized force of internet dickheads.

“Oh,” you speak quietly. “You don’t have to do that. Just feeling sensitive today. I’m sure I’ll feel fine again tomorrow.” Right. Your period should be here within a couple of days. PMS will do that to you–it always does. Best time to pay his people a little extra to be extra mean and consistent.

“No. I insist. You’re being harassed and that is unacceptable.”

Your eyes soften, your lip continuing to tremble as you finally meet his eyes. “You’d–why would you do that for me? You’re willing to do that for me?”

König just barely nods his head. “Of course.”

You let out a sigh and wipe your tears, smiling widely at him. It has him completely rethinking his motives. You’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen when smiling up at him like that.

Before he can process it, you’re wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and nuzzling your face against his chest. “Thank you, König!” You say happily, having full faith in him that he’ll accomplish this for you.

That’s when you feel it. His fully hard cock. Pressing into you. Not a weapon, not a phone. His erection. You slowly take a few steps back from him, a look of disgust on your face. You stare at him for a fat minute before turning on your heels, storming out of the room. But not before yelling, “Pig!”

König does a full 180. Goes from smirking under his mask, to rage filled eyes. Have it your way. His efforts will now double in fucking with you. Self-righteous little bitch.

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pastafossa · 8 months ago

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

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This couldn’t be you.

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

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

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

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or had you been the one wearing them?

Maybe…?

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

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon.

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

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

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

What you didn’t know was…

Why?

Why here?

Why these people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt was alone.

You’d left him alone.

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

So… why did you feel so very sick?

Sympathy.

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

Protect yourself.

Protect what you might one day have.

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

You were wearing one of his shirts.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Matt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you climbed inside a thread?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you saw was heartbreaking.

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

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

“Jesus,” you whispered.

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

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Emotion. It’s emotion.

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

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

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

The stones.

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

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

Still nothing.

And something inside you… cracked.

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

You’d been loved.

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world.

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with a blink—

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

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

“It’s me. I’m here.”

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

And your weakened heart… skipped.

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

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

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

And you… smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called.

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

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

You knew.

You… remembered.

“Always,” he’d said.

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

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

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt.

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

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

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

“...Remember that. if nothing else.”

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

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

Silence.

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

Red threads never lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, just let me—”

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

A soft intake of breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...D.”

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

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

“Leave me alone!”

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

Wait.

You’d… you’d called him…

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

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

…Steady.

Truth.

Could it really be you?

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

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

You loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

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

Because all that was left was him…

And you.

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syoish-aot · 3 months ago

Text

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 1)

eren/reader

Rating: M

marleyan nurse reader & undercover eren

cw: canon typical xenophobia, dissociation , maladaptive daydreaming, canon typical gore/violence

2,422 words

also on Ao3

< first fic (Ao3 / tumblr) | ch 2 ->

“Are we somewhere nice…”

Eren’s eyes widen as the words came spilling out of your mouth:

“...Mr. Kruger?”

Liberio 854

Hot.

It was always so hot in the middle of summer.

The heat made you feel sluggish, especially in combination with the thick humidity in the air that was likely indicative of an upcoming storm.

It wasn’t just the heat though, there was something else in the air, the anxiety of… of… of impending doom? An undeniable end? The constant fear that something could happen at a moment’s notice that would completely shatter everyone’s life into pieces?

Yeah. Something like that.

You were used to that though. That was just a part of war.

So the heat, you figured.

That’s what was really bothering you.

The intense heat.

You sighed as you leaned against the window sill, looking out across the courtyard two stories below.

A doctor in a white hospital coat was ushering a patient inside. The old man sobbed and hollered about- honestly, you had no idea. There wasn’t a point in paying enough attention to find out. Two patients sat at a bench in hushed conversation. A delivery boy rushed through the gates with a stack of papers in hand as the white armband he wore immediately caught your eye from the way it contrasted with his dark clothing.

You brought your teacup to your lips and sipped your tea as your mind slipped off to somewhere else.

Somewhere nice.

A small home.

A warm bed.

A scratchy couch.

“I hear we’re getting a new shipment today.” Your coworker Myra said, snapping you from your daydream as she joined you in looking over the courtyard below. She snickered as the doctor struggled to lift the old man to his feet before escorting him inside.

“Shipment of what?” You asked wistfully, only half paying attention to her as the rest of your mind was still swept up somewhere else.

Somewhere nice.

“Eldian devils, of course.” Myra sighed, the amusement now gone from her tone and replaced with boredom. “They’re coming in from Fort Slava. Probably going to be all fucked up because of it.”

“We won the war,” you pointed out, still barely paying attention to what she was saying, “you should probably be celebrating.”

“I am celebrating.” She turned away from the view and pressed her back against the windowsill so she could stare into the break room instead of the courtyard. “Unfortunately, the celebration comes hand in hand with how much damn work it’s going to create for all of us.”

You sighed, giving up on your daydreams. You’d go back to them later.

“Soldiers are coming home.” You reasoned as you looked over at her. “That’s a good thing.”

Myra scoffed. “ Eldian soldiers,” she emphasized. “It’d be easier on all of us if they just died out there. Fucking devils… what a pain.”

You didn’t get what her deal was.

If Myra didn’t want to work with Eldians, maybe she shouldn’t have taken a nursing job at an internment zone hospital.

But you didn’t say anything to her, there wasn’t a point in making enemies with the one coworker that you (sort of) considered a friend.

“Oh look,” Myra said just in time for a large truck to pull up to the front of the hospital. A Marleyan escort dropped the tailgate and a line of soldiers began climbing from the back of the truck.

Soldiers with bandages across their chests. Limbs. Heads.

Soldiers with missing legs. Arms. Eyes.

Soldiers that stagger forward in a line, passing through the gates of the hospital with their heads turned down, barely paying attention to the world around them and focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other (if they even have two feet to focus on, that was).

Eldian soldiers straight from Fort Slava.

“Hey, you!” The Marleyan soldier escorting them called, slamming his gun against the side of the truck.

One last Eldian pulled himself out, walking on a single leg as the rest of his body was supported with an old crutch.

He had a bandage around his head concealing an eye injury, with long brown hair that was in desperate need of a trim.

You assumed he would wear the same expression as all the other traumatized soldiers did when they showed up at your hospital. The same bags under their eyes, frown lines etched against their face, and depressed lost look of desperation. The desperation for what? You weren’t sure. Escape. Death. Freedom. It didn’t matter what it was, because it was always the same.

You’d worked at that hospital for years and it had always been the same.

And yet when this soldier, this Eldian soldier, crossed the courtyard below you, he was shoved by the Marleyan officer escorting him. He stumbled.

Then he looked up.

That’s when you saw it.

You saw the look on his face.

And you saw the look in his eyes.

A stunning composition that reminded you of the night sky on a full moon- swirling blues and greens beautifully illuminated with flecks of golden stars.

Your fingers tightened against your teacup, pressing its warmth firmly against your palms.

Hot.

It was always so hot… in the middle of summer.

a few days later

“You take a suspiciously long time with Kruger every morning,” Myra told you as the two of you walked down the hall on the way to the break room.

“I- I do not!”

“Yeah, okay.” She rolled her eyes as your cheeks flushed pink.

“I’m just being thorough. Unlike you, I take pride in my work.”

Her loud laugh bounced off of the bleak walls. “Did you know that you always get feisty when you’re being defensive? All you’re doing is proving my point~”

“Well, sometimes he can be- difficult. Everyone knows that.” You said, not wanting to argue with her and further “prove her point”.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “not with you though.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe he’s got a crush on you or something.”

You immediately stopped walking.

“What?” Myra asked.

“That’s- I-... don’t joke about that. Someone might hear you.”

Myra scoffed. “Who gives a shit.” She dismissed with a casual wave of her hand. “That kinda thing happens all the time.”

She was right, of course. Plenty of the soldiers at the hospital had indicated that they’d developed-... something for those caring for them. It was natural, you supposed, given the trauma they’d experienced in battle. A terrible experience like that followed by someone treating your injuries, regardless of how cruel they may be while they do it, would seep into someone’s mind and turn into-...

Whatever it turns into.

It was a mess, regardless. A mess that you would never let yourself fall into.

“It doesn’t matter if it happens all the time.” You muttered as you stormed past Myra, “I could still get in trouble.”

She rolled her eyes again as she caught up with you. “Only if you do something about it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” She said simply. “And not just because he’s your patient. You know what happens to people that get tangled up with Eldians.”

The way she said it made your whole world freeze.

The reminder always did and why wouldn’t it?

You did know. You knew exactly what happened to people who got “tangled up” with Eldians because you’d seen it firsthand. You’d never forget.

No matter how much you wish you could, you'd never forget the way your brother’s body hung limp against the fence outside the internment zone. The way he was left there, for days, to rot against the wall. The way the birds picked at the skin of his face, his fingers, tearing away bits of flesh to the point that his body was turned into something else entirely.

You’d never forget the words ‘ ELDIAN LOVER ’ painted in deep crimson against the brick wall behind him.

“You have to make something of yourself.” Your mother told you that night as she sobbed for her loss. Not the loss of her son, but for the loss of your family’s reputation. “Make something of yourself that we can be proud of,” she cried, “make them forget about him… you owe it to your family…”

Flesh.

Rope.

Red spray paint.

Your stomach turned at the memory.

And suddenly, you were no longer interested in your lunch.

It trapped you in a daze for the rest of the day.

It always did.

The reminder of why you worked so hard to get this job, why you slave away working extra hours and rarely ever taking a day off unless it was absolutely necessary. You had to work hard for your family. For their reputation. So you could undo the sins of your brother and make up for what he’d done.

It exhausted you.

Your life here exhausted you.

You knew you were supposed to hate your older brother, you knew you were because he betrayed you. He betrayed your whole family and put them in danger for his own selfishness.

It would have been easy for your family to have been executed for what he’d done, even though none of you had any idea it was happening. You could have been seen as accomplices and punished as such. The only reason you were still alive was because your family had been fortunate enough to pay for your lives. And your lives were a hefty payment.

You’d grown up in a large house in the countryside with pretty dresses and expensive toys. Servants who did whatever you wanted and enough money that you’d never know what it felt like to go to bed hungry.

Your father had been a banker.

Had been.

Because after your brother’s affair with an Eldian maid was found out, your family lost it all.

So, you should have been mad at him. You should have been livid. You should have hated him and spent the rest of your life cursing his existence for what it’d brought you.

But you didn’t.

Despite where your life was after all of it. Despite the pressure that was suddenly put on your shoulders. Despite every moment of agony after it. You couldn’t be mad at your brother.

Because…

…because your brother had been in love.

“I’m leaving soon.” He’d told you, the night before he was found out. The night before he was hung on that wall and left to rot.

But neither of you knew that would be his fate. So you just scowled as you clutched your doll tightly to your chest, watching as he darted around the room and packed his things.

“Father said you don’t start university for three more years.” You pointed out.

“I don’t.” He laughed. “But I’m not going to university.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.” He stopped in front of you and knelt down so he could look you in the eye. “Can you keep a secret?”

You nodded.

“Promise?”

You nodded harder.

He chuckled softly before he pulled a ring out of his pocket. “I’m getting married.”

You gasped. “To who?”

He got a far-off look in his eyes as the smile on his face turned to something else. Something softer. As if he was suddenly swept up in a daydream that took him somewhere completely new. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I-...” He sighed as he slid the ring into his pocket. “Look,” the wishful expression he had been wearing slipped away as his gaze hardened. “Sometimes adults are wrong.”

“No they’re not.”

