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greensagephase · 1 month ago

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Nonviolent Communication - Part 20

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: A little AI assistant informed you of a certain someone's birthday! Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: little mentions of being alone, but nothing too serious; an unexpected cameo, even I didn't know about; honestly, Miguel and us need to kiss already - we're so cute 🥹😫; someone cries; mischievous Lyla plotting; fluff and fluff and fluff Music (Spotify playlist): No music for this one, pookies. I didn't have time to find music appropriate for it. Masterlist

Part 20

“Are you ready?” you ask with a smile, filled with excitement about today. You try to tone it down, knowing you can’t show your full excitement to avoid raising suspicions.

Miguel chuckles and nods. “I am. You said it’s around the corner?”

“Mhm, just around the corner,” you reply, the tote bag Miguel gifted you for Christmas in your hand. You smile subtly and glance at the trees, noticing the autumnal hues now that it’s October and officially fall. You grin at the sight, appreciating the view and time of year while Miguel and you walk side by side on the sidewalk in your universe.

You turn to look at Miguel again, knowing he has no idea you know what today is — his birthday!

You would’ve missed it if it wasn’t for Lyla, who told you about it two weeks ago by accident when she was sharing who had birthdays in October at HQ, giving you plenty of time to plan and ask Miguel if he wanted to hang out today without raising his suspicions.

As far as Miguel knows, today is a regular Sunday to you and you just happened to plan the day’s activities on his birthday without knowing.

You look away, still smiling to yourself as you round the corner and walk just a bit before reaching your first destination of the day: your favorite record shop.

“Here is it! The best record shop, in my humble opinion, in the whole city,” you cheerfully say, presenting it to Miguel like it’s someone very dear to you.

Miguel grins at you before his eyes take in the small shop, feeling a coziness from it before he even walks through the door.

“It looks welcoming,” he says, feeling excitement at the possibility of finding some new records to add to his growing collection. Ever since you gifted him the record player for Christmas, Miguel has been slowly been buying more records, but it’s not always easy. Being from a highly advanced society means that it’s harder to find such items. Thankfully, there’s a small market for those who do enjoy collecting them and that's how Miguel has been able to collect a few.

Still, his access to records is not the same as yours. You have multiple shops with hundreds of records available, and that's just in your city.

“Come on,” you say, pushing the door open and holding it for Miguel. “Better get started because there’s sooooo much to see and we still have another shop to go.”

Miguel chuckles and nods. “Let’s go, after you.”

You step in first because, as always, Miguel is a gentleman. You’re both greeted by the owner, an older man in his seventies or so, but still moving as if he was in his forties. Miguel notes his simple yet elegant outfit consisting of a green sweater with a white button-up beneath, the latter’s collar perfectly styled. Dark tinted glasses sit on his nose, which are a contrast to his white hair and mustache. Miguel can’t help but feel like he knows him from somewhere.

“Hey, kid! It’s been sometime since I’ve seen you,” the man says to you, smiling.

“I’ve been a little busy, sir,” you reply, offering him a smile. “But it’s great to be back and to see you.”

“Always great to see you, too, kid! I see you’ve brought your boyfriend along this time, too. Welcome to our Earth, young man!” the owner says cheerfully, turning to look at him.

Miguel and you freeze at the man’s words for a second or two.

“Oh we -” you start, shocked.

“We’re -” Miguel only manages to say at the same time.

“Hold that thought, young folks, I have to check something in the back,” the owner says with a laugh before slipping to the back room, leaving you both alone.

Miguel scratches his neck, and you stare at the spot where Mr. Stanley was just standing. Your cheeks feel hot suddenly while you fidget with your tote bag before you look at Miguel.

“I hope um… I hope that - I’m sorry that Mr. Stanley assumed we’re - you know,” you say, not able to form a coherent sentence due to your shock.

Miguel finally turns to you, his cheeks red. This isn’t the first time someone has assumed you’re both dating, but this is certainly the first time you have both being told about it, at least as far as Miguel knows. He clears his throat, noticing your shy yet apologetic demeanor.

“I uh - I hope it doesn’t - I’m sorry,” you try again because Miguel might take offense.

“Hey, hey,” Miguel says calmly, gently. “You have no reason to apologize, Dulzura. It was a,” he pauses, still feeling shocked but having to push through his own surprise for your sake because he can see you’re far more in shock than him. He’s gone through this more than you. “It’s an innocent assumption, right?” he asks softly.

You nod slowly. “Yes… but you’re not upset?”

“Why - why would I be upset?” Miguel asks.

“I don’t know… I just - I thought - I don’t know,” you say again, shaking your head in an attempt to get your brain to think right again. “Let’s go see the records?”

“Lets,” Miguel replies, also pushing past his own shock that once again someone has assumed you’re a couple. He notes that this is the third time, which makes him briefly think that maybe you two really give off that impression. Miguel shakes his head and focuses on the store instead, deciding that if some people think that, he doesn't mind. It's not an offense to him as you insinuated just now. It's an innocent assumption and that's that.

Pushing past Mr. Stanley’s comment, Miguel and you walk to one side of the shop to browse records. Miguel stops and does a turn, his eyes taking in the great number of records greeting his eyes. There’s so many! So, so, so many options to go through and check out. He feels giddy, knowing he’ll get to explore the entire shop with you.

“Look, here’s pop and hip hop, over there rock, jazz is on that side…” you say, gesturing to each genre.

The two of you start browsing, talking about the records you find interesting, or when you find artists you both know. You lift records to show each other, finding some goofy covers at times and making each other laugh. In the end, you both walk around the shop holding your tote bag, each of you holding a handle to support the weight of the records you’ve both decided to take home.

You notice Miguel gazing at a vinyl, gaining his attention, so you stop walking. Miguel, realizing you’ve stopped moving, turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I see you eyeing that record,” you say.

Miguel smiles. “The cover just looks interesting, that’s all.”

“Why don’t you check it out?” you suggest.

“Alright,” he replies, still smiling. He picks up the item with his free hand and inspects it, reading the back for the song titles. He hums before placing it back on the shelf. “It sounds alright,” he says with a shrug, but you can see he really seems to like it. “What’s at the back?”

You look away from the record and turn to the back. “Mr. Stanley also sells a few pop culture things, so you’ll find key chains, t-shirts — that sort of stuff. Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” Miguel says as you both walk to the back of the store, but not before you subtly pull the record Miguel just placed back on the shelf with your webs.

You easily slip it into the bag when you reach the section and notice Miguel’s eyes taking in everything that’s currently popular in your universe. His gaze settles on something that catches his attention immediately: Spider-Woman merch, a sight that makes him smile.

“What do we have here?” he asks, gently picking up a key chain of you as Spider-Woman.

You smile, looking at the item. “It seems some Spider-Woman merch. It’s cute,” you say.

“It is,” Miguel agrees, observing it intently. He keeps it in his hand before turning to look at hoodies and sweatshirts. “Seems like Mr. Stanley is stocked for the colder months, hm?”

“It seems so,” you reply with a grin, watching Miguel pick up a sweatshirt with your symbol on it. He traces it softly before he starts looking through the others, searching. You raise an eyebrow before you realize he’s looking for his size, a thought that brings you immediate delight. You smile happily when he finds one and holds it against his chest.

“What do you think?” he asks.

You chuckle and nod. “Perfect choice. It’s going to keep you warm for the winter.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Plus,” Miguel stops and then in a whisper continues, “it’s another way to support my best friend.”

“What a supportive best friend you are,” you respond, smiling. “Spider-Woman would be proud of you.”

“Is that so?” Miguel asks with a soft smirk. “Do you think I’ll get the chance to meet her sometime?”

“She’s always around, so if you stick around, you might just get to.”

“I hope so, I’ve been meaning to get an autograph of hers,” Miguel says with a grin before he smiles much more tenderly at you, serious now. “I admire her very much, you know.”

“She equally admires you,” you reply, smiling warmly at him. “She’d be happy to wear your merch, too.”

Miguel chuckles. “I’ll happily make sure she gets a sweatshirt of mine, that’s no issue,” he says, already thinking of the few small businesses he can buy some merch of himself.

“Sounds like a deal,” you reply.

“Are you two lovebirds finding everything okay?” Mr. Stanley says, stepping out of nowhere.

Miguel and you continue to look at each other, the word ‘lovebirds’ not missed by your ears, but this time instead of letting the shock linger, you both smile and chuckle before you reply.

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “I think we’re ready to check out, no?”

Miguel nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen everything. Let me just step into the bathroom real quick, okay?”

“Go ahead,” you say, grinning at the opportunity. As soon as Miguel closes the door, you head straight for the cash register to pay for everything, since you want to treat Miguel on his birthday.

“All done? Found everything okay?” Mr. Stanley says, as you unload the tote bag.

“Yes, sir. And yes, we did, thank you.”

The older man grins as he begins the transaction, noticing the records selected. Meanwhile, you look around the store, noticing the decorations Mr. Stanley has behind the counter, which all look cool and interesting, but your eyes stop on something in particular. Fan art of you and someone else.

“Excuse me, sir, is that — Fan art of Spider-Woman?” you ask.

“That? Oh yes, yes,” Mr. Stanley answers. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely,” you reply, staring at the unknown figure next to it. You look closer, realizing there’s little shapes around the heads. “Who is the other person next to her?”

“Why don’t I let you see it closer, huh? Just be careful with it, I paid good money for this,” he says, stepping away to retrieve the framed art. He hands it to you with a proud smile. “Spider-Woman and her Spider-Man.”

You nearly choke at that, especially when you see what he’s referring to. The fan art has you, drawn perfect if you say so yourself, but next to you is… Miguel, dressed in his Spider-Man 2099 suit. The two figures seem to be holding hands while swinging through the city’s downtown with little red hearts around your heads.

“Oh, wow,” you say a little breathless. “Where did you — How did you think of this, Mr. Stanley?”

“Well,” the man says as he continues with the transaction, putting the records he’s checked back into your tote bag. He slips one inside, careful, before looking up at you with a knowing grin. “Spider-Woman needs someone to lean on, too, right? What better than her Spider-Man, someone who understands her? A perfect couple, if I must say so myself.”

You nod, still staring at the fan art. “Yes, I guess you could say that,” you reply, going along with him before you hand it back. “Thank you for letting me see it up close. It’s wonderful.”

“Of course, of course. If that’s all, young lady, your total is…” he pauses before telling you the amount.

You quickly pay and thank Mr. Stanley just as Miguel reaches your side.

“Wait — you already paid?” Miguel asks because he had full intentions of paying everything himself.

“Yep,” you answer simply with a smile. “Come on, we have places to be. Bye, Mr. Stanley!”

You exit, Miguel following behind. “Thank you, sir,” Miguel says before he reaches the door, but stopping when he hears the older man speak.

“You take care of that girl. She’s a good one,” Mr. Stanley says to him. “Make sure you’re there for her, be someone she can lean on, you hear me?”

Miguel nods, smiling slowly. “Yes, sir. I will.”

“Good, now, go on!”

Miguel says goodbye and steps out. The door closes, but Miguel swears he still heard the man say ‘ex- something’ though he didn’t hear the entire thing. He sighs and turns to you, finding you holding the tote bag.

“Here, I can hold that,” Miguel offers.

“No, it’s alright,” you reply as you gesture for him to start walking with you.

“Come on,” Miguel says as he walks next to you, picking up the bag from one side and taking one of the handles again.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I told you I got it.”

“I know, but still. It’s the thought that counts, right?” he asks. “It’s the thing a gentleman does, and I — well, I try to be one,” Miguel says, glancing at you while you walk, heading God knows where.

“You are one,” you confirm, smiling. “But fine, I’ll let you hold that handle while I hold the other one. Team work.”

Miguel scoffs playfully. “Fine, team work, Dulzura.” He sighs and looks around, thinking it’s a great day so far. “Where are we going next?”

“It’s a surprise,” you reply, not wanting to share.

Miguel hums, knowing you won’t share your plans, so he walks with you, ready to follow wherever you go.

While you head to your next destination, you show and point out different things along the way, further introducing your city to Miguel, who appreciates the much slower pace compared to Nueva York’s. While you two continue to walk, he finds himself silently thinking that he could get used to it, this slower pace. It’s funny, he thinks. You seemed to have adapted to his universe easily and he can see himself adapting to yours the same way. He shakes the thought away when you eagerly nod to a small building, a book shop.

“One of the best book shops in the city,” you say as you open the door for him. “One of my favorites.”