“Yes,” he said pointedly, “they are.”

You stayed quiet.

“Sometimes they’re wrong and the reason they’re wrong is that they’ve never taken a moment to think about what they’ve been taught. I’m going away soon, but don’t ever forget that, okay? Don’t you ever forget to think for yourself when someone tells you something, no matter who they are or how much confidence they have when they say it.”

You scowled. “What does any of that have to do with you getting married?”

He laughed as the smile returned to his face. “It has everything to do with it.” He patted your head and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he went back to packing.

As he packed he told you about the life he was leaving to create for himself and his special person.

A small home, just big enough for two. Far away from war and pain and death. Somewhere they could be happy. A warm bed. A scratchy couch. Homemade food. Maybe even a cat, if they found one that was nice enough to keep.

“You should have more than one!” You told him as he described the kitten he would find in this made-up fantasy, tucked under a rose bush in a rainstorm.

“I should, shouldn’t I! How many cats should I have?”

“Four!!” You exclaimed with a giggle.

“Four!?!” He said in mock surprise, which had you laughing all over again.

It was a beautiful dream. A beautiful fantasy.

But that’s all it would ever be because nice places like that didn’t exist. No matter how desperately you wished they could.

Still. It was where you always found yourself when you stared for a little too long out the window, when you walked home after a hard day, or when you struggled to fall asleep at night.

That small house in a faraway world without war. Without pain. Without even death.

It was warm.

And it was where you always found yourself.

You pushed open the door to Mr. Kruger’s room with his evening medicine. You smiled as you carried it to him. Smiled at the world you’d created in your head. A special escape, just for you.

“You’re late.” Mr. Kruger told you as he closed his book.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I had to go somewhere.”

“Hm.” He hummed. “Where?”

You passed him a paper cup full of pills and the tips of your fingers brushed against his. Just the tips.

It sent a rush of warmth up your arm.

You watched as the paper cup met his lips and he tilted his head back.

A warm home.

No war, pain, or death.

A scratchy couch.

Good food.

Cats.

You slipped away just long enough for him to finish swallowing his pills and when he lowered the cup, you finally answered him:

“...I went somewhere nice…”

It was a shame, really.

A shame that you’d only ever be able to visit such a nice place

in your dreams.

CHAPTER 2 ->

TAG LIST (like that post to be tagged for updates)

@xngelsau @f4irygard3n @vlsquuu @fvckingeetar @shmaptainbonky @maluvilela @gojojang @merrygo14 @ebubeu @janneeeexdxc @huni7857 @misshale21 @dracucil @venus1224idkpleaze @magictrump @kooromin @ilovemollyweasley @azulaenthusiast @suagxsugax @sky-full-of-magic @longestline @skoll1897 @tbzzluvr @ratkidcalledallie @sieihebendh @lcve1yk3nz1e

#eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yaeger x reader #aot x reader #my post #my writing #i found you too

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gortash-did-nothing-wrong · 3 months ago

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Enver Gortash Musings 12

Warnings: Banite marriage is very much a powerful imbalance between two people, Enver is very much for that. This bit gets really into his thoughts on his relationship with you and what it will be like. This is not a healthy relationship, but the reader is low-key kind of into that.

Minors do not read or interact. This space is not for you.

Your parents didn't even bother coming with you this time. The wedding was two weeks away, why bother? They sent you in a carriage, and you rode to Enver's estate alone. He was waiting in the parlor, casual reading over the paper as you walked in. He didn't stand for you, simply folded his paper and put it away.

You sat across from him, waiting as a servant poured you each a cup of Earl Grey, adjusting your cup to your preferences of milk, honey, sugar, or cream. Then the servant left. You turned to Enver, raising an eyebrow. "You keep Banites as servants?"

He chuckled, "Clever girl. It's easier to have my home staffed by my underlings from the temple. Otherwise I'd regularly have to dispose of servants who overheard something private."

You tensed a bit at the word disposed, and his eyes softened. "I won't expose you to that, you know."

"To what?"

"The rougher side of my work." Enver explained. "The Temple of Bane, the seedy side of the political game, none of that."

"I don't like being in the dark about things." You protested.

"It's better if you don't know." He said simply. "Trust me to handle things on my end, and focus on your duties. Running my estate, maintaining relationships with certain noble families, and-"

"Bearing your seed?" You added.

He hesitated, "Yes. And not interrupting me."

You looked at him, a bit confused. "Sorry?"

"A Banite marriage is not a partnership." Enver said, his voice once again taking on a gentle tone that bordered on condescending. "I will provide for you, and you will obey me. I don't want you grovelling at my feet, or flinching from my touch, nothing of that sort. But I expect respect-"

"And yet won't give it." You snapped.

Enver took a deeper breath than usual, before continuing. "I will respect you as my wife. Not as an equal. I am far beyond what you know of me, and treating you as an equal is simply... Well, laughable."

You looked away from him at that, staring down at your hands. He continued. "You won't even notice it, I can guarantee that. You'll live a stress free life in my estate, you'll have whatever your heart desires within reason, a monthly allowance, enough duties to make sure you aren't bored. I don't want a miserable wife, you know. I like you happy, smiling."

He reached over, his hand resting over one of yours on your lap. His hands were so unlike the hands you were used to. The hands of your family and friends were all soft, filed, and lotioned. The result of a life of leisure, or at least a lack of manual labor. Enver's hands had rough calluses, little scars around his finger tips from fire or hot metal. His hands told a story of hard work and pain.

You looked up, his dark brown eyes searching yours for something. Submission, probably.

"Just obey me." He says gently. "Do that for me, and I'll take care of everything else."

You wish this decision was difficult. You really did. You wish you were the kind of woman that would jump up from her chair, toss her tea in his face, shout at him that she would not be controlled, and storm out. Hold her head high as she walked away from... From everything you wanted.

You take your free hand, placing it over his hand, sandwiching it between both of yours now. "... I'll obey you."

He smiles, a genuine smile. "Thank you. Don't think that I don't appreciate the trust you're showing me. It means very much to me."

His hand squeezes yours, "Now... About the ceremony. We'll have a normal ceremony for the nobility and the citizens of The Gate. Something tasteful and normal. But the ceremony that matters will happen later that evening."

His hand pulls away from yours, putting a few little things from the tray of snacks on your plate. Small finger sandwiches, a few macarons, some sliced fruit. "Eat, you look pale."

You reach, your hand trembling just slightly as you took the sandwich and nibbled on it.

"Good girl." He says, his voice noticeably lower than usual. You try to ignore what that does to you, the fluttering in your gut, the rapid beating of your heart. "After we are married in the eyes of the people, we will say we are retreating to my estate for our wedding night. We will be going to the Temple of Bane."

He puts an empty glass in front of you, filling it with a few cucumber slices and water. "Drink."

You don't hesitate, picking up the glass and sipping.

"Once at the Temple, we shall perform a ritual for Bane to bless your womb."

It was a good thing you had drank water, otherwise your mouth would have gone dry. "I... My womb?"

"So that our children have his blessing from birth." Enver clarifies.

"... I'd rather my children have a choice in that." You say softly, your voice more of a whisper.

"Children don't choose their parents." Enver says firmly. "And my children will have the Chosen of Bane as a father. Their lives will have his influence one way or another. His Iron Fist will aid them all their lives, as will my guiding hand."

"I don't suppose there's... Any way I could change your mind?" You ask, a slight crack in your voice. You had no children yet but the idea of this ritual felt like sentencing them to a life of tyranny before they were even born.

Enver's hand was on yours again, squeezing reassuringly. "No. Trust me, I would not do anything harmful to my children."

"I don't know you." Was the strongest protest you could muster. "I don't know how you'd treat your children."

Enver pauses a moment, considering your words. "Do you consider your childhood a happy one? No complaints of abuse or neglect?"

"Not abuse." You say. "My father is a distant man, and that was often something that hurt me. My mother was always there though."

"And yet your mother is the Banite, something your father still is ignorant of." Enver says. "Your mother's womb was not blessed by Bane, but she worshipped him your entire life. His influence was everywhere in your life, was it not?"

Enver's hand raises to your face, holding your child between his thumb and pointer finger to guide your gaze to his. "Then you have no reason to fear the influence of Bane. Our children will be pushed to succeed, yes, but I will not abuse them, sweet one."

"She was strict." You admitted, thinking back on your childhood. "Well, strict when it came to school. Otherwise she was quite reasonable."

His mouth quirks upwards in a half smile. "Seeing you so protective of them before you've even had your maidenhead taken is adorable."

A furious blush creeps over your face, and you have to rip away from his hand, drinking more water. "I... Don't say things like that."

"I think you've forgotten who gives the orders here." Enver says, half joking. "I like your cheeks flushed."

You groaned, "Just... Not in public, please?"

Enver nods, his face calm. "No worries. That expression is just for my pleasure. No one else needs to see it."

Some silences passes, the time filled with Enver ordering you to eat and drink more, before he continues. "When the ritual to bless your womb is done... Obey everything I say. I cannot tell you what the ritual is, I can reveal nothing about it. You must not fight me, nor try to run. There will be consequences if you do."

You fidget a bit in your seat, your fingers fiddling with a bit of lace on your sleeve. "... Will it hurt?"

His eyes hold no pity. "Yes."

"Will it scar?"

"I cannot say more." He said firmly. "I shouldn't have even told you it would hurt."

"Why did you?" You ask. What made the Chosen of Bane break the rules of his god?

A quick and easy smile flashes on his face. "You trust me. I enjoy that."

The rest of the afternoon passes, you and Enver chatting about books, magic, and current events. You tell him stories of your childhood and he avoids talking about his.

When it's time for you to go, he walks you to the front door, his cane in his right hand and your hand in his left. "You could stay the evening. My chef makes a delightful roasted duck."

"Don't be improper." You say, a giggle escaping you. "You can wait two weeks."

"I have guest rooms." He offered, his hand seeming to not want to let yours go. "We needn't share mine."

"Certainly not." You say firmly. He sighs, walks you to your carriage, and kisses your hand.

"What a cruel wife I will have." He says teasingly. "Denying me her company."

#enver gortash #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 enver gortash #enver gortash headcanon #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash imagine

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her-satanic-wiles · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 20 - Outdoors

Mary Goore x Reader

His bandmate pissed him off something chronic on tour - so what better way to get him back than by fucking his ex-girlfriend in front of their bedroom window?

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 3.9k.

Reading Time: 16 min.

Warnings: exhibitionism, outdoor sex, PIV sex, revenge, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

For some people, parting with their exes was an easy and amicable thing. You’d heard about people continuing to be friends once the relationship was over and the relationship being stronger than ever as friends. But for you, it was a little difficult. Your ex was a guitarist in Repugnant, and you were the band’s stage hand.

For you, it wasn’t as simple as putting the past behind you and moving on. Not when you were still tethered to him by work. Every night you had to be there, watching from the wings as he took the stage with his swagger, shredding through the set with that unmistakable talent that first drew you in. It should’ve been easy to admire from a distance, but it wasn’t. Not when you knew what he was like offstage, how he’d smirk and brush you off as if you’d never shared anything meaningful.

The worst part was watching him with other people. The casual hook-ups, the groupies fawning over him, and how easily he fell into that role, playing the rock star stereotype to perfection. It stung, seeing him give attention to anyone but you. Sometimes he’d catch your eye across the room and give a knowing grin, as if he knew it still bothered you. He was always a bit of an arsehole like that—charming when he wanted to be, cold when he didn’t.