Miguel sighs at the sight of you holding the door. He just told you he’s trying to be a gentleman.

Noticing his sigh and a little pout, you chuckle. “I’m trying to be a gentle lady,” you say, joking.

“Very funny,” Miguel says playfully. “Poking fun at me, are you?”

“I would never,” you respond as he finally steps in.

“Right, gentle lady,” Miguel says, unable to stop himself from finally grinning. He can’t help it. He never can when he’s around you, if he’s honest.

“I know you like sci-fi, Migs. The section is this way,” you eagerly report, tugging him along due to his hold on the bag.

Starting with the sci-fi section, the two of you browse the shop. You look through every genre you both enjoy, trying to find good reads, especially now that it’s autumn, the coziest time to read. Between you, you both manage to get a stack of ten books, which Miguel holds because he insisted earlier. Despite his protests, you pay for everything.

“Hey, when I’m at your universe, you always want to pay. It’s only fair I get to do the same,” you say, once you’re both out of the shop. “It’s just a little treat, you know.” You glance at Miguel, hoping he doesn’t catch on. “It’s a little thank you for letting me stay at your place for so long. And also, I got to see so much of your universe, so I want you to see more of mine, too,” you add, smiling.

Miguel nods, even though he still wishes he was the one paying. “Alright, if you insist, but you really don’t have to thank me for opening my home to you. I already told you, my home is your home,” Miguel says, and after a few seconds he adds, “Always.”

You smile and nod, knowing he really means it. Miguel firmly stated the same thing several weeks ago, when the two of you woke up leaning on each other hours later after meeting on that rooftop on Earth-42 by pure coincidence. You were a little worried when you woke up because you found yourself in such position, with your head resting on his shoulder since he had shifted over the hours to be more comfortable. You wondered if you made Miguel uncomfortable, if the only reason he didn’t say anything was to avoid being rude, but when you searched his face for signs of discomfort or irritation, you found none. At least, not visible ones.

The two of you woke up feeling rested despite the strange sleeping positions and it was only a few minutes after waking up that you finally shifted away to give Miguel some space, thinking that you had pushed his boundaries enough.

While you fixed the blanket over you, you failed to notice the little pout on Miguel’s lips when you scooted away. Neither did he. He watched you moved, noting the loss of your warmth immediately.

You had breakfast a short while after that and then finally discussed that ‘something’ Miguel had mentioned hours ago.

Sitting at the kitchen counter, you both knew a few things.

Neither of you wanted you to move out.

Your homes felt different to you now; something had changed.

You grew used to living with each other and to the routines you easily and quickly established.

And, you missed each other so much that neither of you could sleep.

So, you both decided that it would be nice if you stayed at the penthouse on some nights throughout the week, at least. Miguel even offered to sleep on your couch if you don’t want to stay at the penthouse, but you warned him he might be getting back pain from it. You told him you rather go to the penthouse than have him deal with that issue. Ever since then, you’ve spent about three nights out of the week at his penthouse, sometimes four, and it seems to be working well for the two of you.

Yet…

You both wish that you could go back to the way it was before, to being roommates full-time. Of course, neither of you shared that bit to avoid pushing each other’s boundaries. There’s also your apartment. Miguel fully understands what the apartment means to you, so he knows he cannot propose being roommates because that would put you in a difficult dilemma. And you, well, you still hold on to the apartment, even if it stills feels different now. You can’t pinpoint what it is, but you know it’s a good difference.

With a sigh, you push the thought away and focus on the birthday man walking next to you instead, and thank him for his kind words. “I appreciate it, Migs. So is my home, you know. My home is your home. You’re always welcomed.”

Miguel grins. “Thank you, Dulzura.”

You return the grin, feeling giddy. “I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of hungry now.”

“You know, me, too,” Miguel answers. “I guess the walking is making us hungry. Should we head to the penthouse to eat? I can cook something.”

“I was thinking, I actually want to try a new recipe, if you don’t mind,” you start softly. “You can help me if you want?” you offer. “We can pick up the groceries from my apartment since I have everything already.”

“That sounds great to me,” Miguel answers with a smile, unaware of your plans.

♡

After picking up the groceries from your apartment, Miguel and you travel back to Nueva York. You quickly split up tasks and begin to cook an early dinner, even though you would’ve preferred to cook everything yourself to spoil Miguel a bit.

You decided to let him help you, however, for two reasons. One, to avoid raising his suspicions, and two, because you know that Miguel appreciates quality time and loves cooking. You simply didn’t have it in you to exclude him, not when you know he enjoys cooking with you so much.

While prepping dinner, you happily listen to Miguel talk about how much he loved going to the little shops you went, especially the record player store.

“There’s so many records,” Miguel says as he seasons steaks. “For a moment, I didn’t even know where to look because of how many there were.”

You laugh softly while dicing vegetables. “And it’s just one store. There’s a few others around the area, but that one is my favorite. If you want, we can go check out the other ones next weekend. Maybe even go to the ones that are new to me, too.”

“Really?” Miguel asks, looking up from the steaks and at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Of course,” you reply, finding his excitement sweet. “We can have breakfast, or lunch somewhere in my universe like we did today, and then spend the rest of the day exploring those stores.”

“That sounds really nice,” Miguel admits softly, smiling. “I’d like that, but this time I pay for my records,” he says with a little frown, his lips pouting.

You tilt your head a little. “Alright, alright,” you reply with a grin, knowing that the possibility exists now because Miguel and Lyla came up with a way to convert money easily.

“Good,” Miguel says, returning his attention to the steaks, making sure they’re properly seasoned before cooking them. “Then, I’d like to, if you’re open to it.”

“I’m already looking forward to it,” you respond, meaning it. Nothing sounds better than spending a day shopping for records with your best friend and showing him more of your city.

A while later, you excuse yourself to use the bathroom while the food is finishing cooking, but in reality, you leave Nueva York entirely and return to your universe. In minutes, you’re back to Miguel’s penthouse with something. A birthday cake you’ve baked yourself, of course.

“Lyla,” you say when you arrive upstairs.

“Reporting for duty,” she says as soon as she appears, grinning.

“Is there any way you can distract Miguel? I just need a few seconds to sneak the cake into the kitchen.”

“Hmm… I can access the door bell and make it seem like someone’s here!” she eagerly informs you. “Let me do my thing. Be ready at the end of the stairs, I’ll send you a signal when he’s at the door,” Lyla adds, giddily.

You thank her before she disappears, hurrying out of your room and climbing down the stairs. As soon as you reach the bottom, you hear the front door bell ring. A few seconds later, you hear Miguel’s footsteps and then the door that leads to that side of the penthouse opening.

Not even a second later, Lyla sends you a message to let you know you’re in the clear. You quietly but quickly sneak the cake into the kitchen and hide it, already eager to see Miguel’s face when you take it out with the candles and everything.

Hearing Miguel’s footsteps coming your way again, you return to the stove and check on the food, pretending that nothing is amiss.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yes, the door bell rang but there was no one. I think the system may need an update, or something. I’ll have to check it out,” Miguel says as he reaches the sink to wash his hands, but not before taking off his bracelet and hair tie, which he has worn all day. “I’ll do that later,” he adds, deciding that he’ll leave it for tomorrow.

Today, Miguel simply wants to enjoy your company as much as he can. So far, it’s been a wonderful Sunday that started with him arriving to your apartment before the two of you headed out to have lunch at a small and quaint diner. You headed to the shops after that, your stomachs full and satisfied.

Now, you’re here cooking together and will probably spend some time in the living room, enjoying each other’s company. He couldn’t wish for a better Sunday, nor a better birthday.

Drying his hands with a towel, Miguel thinks about how you have no idea that today is his birthday. Despite not knowing, you’ve easily made it one of the best ones he’s ever had. He silently remembers the last few ones, when he was alone, and the fact that he hasn’t celebrated in years. In fact, the last time he celebrated his birthday was when Gabriel was alive. Since then, Miguel has found it easier to pretend his birthday is like every other day, nothing to celebrate.

Due to that, Miguel hasn’t told anyone at HQ his birth date. The only person that knows about it is Lyla, but she’s been instructed not to reveal it to anyone.

Miguel turns to face you, silently wondering if he should tell you now. You’re best friends after all, right? But then, he frowns a little, realizing that if he tells you now so late in the day, you’ll probably feel guilty. You’ll probably say you wished you knew sooner and apologize, even if it’s not your fault, but his for not telling you.

He decides not to say anything. There’s always next year, right?

“Food is almost ready,” you say happily, bringing Miguel’s attention back to the moment.

“It smells amazing,” he replies, coming to your side to get a closer look.

♡

“That was amazing,” Miguel says once he places his fork down, finished with his meal.

You hum as you finish as well, wiping your mouth clean. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it! We did a great job.”

Miguel smiles. “It was mostly you, but thank you. Today…” Miguel starts, feeling truly happy. “Has been great. I’ve enjoyed it a lot, thank you, Dulzura.”

You smile, nodding. “I’m so happy you’ve enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed it so much, too.” You stand up and pick up your plate before walking to retrieve Miguel’s, but he tries to pick it up himself. “It’s okay, I got it, Miguel,” you tell him gently. “Please. It’s nothing.”

Miguel slowly lets go. “Alright, thank you.”

You nod and take the dishes to the sink, deciding to leave them for later. For now, you want to move on with your surprise.

“Hey, do you mind getting the sweatshirt I bought you from the tote bag? I just remembered something and I want to make sure,” you say, using that as an excuse since you left the bag in the living room.

Miguel stands up, nodding. “Of course. Hold on,” he says, heading straight for the living room.

You giddily get the cake out and quickly light up the candles.

“Here it is. What did you remember?” Miguel asks, stepping back into the kitchen.

You prepare yourself with a little sigh, your back to Miguel, before you turn around with the cake in your hands.

Miguel stops in his tracks, his lips parting in surprise. He slowly lowers the sweatshirt, watching you bring the cake to the main counter with a sweet smile.

“A little bird,” you start.

“Me!” Lyla says, appearing out of nowhere with a grin, equally giddy.

“Told me today is someone’s birthday,” you continue. “It was by pure accident and once I knew, well, I couldn’t simply ignore it. You can’t ignore your best friend’s birthday, you know? I couldn’t ignore the birthday of someone who means so much to me, so…” You grin at Miguel, whose eyes have soften at the sight. “I hope that you’ve truly enjoyed today. As I said, it was to thank you for letting me stay here and to show you more of my universe, but primarily because I wanted to spend the day with you. Today, your birthday.”

You gently glide the cake over the counter, the candles flickering. “Happy Birthday, Miguel. I hope your day has been a good one so far and I wish you many, many, many more birthdays to come, blessed with health and happiness.”

“You - you baked a cake? For me?” Miguel asks softly and slowly, still surprised.

“Yes, I hope you like it. I know your preferences, so I baked one with those details in mind,” you reply proudly, so sweetly.

Miguel smiles, his eyes filling up with tears. He clears his throat and looks away to quickly wipe a tear away. It’s been so long since he’s celebrated his birthday and it feels so nice to have someone remember, someone other than his AI assistant. He walks over, placing the sweatshirt over a chair to look at the wonderful cake.

You swear his smile grows when he sees his name on it in your cute handwriting. He places his hands on the counter, almost like he can’t believe it. He clears his throat again. “Thank you,” he says softly, another tear slipping down his beautiful chiseled face.

You smile tenderly, noticing Miguel’s teary eyes. You grab a clean linen napkin and come to his side, sitting up on the chair to reach him. He turns to face you and that’s when you take the opportunity to gently dry his tears like he once did for you. “There,” you whisper.

“Thank you, Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, staring at you, his eyes still tearing up. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I celebrated my birthday.”

You nod, realizing that makes sense. Gabriel has been deceased for several years now and Miguel has kept his birthday a secret at HQ, so no one has had a chance to even wish him a good one. “I know,” you reply and then smile. “From now on, if you’ll let me… I’d like to celebrate your birthday.”

Miguel nods, a few tears rolling down his face despite himself. You carefully dry them away, being so gentle. Miguel is reminded of how tender you were to him when he was injured, as if he was some delicate thing worth of such treatment. He clears his throat, sniffling quietly.

“You know, the birthday person shouldn’t be crying,” you add, with a playful yet tender smile.

Miguel chuckles, finally calming down a little. “They’re happy tears as someone very special to me once said,” he states, looking at you with equal tenderness, if not more.