Working together only made things worse. You had to be professional, had to pretend like it didn’t hurt to see him living as though you’d never existed in his world. Every time you set the stage, every time you handed him a guitar or managed the lights, it was a reminder of how things had changed between you. He got to move on. You were left behind in his wake, still tied to the band, to him, in ways you couldn’t quite escape.

You weren’t the only one he acted up with, though. He had a way of getting under people’s skin, pushing buttons just for the hell of it. He’d pick fights with the crew, argue over the tiniest details—like how the amps were set up or whether the lighting was too harsh. It was never really about the work, though. It was like he thrived on chaos, needing some sort of conflict to keep him going. You’d seen it before, back when you were together, but it was easier to brush off then. You could laugh it off, make excuses for him. Now, though, it just grated on you.

And the way he treated people… It was like everyone was disposable. One night he’d be wrapped around some fan, whispering sweet nothings, making her feel like she was the centre of his universe. By morning, he’d barely remember her name, if that. You’d watch it unfold, see the hurt in their eyes when they realised he wasn’t the person they thought he was. But he’d shrug it off, like their feelings were just another casualty of the rock and roll lifestyle.

It made working with him unbearable at times. You couldn’t get away from it—the arrogance, the carelessness. And the worst part was, there was still a small part of you that remembered what it was like when he wasn’t such a prick. When it was just the two of you, before the band, before the stage lights turned him into someone you barely recognised. That was what made it so bloody difficult. You had to stand there, night after night, and watch him become everything he promised he wouldn’t be.

The lead of the band, Mary Goore, was also getting angrier and angrier with your ex. You could see it in the way he tightened his grip on his microphone stand during rehearsals, his knuckles white as he tried to keep his temper in check. Mary wasn’t one for outbursts, but there was a tension building between him and your ex that couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t just about the usual rock star antics anymore; it was affecting the music, the shows, everything.

Your ex had always been a bit of a loose cannon, but lately, it was like he was trying to push everyone to the edge. He’d show up late, hungover or worse, and then breeze through sound checks like none of it mattered. Mary wasn’t having any of it. There were more and more moments where he’d snap mid-rehearsal, his voice tight with barely concealed frustration. “Get your shit together, dickwad, or you can fuck off,” he’d warn, but your ex never took it seriously. He’d just smirk, like it was all part of the game.

But it wasn’t a game anymore, not to Mary. The tension was bleeding into their performances, and it was starting to show. Missed cues, half-arsed solos, your ex playing up to the crowd instead of focusing on the music. You’d catch Mary shooting him glares, his patience wearing thinner with every passing day. You could tell that something was going to give, and it was only a matter of time before Mary finally snapped.

Working in that atmosphere wasn’t easy. Every rehearsal felt like walking on eggshells, waiting for the inevitable blow-up. And with you caught in the middle, it made it all the more unbearable. You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction when Mary called your ex out—he deserved it. But at the same time, it only made the work environment more toxic, more volatile.

You knew it couldn’t go on like this forever, but the question was, who would break first?

The answer: Mary.

It didn’t take long for him to reach his breaking point. After another long night of your ex screwing around on stage, barely caring about the performance, Mary was seething. The whole band could feel it—the weight of his frustration, simmering just beneath the surface. He’d had enough, and so had you. The tension was unbearable, and Mary, never one to let things fester, decided he was going to do something about it.

It started small, a look here, a comment there. Nothing too obvious, but enough to catch your attention. Mary had always been magnetic in his own way, his dark, brooding presence commanding every room he walked into. And now, there was something extra in the way he spoke to you—something laced with the intent to provoke.

He caught you alone one evening, just after the gig. Your ex had disappeared with some groupie, as usual, leaving you to pack up the gear. Mary strolled over, leaning against the equipment case, his eyes flicking up and down as if he was weighing his next move. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him one of these days,” he grumbled. “Watch this space.”

“What’s he done now?” you asked, not even looking up from your task.

Mary huffed, pushing off from the case with a forceful shove. “What hasn’t he done?” he muttered, pacing as if trying to bleed off his anger. “Shows up late, screws around during rehearsals, barely plays his parts anymore—he’s killing the band with this shit.” His eyes met yours, dark and intense, and you could see just how close he was to snapping. “And you’re still stuck cleaning up after him, aren’t you?”

You gave a small shrug, more out of resignation than anything else. “Someone has to keep things running.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be the one picking up the pieces.” He stopped pacing and stood in front of you now, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him. There was something different in his eyes—anger, sure, but also a spark of something else. Something dangerous. “You deserve better than that prick.”

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, Mary. I work with him.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe you should stop letting him get away with it. What he did to you…” His voice trailed off, his frustration palpable. “He doesn’t deserve your time, or your energy. Not after how he’s treated you.”

It was the closest Mary had ever come to acknowledging what your ex had put you through, and for a moment, the weight of his words hung between you. He wasn’t just talking about the band anymore. He was talking about everything—the late nights, the heartbreak, the way your ex flaunted his conquests in front of you like it was some kind of game.

“I know,” you said quietly, finally setting down the gear you were packing. You felt the anger rising in your chest, not just at your ex, but at yourself for letting it go on for so long. “But what can I do about it?”

Mary’s lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a shiver down your spine. “You want to get back at him, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a growl. “I can help with that.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s give him a taste of his own medicine. You and me, right in front of his fuckin’ window. Let him see what it feels like.”

Your heart raced, a mix of shock and excitement flooding through you. The thought was reckless, petty, and completely out of character for you. But in that moment, with Mary standing so close, the scent of his leather jacket filling your senses, you couldn’t help but be tempted. After everything your ex had put you through, didn’t he deserve a little payback?

“Are you serious?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Mary pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Dead serious. He’s been messing with your head for too long. Time to mess with his.”

The idea was insane, but you couldn’t deny the thrill it sent through you. Maybe it was the months of pent-up frustration, the anger at your ex for treating you like you were nothing. Or maybe it was just Mary, with his commanding presence and the promise of something dangerous in his voice. Either way, you felt yourself leaning in, your heart pounding as the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

“Alright,” you said, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Let’s do it.”

Mary’s grin deepened, and he stepped back just enough to look at you, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and intent. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges, sending a spark of heat through you. “Let’s make it worth his while.”

The idea of being that bold—of doing something so brazenly reckless—wasn’t exactly in your nature. But tonight, with Mary coaxing you into his wicked plan, the lines of caution blurred. Your ex had treated you like dirt, and there was something deeply satisfying in the thought of getting your own back. The fact that it was with Mary made it even more exhilarating.

The two of you walked together through the quiet backstreets until you reached the edge of your ex’s flat, a small, dimly lit place that seemed miles away from the noise and chaos of the gigs. His room, on the second floor, had the curtains half-drawn, and you could see the faint flicker of light from the telly inside. Perfect.

You were almost holding your breath, the thrill of what you were about to do swirling in your chest. Mary paused, glancing up at the window with a smirk. “Right there,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with anticipation. He turned to you, and in the soft light of the streetlamp, the hunger in his eyes was undeniable. “Let him watch.”

Without hesitation, Mary backed you up against the rough stone wall of the building. His body was pressed firmly against yours, the hard leather of his jacket cool against your flushed skin. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You could feel the tension in his touch, the restraint he was barely holding on to.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his voice rough and deep.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as the realisation of what you were about to do hit you full force. It was thrilling, intoxicating even.

Mary didn’t waste a second. He crashed his lips against yours, hard and demanding, his kiss filled with all the pent-up frustration you’d both been carrying. His hand slid down your body, gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer, his hips pressing firmly against yours. You gasped into his mouth, the heat between you growing unbearable as he dominated the kiss, his tongue teasing and tasting like he couldn’t get enough.

He broke the kiss just long enough to turn your body, pushing you against the wall so you were facing the window, your hands braced on the cold surface. “Let’s give him a good show,” he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

You were panting, the thrill of it all making you light-headed as Mary’s hands moved over your body with practised ease. His fingers hooked under the waistband of your trousers, tugging them down over your hips in one swift motion. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, and you shivered, more from anticipation than the chill.

Mary’s hand slipped between your thighs, finding you already wet, and he let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Knowing he might be watching?”

You moaned softly, your breath hitching as Mary’s fingers teased you, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow. He kept you pinned against the wall, your back arched, his body pressed tight against yours. His other hand slid under your shirt, rough fingertips tracing your skin as he worked you open with his fingers, every movement calculated to drive you wild.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice dark and thick with lust. “He’s gonna hate every second of this.”

With one smooth motion, Mary unzipped his trousers, freeing himself as he positioned himself behind you. The anticipation made your pulse race, and when he finally pushed into you, the stretch and fullness was overwhelming. You gasped, your body instinctively arching back into him as he filled you completely, the intensity of it almost too much to bear.

“That’s it,” Mary grunted, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, teasing you with the friction. “Let him see what he lost.”

Each thrust was harder than the last, the sound of skin against skin filling the night air. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way Mary was fucking you, hard and relentless, his hands tightening on your hips as he drove into you over and over. Your breath came in short gasps, the pleasure building with every rough snap of his hips.

You glanced up, catching sight of your ex’s window, half expecting to see him there. Whether or not he was watching, it didn’t matter anymore. This moment was yours and Mary’s, and the thought of your ex knowing—of him seeing you with someone else, with someone better—only fuelled the fire inside you.

Mary’s pace quickened, his thrusts growing more erratic as he pushed you closer to the edge. His hand slid down your front, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles. You cried out, your body tensing as the pleasure hit you all at once, wave after wave of sensation crashing through you.

Mary’s grip on you tightened as he kept up the relentless pace, his fingers expertly teasing your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your already trembling body. You were teetering on the edge, every nerve on fire, but he wasn’t ready to let you fall just yet. He slowed down, his thrusts becoming deep and deliberate, pulling you back from the brink with a wicked chuckle.

“You don’t get to come just yet,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and control. “Not until I say so.”

You whimpered, your body aching for release, but the way Mary took charge—his hands roaming your skin, his voice in your ear—made the denial almost unbearable in the best way. He pulled out of you slowly, leaving you breathless and wanting, and you couldn’t help but whine at the loss of him.

He chuckled darkly, turning you around to face him, his eyes locked onto yours with that same predatory gleam. “We’re just getting started, love.” His lips curled into a smirk as he pushed you back against the wall, this time lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist. The new angle had you gasping as he lined himself up again and pushed back into you, slow and torturous, making sure you felt every inch of him.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal rhythm, thrusting into you hard and deep. His breath was hot against your neck as he muttered filthy praises, telling you how good you felt, how perfect you were, all while keeping a tight hold on your pleasure, not letting you tip over the edge just yet.

The rough scrape of the wall against your back, the cool night air on your heated skin, and the overwhelming sensation of Mary pounding into you—it was all too much, too good. You couldn’t help the small moans escaping your lips, the desperate sounds of someone on the verge of breaking. But still, Mary held you on the knife’s edge, his thrusts driving you insane with need.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Think he’s watching us now? Think he’s sitting there, wishing it was him instead?”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside you. You couldn’t form words, couldn’t even think, only nodding as Mary kept fucking you, his pace unrelenting, his cock filling you so perfectly you felt like you were going to explode.

“Good,” Mary growled, his hand tightening on your thigh as he drove into you harder. “Let him see exactly what he’s missing.”

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you panting and desperate, the frustration of being denied release clear in your eyes. Mary smirked, clearly enjoying how wrecked you were, how much control he had over you in that moment. His hands slid down to your waist as he spun you around again, this time pushing you forward, bending you slightly over a low railing just beside the building.