“Happy tears, hm? I can’t argue with that, but still. I rather see you smiling,” you say gently, meaning it.

“Same goes to you,” Miguel replies, remembering the times he has seen you crying. It always tugs at his heart, makes him ache.

“I’ll keep that in mind from now on,” you respond, lowering the napkin. You turn to the cake, remembering the candles. You quickly make sure the wax isn’t melting severely before turning back to him with a sigh of relief. “I forgot about the candles.”

Miguel chuckles. “That’s my fault.” He puts himself together. “I’m ready,” he says.

You grin and go around the counter. “Lyla, please do the honors.”

Miguel’s eyebrows raise at that before Lyla and you begin to sing happy birthday to him, both in English and Spanish, though you stick to a shorter version of the latter once you notice the candles begin to drip.

While you both sing, Miguel stands in front of the cake grinning at the sight, his gentle heart more than content.

“Cha, cha, cha!” Lyla and you add cheering for Miguel, who gives you an endearing smile because you remembered the ‘cha, cha, cha’ he mentioned on Gabby’s birthday, a family tradition.

“Happy Birthday, Miguel!” you say, clapping with Lyla. “Make a wish before you blow the candles!”

“I’m ready to take pictures,” Lyla says.

Miguel chuckles and leans down, thinking about his wish. God, it has been so long since he’s done this, since he’s made a birthday wish. He gazes at the beautiful cake you’ve baked for him, already knowing that it’ll taste amazing. He can’t help but look at it with awe since you managed to decorate it as if it’s a record player, the ‘Happy Birthday, Miguel!!’ being the record’s title. You put so much thought to the cake and that alone makes Miguel want to shed a few tears again, but he focuses on making a birthday wish, or else there will be candle wax on the lovely icing.

He slowly looks up at you, smiling.

“Okay, birthday wish in three… two… one!” Lyla counts.

Miguel closes his crimson eyes and makes his wish before blowing the candles. He opens his eyes again and looks up at you, smiling, while Lyla and you cheer.

“Queremos pastel, pastel, pastel [we want cake, cake, cake],” you two continue, making Miguel chuckle.

“Alright, alright,” he says, feeling amused, touched, happy — all of the above. “Thank you, you two.”

After gathering everything needed to slice the cake and Lyla taking photos of it at Miguel’s gentle request for memories, Miguel cuts the cake and gives you the first slice before serving himself.

“What did you wish for, Miguel?” Lyla suddenly asks.

“What?” Miguel asks, caught off guard by the question.

“Your birthday wish. What was it?” she asks.

“I don’t think - I’m supposed to share that,” Miguel says, sitting down next to you.

“The rule is you can’t share it, or it won’t happen,” you add.

“Augh, you’ll have to tell me if it does come true then, Miguel. I’m noisy.”

Miguel and you laugh at that, which only makes Lyla playfully roll her eyes. These humans.

“I’ll think about it,” Miguel finally says. “For now, I won’t say anything,” he adds, not taking a chance. His birthday wish is simple, but still, Miguel doesn’t want to risk it. He slowly looks over at you while you cut the slice of cake into a smaller bit before eating. If not telling anyone means he’ll celebrate his birthday with you every year until his last one, then Miguel won’t tell a soul, not even Gabriel when he visits him at the cemetery. He smiles and turns to his own slice to eat it.

He picks up a piece with his utensil, his eyes closing in delight. The cake is exquisite and unlike anything Miguel has ever had, so much that a little moan of satisfaction escapes from him. “Mmm, this is amazing!”

You turn to look at him, hearing the little noise. For some reason, your cheeks feel hot suddenly. You clear your throat and smile, still thinking about it for a few seconds before you push the thought away. “I’m glad you like it. I tried my best!”

“This is - wow, I think I need a second slice already,” Miguel says, smiling happily.

You chuckle, satisfied that Miguel is enjoying it so much. “It’s your cake, get yourself a second slice,” you reply.

“Hey, isn’t there a tradition that the birthday person gets some cake on their face?” Lyla asks all of a sudden, floating in front of the two of you. She lays on her stomach and supports her head with both hands with a little mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” Miguel replies, looking at the cake. “Some people still push the birthday person into the cake, but the norm now is to simply put a little bit of icing on the person’s nose if they’re okay with it.”

“Oooh,” Lyla responds, gleefully. “Should we have Y/N do it? Have her put a little bit of icing on your nose? For a picture, at least.”

You glance at Miguel just as he looks at you.

“I wouldn’t mind, if you’re okay with it,” you say gently.

“I’m not - oppose to it, if you don’t mind,” Miguel says at the same time.

At the side, Lyla’s mischievous grin widens. “Perfect!

And so, with a grinning Lyla capturing the moment, you pick up a little bit of icing from the cake with your index fingertip. You turn to Miguel, silently asking if it’s really okay.

Miguel smiles a bit and nods.

Smiling, you gently dab some of the delicious icing on the tip of Miguel’s nose. You pull your hand back and take a good look, giggling softly at the cute sight.

Miguel smiles, his heart leaping with tenderness at your sweet giggle. Lyla, of course, records and takes pictures before Miguel wipes the icing away.

A few minutes later, Lyla watches quietly from the side, smiling. It was no little accident that she revealed Miguel’s birthday. She thought it was time that you knew, time for Miguel to begin celebrating his birthday again after so long.

After all, her boss is no longer alone.

Not anymore.

She hums, hearing you two continue to talk before she shakes her head. You both called her a ‘profesional yapper’ some time ago, but here you are, yapping and yapping with each other unlike with anyone else. Lyla grins though, happily taking a few more pictures of her favorite yappers to add to her secret album of photos before flickering away, her mission complete.

“You know, this is a lot of cake,” Miguel says, looking over at it. “Would you mind…”

“I’m listening,” you say gently, having a feeling you know where this is going.

“It’ll be in the spur of the moment, but what if we invite the gang?” Miguel asks, turning to face you. “Is that okay?”

You scoff playfully. “Migs, you don’t need to ask me. The cake is yours. It’s your birthday. If you want to invite them and share, please go ahead.”

And so, half an hour later, Miguel’s kitchen and dining area is occupied and filled with lighthearted conversation and laughter. Despite the late notice, everyone who was able to make it arrived with something in regards to food to celebrate along with the cake you baked.

Surrounded by friends, Miguel subtly smiles to himself.

It’s nice not to be alone on his birthday.

He turns to face you, finding you at his side, of course. He smiles tenderly at you. It really is nice not to be alone on his birthday. Miguel looks around for a second, noticing that everyone is highly entertained by a story Spider-Man Noir is telling from his dimension.

“How about café de olla [coffee pot] later and maybe… a movie?” he asks quietly, almost in a whisper. Hoping.

You grin and nod. “Sounds like a plan,” you whisper, catching Miguel’s hidden question in his proposal: spend the night at the penthouse?

You both turn your attention back to the Spider-Man, smiling softly to yourselves.

For the first time in many years, Miguel O’Hara doesn’t pretend his birthday is a regular and average day nor does he spend it alone. And perhaps, if there’s such a thing as birthday wishes coming true, it’ll be the first of many, many, many more birthdays to come with his best friend at his side.

Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next

A/N: Surprise again! 🤭 I wanted to do a birthday chapter for Miguel last year, but I learned too late about it and didn't have time to write one. It didn't make sense anyway since they were still not so... close, hehe! So, I couldn't miss this year's!

I've spent the last two days since part 18 writing and writing and writing to make this possible, and thankfully nothing in my life happened and intervened with my plans 😭🙏🏼 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this one and the last new two chapters!! I appreciate everyone who has reblogged and left sweet comments -- *remembers Lara's wish for both sides of my pillow to be warm tonight, llumetrii's reaction pic with a baseball bat, the majority of readers telling me they either cried or were about to, and the anon ask in my inbox rn saying they're going to draw the "most devious and diabolical emo angst art" and to watch my back after part 19*... thank you!! 🥰😌🤭

As always, comments and/or reblogs are greatly appreciated, so if you enjoyed this one, show it some love and I might just let Miguel and Dulzura kiss nex- just kidding, but what if? Nah, I'm just kidding, but we're so much closer to those days. I've found myself thinking about it more and more and !!! I wish I could tell you my plans but I cannot, pookies 🤭

That's all, thank you so much guys!!

Alondra❤️ p.s. can we talk about Stan Lee's cameo? I was literally so surprised to see him there, too (no, like, the way I was writing that scene and he just came to mind out of nowhere?? I had a lot of fun with that scene), but he def knew what he was talking about sjskjkdj wise man!! 🙂‍↕️

Taglist:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp

@rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj

@taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife @hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii @nina-from-317

credit for green divider to @/vysleix

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #nonviolent communication #soft!Miguel O'Hara

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hi don’t know if you’re taking requests (if not please ignore!) just wondering how Halloween would look like in the KBD universe or even a masquerade ball for prince Steve and reader?

thank you for requesting angel ♡ kbd mom!reader, 2k

"I think we should paint her orange," Avery says.

Steve pushes the wand of his bubbles back into the container, coating it in solution. "What for, honey?"

"For Halloween! We'll paint her orange and she can be a pumpkin."

"Oh."

Steve purses his lips, blowing bubbles over the green grass of the garden. It's alive despite it being late October, mildly crisp underfoot. He can hear leaves crunching under Bethie's boots where she runs around toward the back gate.

Wren sees the bubbles and giggles wildly. Steve grins. "You like those, sweetheart?"

"What if we make her green like a witch?"

"Who, Ave?"

"Wren."

"Oh. Well, Wren can't use face paint yet, babe, she's too little," Steve explains, dipping the wand in solution again. "But they're very good ideas. Do you know what you want to be?"

Avery throws her hands out. She's getting older than he ever imagined her, but she's still so small at the end of the day with delicate little hands and facial expressions cute enough to make a grown man cry. Steve would know, he's cried a ton of times just looking at her.

"I already told you."

Steve pretends to remember to spare her feelings as he blows more bubbles. He knows you'll know, and so it's a white lie. Better for everyone. "I remember! You're gonna be awesome."

She smiles for the first time in ten whole minutes and sits down next to Steve. He offers her the bubbles and the wand, freeing his hands to give her a loving squeeze from either side. "Very good ideas," he repeats, patting her arm.

Bethie comes running with two cupped hands. Steve can picture her find before she shows him, and still he's horrified to see a slug in her palm. It's not big but neither is she, lavishing across the breadth of her hand.

Ew, Steve thinks. "Wow, Beth! What did you find?"

"There's snails, too!" she says excitedly, her eyes bright as her attention flickers between the slug and her dad. "They're sleeping, I think. They're stuck to the slide."

"Beth, listen to me really quickly?"

"Yeah, dad," she says, nodding.

"I like that you're being gentle with the slugs, you're being nice, but as soon as you put him down, don't touch your face, okay? In fact, when you put him down, we're gonna go inside and wash our hands."

Beth looks down at her slug in alarm. "What?"

"He's not dangerous!" Steve reassures her. "But he might have germs. Germs don't hurt our skin, but they can't go in your mouth, okay? Good girl."

"He can't hurt my skin?"

"No, bub. Some bugs can, but not the plain black slugs. How about next time you want to pick one up, you come and get me and we'll pick it up together?"

Steve doesn't want to kill her fearlessness in this sole area, not when she's usually timid around everything else, but he also doesn't want to kill her full stop. All these random bugs, Steve doesn't know what's what.

"Okay. I picked this one up because he's got a yellow stripe," she says. Beth speaks in full words and makes sense the majority of the time, but her delivery is clumsy, heavy in places. Steve can still remember her first word. He's a firm believer in taking your time (please. please, let her take her time).

"You're super brave," he praises.

"Mom says bugs are more 'fraid of us than we are of them."

"She's right. Think if something this much bigger than you picked you up one day, you'd want them to put you down gently, right?"

Determination fills her eyes. "Yes."

She starts to run off but then slows, holding her hand aloft in front of her.

Closer by, Avery blows bubbles near Wren's soft chair, the youngest baby giggling like a tinkling bell. You and Steve have emphasised to Avery that Wren isn't her responsibility. Look after her as you would your other sisters, but don't feel like being the biggest sister makes you in charge. Avery sort of listened, but now she's planning Halloween costumes in her head, Steve's worried she's putting too much on her little shoulders, as she tends to do.

"Come here, my big girl," he demands, opening his arms.

Avery grins and jumps into his lap. Steve groans playfully, happy to be trampled, and just glad she had the foresight to screw the cap on her bubbles before she pounced.

"Hello. So, do I need to go to the store for this costume?" he asks.

"Probably."

"Okay. Are you coming with me to choose?"

"Mom said we're all going after lunch."

Steve waves her arms back and forth. "I guess we better get ready, then."

Easier said than done. Steve marches the girls back inside to find you've already dressed Dove and sat her in her chair with her lunch in front of her. Feeding young kids is tough because you're always trying to rotate things to keep their tastes big, but you've given in today to an easy solution; everybody's having pizza subs and halved grapes. So long as they're fed, who minds?

"Give me the babies!" you say, jumping up from your seat to grab Wren, chair and all, "Hi. Something tells me it's time for a bottle."

"I'll get them dressed–"

"Go get yourself dressed. They can eat first." You kiss his cheek. "I put some stuff out for you already."

"I can do it," he insists.

"Take a break," you insist back, your tone gentle as velveteen.

His turn to kiss your cheek. "Do you know what Avery wants to be for her costume?" he asks in your ear.

"She wants to be Belle, she told us weeks ago." He remembers as soon as you say it. "But I don't think finding a costume for her is going to be very easy this close to Halloween."

Steve doesn't blame either of you for your busy October, but he hates himself watching Avery grow more and more disappointed with every store you drive to. There are no yellow princess dresses to be found, only store brand pinks. Bethie is ecstatic to choose one of those ones and Dove insists on a white fairy costume with sugar paper wings, but Avery's frown grows heartbreaking when it's clear there aren't any Belle dresses to buy.

"I'm sorry," you're saying, Wren strapped to your chest, Beth and Dove knee to knee in the shopping cart in front of you. "It's my fault, baby, I left it last minute."

"No, it's my fault," Steve says.

Avery glares for a while, standing in front of all the dresses. Steve bends down to speak with her. "I'm sorry, Ave. Don't be mad at mom, okay? It's not her fault even when she says it is, she was busy working and I forgot about costumes because I had all that stuff with Wren and the doctors and my glasses and–" He winces. "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. So be mad at me if you want, I was supposed to remember, but I'll make it up to you, promise."

"I told you ages ago," she says morosely.

"I know. You did. I didn't think about them running out of costumes, Avery. Sometimes when you're a grown up you have so much stuff to think of you don't have room for all of it, but that's not fair, huh? Now you don't get the costume you wanted."

She sighs, but the thing about Avery is that if you understand her point, she runs out of anger, just like her mom. She wants to make up, burying her face in Steve's thigh for a hug.

"What am I going to be now?" she asks.

"How about Belle's blue dress, babe?" you suggest.

"They don't have any Belle costumes!"

"I know, but we can make one. That's what me and dad did growing up, right?" you ask.

"All my costumes were homemade," he seconds, "that was the fun part."

So Avery marches you guys to the normal dresses and together you look for something nice and long enough for her tall stature. It's in the middle of this searching when she gasps, jumping up to grab Steve by the elbows.

Delighted at being forgiven, he bends down at her whim. "What?" he asks excitedly.

"Wren can be a bumblebee, like me!"

"You remember that?" he asks.

"No, but you have the photo in the car. Do you still have the costume?"

It's Steve. Of course he kept the costume, he keeps everything, an attic stuffed to bursting with the offcuts of your lives. You giggle from the landing underneath him, the baby in one arm and a spooky drink made special by Dove in the other hand. "I wish you could drink more than milk."

"Don't poison her!" Steve says, covered in cobwebs and knees white with dust as he climbs down the rickety ladder back onto solid ground. You wolf whistle as he reaches up to close everything safely, and cheer when you see the bee costume in his hand.

"You're the best. Think we should let Avery put it on her?" you ask.

"Maybe. Think she can be gentle enough?"

Your little girl, so preoccupied with her sister's costume that she forgot about her own? Yes, Avery can be gentle enough. She sews Wren's small arms into the costume's sleeves like she's handling a girl made of glass, and she doesn't attempt to lift her, quick to say, "Dad, can you pick her up for me?"

Steve lifts her and Wren does her scrunch, legs pulled up high and face a little startled. She's just old enough to giggle, prompting Bethie to join in as she races across the living room rug, the skirts of her dress fluttering against the floor.

"She looks like a bee!" Dove says, following after, her fairy wings jittering with her movements.

"She is!" Avery says, buttoning Wren's last button.

Finally, after an exhausting afternoon (both of energy and your wallets), the four girls are dressed in their Halloween costumes. Avery as Belle in her original blue dress and white apron, not the costume she wanted but clearly her favourite character nonetheless. Bethie wears her pink princess dress and one of Avery's big plastic tiaras, her hair done as you would style your own for date night. Dove twirls in her white fairy dress, silver corset ribbons shiny in the light. Wren gurgles in his arms, her soft wings folded between her and Steve's chest. And you, uncostumed, stand beautiful and tired in the doorway, sparkly eyeshadow in a stripe up your cheek.

The girls smile at him and their eyes glimmer.

"Wow," he says, leaning back against the couch. "You guys look amazing."

"It's about an hour until we're gonna leave," you say, "so please do mommy a favour and watch some TV, okay?"

You set them up in a line with a bowl of chips each —you can vacuum them clean. Steve cleans as quickly as he can while you wipe your face and put aside some stuff for tonight in case the girls come home hungry, and eventually, eventually, you and Steve make your way to the kitchen table for a quiet minute together.

"Wren's–"

"In her bassinet," Steve says. "You're–"

"Fine." You reach for his hand. "And you're–"

"Perfect." He rubs the back of your fingers with his thumb. "I've missed you today. I know we were together, but…"

You slouch into the table, resting your cheek on a placemat and closing your eyes. "Me too, sweetheart."

He shuffles closer and leans in. "Tired, huh?" he asks gently, pressing similarly soft kisses to your cheek. "Love you," he says. "Don't fall asleep."

"I'm not. Just resting my eyes."

He doesn't rub your back, worried it'll send you to sleep. Instead, he kisses all over your face, sloe at first and faster when he realises it'll take a while to cover every inch. You smile and let him do as he pleases, laughing under your breath as he kisses your eyelid, squirming when he pecks under your nose. "Freak," you mumble.

"That's what I'm being for Halloween."

"What am I gonna be?" you ask.

"Same as every year, I thought. Most beautiful girl this side of the Mississippi river."

You like the sound of it, pulling your joined hands to your face to nuzzle his knuckles.

"Or you can be Frankentstein," he suggests. "I'll be the monster."

"We can just be the two tiredest parents ever."

"That's not super creative, babe, we kinda do that every day."

"So I'm not beautiful every day," you say quickly, having set him up. "Knew it."

"You tricked me."

"Did not. Make it up to me?"

"What do you want?" he asks.

"Just a hug, Stevie." You raise your head to smile at him sleepily. "A really nice hug, please."

He saves the line about every hug being nice when it's with you and cuddles you, stroking your back for countless minutes, murmuring nothings to you until baby Wren shriek-cries from the living room. Steve soothes her upset, and you start the impossible task of getting everyone in their shoes for a night of trick-or-treating.

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courtforshort15 · 2 years ago

Text

These Broken Things

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 6,200

Summary: Matt Murdock is exceptionally good at closing himself off and pushing people away. It's a bit of a breaking point for you, even while you pray it's not the end.

Trigger warning: talking about death and assault, angst with a hopeful ending.

Masterlist

"I told you to drop it."

"Drop it?" you exclaimed, following him into his apartment and down the long hallway, the lights of the bilboard lighting your ways, hues of blues and pinks playing across the suit jacket of the man in front of you. "You want me to drop it?"

"Yes, leave it alone. Nothing's wrong."

You threw your hands up in the air, exasperated beyond belief at this point, seconds away from pulling out your hair strand by strand. "That is biggest pile of dog shit I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Matthew."

He spun on his heels so fast that you nearly ran into him, only just managing to shift your weight to your back foot in order to stop your momentum from taking you forward. The frustration on his face and narrowed eyes caused your eyes to widen, taken aback by his anger.

"I'm fine. Stop asking me what's wrong." His voice was low, a damn near growl, his mouth twisted in an ugly frown that was so unlike him it was startling. Your mouth dropped, voice caught in your throat temporarily, as you stared at him. Satisfied at your silence, Matt spun back around, stomping into his bedroom.

You and Matt weren't unused to spats between you from time to time, but this was the first time he had ever had a look on his face that looked like that.

You steeled your spine, letting your anger rise up past your shock, as you followed after him, only just managing to avoid knocking your knee on his coffee table in your haste. Standing at the entrance to his bedroom, arms crossed over your chest, chin tilted up in defiance.

"No," you growled out, "you don't get to talk to me like that and then walk away." Matt ignored you, and you watched as he yanked his tie off before swiftly unbuckling his slacks.

His actions alone told you that he was getting ready to go out for the night, despite the fact that the city wasn't completely dark yet, people still out and about on that chilly October evening. You knew him well enough by now that when his blood was up, like it was now, he needed the city to provide him with criminals he could bloody his fists on.

Sometimes you weren't sure who need Daredevil more; the city, or Matthew Murdock.

"Matt." He continued to tear his clothes off until all that was left was his boxers and scarred skin. "Matthew."

He finally tilted his head in your direction, chest heaving rapdily. "What?"

You raised your eyebrows as you stared at him. "Seriously? You're just gonna go out and not even try to finish this conversation?"

Matt scoffed, blank eyes all but rolling. "We're not having a conversation. You asked me what was wrong, and I said I'm fine. Anything you've said after that is on you." He didn't wait for a reply before he walked around you and exited his the bedroom, heading towards the closet under the stairs where he stored his suit. You turned to watch him, but otherwise remained frozen to the spot, completely taken aback.

"When did you get so mean?"

Matt finally faltered.

He kept his back to you, but you watched him run a hand briefly through his hair, pale hand shaking slightly in the dim lighting of his living room. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, reaching out to open the closet with a loud sigh. Once it was open, he knelt down and hastily swept his suit up.

He still didn't say anything, and a lump caught in your throat, anger replaced with the spark and sudden growing fire of panic.

"You've become so distant, Matt," you started, hating how your voice shook as your hands fell to your sides and clenched into tight fists. "You don't call as much, you haven't touched me in weeks, and I can't even remember the last time we slept in the same bed. What is going on?"

"Everything's fine."

Your heart was racing now. "Don't...Don't give me that. Everything is clearly not fine."

Matt was nearly done putting on the suit, currently finishing up the last fastenings as you stared at him, begging him to tell you what was wrong. But Matt was a man who bottled things up so tightly that raging thoughts and feelings were sometimes too compressed to ever escape. He'd gotten better recently, the layers of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen slowly peeling back for you, but things didn't always work the way you wanted them to.

Tonight was a prime example.

"I don't know what you expect me to say, then," he muttered, the words loud enough to be heard in his quiet apartment.

You refused to let things go. "Maybe just some explanation for why things have changed? Did I do something?"

Matt gave a loud sigh, one you immediately flinched at, huddling in on yourself before the breath even completely left his body. It was a sigh of annoyance, a sigh of disinterest, a sigh of unadulterated irritation.

"I really need to leave," he said as he very easily ignored the question, sitting on the steps to his rooftop access to tie his black shoes. "I'll call you later."

"No."

"No?"

"No," you repeated, fingernails digging into your palm as you struggled to take a breath. "If you decide to walk out that door in the middle of this, don't bother calling me."

He paused, helmet in his hand, his face a twist of incredulity and aggravation as if he couldn't understand what you were saying. You held your ground, your feet planted from right outside his bedroom, doing your best to eye him down as you bit your lip in anxiety.

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked, voice betraying his disbelief.

"No," you denied immediately, then frowned. "Well...maybe? I don't know, Matt. I don't know what to do here."

"To be clear, you're asking me to choose between you and Hell's Kitchen," he said slowly, taking a small step towards you. "You're asking me to choose, when you've spent so much time promising you'd never do that."

"I'm not asking you to choose!" you exclaimed loudly, your panic manifesting in frantic words. He looked agitated again, and it took all you had to push the tears back from where this conversation had led to. "I'm asking you to stay here and talk to me before going out."

He shook his head, scoffing, while finally slipping his helmet on and turning his back to you, ready to head up the stairs. "I don't have time for this."

"God, I feel like I don't even know you anymore." A stray, pathetic tear finally rolled down your face, and you swore you saw him stiffen, shoulders stilling and hand clenching on the banister. You knew he could taste the salt on the air, knew that he was aware tears were sliding out.