“Hands on the railing,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You complied immediately, gripping the cool metal as Mary positioned himself behind you once more. He took his time, teasing you with the head of his cock, running it between your folds, until you were practically begging for him to take you again.

Without warning, he thrust into you hard, and you cried out, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you once again, stretching you in all the right ways. This time, his pace was relentless, each thrust driving deeper than the last, pushing you harder against the railing as he took what he wanted. The intensity of it was dizzying, and you could feel your legs shaking, the pressure inside you building to an unbearable height.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he commanded, his voice rough and low as he pounded into you. “Tell me how badly you need to come.”

You could barely speak, the words caught in your throat between gasps and moans. “Please,” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling. “Please, Mary, I need it… I need you.”

A satisfied growl escaped him, and his hand found your clit again, rubbing in tight circles that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his breath ragged. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Right where he can see you, falling apart on my cock.”

You nodded frantically, your body strung tight with need, the promise of release hanging just out of reach. Mary didn’t slow down this time, his thrusts growing more erratic, his hand working your clit until you were trembling with the effort of holding back.

Mary’s pace quickened, his grip on your hips firm and possessive as his thrusts became more erratic, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure inside you building, every nerve in your body on fire as he pushed you relentlessly towards your breaking point. The intensity of it all—the feel of his body against yours, his hand working your clit, the filthy words falling from his lips—it was overwhelming, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.

Then, all at once, it hit you.

Your orgasm tore through you with a force that left you gasping, your body arching into Mary’s as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, the sound swallowed by the night air, your vision blurring as the world around you narrowed down to the feeling of Mary inside you, the unbearable ecstasy of finally letting go.

And then, as your body shook with the aftershocks, you looked up—and locked eyes with him.

Your ex stood frozen in the window, his face twisted in a mixture of shock and rage, the flickering light from the telly casting shadows over his features. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, time seemed to stand still. The thrill of being caught, of him watching you fall apart in the arms of someone else, sent one final pulse of pleasure through your already trembling body.

Mary didn’t miss a beat. He chuckled low in your ear, clearly aware of your ex’s presence, and doubled down on his pace, thrusting into you harder, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. “Look at him,” Mary growled, his breath hot against your neck. “He’s fucking furious.”

You couldn’t look away. The satisfaction of seeing your ex so helpless, so defeated, only fuelled the fire that still burned inside you. He’d lost you, and now he knew it.

With one final, rough thrust, Mary grunted, his release tearing through him as he spilled into you, his body pressed tight against yours as he rode out his climax. He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “He’ll never touch you again.”

Slowly, Mary pulled out of you, leaving you panting, your body still humming with the aftermath of your orgasm. He turned you around, his eyes locking onto yours with that same dark, dangerous glint.

“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Now he knows what it’s like to lose.”

You glanced back at the window one last time. Your ex was still standing there, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief, his fists clenched at his sides. You gave him a small, defiant smile before turning back to Mary.

It didn’t matter anymore. This was your moment, your victory.

And it felt fucking amazing.

Prev./Next

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost #ghost band #ghost the band #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #ghost fan fiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fandom #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #ghostober #ghostober 24 #mary goore #mary goore x reader #mary goore x reader smut #mary goore smut

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gojoidyll · 11 months ago

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Wriothesley x New Inmate ! Reader

Warnings | fluff, grammatical errors, wrio being down bad for reader, etc.

Note | reason for reader being sent to the fortress as a new inmate is up to your imagination <3

"I don't have any work today? Nice!"

For the past few months of being at the Fortress, you found that it was a simple and easy life. Especially since you barely had to work! Now, you weren't sure if it was because you were a new inmate or something, but, honestly, you didn't care by this point since you got to laze around and do nothing for most of the day.

Honestly, it was the perfect life for you. Way easier than what you had to deal with on a daily basis back on the surface.

You felt ... at peace. Sure you were surrounded with people who committed more worse crimes than you, but at least none of them held any sort of hostility towards you. They welcomed you here just fine. And, along with a welcome from the inmates when you first arrived also came a welcome from the Duke.

In your eyes, he was an absolute dream. He had a quick wit and a body that looked good good to be true, and his face was easy on the eyes too. In other words, having a sight like him around the Fortress definitely put the icing on the cake.

Though, despite your attraction to the man you never did have the courage to actually say or do anything about it. Not that you minded. You have a particularly long sentence and, hell, even when your time here is over you might decide to stay awhile and see what new life awaited you here.

"Huh?"

Another female innate who sleeps on the bed next to yours looked over and noticed the little gift in your hands. She couldn't help but to grin, "ooo, a gift? Who's it from?"

You scratched the back of your head, "honestly, I have no idea."

The other inmate shrugged, "well, it isn't uncommon to receive gifts from the surface."

"Isn't that considered contraband or whatever that word is?"

"Oh trust me, all mail is looked through before its sent to us prisoners, so that gift is perfectly fine if it found its way into your hands. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got an early shift. See ya, y/n."

"Yeah, see ya..."

You didn't bother to watch her leave ad you looked down at the gift in your hands. Settling back into your bed, you took a seat. Your hands shakingly unwrapping the gift while also being careful not to tear the paper.

This better not be a gift from my sister... that bitch totally left me for dead.

That was another thing about the crime you committed, your sister was in on it but ditched you when you got caught. So if she sent a gift, then you know that you'll definitely blow a fuse.

Opening the small box, however, you knew it wasn't from your sister.

It was a necklace with a rainbow rose glass pendant on it.

If there was one thing you knew, it was that your sister wasn't as kind.

So, could this be a secret admirer's doing? It couldn't be someone from the Fortress, right? None of the inmates you knew had the means of getting their hands on something like this.

Maybe it was someone from the surface? Ahh..., but you were never close to anyone up there, and you were sure you never caught anyone's eye either.

Questions on who it could be swirled around your head for the remainder of the day, but, of course, despite those questions it didn't stop you from wearing such a lovely gift. A gift that didn't go unnoticed by Wriothesley whi just so happened to catch you wearing it at lunch.

And just as he had thought, it looked very pretty on you.

"You're so weird."

"Thank you, Sigewinne."

"That wasn't a compliment... I just don't see why you won't go up to them and tell them how you feel."

"For one thing, Sigewinne, we're not exactly close enough for that. Besides, the only few words I said to them were the casual greetings I give to all prisoners when they come to the Fortress."

Sigewinne huffed, "well, just promise you won't be a secret admirer for long, ok? Cause they are very good looking and I wouldn't be surprised if someone else managed to wisk them off their feet before you do."

Wriothesley rolled his eyes as he turned to head back to his office before glancing at your smiling face one more time as you chatted away with your newly made friends.

Cute.

requested | @mitsumina12345

#genshin impact #genshin #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley #genshin impact wriothesley #genshin impact wriothesley x reader

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dozing-marshmallow · 6 months ago

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Hello!!! I really love ur blog btw can you do a Cody x Yandere fem reader? Like she is more low-key and chill than Sierra, she is more easier to befriend Cody??

Hiiyaa!!💗 Thank you so much for all the love, I'm sorry I couldn't get back to you sooner!!

I hope you all have a wonderful read and a beautiful day💖☀️ CODY X YANDERE! FEMALE! READER ONE SHOT

Ah, Cody.

The love of your life.

You loved him the moment you saw him walking down the dock in the introduction episode.

"Coooooooody! Isn't our couple ship so beautifuuuul?"

Though, this walking encyclopaedia just had to join this year.

But that's alright. You've been patient and it's always rewarded you.

And now, the opportunity has presented itself once again.

“Is she bothering you?” you asked tenderly to Cody before oozing poisonous words to your rival,“Sierra, why are you such a whore?”

She gasps,“Am not! A whore would have eyes for many guys! But not me! I only have eyes for my Codykins!”

You had to hold your scoff in. Her Codykins? Who does she think she is? His girlfriend? His wife? His soulmate? All those positions have already been taken by you!

Straining yourself from the temptation to strangle her, you marched forward with your relaxed demeanour,“Cody, do you like Sierra?”

“Um... No... Not really...” he flinched, your poor baby has been wired to automatically expect her touch,“I-I’m kinda spooked by her...”

“Spooked? By me? Why me?!” she screeches in ignorance.

“Because you violate his privacy and think it’s cute to harass him?” sarcasm veils your tone,“The boy avoids you like the plague, Sierra. I don’t see what’s so charming about being voted by loverboy in every elimination round our team faces.”

“(Y/-(Y/N)!” your darling exclaims in panic. Looks like he wasn't planning to tell that.

Your strong stomach sinks for a moment, but you knew what you were doing was for his good,“No, Cody. You want her to back off? Tell her exactly how you feel.” you affirm, directing your attention to Sierra for the ultimate reality check,“Cody doesn’t care if you cry, moan or die. In fact, neither of us do. So do us all a favour and-“

“Oh blah blah! Like I’m gonna take whatever comes out of your mouth as Cody’s truth!” she shamelessly interrupts by shoving her hand in your face,“So clueless! Isn’t she, Cody?” she asks, cooing to the man at question.

How vulnerable he was...,“Uh...well actually...” he gulps, yes yes yes!,“I...I'm with (Y/N) on that...”

HAHA,“W-What?” she splutters, reeling her hand back,“What do you mean, my love...?”

“Uh...well...you’re just...”

A good lover will always step in to help,“The worst thing that ever came in your life?” you finish for him, your voice a complete polar opposite to what was going on in your head.

She gasps again,“He doesn’t think that! Stop trying to sabotage our relationship! Tell her, Cody!”

“No...she’s right. A-About everything.”

“Cody! Don’t let this wretch brainwash you!" she begs, rushing over to your precious, burning her desperate hands all over his face...

How dare she?

"Brainwashing?" your rage is converted to a calm head tilt,"Aren't you cute. Didn't you hear him?" you put your hand on your hip,"He doesn't like you. There's something to write for your blog."

Realisation was a stab to her chest."Y-You took m-m-my...." Sierra couldn't even finish her sentence before her blubbers took over, sprinting away hysterically.

You and Cody watch in silence as the volume of Sierra's heartbreak ceased; not because she was crying any less, but because she was all the way down the other end of the plane.

“Well, that went better than expected.” you smirk, though it withers as you turn to face your prize, appreciating the distance muffling her sorrows.

"Whew... I uh feel so relieved... But uh..." he nervously points to the direction she ran off to,"Will she be alright?"

You take a sit next to him, noticing how he shifts closer,“I wouldn't worry about it. She’s the moron here, not you. You feeling any sort of remorse for her is exactly what she wants. If you even try to get good with her after this, I won’t be here to save you the next time she’s swooning over you, understand?”

That was a lie, but he bought it well,"Right..." he nods. You were enticed by the implication that he preferred the future with you and no Sierra,"Hehe...you know, you're really cool, (Y/N)... Even cooler than Gwen."

"You just figured that out?" a smile tints your face to convey play.

And it paid off!,"Yeah. It's a bit embarrassing... But I coulda really had someone like you in my life before all...this." your heart swells as he leans on your shoulder.

You allowed it for the rest of the plane ride. Obviously.

You didn't need to overanalyse two previous seasons to learn anyone's fatal flaws.

It's simple- Sierra tried to win Cody's heart by knowledge.

You won by personality.

At least, presentation.