A few weeks ago you would have expected him to immediately apologize for causing you to cry, any argument dead on his lips as he held you to him, apologies and words of comfort whispered into your ears. With the feeling of utter heartbreak, your head lowered when you realized you didn't know what to expect from him anymore.

With a profound sense of sadness, and before he could respond or walk away in his apparent urgency to go out to prowl the city, you left instead, crossing through his living room and walking down the long hallway. You didn't hesitate when you pulled his front door behind you, too drained to stay behind for a second longer.

He didn't follow.

--------

It had been eleven days.

Eleven days and nothing.

No phone calls. No daytime drop bys at your office with a cup of coffee or an offer for lunch. No midnight hellos through windows, black clothing lit up by the moon that hung in the sky.

But you'd given him what he had perceived as an ultimatum, hadn't you? And you hadn't been the winner.

You'd always known Hell's Kitchen came first. It was something you both loved and hated about him. Long nights spent wondering if he was safe, hours spent stitching him up and putting him back together, countless tears shed when thinking about all the pain he put himself through for a city that would never truly appreciate the blood and sweat he gave for it. And all of it was worth it, if it meant his face was the first thing you saw in the morning, the first voice that said your name.

But this fight hadn't even been about Hell's Kitchen, had it? It had been about something else. It had been about him, and whatever was bothering him that he was unwilling to share with you. It had been about him not letting you in, not fully. After a year together, you thought he would have seen through the anger and panic to the real cause of your distress, rather than deflecting and getting meaner and meaner with each word carelessly thrown from his mouth.

Your fearless, reckless vigilante, whom you loved so much, had shut you out so suddenly and thoroughly without a single word as to why.

It killed you to think about it, but some part of you quickly became convinced that it had been done to distance himself from you in preparation of a break up. It was easy to see things that way when you considered his lack of affection, attention, and the way he'd let you slip out of his apartment without a word, tears slipping down cheeks heated with the exertion of begging him to fight for you.

That's what the voice in your head was telling you, at least. And with every day that went by, the voice got a little louder until it was screaming how much of an idiot you were for holding onto him. Perhaps this was the break up, now that you thought about it. Perhaps you walking out and him not following was the only ending necessary, though it seemed so anticlimactic.

His silence was so very telling. Maybe he thought no words were needed at this point.

And so you spent your waking hours doing anything and everything you could to keep your mind off of him, desperate to spend time outside of the heartbreak coursing through your veins like wild fire. You spent your days with your nose buried in your work. Deadlines you had pushed off were suddenly met way ahead of schedule. You spent your evenings catching up on your recorded TV shows, red wine in one hand, take out in the other, tissues on your coffee table in case of any unwanted appearances of tears. Your apartment was rearranged and scrubbed clean from head to toe.

Twice.

On day nine, you had placed his things in a duffle bag on the floor next to the door, ready to hand it off when, or if, he ever came by for it.

You had ignored the tears that swam in your vision as you did it.

The evening of day eleven found you in bed early, too exhausted and emotionally drained to even try to make it through your favorite ABC drama, curled up in a ball in an effort to keep as much of the world away from your, decreasing the amount of vulnerable skin that was available for bruises. Your arms were wrapped around the pillow you held to your chest, ignoring the thought that the pillow had at one point smelled like him.

You were very nearly asleep when a quiet tap sounded at your kitchen window, startling you for a quick second. You didn't have to think about what it could possibly be, the sound one that you've heard hundreds of times, though it had been absent lately.

Your heart rate spiked, as it always did when he was near, but this time it was in anxiety. It was almost embarrassing that your body reacted to him so obviously. He knew you in the most intimate way possible, each flush of your cheeks or flash of arousal lighting up a world only he would ever be able to navigate.

But tonight, you weren't really interested in him having any sort of access to you and what you were feeling.

"Go away, Matt."

Your voice was quiet, even to your own ears, but you knew he would be able to hear it all the same.

The tap sounded again, this time followed by the creak of a window that was trying to be opened from the outside. He was used to letting himself inside your apartment at night, even if only to crawl into bed next to you to drift off to sleep by your side, arms wrapped around you so tightly that you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

You could practically feel his confusion as he realized that for the first time since you had met him, the window was locked.

The tapping came again, this time louder and more insistent, and before you even knew what you were doing, you were heaving yourself out of bed and making your way into the kitchen.

You threw the window open halfway, noting vaguely that he was perched on your fire escape in black clothing, not unlike what he used to wear before the red suit, his head covered by the hood of his sweatshirt but face open and pale in the dark.

"Are you bleeding?"

Matt frowned, clearly thrown off by the question. "No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Why--"

"Then kindly get off of my fire escape." Your hands rose to bring the window back down, and in shock, Matt almost missed sliding his hands under to keep it open.

"Wait!" You stopped pushing the window down, not because you wanted to hear what he had to say, but because you knew your strength was no match for his. "Wait, please. Let me come in."

"No, thanks."

"We should talk, sweetheart."

Though you had spent the last few days preparing yourself for something like this, it didn't stop the cold feeling of dread that poured itself down your spine.

"There's no need, Matt," you said, making every effort to keep your voice as even as possible. "I already know what you came here to say."

"I don't think you do. Please, let me in."

"Look," you started tiredly, tugging on the braid that was resting over your shoulder. "We don't need to do this. Things aren't working out, I get it."

"That's not--"

"You've made it pretty clear that this isn't what you want anymore, and that's fine," you continued, looking away from dark eyes that were all but pleading with you, trying to avoid falling into the man who had seemingly let you walk out of his life. "It would have been nice for you to break it to me gently rather than pushing me away as violently as you did, but it doesn't matter at this point."

"Sweetheart--"

"Don't call me that."

"I didn't come here to--"

"You didn't need to come here at all. I got the point, really."

"Will you just let me talk?" he demanded loudly, yanking the window all the way up, apparently done with being outside while you were inside.

You took an automatic step backwards, leaving more than enough room between the two of you as he let himself in. As always, his presence was larger than life, and in your tiny kitchen, you found it overwhelming in a way it hadn't been before. You found yourself stepping behind the kitchen table, effectively placing it between the two of you.

You didn't miss the way Matt's body lurched in apparent grief at the motion.

An awkward silence settled between the two of you, and it seemed that Matt was struggling with what to say, despite the way he had demanded to let him speak.

"What do you want, Matt?" you asked quietly, eyes finally making their way back to his face. "I haven't been sleeping well and I'm exhausted. I'd like to go to bed."

"I needed to talk to you," he repeated, his blank, beautiful eyes aimed at your chin.

"I already said it wasn't necessary," you shrugged. The impassive tone you took was empty, but that didnt mean it was convincing. "Things got ugly, but it's over now."

"Things aren't over now," he said adamantly, moving around the table, hands lifting to reach for you. "Please, just hear me out."

"I don't...I don't really know if I want to," you said honestly, quietly. Matt flinched, and you knew it was because your heart hadn't skipped on a lie. "This went on for weeks. I gave you so many opportunities to talk to me. I begged you to talk to me. All you did was...ignore how it was hurting me. I don't want to hear whatever lame excuse you're going to come up with."

"I swear it's not an excuse," he pleaded. "I just...I just needed some time. And space."

"Sure," you shrugged again, struggling to maintain the level of calm and rational. "I can understand needing that. I don't know what was bothering you, but you didn't even give me a chance to understand. And now you're...what? Here to officially break up with me? I kind of already figured it was over, seeing as how it's been eleven--"

"Break up?" Matt looked alarmed as his eyes widened. "Is that what you think I'm here to do?"

"Nothing ever good comes from a conversation that starts with "We should talk," Matt."

He took another step around the table, and it took everything in you not to flinch away. Matt had never touched you with anything but gentle hands, and while you weren't on great terms at the moment, you didn't want him to think you were afraid of him.

"Sweetheart, that's not--"

"I love you, Matt," you told him bluntly, cutting him off with a hand raised in front of you, telling him to stop his movement in your direction. "But if the past few weeks were anything to go by, you're not willing, or maybe not able, to let me in. And I don't want to be with someone who hides so many pieces of themselves away from me. It's lonely, and I'm done with it."

He looked absolutely crestfallen, and suddenly resigned. You took a deep breath and soildered on, even as you felt your heart breaking in your chest.

"I'm sorry, Matt."

"No," he croacked out, shaking his head abruptly, eyes sightlessly dancing around the room as he licked his lips. "I'm sorry. I never meant to...have things end this way."

"It's ok." It wasn't. "There's a bag of your things over by the door." You tilted your head toward the duffle bag.

"My...things?"

"Yeah," you responded quietly, gesturing to the door with a hand that seemed limp and lifeless. "Tshirts, hoodies, your extra pair of glasses."

Matt paused for a second in surprise before he walked over to the door, a clumsy gait to his steps that you had never seen on him in the year you'd known him. With obviously shaking hands, he bent down to pick up the bag. His breathing had changed, you'd noticed. It was the breathing of someone about to have a panic attack. You grimaced, hating watching him like this.

Before, you would have comforted him. Held him and played with his hair and whispered how much you loved him in his ear.

But now, you were tired, and knowing what the past few weeks had been like, you honestly weren't sure if he'd even like having your hands on him.

He may have pushed you away first, but here you were shoving him away, too, if only to avoid any further pain on your end. Even if he didn't feel the same way about you as you did him, it was still a painful conversation for both parties.

"I'll swing by on Saturday to grab my stuff," you whispered. Matt let out a shaky sigh, accompanied by a hesitant nod of his head. "I'm going back to bed. Please shut the window behind you."

You left him standing in your kitchen, dark head bent sadly, scarred hands gripping the bag in his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

-----

Saturday rolled around too quickly for your liking. You had gathered one of your large duffle bags and a backpack to take over to Matt's apartment, unsure of just how many things you had over there.

You both had been toying with the idea of you moving in, so naturally quite a bit of your things had accumulated at his place. Work clothes. Sweat pants. Shoes. Your favorite bathrobe. Little bits and pieces of you slowly blending in with his, a subconscious way of laying down the building blocks for a life together.

With a sigh, and a mournful look at the run down front door you'd come to love, you let yourself into his apartment, taking in the scent of the man who had become your rock in a life that had always felt a little unsteady. You knew that most Saturday afternoons were spent catching up on cases with Foggy at their favorite diner, so you didn't expect him to be home.

You walked down the familiar hallway to the living, but abruptly froze when you took in the sight before you, eyes widening in shock.

His place was a mess.

One of his kitchen chairs lay broken next to the wall, clearly having been thrown against it. There was a giant fist-sized hole in the wall next to his bedroom that was shaped exactly like his hand, so you didn't need to guess whose it was. The trash hadn't been taken out in days, it looked like, and beer bottles were scattered along the counter.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

It took you an hour, but you picked up and took out the trash and recycling, and scrubbed down the kitchen. Dishes were washed and put away. Counters wiped down, floor swept. He was a grown adult, more than capable of picking up after himself, but seeing his place in such disarray made you...sad.

You made your way back to where you'd dropped the duffle bag and headed into the bedroom, a place you'd spent so many nignts with him wrapped around you, beneath you, on top of you.

Hands on your hips, you ignored the way your eyes pricked with tears, and thought about where to start first.

You didn't hear the front door open and close, nor did you notice Matt's presence behind you until he called your name softly. Startled, you took a deep breath before you turned around slowly and braced yourself for the second part of a conversation you didn't want to have.

You were scared he would ask you to stay. You were even more scared that he would outright ask you to go.

"Hey."

"Hey," he echoed.

"I'll just...give me a few minutes and I'll be out of your hair. I'm almost done grabbing my stuff." Matt inhaled sharply, head tilting away from you as you spoke. With a frown of your own, you turned your back to him, walking over to the table on what had been your side of the bed.

You placed the duffle bag on the bed and continued placing items into it, not bothering to be organized or have the items be thoughtfully placed. Your extra phone charger. The book you always told yourself you'd finish reading. Your favorite necklace you always forgot you had on until you were snuggled under the covers, forced to sleepily place it on the table to avoid leaving the warmth of him next to you.

You knew you had his total focus, so you did your best not to tear up while you packed your things. This was hard enough as it was, and as much as he had hurt you, you didn't want to make things more difficult for him than it had to be.