#tdi x reader #total drama #request #tdi #total drama cody #td cody #td cody x reader #total drama cody x reader #some sierra too #total drama sierra #td sierra #enjoy #thank you for being patient

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blainesebastian · 2 years ago

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conclusion jumping (ccg universe)

words: 2,701 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (combined anon requests) “angst when reader sees a tabloid pic of Austin getting cozy with another girl + ccg and austin disagree on how to discipline luci“ warnings: none notes: thank you so much for reading! masterlist is here, along with a ccg universe dedicated masterlist here :) tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

Admittedly, you know you shouldn’t even be following gossip instagrams for this exact reason. You know by now that what you see isn’t what it seems, always some sort of half truth mixed beneath the surface. You’re unsure of why you’d even let this get to you—you trust Austin, you do, it’s not about that. Maybe it’s about other people not creating boundaries with him and yet, you know that it’s always a balance, right? You’re not about to blame someone else completely? And still, that’s exactly what you want to do.

For your health and sanity, you unfollow the gossip celebrity Instagram that you’ve been following since before you and Austin met. It’s a lot less fun now that your name and your husband is plastered on it from time to time. This is probably exactly why Austin doesn’t keep much on social media, it’s a lot easier that way, even though you can’t imagine completely pulling the plug either.

You stare at the photo and try not to let your emotions completely swallow you whole—you don’t do conclusion jumping—

Austin is seated on a bar couch, out with his latest film family, having a good time. This is not like he hasn’t done this before with countless other movies he’s starred in, it’s not like he didn’t text you last night asking if you wanted to come (Jillian more than gladly would have watched Luci). So it’s not like this is a big secret being kept from you. It’s the fact that Austin has his arm stretched out along the back of the couch and his co-star who plays lead opposite of him, Melanie, is molded against his side and looking entirely too cozy.

You don’t even bother with the comments because you know they’re going to be a complete and utter circus. Some in support of you, some dragging you through the mud, and…even as you stand there making breakfast, you can’t even pinpoint who you’re mad at. Or about? A nasty, heated curl like a tendril in your stomach, reaching up and hooking onto your ribcage brings thoughts from deep down—

That you’re really mad at yourself because Austin was out having a good time last night and you were home playing housewife. Even though, distantly, you know that’s not…that makes no sense. You love being a wife, a mother—there are no regrets there. And Austin has never made you feel like that, so you’re not sure where those feelings are coming from. It has to be insecurities bubbling over, because you’re at a different point in your life right now and this co-star is where you were.

“This is so stupid,” You mumble under your breath as you flip pancakes, putting finished ones on a plate near the stove.

Stupid, sure. Ridiculous, maybe. And yet…you hate that you’re asking yourself what Austin did after that photo. Did he pull away? Or was it not that big of a deal?

You know exactly who Austin is, don’t you?

You hate that this stupid photo is driving you crazy into questioning that.

Glancing up at the sound of little feet, you smile a little as Luci comes rushing into the kitchen, tumbling herself right against your leg. For someone who’s two and tiny, she’s strong and knows how to throw her weight around.

“I think you grew overnight,” You tease, reaching your hand down to run through her hair, “Like a beanstalk.” You’ve read that book recently with her, so that definitely resonates.

She laughs and squeezes around your leg, her hair staticky from sleep, impressions of her pillow still warm on her cheek. “Pantates.”

“Yes,” You smirk, “Pancakes. You wanna go see if dad’s up?”

Austin came in late last night, you were barely awake when he crawled into bed, pulled you close. The scent of cologne and cigarette smoke were sticking to his skin—you remember turning into his chest and slipping as close as you could.

Luci, thrilled with having a task, turns on her heel and bolts out of the kitchen. You want to tell her not to run but at least she doesn’t have socks on, she shouldn’t be doing Risky Business sliding around. Shaking your head, you move on to making bacon and eggs, just something else to do with your hands as you consider how to ask Austin about this photo.

You’re actually not even sure you want to bring it up…maybe it’s best to just ignore it? You’re trying to decide what you can live with, what’s going to bother you later on. And then what if it happens again and you’re angry with yourself that you never tried to talk to him about it?

Turning your head as you hear another set of footsteps, heavier this time, you can’t help but smile as you see Austin walk into the kitchen looking the tiniest bit hungover, holding Luci against his chest. He’s got on a black t-shirt, black joggers, hair a mismatched mess even though he still manages to look incredibly handsome. Unfair really. His eyebrows are drawn together in such a way as Luci talks that you can tell he has a headache.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” You tease, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

He grunts out a reply, turning his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Coffee?” He manages to form that word at least and you muffle a bit of a chuckle. The eggs and bacon are fine to leave alone for a moment, getting a mug down for him to fill up with coffee from the pot.

“Savin’ my life.” He mumbles, taking the mug and having a long sip.

Must be bad if he’s not even putting in cream or sugar first.

Austin sets Luci down, who makes a sprinting for the living room as she says something about ‘cayons’—which, crayons,…you have no idea what she’s on about. Maybe she drew something for one of them? Or she’s just keeping herself busy until breakfast is ready.

Reaching up, you thread your fingers through his curls before finishing up the eggs and bacon, “Have fun last night?”

Austin hums, making his way to the fridge to grab the cream to fix his coffee, adding a bit more to the mug too, “Was a good time,” He glances over his shoulder at you, “Always more fun if you coulda made it.”

You know that’s supposed to be a compliment and you appreciate that sentiment, but something sour sits in the bottom of your stomach. Of course you would have loved to have been able to join him, just like any other past invite he’s extended to you. But your lives are a bit different now—while you could have dropped Luci off at Jillian’s place, that doesn’t mean you automatically should have? It doesn’t work like that.

Heat bubbles in your veins as you turn the stove off and you bite down on your lower lip, words pushing past your teeth, “Seems like you’re capable of having plenty of fun without me.”

You can feel Austin pause, setting his mug down slowly on the counter. But before he has a chance to unpack that, you move, unwilling to settle in the aftermath of your commentary. You walk into the living room to tell Luci that breakfast is ready, and your mouth opens but—

There, on the floor, your daughter is coloring directly on the wall with her crayons in full abandon—

"Luci!" You snap, more out of surprise and disbelief than anything else. You take a few steps towards her, eyes widening at the artwork on the pale green walls, "Since when do we draw on the walls? You know better than this."

It doesn't matter that…well, maybe she doesn't know better because you and Austin have never had to say anything to her, or that you're speaking to her as if she's run into traffic because she let go of your hands (has happened before), because she drops her crayons at the sound of your voice.

And starts crying.

You're not sure whether it's because you scared her or the tone of your voice but you suppose it doesn't matter, big fat tears are rolling down her cheeks regardless. You run a hand over your face, Austin walking past you to scoop your daughter up into his arms.

"Hey, hey," He coos, "It's alright, shhh." He bounces her on his hip a little, using his other hand to push her hair away from her face.

Any other time it might not dig under your skin, but— "It's not alright." You tell him and he kinda…glances over at you with this softly pinched, confused expression. He definitely doesn't understand where this is coming from, why you're so wound up and…

Even as you say the next set of words, it's like a car crash, a sputtering of emotions, you can't stop yourself, "We can't just let her do whatever she wants."

Austin soothes Luci with a hand moving up and down her back and you really try not to get yourself caught up in old feelings you've put to rest—how Luci tends to favor her dad, and maybe it's for these exact same moments. Good cop vs. bad.

"That's not what we're doin'."

Luci's definitely a bit calmer now against Austin's chest, soft hiccups, red cheeks and wet eyelashes and you hate that you've upset her like that. While you're not thrilled about the crayons all over the wall, it's not like it can't be painted over?

And yet your mouth is still running off, not completely connected to your brain, talking about actions having consequences. Distantly, you know that this has nothing to do with Luci and more to do with how you felt seeing your husband snuggled up on a bar couch with his co-star.

You can pinpoint the exact moment in which Austin can see right through you, "Okay, what then? What do you want to do?" He's not angry, exactly, but his voice is a bit tight, "Put her in time-out? Yell at her? Or do you want to yell at me—because that seems to be who you're really mad at."

Something heavy settles in the air, almost making it difficult for you to breathe. The words get stuck in your throat, nearly choking you—Austin waits, he's patient—always so patient. But when you don't say anything, his jaw works and he moves Luci from his one side to the other. He lets out a short sigh, looking down at her as he turns to go into the kitchen to get breakfast, giving a smile that's only reserved for her.

Leaving you with your thoughts.

It’s a day off for both you and Austin, a home day, which you usually love. Today it feels a bit suffocating, mostly because it's pouring outside—so there's no going to the park, no distraction from the small explosion in the living room and the awkwardly quiet breakfast that followed.

You find Luci in her bedroom after washing the dishes and apologize to her, sink to the floor, hold her little hands, try to explain even though she's moved on already—the sharp words from you a distant past. You say you're sorry anyways, draw her close, kiss her cheeks. She forgives you—she always forgives you. One day that won't easily be the case.

Wandering into the living room, you bring a selection of cleaning supplies with you from the kitchen. You're not sure where Austin is but you think you hear the shower running in your bathroom. Sitting down on the floor, you attempt to take the crayon off the wall...not much works. You sigh, running your thumb over Luci's drawing—it's grass and flowers and…cows. At least they seem to be cows? Maybe they're pandas.

When you hear footsteps approaching the living room, you look up to see Austin wandering in, freshly showered. His hair is a bit wet still, some slicked back, some in wild curls on his forehead. You swallow over an emotion in your throat you don't want to name, your husband moving to sit on the couch near where you are. He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he looks down at you.

Quiet, nothing for a few moments until he breaks the ice that's forming by touching your hair, brushing it over your shoulder. You close your eyes until he speaks, almost laughing when he asks,

"Is this about Melanie?"

You definitely hate yourself a little bit, putting down a washcloth that isn't working against the crayon, "I'm sorry—" You open your eyes, looking up at him, "I'm really sorry."

Austin nods softly, drawing his thumb along your cheek and jawline as he waits for you to continue.

"It's…" And you don't even want to mention trusting him, because you do? Utterly? You have no idea where these rush of feelings came from—jealousy, guilt, frustration? Just be honest.

"It's not as easy as before we had Luci, dropping everything and joining you out." You start, licking your lips. That within itself isn't a big deal, there will be plenty of times in the future that you do join him. "And I let myself get all wound up because I saw this picture of you and Melanie on a couch at the bar, and I didn't like it."

You swallow, almost afraid to look at him in that admittance. His hand gently tips your chin, his blue eyes meeting yours. You can tell he knows exactly what you’re talking about, his thumb tracing along your lower lip,

“You can tell me stuff like that, you know? I wasn’t exactly quiet about Ronald gettin’ too close to you on set.”

There’s a soft laugh that rumbles in your chest because…Ronald is harmless, a sound guy you’ve worked with a handful of times on movie sets, including the films you’ve written for. He’s definitely a little…overly friendly? But has always been incredibly respectful. Austin isn’t a fan because, in his opinion, regardless that Ronald is nice? He crosses boundaries—too nice. And while you don’t exactly see it, you respect how Austin feels. Just like he’s understanding you now, with Melanie.

“I’m sorry,” Austin says after a moment, “If I hurt you.” And it…it wasn’t him exactly, though you do appreciate that, appreciate him. “Lot of us got tipsy fast, Melanie was one of them. She’s uh…bit of a cuddly drunk.” You can definitely relate, “Despite what you might have seen, us on the couch, that’s the closest we were all night. I was mostly just makin’ sure she wasn’t gonna fall over.”

So basically Austin was being a decent guy, like you already know he is.

Inching towards him on the floor, you kneel so you’re situated between his legs, nuzzling your noses together for a moment. His forehead rests along yours, “I’ll talk to you next time, when something bothers me,” You promise. You got too caught up in emotions, needing to remember to take a step back, breathe. It’s hard within the moment.