Eyeing the shoes you had left next to his closet, you walked forward to scoop them up. They were your favorite pair of heels, and you had worn them the last time you'd gone out for a nice dinner, his hand laced tightly in yours as he helped you keep your balance on the uneven New York City sidewalks, quiet laughter and declarations of love pressed against your cheek. While you both were always, always busy, you still found a way to make time for each other as often as you could.

The thought caused you to sniffle unintentionally as your lip quivered ever so slightly. You rubbed the heels of your palms to your eyes and took a deep breath that shuddered your body on both inhale and exhale. Matt let out a soft whine behind you, and you knew without turning around that he was wanting to pull you into him. He always made that sound when he could tell you were sad and on the verge of breaking down.

Or, at least he used to want to pull you into him before the last month or so, back when he would still touch you and pour his affection and love into your skin. Now, you weren't so sure what he wanted.

"I'm fine, Matt," you told him, voice shaking. You swept up the rest of your shoes into your arms and walked them back to the duffle bag on the bed. "I'll be done here in a few."

"No."

Your head snapped up to look at him incredulously. "No?"

He shook his head adamantly, blank eyes aimed somewhere around your abdomen. "No, don't go. You can't go."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Where was this attitude when you let me just walk out without a word two weeks ago?"

Matt opened his mouth but didn't say anything, merely licking his lips and tilting his head to the side for a moment.

You sighed in disappointment, shaking your head bitterly. "That's what I thought." Using shaking hands, you zipped up the full bag and moved to leave the room.

Matt quickly blocked you, placing himself in between you and the door way, his body just a few feet from yours as his eyes settled on your chin. "Please, just hear me out."

"Matt--"

"Just give me a few minutes, okay? I need to tell you what happened."

His face was flushed with what looked to be mild panic, and you couldn't tell if it was panic at the thought of you leaving, or panic at having to let out whatever had been bothering him so much that he'd thought the best solution was to violently push you away. Maybe it was both.

You took a few steps back from him, nodding silently, as you tried to put some space in between the two of you. Placing the bag back on the bed, you crossed your arms over your chest, willing to hear him out, but not wanting to stand so close to him. This was bound to be painful, anyway you cut it, and having him within arm's reach would most likely make it worse.

"Go ahead, then. If it's just another lie, I'm walking out and never looking back."

Matt nodded jerkily, licking his lips again like he always did when he was nervous. The corner of his bottom lip was split open, and you cringed when you noticed it. Even in your pain, even in your anger, you hated seeing him hurt.

You watched as he opened his mouth and shut it a few times, as if he was still unsure if he actually wanted to speak. Your frustration grew with each second he didn't say anything, your nerves fraying more and more the longer you stood in front of him.

"If you're not gonna actually--"

"Just...hold on," he said, desperation seeping into his voice. "I'm trying to think of the best way to say what I need to say."

"Why? What could be so bad that you--"

"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago." The words tore their way out of his mouth so suddenly that you weren't sure who was more surprised by them; him, or you. You faltered, all of your irritation and anger and bitterness in your body stumbling to a screeching stop. You looked at him, your jaw dropping in shock, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

"What?"

You'd been face to face with him for the past two minutes, but you felt like you were seeing him for the first time since you'd realized he was in the apartment with you. Your eyes took in his appearance, wincing at his bruised knuckles, a black eye that seemed to be fading, a long jagged scratch on the side of his throat. Matt looked so sad, so lost, as his sightless eyes seemingly focused on the floor next to his feet.

You had been prepared for a bullshit excuse, while still simultaneously hoping for something that would save your relationship with the only man you had ever loved. But you hadn't been expecting...this.

A shiver when down your spine as you stared at him in growing dread.

"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago," he repeated shakily. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously, tugging at the dark strands that were ready to be cut. "I was...I was a few blocks away when I heard a man yank her into an alley, a gun in his hand."

You stared at him, horrified. You knew the sorts of things that went on while he was out. Human trafficking. Drug busts. Muggings. Assaults.

Matt didn't like talking about it most of the time, and you didn't like pressing him on it if it made him uncomfortable. But to hear something like this come ripping itself out if his mouth was extremely jarring and you found yourself terrified of what he was going to say next.

He took another deep breath.

"I heard her scream, heard how he slapped his hand over her mouth to quiet her, heard him cock the gun and dig it into her stomach." Matt was fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie as he spoke, and a part of you longed to take your hand in his, wondering if it might calm his restlessness. You held yourself back, though, not yet trusting your feet to move you forward without stumbling to the ground.

"He demanded that she give him her purse, which she did, of course. But then he ordered her to unbutton her shirt, and she refused."

Your heart hammered in your chest, face growing paler by the second.

"She tried to push him off of her, and he got mad and...pulled the trigger. I was still a few blocks away." Matt walked forward as if he were in a trance, unfocused eyes glazed over, hands feeling around for his bed. It alarmed you that he was so distraught that he was relying on his hands alone to navigate his bedroom, the rest of his senses so wrapped up in a horrifying memory. He took a seat, sinking onto the mattress with a heavy, pained sigh.

"When I got there, I could tell she wasn't going to make it." He briefly shut his eyes in a grimace, an intense full-body shudder wracking through him. "The guy was gone, but I didn't bother going after him because I knew I needed to stay with her. Make sure she wasn't alone." The breath he took was so shaky, and you found yourself finally able to move as your forced yourself forward, kneeling at his feet once you were in front of him. Your hand was grasping his a second later, suddenly unwilling to let him relive this alone as he tore himself apart to finally let you in.

"I held her as she bled out," Matt choked out, as if it was suddenly difficult to breathe. You gripped his thigh, and did your best to rub soothing circles into the muscle that lay under his jeans. "I tried to stop the bleeding, hoping I was wrong, that she could still make it, but the blood was coming out too fast and there was nothing I could do. She was sobbing, begging me to save her, and I couldn't."

You didn't know when you had started crying, but you had to take your hand off his leg briefly to wipe your eyes to clear your vision. His hand shook in yours.

"And she..." Matt paused again, taking another deep, gasping breath. "She reminded me of you."

"What?" you asked, immediately confused, mind scrambling to comprehend what he had just said, suddenly frantic to make sense of what he had just told you. "What do you mean?"

"She reminded me of you," he repeated quietly. "Roughly the same height. Similar accent, the one that only comes out when you're upset. A blouse made of the same material you wear so often. And she...she used the same shampoo."

Matt's hand lifted to wipe at the tears on his face as he struggled to speak. "This woman I didn't know was dying in my arms. And...and even as I tried to comfort her, all I could think about was you. All I could think about was...what if you were in trouble, and I couldn't get to you in time?"

Your mind twisted and turned as realization finally hit you.

This.

This was what had been driving him away from you, this belief that he would never be the kind of man you needed. This was the root of it.

"Matt, love. I'm fine. I'm here."

"I know you are," he let out, hand still trembling in yours, and steadily getting worse. His unfocused gaze landed on your forehead, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes up close. "But even before this happened, this is something I would think about often, something I still think about often. The thought of...of not being good enough or quick enough or strong enough to stop something bad from happening to you."

Taking a deep, unsteady breath of your own, you reached your hand up to cradle his cheek, and he immediately turned his head slightly to kiss your palm, needing the affection only you could provide.

"I trust you with my life, Matt."

He nodded with his eyes closed, swallowing before he spoke. "I know you do. But this...this was so real. It was just literally staring me in the face, this idea of losing you. And while I'm panicking and thinking about you, this woman is dying in my arms. And I can't even give her my full attention to comfort her, because I'm imaging someone else dying in front of me, and I couldn’t handle it."

You made a soft, mournful noise, and unable to stop yourself, you stood up and pushed his shoulders back from where he had hunched in on himself, before settling yourself in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, with one hand reaching up to slide into his hair. With a shudder, his arms came up around you, holding you to him in a grip that you knew would leave bruises.

You'd let him leave marks all over your skin if it meant he would take even one ounce of comfort from you.

The pair of you sat in silence for a while, cheeks pressed together, trying to match your breathing to his, and vice versa. You rubbed your hand soothingly up and down his back, avoiding any areas that seemed tender. You felt a raised ridge of skin near his left hip and knew it meant he'd needed stitches recently.

You grimaced, wishing you'd been there for him, even if he hadn't wanted you to be.

"Why were you pushing me away, Matt? All I want is to be here for you," you told him gently when his breathing seemed to have settled a bit. You pulled back a bit to hold his face in your hands, where you used your thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears.

His grip tightened and he leaned into you, seemingly trying to keep as much contact with you as he could. And even while he tried to get as close to you as physically possible, you half expected him to pull away from you again. Instead, he surprised you by pushing on, at last tearing down that final barrier.

"It was hard being around you," he admitted softly. His hand reached up to massage the back of your neck, a habit he had started when he was trying to assure himself you were next to him. "I was having such awful nightmares and I didn't want you around while I slept. You sliced your finger open three weeks ago, and all I could think about was you bleeding out all over me. If I hugged you, the smell of your shampoo would bring me right back to that alley, so I started avoiding touching you. And the more you got upset, the more angry I got. But not angry at you, angry at myself for making you feel that way."

You listened quietly, ignoring how your eyes were watering, and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest.

"I was hurting. And because I was hurting, I struggled being around you, to the point where it started hurting you, too. It just became this vicious cycle that I didn't know to stop, and all of a sudden it was too late and you were walking away."

You didn't say anything as you took in what he was telling you. You continued to hold him, lips occasionally brushing over his cheek as your hands continued to run gently up and down his back.

"I'm sorry this happened," you whispered, your voice catching. "I'm sorry you went through that, I'm sorry that I got upset."

"No, sweetheart," he brought a finger up to your lips in an effort to shush you. "Don't...don't apologize. This isn't on you."

"But--"

"No," he repeated firmly. "I should have said something. I was wrong for pushing you away like that. I...I wasn't...I didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to handle it, and I took it out on you. On our relationship."

Your lip quivered. "You can't do that, Matt."

"I know."

"No, you don't know," you told him. "I'm not even talking about how it made me feel. I'm talking about you. I want you to be safe, and loved, and cared for. You deserve those things. You deserve to have someone there to hold your hand and be there for you. But I can't...I can't be there for you and help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

Matt was nodding while you spoke, eyes shut tight as he listened. You knew there was a voice in the back of his head telling you he didn't deserve those things, would never deserve them, and it broke your heart.

You tilted his head towards you and leaned in to press your lips gently to his. He let out a sigh as he brought a hand up to grasp your cheek.

"I'll always fight for you, Matt." He let out a shaky breath at your vow. "I'll always fight for you. Even if I'm fighting you against you. But I...I need you to fight for me, too. Okay? You can't let me walk out that door again. I need to know you're not going to just push me away like that again. You can yell and cry and ask me for anything, everything you need. But don't let me go."

"I won't, I won't do that again," he promised as he continued to stroke your check with his thumb. "I should never have let that happen. And I should have never waited so long to come after you. I love you."

You kissed him again, a little firmer this time, but no less tender. "I love you, too."

Silence took over again as you continued to sit there. You focused on the way his hand was now running up and down your arm gently, while the other brushed at your hip from where it was wrapped around you. Cradling his face in your hands, you placed a series of kisses on his face; his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks. With each kiss, you felt a sliver of tension bleed away from him, until at last he seemed to sag in relief.

You eyed the duffle bag that was still on his bed, grateful that he had come home when he did so that you could have this talk. You weren't sure how you would have handled living in a world without him by your side. It had only been a year, but you knew this was something you wanted for the rest of your life. Knew that he was someone you wanted for the rest of your life.

You were willing, oh so willingly, to do whatever this man needed, whatever he asked of you.

Glancing at the bathroom door, an idea came to you. An idea that might be a good place to start, no matter how small and insignificant it would seem. Without much thought, you decided to act on it, desperate to help him in whatever way you could.

"Let me go, Matt." You gently pushed against the arms that held you to him.

"What? Why?" You didn't miss the way the panic seeped into his voice.

"Just...let go. Let me get up." Confused, he slowly and reluctantly released you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead, before standing up and walking towards the bathroom. You heard him get up behind you.

"Where are you going?" You knew him well enough to hear the anxiety creeping in, this time more insistent. You turned around, kicking off your shoes as you did so. Your shirt was pulled off and thrown to the floor at his feet, and your pants soon followed.

"I figured we'd start with a shower."

"A...shower?"

"Yes. You're going to help me wash my hair until you can't smell my shampoo any longer, and then you're going to keep talking to me and let me cuddle you the rest of the afternoon. You coming?"

For the first time in weeks, the tiniest hint of a smile appeared on his face, though it was brief and utterly bewildered, as his own shirt hit the floor. Matt stil look bemused, but he went along with your idea. He took a few hesitant steps forward until he was right in front of you.

Rough hands gripped your cheek, pushed your hair back behind your ears, and tilted your head forward so that he could place a gentle kiss to your forehead. With a soft sigh, he reached down to grasp your hand, and you let him pull you into the bathroom.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock angst

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samthestrangerthingsfan · 9 months ago

Text

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: Seven years ago, you got more than you bargained for, and you're determined Eddie will be none the wiser.

chapter warnings: swearing, sad reader, talks of pregnancy, eddie doesn't look good here babes.

a/n: guys--GUYS. We're launching our first series! I'm so excited to bring you the feels and squeals with this one. Please enjoy this little prologue!

Prologue: Before It All

October 31st, 1986

Pamphlets and flyers litter your dorm room. Pastel colored brochures full of information that encourage you to ‘weigh your options’ and ‘make smart choices’.

Gone are the dutifully written class notes and calendar full of exam dates. Instead, new phone numbers and doctors appointments are written in their place.

“Pick up. Please, please.” You beg the universe through the receiver of a baby blue phone; it’s cord was wrapped so tightly in your palm that spiral indentations began to form on the soft skin.

There’s a tell-tale click of the answering machine on the other end, and a familiar voice temporarily drowns out your thoughts.

“Yeah you’ve reached the Munson's,” Wayne’s recording was gruff, not at all like the kind man you’d known since you were fourteen. “We ain’t home so, leave a message.”

We.

You're silenced by a high-pitched beep ringing through your ears, followed by a robotic voice.

“Answering machine full. Goodbye.”

The hollow feeling in your chest expanded. Then the call disconnected, and you were sure the phone would shatter from the sheer force it was slammed down with.

What had you done? What hadn’t you done? Why did he abandon you?

Questions that you'd turned into riddles—searching and hoping to figure out the answers to. But rhyme and reason no longer mattered, not anymore. The unfortunate truth of it all was really quite simple:

Eddie Munson no longer wanted to be a part of your life, and he certainly didn’t want you in his.

He’d made that abundantly clear two months ago. He’d used you--in more ways than one; ruined and tarnished every memory you had with him. The boy you’d known for so long, the one who knew your most guarded secrets and traumas, had abandoned you.

Worse than that, he left you grieving.

Grieving someone who was still walking and breathing and living on the same planet as you. Mourning a person who was going about their days as if nothing had changed.

Now? That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Years of friendship replayed in your mind, searching for signs and clues that could have told you he wasn't who he lead you to believe.

But there was nothing.

Eddie had been you're fiercest protector, he risked his own safety-on more than one occasion-to keep you out of harms way. No one knew you better. If we're being honest? You had loved Eddie Munson, and for a time, you were sure he loved you too.

Until he didn’t.

Until he broke all of the promises he made to you.

When he’d let you leave without a goodbye. Watched you cry and beg for an answer as to why he cut you off after…after that night.

You knew it would change everything--naively, you hoped it would be for the better.

But change comes in whatever way it wants too.

Your change is the little life growing inside of you. The one Eddie will never know about.

If he could throw you away this easily, you’d never be able to trust him with something like this. Never allow him to break this baby’s heart the way he broke yours.

This was your last attempt. Calling on fate to determine if Eddie would even be allowed to know about the little person you'd made together. When he'd ignored your call yet again, you'd had your answer.

It’ll be hard—harder than anything you’d ever dealt with back home in Hawkins. You’d have to forget that place and the people in it; leave everything behind if you wanted to give this baby a chance.

Does that make me any better than Eddie?

"Fuck him." The tears on your cheeks were wiped away on your sleeve. You’re doing it to protect someone you love.

And so you forgot.

You forgot Hawkins, pushed it to the very back of your mind and the basement of your heart. If you thought about all the people you’d left behind, your resolve would break.

"Us against the world, hm?" the melancholy wasn't lost on you as you rubbed your tummy.

Life will go on because it has too. Because nothing in this world matters as much as he or she does. You can do it. For them you're convinced you can do just about anything.

Even if you're doing it alone.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #OOTW

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bitchimasnake-sss · 3 months ago

Note

hiii this is the anon that requested part two and i return begging for part three of tennis! zoro.

ahem.

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

thanks for coming to my tedtalk! :)

in all seriousness though i would love to see a part 3 and definitely think you should have an ao3 to post longer content!! please keep up your lovely writing 💋💋 (MAKE ZORO REALLY WORK FOR IT HEHEHEHE [i was sobbing over how cute his little offerings were AND FALLING ASLEEP AT THE DOOR i cant])

UR THE ONLY ONE KEEPING ME GOING GIRLY 🎀😞. SO GLADDD YOU LIKED THAT ONE, HERE HAVE THIS ONE NOWWW. ILL MAKE ZORO EXTRAA PATHETIC FOR YOU MWUAH😚

bitchimasnake-sss presents: the one piece AUs

03. AITA for going back to my ex? ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: part 03 [FINAL PART] to my badminton player!zoro au lol. you can find the first two parts here! (i recommend you read those first!) getting your heart broken when you were seventeen was inevitable, getting it broken on camera seven years later was also inevitable, it seems. but letting your ex back into your life with the glittering promises of "i'll win you back in a month?" was getting your heart broken again and again and again also inevitable? most importantly: was roronoa zoro worth your sanity? warnings: dumb people, even dumber plot by me! includes angst towards the end, zoro is an idiot trying his best to win you over! cameos by nami, sanji, perona and mihawk because i love writing them tysm. and obviously smut (hehe u nasty). nsfw thoughts include: feral!zoro. this man is nasty, he likes blood, sweat and tears. a lot of overstimulation, a little bit of bimbofication, hints of dub!con, car-sex, penetration, teasing, dirty talk, a little bit of feral!zor. OKAY THAT'S IT!! MINORS DNI OR I WILL HUNT YOU! wc: 10.6k m.list

17th of october 11:43 p.m.

"really?" and you could hear sanji drop his precious cigarette onto the ground in pure, unaltered shock, "are you toying with me right now, love?"

"no." you replied firmly, nimble fingers getting caught against familiar, green locks as roronoa zoro pressed honeyed lips to your stomach. he trailed downwards, uncaring as your manager spluttered on the speaker.

"you are actually dating that green-haired freak?" from his tone alone, you could imagine sanji to look wide-eyed and tongue-tied. meeting the eyes of the said “green haired freak”, you found a sour expression plastered to his handsome features.

"no... well, not yet.” you swiped your fingers against his scalp, manicured fingers softly scratching the frown on his face away, “we're on a one-month trial phase."

"are you and him a netflix subscription, mon amore? what do you mean one month?" the blonde hissed. but you were far too gone, too warped within the feeling of the athlete’s soft kisses on your hiked-up thighs to even offer a hairsbreadth of attention to your critic.

"well–" as the sportsman hands trailed over your thighs all-too-intimately, you found yourself sighing blissfully, "he said he wants a month to win me back.”

“that is insane.”

“maybe. but his time starts today, so, we have until 17th of november to come to some sort of conclusion." zoro didn’t dare still against your soft skin. kneading the fat of your hips, pressing hot kisses to thighs and nipping at fading bruises to renew them. but you tightened your grip on his locks, tipping his head backwards as you pulled on them. glaring at him, you breathed out a warning, “either he cleans his act up, or i leave him in the dust."

but who was roronoa zoro if not the man made to get on your nerves?

his mouth fell agape as his eyes met yours, and a soft moan tumbling past him at the sharp sting of your pull. that wayward moan soon turned into a grunt as the sportsman toyed with the band of your shorts.

“stop that.” you whispered, eyes growing wide as the blonde on the other end of the speaker continued his distressed rants.

"and what do i do about it?!" for the first time in the five years vinsmoke sanji had been your manager, you heard his voice shake in panic, "you two just broke up! in front of the cameras! like a week ago!"

"it's fine, sanji. people get together all the time—"

"—not if they're olympic level athletes!"

"hey, you have no idea how much shit goes down in the olympic village." you shrugged, "last time 160k condoms were given out, and people flew threw them like it was nothing. there’s lots of crying. and fucking too, actually. sometimes both, now that i think about it."

“rabid monsters.”

“don’t be jealous. athletes just have a lot of stamina.” while you were busy rolling your eyes at the blonde and his dramatic antics, zoro climbed back up over you. a smirk on his lips, flashing you his canines, and mouthing “really? stamina?”

clad in a fitted, black tank top, your eyes drifted down to his arms and chest. shamelessly staring at the muscles flexing and unflexing under the flimsy material, you brought your free hand to run wild against his bicep. finding his index under your jaw, he tilted your face up to meet his eyes again. you smiled up at him without much thought and his heart stuttered out in the rhythm of his shallow breaths. fuck you for being so pretty.

before you could nod and ask what he wanted, he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. next, he sunk his face in the crook of your neck. you felt the nip of his sharp canines against your sensitive pulse. but that sly bastard. all of that was to distract you from the way he dipped his hand under your shorts and pulled your panties aside.

“zo–“ you started slowly, but it was all in vain. the man above you was on a mission. and that mission was apparently to get your own manager to report you as a sex offender or something?! atleast that’s what it felt like from the way he rubbed his thumb against your sensitive clit.

“either ways.” your manager huffed, ignoring the way your breath hitched at the new bruises against your neck and the stuttering swipes of his thumb against your folds, “this is still insane.”

"weren’t–” you gulped, trying to keep your voice steady, “you were the one saying that my job is to playand yours’ to take care of such things, so, do that.”

“and i can! i can fix it.” you heard a thud ring through the speaker and imagined that the blonde had fallen back onto his back helplessly, “but i need time to fix this. gotta talk to nami-san, and then i will need to fix the narrative using the media. i need time.”

barely raising his lips off of your narcotic skin – with a flushed face and husky voice – zoro replied coolly, “don’t worry, nami’s on our side with this one.”

“HUH?! WHO WAS THAT?”

pinching the taut skin of the athlete’s bicep as a warning to stay shut, your tone stayed sickly sweet, “who? ‘twas the wind, sanji.”

“don’t try to sway me with your use of ‘twas.” he hissed like a wet cat, “is that mosshead here right now? is he in your room right now?!”

“and if you’re worried about the paps, roronoa will buy them out, you know?” as if to protest against your suggestion, zoro flicked his thumb faster against your swollen nub. you glared at him. “a-and if you’re worried someone will see us, they won’t. we won’t go public with it.”

“none of those suave answers.” sanji firmly stated, “answer what I asked first. is he there right now?”

you whistled a soft, “dunno what you’re talking about…” before drawing your phone away from your face, “because that’s blasphemous!!” purposefully covering the speaker with your palm, “hey, hey? sanji- hello? can’t hear… hear you right now. hello?”

you heard a muffled, “DON’T YOU DARE PULL THAT ON ME OR SO GOD HELP ME–“

“still can’t hear you.” your thumb hovered over the red button, “g’night, sanji!”

beep.

“i’m paying for the paps?”

trying to push his weight off of your relatively smaller frame, you huffed out, “c-can’t you stay shut when i ask you to, roronoa?”

in retaliation, he pressed more of his body weight onto you. snuggling his face into your crook and inhaling your scent like a man crazed, his fingers kept toying against you like it was as easy as breathing.

you tried to push him off again, gritting out, “do you think a good dick is enough of a reason to come back? cause it is not.”

“it is one of the reasons, is it not?”

“no. is it not.” you repeated, “shut it, and find a new strategy or something.”

“fine, tsk.” and with that the sportsman got off of you. pulling his hand out of your flimsy shorts, leaving behind your aching body as he got up. standing at the door, he looked back just to delve his long fingers past his lips to suck down on your essence. smiling as he pulled out, he made his conclusion in one, swift word, “sweet.”

and you just threw a pillow at him, face flaming up at the way he just simply caught the pillow and threw it right back at you, “fuck off, roronoa.”

“hm?” he cocked his eyebrow, careful hands still not attempting to open the door and leave, “I’ll just head back to my room, then.”

you found yourself crossing your arms over your chest, half to give him attitude and other half to soothe the skin that had been alit with his body over yours, “go, then. you’re the one who wandered in my room with unholy intentions.”

somebody could mistake his as the reincarnation of the devil with the way he was grinning. all unholy thoughts and malicious actions, “you’re the one still laying, waiting for me to do something.”

at his (correct) accusations, you sat up haughtily. adjusting the tank top and pulling it upwards, you found yourself glaring at the towering man for the nth time, “you’re insufferable. is this how you’re gonna win me back?”