Austin nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Not freak out about crayons,” You mumble with a soft eyeroll and your husband smirks.

He pulls back, cupping your cheek as he takes a look at the artwork on the walls. “I talked to her after she calmed down, I think she understands.” Austin tilts his head a little, “Though, seems like a shame to get rid of such nicely drawn…bears?”

“I think they’re cows. We should make her write an artist statement.”

Austin laughs but…then again.

A few days later, you buy this frame at a yard sale you just happen to pass on your way home, and you place it perfectly around her drawing in the living room. When Austin comes home and sees that, he almost loses it, eyes bright with amused laughter. You would be the parents to frame your daughter’s first coloring on the walls…

And help her write an artist statement to place on a small placard alongside it.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg

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takenbypeter · 9 months ago

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hi! LOVE your wonka work! wondering if I could ask a wonka fic where wonka is looking for y/n so him, noodle, and y/n can go sell chocolate. Wonka finds y/n having a panic attack in some kind of secluded area or smth bc she didn't want to show/tell any of her friends? and then Wonka helps her through it (breathing together, using pure imagination, etc)? then after she's calmed down Noodle walks in with them and they kinda have like a brother-sister-sister moment together :) up to youuu!

Support

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 606

“Oh god I can’t do this,” you whispered eyes peeking from around the corner at the crowd bustling through the galleria.

You know you were the one to ask in joining Mr.Wonka in selling chocolates today along with Noodle. But now, seeing all the exhausted, angry, tired faces as people passed in the streets you suddenly realized you sort of miss all the laundry.

It wouldn’t be all so bad if they were all strangers, however, some of these people you saw just about everyday. Whether it be at the bank, or the store, these were people you saw in your daily life, and you were not a people person. You were not a crowd person. You were a—I’m not going to bother anyone and keep my head down—sort of person.

Genuinely you didn’t think you were going to react this badly. You felt fine when you’d agreed the evening before, but of course you this morning you felt slight nerves, however, that was nothing compared to the flips your stomach was doing now.

Taking one last peek you quickly ducked back, putting a hand to your chest to control your breathing that was starting to feel unnatural.

Taking a breath you heard a voice cry out, “are you here?”

Wonka.

He was calling your name. You wanted to gain the chocolatier’s attention with the least amount of attraction but your body was no longer listening to your brain as you were glued to the wall.

But luckily he spotted you as he was just about to pass the alleyway.

As he approaches you fervently shake your head back and forth, “too many people. Too many faces. I can’t do it,” you breathe out finding your breath coming out a little bit shorter than desired.

He bends in front of you trying to meet your eyes, but you shut them, “hey look at me,” he says voice low and calm, and you do as told opening them only to be met with his big chocolate colored eyes.

“Hey just breathe for me, can you do that?”

It looks like you’re unable to, prompting him to reach down finding your hand and holding it in his, “just breathe in,” he demonstrates, “and out,” he exhales. He does this a few more times and you follow along, your breathes slowing to a more consistent pace.

“This,” he says head jabbing towards the crowd, “this job looks easy but it’s not always so. After the nerves settle and more time is spent on each sell, it becomes easier almost like second nature. But you know what helped me the most?” He asked waiting for a response.

Unable to even give the question much thought you shake your head in a much more controlled manner this time, “a good support system. I didn’t do everything alone, I had a good support system. And now, we’ll be each other’s support system. I promise you, you don’t have to do this alone,” he releases your hand and holds his own up with his pinky out almost as if to say he pinky swears without actually saying the words, “we’ll do it together.”

Hand reacting to his you reach up looping your inner around his.

Right when your hands meet, Noodle runs up. “There you are guys, is everything alright?” She asks no doubt curious as to why your fingers were intertwined.

“Yes everything’s perfect,” you announce turning your attention away from Willy and to her, “let’s go sell some chocolate.”

You know it’s not going to be easy but like Willy said, with a good support system you can do anything.

#wonka imagine #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfiction #willy wonka fanfic #wonka x reader #wonka fanfic

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bokettochild · 9 months ago

Text

Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words.

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake.

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain.

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less.

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so.

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door.

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive.

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon.

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here.

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent.

The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment.

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this.

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all.

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again.

“We’re here.”

His hand stalls at the door.

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them.

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes.

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat.

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only...

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help.

“What do you want?”

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-”

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.”

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops.

It’s almost like he never left.

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire.

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows.

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house.

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury.

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.”

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?”

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-”

“Where?”

A shudder. “Everywhere.”

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?”

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.”

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm.

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers.

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?”

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile.

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob.

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.”

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath.

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects.

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next.

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it’s almost like nothing ever happened.

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment.

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness.

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.”

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put.

“No straining yourself. I will get you.”

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop.

His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.”

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow.

Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.”

“Who is-”

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.”

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family.

It leaves him alone.

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys?

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering.

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense. It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself.

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it.

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.”

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though.

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?”

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them.

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange.

It’s strange to be without.

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started.

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse.

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back.

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath.

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs.

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway.

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago.

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice.

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.”

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.”

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does.

“They are heroes?”

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.”

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it.

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate.

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away.

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop.

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.”

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it.

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already.

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.”

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it.

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest.

He tries.

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part.

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric.

He should say something.

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs.

He should say something.

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away.

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer.

Her feet tap away.

“I love you.”

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow.

#sablya #lu warriors #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #don't come for me #writing this was a fever dream #they are in control #i cannot control the warriors #or apparently sablya #link x oc

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kittrrrr · 4 months ago

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Day 9: Midna + Sword- Wasn't sure I was going to write today, but then I saw the prompt and went, "I have to" Under cut because it's kinda long for tumblr. Ao3

===

Midna was a princess. She should've spent her younger years studying hard at... makeup? Whatever it was that princesses should know, what her father's advisors thought best. She had never been really happy with that though. Luckily for her, she was very, very stubborn. Midna's nursemaid had once told her affectionately that she had fire running in her viens, passed from her mother, whoever that had been. That fire, she'd been told, was why she could her ground against the worst foe. In her younger mind, that had been, of course, her father's advisors, who wanted to trap her in dresses and make her walk instead of run. Her nursemaid had winked at her at the end of every lecture. Midna's nursemaid couldn't speak for her forever, and before long, her father's advisors didn't even bother seeing her.

That was when Midna put her foot down, well and truly, for the first. She was not going to stand and let these stupid advisors walk all over her! Sure, they had a point- they were advisors for a reason- but she wanted to make a point. If she was going to do this, then she was going to learn things she wanted too. Midna was going to learn swordfighting. The advisors hadn't wanted to budge, but they couldn't stand against fire for very long, and they fell like leaves in the breeze. It probably helped that tensions were rising in the court, and having the princess able to defend herself would help. (It all got sorted out a few years later, when tensions rose over, and the king was forced to execute over half of the court for various reason, mostly starting with T) It didn't matter to six-year-old Midna how she got her way.

Although, the advisors didn't learn their lesson at first: they still made her wear dresses, and she would change into pants for sword fighting. As if! Once Midna got her hands on a sword, she'd silt her dress and go to classes that way, and if not caught quickly (it never was caught quickly- the nursemaid was still on her side, even if she was now also sword fighting instructor) she'd run around for the rest of the day that way. It only a took a week and ten "ruined" dresses for the advisors to give up. You know what they say about playing with fire.

For years, Midna's life settled into this quiet pattern. The advisors would try and make her do something she didn't like, and either they compromised or they didn't do it at all. Even though they were all sure that Midna would be a terrible negotiator, she was surprisingly adept. Midna would dominate early, back her opponent into a corner, or she would wait it out, and build a maze of traps for the other. Just because they knew how she was doing it didn't mean that it was any easier to defeat, however. This all came out when she started taking diplocacy lessons at ten, which was also around the point when her nursemaid had nothing more sword-related to teach her. The nursemaid went to taking care of the princess, and the general of the guard took over lessons instead. This was what Midna was good at, it was who she was- the path of sharp blades and sharper words. It served her well enough, even when the power of the crown fell into her hands far too early.

Most Twi'ghi'li rulers didn't start their rule until their early thirties at the very earliest, as the Twilight tended to live for well over a hundred years. But a sneaky assassin with a well-place vial off poison, the wrong antidote, and suddenly Midna was in control at the age of seventeen. Far, far too young. Only sharp words and dangerous hands stopped a revolution. Or so Midna had thought. She cast out all of the awful advisors trying to control the throne... as though that would actually stop them. On the eve of her twenty-first birthday, Zant cornered her in on a balcony staring at over the edge of the Twilight, shining sliver, gold light reflecting.

Swords.

Words.

It didn't matter what Midna did. How she fought. She'd been training to prevent something like this for almost her entire life. It. Just. Wasn't. Enough. She hadn't a clue how Zant had managed to get so powerful under her nose. She'd thought she'd build a strong court. Had it really been rotten at the center like her father's? Had she just been too foolish to see the cracks, how broken it was? Midna muffled a cry as Zant used a giant chain and ball to smash into the side of the railing. She looked over into the deep, the darkness below the Twilight, the abyss of night, and nearly vomited. She tried her best to stand up, spinning head be damned, but collapsed down to the ground. She couldn't reach her sword, the force of the blow had sent it skittering away from her, way too far. Zant smirked, and with no small amount of smugness, turned his back to her, and collected her sword. Midna found the ground, and shoved against it. If she was going to die, she was not going to go down sniveling on the ground.

"Well, well, how the mighty have fallen." Zant cackled, tossing her sword in between his hands. Midna stumbled to her feet, almost unable to see through the black static, like when you stand up too fast, but so, so much worse. She saw enough to spit at Zant's feet. "Stubborn to the bitter end, huh? Well, fire, nice to met you. I'm water." Zant swung the blade down, and Midna had a moment to cosgin herself by dying by her own blade, which she'd fought so hard to learn, but at the last moment, Zant changed the direction of the blade. His head was tilted to the side, as if listening to something.

"Ah, yes.. That would be much better... break the fire before-" Was Midna really going to get out of this with just a slash down her leg? Then Zant turned to her, a spell glinting in his eyes. One that even Midna knew. She didn't even have time to scream.

#sepfember #kittrrrr kreates #midna #twilight princess #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #loz #tloz #zelda #midna twilight princess #loz midna #tp #tp midna #zant #tp zant #twilight princess zant

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 1 year ago

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Afterglow

Chapter Twelve of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Thirteen

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Frankie brings Estrella lunch & more than one secret is exchanged between group members

TW: p in v penetration, sex in public (sort of), mentions of past sexual assault, trauma and PTSD

Notes: hey everyone !! cheers to me for not taking a month to put out this chapter lololol,, i think this one might be in my top three of the chapters i've written for through the scope so please let me know what y'all think ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

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You haven’t seen your dad in a little over a week so there is a lot to catch each other up on. When you get there, he isn’t using a cane this time. He traded in his singular cane for two forearm crutches. You aren’t sure if this signals an improvement or a decline and guilt sweeps through your body. Maybe if you had been here instead of with the guys, you would know the answer to your mental question. You moved here to support him after all. It feels like your life is being pulled in two separate directions and it's killing you that you haven’t had time to finally unify them.

You’re nervous to tell your dad about Frankie. It doesn’t have anything to do with being ashamed or embarrassed of him, but it has always been easier to talk with your mom about boys and dating. Moments like this cause you to miss her more than normal. After the both of you discuss his weekly progress and PT sessions, you decide to change the subject. You know that he’s tired of having to talk about his recovery all the time even though he would never turn you down if and when you asked.

“So, what’s new with you and your girlfriend?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It feels weird to inquire about a prospective suitor in your dad’s life. You’re not ignorant to the fact that he may be lonely, but it doesn’t take away the strangeness of it. Your mother was the first love of his life, yet that doesn’t mean that she has to be the last.

“The date went well if that’s what you’re getting at.”

You realize that he must be just as nervous to talk to you about Maggie as you are to talk to him about Frankie.

“Are you going to see her again?”

“I see her everyday.” He snorts sarcastically. Although, when he sees that you’re less than amused with his joke he pipes up again. “Yeah, I think so. I want to get strong enough to take her to a restaurant. I know I said that the place doesn’t matter, but I’m getting restless.”

“But not before our car show, right? You said you wanted to do that first.”

“But not before the car show.” He echos. “Don’t worry, Sweet Pea. You’re still my number one girl.” His hand comes to rest over yours lovingly. “How’s work coming along? And your friends?”

“Work is going really great. I actually like what I do if you can believe it or not. The fights we host on Friday nights have also been a blast to watch.” He didn’t need to know that you spent the last fight night parading around half naked for a room full of drunk men and women. Even if you are an adult, some things are better kept secret. “My friends are great too.”

“Is that why you haven’t been stopping by as frequently lately?”

There is no disappointment or sadness in his voice when he asks you this question. If anything, you think you can detect some happiness and hope.

“Sort of.” You fidget around in your chair. “I had actually been seeing one of them for a few weeks, Frankie, and he asked me to be his girlfriend the other day.”

“Did he now?” He sits up straighter and has adopted a more protective, fatherly tone.

“Yes, he did.” You answer without bothering to hide your growing smile. “He’s so wonderful, dad. He has been nothing but kind and caring since I met him. All the guys have been, if I’m being honest, but I was only ever interested in Frankie.”

“What does he do for a living?”

You can feel your dad trying to mentally size him up.

“He’s a mechanic at a local auto body shop currently, but he was a pilot in the military before that. All of the guys served together.”

“A man who works with his hands and who served his country. That’s very respectable.”

“I think so.” Your voice sounds proud in your ears.

Your dad is traditional, for better or for worse, so you knew he would be pleased with Frankie’s occupations. He kept asking you questions about Frankie which you happily answered, but you never let his tumultuous past come into the conversation. Yes, that’s a part of Frankie, but that isn’t who he is anymore.

“I want to meet this man.” Your dad says finally. “I want to see who’s got you smiling like this.”

“Maybe he can come to the car show with us and you can meet him then? It’s still a very new relationship, you know. That way I’ll have some extra time to see if it’s serious or not. I don’t want to waste your time with someone I’m not going to keep around.”

You are surprised when he readily agrees with your proposal. You were sure he was going to fight you on meeting Frankie sooner, not that you minded, but it's nice to know that he trusts your judgment.

“It might be refreshing to have someone there that actually knows a thing or two about cars.” He teases.

“Maybe he’ll give you a run for your money knowledge wise, huh?” You joke back.

You hang out with him for about another hour before y’all call it a night. As you walk to your car you recall what you told your dad. I don’t want to waste your time with someone I’m not going to keep around. The truth is that you know Frankie is someone worth keeping around. You can feel it in your very bones. You know that the care you have for him now will only grow in the coming months and you can’t wait to see what it blooms into you. Although, you already have a small idea.

***

“I’m goin’ to have to miss our lunch today.” Benny rounds the brick wall and walks up to the side of your desk patting his forehead with a towel. “I have been meanin’ to go down to the police station ever since Rochelle went ballistic.”

“Wait, what?” You spin your chair to face him, handing him a water bottle. “I thought everything got taken care of that night? How come you are going down there?”

“The officers and I got to talkin’ and they told me that I could file a restrainin’ order against her. Would have done it right then and there if it didn’t have so much damn paperwork involved. I just want to make sure that it never happens again, for both your and Fish’s sake.”

“Oh, Benny.” You reach up and rub his arm.

“Think you can hold it down for at least a couple of hours? I’m not sure how long everythin’ will take me to complete.” He places his hand over yours and you aren’t sure who’s comforting who anymore.

“I can handle it. Don’t worry about me.” You turn your attention to the computer. “Your Thursday schedule is really light too. Just a few one on one sessions late this afternoon.”

He nods approvingly before heading back into the gym. “I’m goin’ to head out in about 10 minutes then. Don’t miss me too much.”

“I’ll be counting the seconds until you come back.” You say in a sarcastic, dreamy voice.

As soon as Benny heads back, you whip out your phone to text Frankie.

You: Please tell me you haven’t taken your lunch break yet.

Frankie: I was going to clock out for it in about 15 minutes. Why? What’s up?

You: Benny has to leave for a few hours to run some errands…maybe you could have lunch over here today? Just you and me?

Frankie: I would love that, cariño. Too bad the rest of the gym rats can’t run some errands too.

A cheeky grin splays across your face as you type your next message.

You: It would be a shame if the ‘open’ sign accidentally flipped to ‘closed’ when you got here…wouldn't it?

Frankie: Such a shame indeed.

You: I’ll text you when he heads out! I can’t wait to see you, Frankie (:

The Miller boys are nothing if not punctual. Benny heads out exactly when he said he would with promises of being back in time for his sessions later this evening. You’re so excited that you fire off a ‘coast is clear’ text to Frankie before Benny has even finished pulling out of the parking lot.

Frankie: On my way to you, Estrella.

You feel giddy like you have never felt before. This feeling warms your entire body, but turns into a raging fire when you see that familiar white truck pull into view 20 minutes later. He hops out cradling a takeout bag in his arms. You eagerly greet him at the front door and rise up on your tiptoes to hug him.

“How’s your day been?” He asks before stealing a kiss.

The domesticity of the question makes your heart flutter.

“It’s much better now. And yours?”

“I think I have to agree.”

He takes your hand and starts to lead the both of you back to your desk.

“Oh, wait! Before I forget!” You flip the sign on the door to display the ‘closed’ side. “Okay, now we can eat.”

He laughs to himself while he starts to unpack the food he brought. It’s a sound that makes your knees weak. Turns out he got y’all sandwiches from a place by his work that he had been wanting you to try.

“I made sure that they didn’t put anything on it that you didn’t like.” He says sliding your meal over to you gingerly. “And I made sure that they put extra of what you love.”

For some reason, Frankie remembering something so small about you has you extremely turned on. You feel crazy for wanting to jump his bones over something as mundane as meat in between bread, but you can’t help it. Maybe it’s the fact that he did all this out of the kindness of his heart or maybe it’s the fact that he looks so excited for you to try it. Regardless, you need him right now.

“Have you-have you ever had a tour of the gym?” If you were any less horny, you would be embarrassed at how clearly you can hear the desperation in your voice.

He looks slightly confused at your sudden topic change. “Sure. I mean we helped Benny furnish the place back when he bought it.” Your growing need for him must have been plastered across your face because realization settles over him. “But maybe you have something to show me?”

You hum in response and curl your finger at him to follow you back into the gym. Walking past the workout benches, the boxing ring, and the heavy bags you hold your breath. Frankie footsteps are quick and heavy behind yours as you make a beeline for the laundry room. You open the door to slip inside and feel yourself clench around nothing when he slams the door closed behind him. Faster than you can comprehend, Frankie grabs your arm and spins you around to face him. His lips are attacking yours in a crazed frenzy. Your senses are being drowned out by his heavy breathing and his hands hungrily roaming your body. As your arms wrap around his neck, his own circle your lower back and lift you off the ground. You can feel the burn of the cold metal against your thighs since you decided to dawn a tennis skirt this morning. The abrupt change in temperature causes you to breathe in quickly and you smile as he tugs at your lower lip.

“Like what you see on my tour?” Your breaths are ragged as he has moved on to devour the side of your neck.

“Like is an understatement.”

He continues to kiss red marks on your skin, that you will inevitably have to cover up later, as you work at unfastening his belt and unzipping his jeans. When you achieve your goal, he helps finish the rest. Frankie steps back and pulls himself up and over his boxers. Your clit pulses at the sight. He skillfully flips the bottom of your skirt up to reveal the spandex shorts underneath and uses his left hand to move them and your panties to the side. Frankie's eyes illuminate at the glorious sight of you bare in front of him. Taking himself in his hand, he lines up at your soaking entrance, and fills you up in one motion.

“That’s my girl.” He moans into your ear. “Take me just like that.”

He starts moving once he knows you have adjusted to his size. His pace is firm and steady as he starts massaging your clit with his left thumb. Your head is just starting to roll back while you sink into this moment with Frankie, when an unmistakable sound rings out. Both of you freeze and lock eyes.

“Estrella…” You can tell it's killing him not to move while he’s buried in your cunt. “Was that the fucking door bell?”

“Maybe.” Your breath catches when he decides to thrust forward as if urging you to elaborate. “Didn’t lock the door. Thought the sign would be enough.”

You almost miss your name being called out from inside the gym because you’re too wrapped up in the way Frankie feels inside you.

“Fuck. Let me,” You gasp. “Let me go see what he wants. Stay here.”

He groans, but concedes knowing that this is something you need to take care of so he can sink inside you again. Frankie pulls out and gently pulls your underwear and shorts back over. You stifle a laugh at the precarious situation that you currently find yourself in. Poking only your head outside the door, your eyes fall on the unwelcome intruder.

“Hey, Jacobs! Sorry I wasn’t at the door to check you in! I decided to do some deep cleaning in the laundry room today while Benny ran errands.” You pray that your flushed face isn’t a dead give away to what was just going on.

“No worries!” He hollers back from where he's standing at the weights. “I was just a little freaked out to see the place so quiet. Usually Benny has it bumping in here.”

You sense him before you feel him. Frankie places his hands on the hem on your skirt and pulls it down past your ass. When he reveals what he's looking for, you feel him ghosting just outside your pussy.

“Keep talking to him.” He quietly grunts while bottoming out. “Better act natural if you don’t want to get caught, baby. Wouldn’t want Jacobs to know that you’re getting fucked in public like a little slut, do you?”

Chills run down your arms and legs, littering your skin with goosebumps in their wake. Frankie has never called you that before, but you fucking like it.

“Yeah.” You struggle out, trying to ignore how much faster Frankie has started pumping now. “I decided to just play my music in here. Feel free to turn your earbuds up really loud. I wouldn’t want my bad singing to interrupt your- fuck- your workout!”

Frankie has snaked his hand around to the front of your skirt and slithered down to find your clit, catching you completely off guard.

“Are you alright?” Jacobs asks earnestly, looking confused and taking a few steps towards the room you’re in.

“F-fine! I’m totally fine! The cleaning products I'm using just started to give me a migraine, but I turned on the vent. Problem solved.”

You don’t know how much longer you can keep this up for. This performance that you’re putting on isn’t going to win you an Oscar, but you’re hoping that it's sufficient enough to ward off Jacobs.

“Do you need any medicine or -?”

“That’s really sweet, but I’m all good. I already took some.” Your knees start to shake as your climax nears. Frankie isn’t helping the situation at all by lifting up the back of your shirt and kissing along your spine. “Also it's probably best if you steer clear of this side of the gym. I wouldn’t want the cleaning products to affect you too.”

“Right uhh okay. Sounds good.” He smiles weakly at you before waving. “Feel better.”

“Thanks!” You wince slightly as Frankie slides his hand under your bra and starts to tweak your nipple. “I’m starting to feel better already!”

You don’t think you have ever closed a door so fast in your entire life.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” You huff, bracing yourself on the shut door.

Frankie, without pulling out, turns you to where you can now rest your upper body on the washing machine lid. You know he’s having too much fun messing with you.

“If you kill me, Estrella, how am I supposed to make you feel better?”

If you thought he was being merciless before, you were mistaken. He grips your hips tightly as he drills into you from behind. You bite down on your arm to silence the flow of moans and whimpers that escape you. Catching your thoughts drifting to the possibility of being heard, your walls contract around the man inside you.

“Tell me what’s going on inside that beautiful mind of yours.” He says gruffly.

“Getting caught.” You whine softly.

“It’s turning you on? Fuck.” His hands cut deeper into your skin. “I know you liked what I said to you earlier. I saw your body react.”

Another wave of chills encapsulates your body at the mere thought of it.

“You like getting fucked like the whore you were dressed as the other night?” Tears prick your eyes as the metaphorical rope twists tighter in your belly. It’s seconds away from snapping. “You like being a whore just for me, Estrella?”

Your body answers for you, soaking him in your climax. He lowers his head and whispers sweet nothings into your ear while you see stars all around you. Your euphoria isn’t enough to make you forget to answer him.

“I love being a whore just for you. I’ll do anything you ask me too.”

With those words, you feel him coming hard. He moans lowly while his hip buck and you can feel him completely emptying himself. God, you could get addicted to that. When he pulls out, you brace yourself using the sides of the washing machine. He quickly finds a soft, freshly washed towel to clean you up with. Urgency doesn’t exist at this moment. You know that he enjoys the after just as much as the before.

“You know, the first time I saw you in the photo Benny has hanging in here, I was awestruck.” The two of you are now sitting together, backs against the washer and hands intertwined, on the laundry room floor. “He had completely left the room and I didn’t even notice because I was trying to wrap my head around how it was possible for this stranger to be that handsome.”

You look over at Frankie to see him smiling to himself and staring down at your joined hands. The apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears have adopted a soft pink hue. His shyness makes you remember that compliments were few and far between in his last relationship. You are going to make sure that he never goes unappreciated while he’s with you. You are going to make sure he knows how deserving he is to hear words like that.

“How crazy that in just a few months time, I would be holding that stranger's hand and sharing a bed with him on a regular basis. You make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, do you know that? After some things that happened when I was younger, I didn’t think men like you existed.”

“What happened when you were younger?” His voice is cautious.

“I had this friend, a guy, that I would hang out with all the time when I was 19. One night, we were at his house drinking and watching a movie. I guess I drank a little more than I thought because the rest of the night comes in flashes.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply. “I remember laying on the couch and listening to the sound of the movie floating in and out of my ears. Then there are hands that I don’t want grabbing me, pulling at my clothes, and touching my hair. I could smell the-the tequila on his breath. It made my stomach twist in the most violent way. I ended up passing out before the worst of it. I don’t know what's worse: remembering or having no memory at all.”

You open your eyes and turn your head to look at him. There was a part of you that was scared to see the emotions reflecting on his face. Would he look at you differently? Would he think of you as damaged goods? Some stupid girl who put herself in a compromising situation? Would he be afraid to touch you after this? Would he think of you as some small breakable object now that he knows the truth?

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I-”

“Estrella, it wasn’t your fault.” You close your eyes again because they sting with tears. “You were with someone you thought you could trust. You were doing something that you thought was safe. It wasn’t your fault. Everything, every single thing, is on him. He desecrated the friendship that you gave him. It doesn’t matter how much or how little you drank that night. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

He grips your hand tighter and leans his head against yours. You listen to his breathing and use it to regulate your own. For the first time in your life you really let it sink in. The fact that it wasn’t your fault, that it wasn’t your doing. Robbie always told you that. She never once blamed you for it. You knew she was right when she said it, but some part of you simply refused to believe it. Holding onto the misplaced guilt was your way of protecting yourself or punishing yourself. But, now? Now that you actually said the words ‘I know’? You could feel your shoulders releasing a load that they were never meant to be carrying in the first place. The scars would still be there, yet now perhaps they could fade.

“It’s me who’s lucky.” He says after a while, bringing y’alls laced hands up to his lips and kissing the back of yours. “It’s not often that you’re given a second chance in life. It’s also not often that the second chance is this woman who’s compassionate, understanding, intelligent, loving, and beautiful.” As he lists each characteristic, he kisses the corresponding tips of your fingers. “When I first saw your photo,” He sighs, remembering back to that day. “I wanted to kiss you on the bridge of your nose. Right here. I couldn't shake the feeling that my lips would fit perfectly.”

You giggle faintly as he takes his free hand and pokes it at your nose after he wiped away your stray tears.

“Why don’t you test out your theory then?”

His velvety brown eyes are the last thing you see before you close your own. You feel him let go of your hand and then cup the sides of your face. His beard tickles your skin as he lowers his lips to his destination. You can’t help but echo his sigh when you feel him connect with the bridge of your nose. He was right, you think, it’s a perfect fit. The two of you are a perfect fit. You open your eyes when he slowly pulls away. He looks so at ease staring back at you.

“What’s your conclusion?” You whisper.

“Just as I suspected,” He leans his forehead against yours. “It’s like it was made for me.”

***

You and Benny are almost done with y’alls nightly clean up. The only thing left to do is to take the dirty towels into the laundry room so you can run a load in the morning. The two of you chat easily as he opens the door for you since you’re carrying the dirty towel basket. When he doesn’t immediately move out of the doorway, you lightly bump the basket into his back.

“Earth to Benny. This thing is getting heavy and I would like to set it down now.”

He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder and gives you a devilish grin. Bumping the door the rest of the way open with his hip, he leans down and picks something up off the ground.

“Isn’t this strange?” He says, turning to face you fully. “What would Fish’s cap be doin’ in our laundry room?”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. They seem to be permanently stuck in an ‘o’ position.

“Are you goin’ to tell me what went down while I was gone?” His shit eating grin has somehow managed to get bigger.

“Are you going to tell me what ‘operation catch-a-fish’ was?” You ask smugly, finally finding your voice.

Benny opens his mouth to combat your question, but just laughs instead. “Looks like both of our lips are sealed then.”

“Perhaps you could unseal yours for another question?” You push past him and set down what you were carrying. “It’s about Will.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re leaving Catfish for my brother.”

“No, you asshat!” You pop him in the arm as he laughs again. “I want to set him up with Robbie.”

“Ahhhh I see. You want to play matchmaker.”

“I want him to be happy. I think he and Robbie would really hit it off too. She’s coming down in a few weeks and I want to start planting the seed in that vast mind of his. I just wasn’t sure how he feels about dating right now and was hoping you would.”

A bittersweet look washes over Benny’s face at your confession. You can tell that he wants to tell you something, but he’s stopping himself.

“You’re going to tell me to ask him in person, aren’t you?”

He smiles weakly and motions to leave the laundry room, making sure to take Frankie’s hat with him. “Just like I told you with Fish, it’s not my place to get into all of Will’s business. Between you and me, I think he’s lonely, but he would never admit it. I’m personally onboard with hookin’ him up with your friend, but just talk to him. He and the rest of the guys are on their way here to meet me at the bar right now.”

After doing a final sweep of the place, the two of y’all grab your things and lock up. Sure enough the guys are all leaning against the bed of Frankie’s truck waiting.

“Hola, hermosa!” Pope pulls you in for a bear hug as soon as you approach them.

“Hi, Santi!” You hug him back with just as much force. “Believe it or not, I’ve missed you this week.”

“Who wouldn’t miss me?” He asks playfully as you pull away.

“Stop hogging her, Pope.” Frankie nudges his friend out of the way so he can hug you. “Long time no see, Estrella.”

“Yeah, speakin’ of ‘long time no see’, Fish.” Benny produces the left behind cap and tosses it over. “Next time you sneak over, it’s probably best that you don’t leave a callin’ card, hm?” His voice is mischievous.

“Oh I- I just came by to drop off lunch and-”

“Save it, lover boy.” He winks at him.

Even under the dim street lights, you can see that Frankie’s cheeks have adopted a soft blush. You kiss his shoulder before turning your attention to the man you have been meaning to speak too.

“Howdy, Will.” You speak bashfully as he pulls you into him.

“Saved the best for last. I knew I liked you, hon.”

“Come on! Let’s go get some fuckin’ drinks!” Benny says, throwing his arm around Pope’s shoulder. “It’s been a day!”

“You filled out paperwork at the police station for the majority of the day, you big baby.” You counter.

The rest of the group clearly wasn’t privy to Benny’s plans today by the quizzical look on all of their faces.

“Calm down. I was goin’ to fill y’all in tonight at the bar. The quicker we get there, the quicker y’all get to hear. So, let's get a move on.”

Benny, Pope, and Will all start walking while Frankie holds an outstretched hand for you to take hold of. You want to make sure you talk to Will before either of y’all are slurring your words, so you quietly, but quickly fill Frankie in on your plan for Robbie and Will. He seems to have the same reaction as Benny did. Concern mixed with approval. Frankie volunteers to go into The Barrel with Pope and Benny so you can talk to Will without having an audience.

“Will? Can you stay out here for a second?”

He is holding the door open for you after letting the other men into the establishment.

“What’s on your mind, doll?”

“I wanted to ask you about your stance on dating right now. My friend, Robbie, is coming down to visit me in a few weeks and I think you would really like her. I was hoping that you would let me set you up with her, but I wanted to see what you thought about that before I got ahead of myself.”

He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a low whistle.

“I haven’t taken much of a shine to datin’ since my fiancée left me a while back.”

You feel like you just got the wind knocked out of you. “You were engaged?! I didn’t know that.”

“Once upon a time I was, yeah.” He holds up his wedding ring ringer. “Never made it to the aisle though.”

“Can I ask what happened? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

“I don’t mind sharin’ with you.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It just might change the way you see me though.”

“I’d never judge you, Will.” You say sincerely.

“About five or six years ago, when I was on leave, I found myself standin’ in the middle of the cereal aisle at the Publix with my arm around some guys throat.” He takes a deep breath. “I was squeezin’ so hard he pissed himself. My fiancée at the time had to climb on my back just so I didn’t actually kill the guy. Do you know why I was doin’ this?”

You shake your head at him.

“Because he hadn’t moved his cart when I asked.” He rubs his eye briefly. “I flipped out on some poor innocent bastard because he was stoppin’ me from gettin’ some goddamn cereal.”

“Will, that’s not your fault. It was an involuntary reaction.”

“But it was. I put his life, my fiancée’s life, and that entire store full of people’s lives in danger because I shut down and just reacted like I was trained to do. I loved what I did to serve my country, but I didn’t realize at the time how committin’ acts of extreme violence on other human beings would affect me biologically.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” You long for a phrase that can convey the true depth of your sorrow for what he went through. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

“I’ll be honest with you, I want to start datin’ again, but I guess I can’t bring myself too. I don’t want to hurt another woman the way I hurt my fiancée.”

You take his hand in yours. “The work you do with and for all the other vets has given you the tools to effectively navigate the trauma and PTSD you have from the military. I know that it never really goes away, but what matters is that you're trying to work through it. Everyday I’m sure something happens that triggers you or takes you back to moments that you would rather not relive. I wish to God that I could take that pain away from you, Will, but I know I can’t. What I can do is support you and I’m always going to do that. I trust you no matter what.”

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls you in for a bone crushing hug. You wrap your arms around him and hope he can feel how much you truly care about him through your touch. The two of you stay embracing for a few minutes until you feel him let out a heavy sigh and let go.

“So,” He says, opening the bar's door once again. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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