“hey,” he shrugged, broad shoulders moving up and down with delicate ease, “worked the first time, didn’t it?”

“i was seventeen.” your eyes narrowed, “and you used to be way more handsome back then. it won’t work this time around.”

he hummed again, and within his cocky tone you could anticipate he had something to nag you with, “so i was handsome to you? that’s adorable.”

“fucking insufferable.”

“but handsome nonetheless?” and you almost threw your phone at his pretty face when he just grinned and exited the room. actually, no. you almost threw your phone when you realized that you were blushing, and fighting off a smile as he left your room.

what was this man doing to you?! ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

19th of october, 7:58 p.m.

🍓attempt 01: no limits.

“okay, and i have no limits?” you asked again, just to ensure that you heard him right.

“yes, you do not.”

“and you’re not gonna sue me for using your money?”

“no, i will not. i don’t think i can legally.” he sighed, “do you wanna do it or not?”

“i do, but…” zoro's heavy voice kissed your ears, cutting you off, "then, stop whining. no buts, no ifs.”

“is this really how you’re gonna win me over?” mumbling, your lips fell into an easy pout, “feels more like bribery.”

“nami said the quickest way to a woman's heart is shopping. or just cold, hard cash, really. but i figured this was more romantic." tilting his face downwards, his voice dropped down to a whisper, “does it feel romantic yet?”

goddamn that freak!

your skin erupted into a violent goosebump as you felt his words against your soft skin. your face heated up as your fingers stilled against the keypad of your laptop, the home page of your favorite shopping site pulled up and resting neatly. ready to do some damage on his wallet. well, honestly, what damage? he was a well-paid nepo baby who had a personal gym and court in his house. this would probably barely feel like a pinch to him.

“again, i ask for your consent.” you asked anyways, trying to remind yourself to be a business-savvy woman who had only come to absolutely wreck his wallet. zoro declared monotonously, “i give it with full consciousness. jesus, woman.”

“okay then, no taksies backsies.” you cleared your throat in anticipation. stretching your fingers slowly as they hovered over the keyboard. his arms wrapped around your middle and you fell against his chest with a soft thud, “start already.”

“what’s even the reason for this?”

“your manager said we can’t go out, like in public. and blondie hates me enough as it is right now. so, i didn’t wanna risk taking you shopping outside.” roronoa zoro found himself revelling in your dishevelled demeanour. voice honeyed, he rasped out, “what’s wrong with my room, though? nice ‘n comfy, isn’t it?”

“I meant what is the reason for me to sit on your fucking lap?”

“oh that?” he was laying in his bed, with you atop him and your laptop atop you. you grumbled on, “and is it necessary to do this in your room? the living room is a perfectly perfect place to shop online.”

“you want me to get handsy in front of my father? that’s too much. the old man would probably die if he saw me like that.” he hummed, “not sure he’s ever even done anything. you know, given both me and ‘rona are adopted.”

you glared back at him at the shit he spewed but then your eyes widened as realization sunk in, “holy shit is he a forty year old... virgin?”

“dunno.”

“but he’s like emo, and vampirish. there’s no way he didn’t get some during the twilight era.”

“he was also the world champion at that time,” zoro reminisced, “he must have gotten girls.”

a laugh escaped you by, “zoro.” you stressed, “you’re the world champion right now. and the tally of girls you get is at a great zero.”

zoro mulled over your words before slowly shifting his pelvis so that you fell back at him unexpectedly, “not zero. got a girl on my lap right now.”

his laugh echoed yours as he held you tighter, and you tried to wriggle free, “jus’ cause you’re paying. no other reason.”

“how does it feel to lie to yourself?” he asked with mock grievance in his tone, and you tried to elbow his side to break free, “die.”

“kill me yourself, coward.”

“i will.” you admitted, still laughing as he decided to somehow tighten his grip even more firmly, “don’t. you’d look horrible in orange.”

“how dare you, roronoa zoro.” your palm struck his forearm playfully, “do not talk about my fashion choices when you shower once a week.”

“nobody had a problem with it thus far,” he answered back easily, “but if you have a problem, i suppose i could shower semi-regularly.”

“semi-regularly?” you almost coughed up a hairball, “jesus christ, i don’t think i would able to fuck you ever again.”

“liar.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

22nd of October, 7:43 a.m.

🍓attempt 02: the way to the heart is through the stomach (i think??)

“roronoa.”

“father.”

“what are you doing in my kitchen right now?” the man raised a careful eyebrow, staring at his dishevelled son who he had caught not a minute earlier bickering with a red-head on his phone.

“cooking,” zoro deadpanned, “i'm trying to make waffles.”

his fathers hawk-like gaze swept over the kitchen. flour sprinkled over counter-tops, some on his cheek, a batter that looked more radioactive that the what remained of Chernobyl. the older man drawled on, “and i presume you know how to cook?”

“no. she's helping.” he flashed his father his phone-screen and the familiar, scorned woman who was on video-call. when she caught sight of mihawk, she smiled, “sir mihawk, how are you?”

“just passing by. come by for dinner someday, nami.” the man deadpanned and the manager laughed, “of course. how can I refuse?”

now his hawk-like stare was trained on zoro, who stared back at his father as if they were sworn enemies on court, “what is it, now?”

“is it for her?”

“who else?”

“don’t burn my house down.”

“understood.”

and with that brief conversation, mihawk disappeared back into the mazes of his house, and zoro went back to bickering with the red-head.

“you add milk.” she emphasized, clicking her manicured nails together as she tried to guide an idiot to build the equivalent of rome, “do you not know what milk is?”

“i have enough calcium in my bones and I will not fall for scams like milk or medical insurance.”

“what?” she spluttered, “y-you don’t have insurance?!”

“when am I ever gonna need it, woman?”

“oh my god. you don’t have insurance!” and the last thing zoro saw the manager do was flip him off as she ran to some place elsewhere. possibly to get him some sort of medical insurance that he totally didn’t need. beep.

zoro’s fingers hovered over his contact list, the next stop being perona neesan 💗👻 .

“'rona.” zoro grumbled as he caught the face of perona on the other side. huge sunglasses were perched on her nose, a silky bandana flowing from her coloured hair, “awh, you remember me, zoro. finally.”

“quit that,” he mumbled helplessly before turning the back camera, “i need your help.”

“you’re committing arson at dad’s place?” she raised her sunnies so as to see the kitchen better. flour everywhere, and whatever the fuck was in that batter. kissing her teeth, she admitted, “i mean i don’t endorse violence… but that kitchen could use a makeover.”

“no. jesus, perona.” he turned to camera around to his face, “i– uh, i need to make waffles. an’ i don’t know shit. can you help or what?”

“huh?” her bug-like eyes widened impossibly wider, “yeah, obviously i can. but why are you cooking? is dad dying? and is his last wish to eat burnt waffles?”

“haha, funny.”

“wasn’t being funny. you have like... two left hands.”

“just to remind you, i’m ambidextrous.” zoro replied, poker-faced, and perona pouted, “who are you making them for, then?”

“myself.”

“liar.” narrowing her eyes, she probed further, “is it your ex? oh my god. are you guys actually together?”

“what?” zoro narrowed his eyes in return, “fuck off, ‘m not asking you for help.” he sighed, “where did you even hear about that?”

“it’s her?!” the goth girl squealed, “and you didn’t tell me?! I thought it was regular PR stuff that nami dragged you into. but she’s back? i remember how you sobbed when–”

“bye, 'rona. don’t call me back.” beep.

roronoa zoro had barely breathed when his elder sister called back. he picked it up with a groan, “what? I’m not answering your stupid questions.”

“okay fine.” she huffed, “’m not gonna ask you about your pathetic, little crush right now. keyword: right now.”

“perona.” he tried to threaten but the woman just leaned forward till her face was all zoro could see, “show me some respect, i’m older than you.”

“sorry.” the green-haired mumbled and his sister nodded in self-satisfaction, “and as far as waffles as concerned, don’t cook. you’d burn the house down. just order them in and say you made them.”

“isn’t that like, practically lying?”

“it is, yes.”

“and aren’t you gonna tell me how it’s morally wrong to do that?”

“it’s a fucking waffle, zoro. not the olympics.” she finally pulled the sunnies back to her face and carefully perched them on her nose again, “nobody cares about cheating. just win her over, and thank me later.”

“you’re a bad influence, you know that?” a small smile cracked across his face, “oh, by the way–” the sportsman quirked an eyebrow, “do you have health insurance?”

“i mean, who doesn’t?”

“me.”

“what?”

“nothing. thanks, i appreciate it.” the goth girl eyes widened all over again and zoro cut the call before her concerns could reach him.

8:55 a.m.

“you know what’s insane?” you mumbled through a mouthful, “i can swear that joanna’s bakery down the street makes these exact waffles.”

“do they?” zoro leaned forward, pouring more syrup to distract you, “that’s wild.”

“it is.” you nodded before taking another mouthful, “you know what else is insane?”

“how much of a good cook i am?” he tried, before having a bite himself.

“no.” you smiled at the way he gulped down the sweet breakfast up, “the fact that i swear i saw a brown bag with their logo in the trash, and now these waffles taste exactly like theirs.”

zoro froze, eyes trained on the mess of fried batter and syrup. he slowly looked up, “that’s insane, indeed.” he averted his gaze as you deadpanned, “you’re a terrible liar.”

“isn’t that an ideal quality though?” he tried again, “like, i could never lie to you.”

“mhm,” you nodded as a smile pressed to your lips, “try harder next time.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

25th of october, 10:03 p.m.

🍓attempt 03: with love, from an idiot.

“if this backfires, then what?” the man asked, and you could only make out faint noises from his phone. a faint, “if it backfires, then, you don’t get the girl, genius.” but nothing beyond that could deciphered as you stood with your ear to the door of your room.

“are you done?” you knocked at your door when the bickering on the other end ceased momentarily. the wood echoed under your faint hits as you called out again, “can I come in or what?”

there was no answer and you busied yourself with tracing the pattern of wood on the door once over. your forehead touched the cold wood, frustrated at yourself for allowing that beast to take over your territory.

zoro had waltzed into your room and declared that he was going to kick you out of your own room.

“huh?” you had mumbled, too confused at the way he tugged your arm and tried to push you outwards, “no way I’m leaving. fuck no.”

“I need like half an hour. I promise–”

“–if you intend to paint my room green, zoro.” you had barely started when he asked you to leave again. so, obviously, you both bickered for a good five minutes, got yelled at by mihawk cause you two were interrupting his wine drinking hour, and proceeded to bicker in whispers before you had to finally cave in and go out.

now, you were sitting in front of the closed door, and tracing patterns in the hope that sooner or later, your territory will be given back to you.

“yeah, come on in.” you heard the man finally yell back from the other side, and you sprung up to your feet in part-excitement, part-fear. your fingers tried to turn the sleek metal handle to swing it open. except it wouldn’t open. moving it front and back, your eyebrows bunched when the door refused to budge open.

“what the fuck?” and to your surprise the green-head on the other side yelled back, “jesus, stop trying to break open the door.”

“it won’t open!”

“because I’m trying to open it for you.” he hissed back, “and you’re pulling from the other side. stop it.”

“you stop it.”

“if you could just let me do that for you. fuck–” the door swung inwards with such abrupt, wicked force that you almost kissed the ground face-first. glaring up at the man, you seethed, “what was that for?”

“i was trying to be a gentleman.”

you straightened up, squaring your shoulders defensively, “don’t. you’re barely a fully-functioning man.”

while you were waiting for him to counter you with his regular flirting disguised as hostility, instead his face softened and he apologized, “sorry. come on in?”

“huh?” your shoulders went slack, eyes narrowing at his broad figure as you walked past him and into the room.

the lights were dim.

“what’s this?” your eyes scanned the place, he had made a pillow fort on the ground with whatever haphazard sheets and pillows you had been hoarding in the room. the tv in your room showed a still from netflix: Ten Things I Hate About You.

you bent down, thumb and forefinger raising the sheets upwards to properly see inside, you saw packs of chips and instant ramen, coke and chocolates stashed to the side.

still frozen, you found him meekly call out your name, “do you hate it? do you? you do, right?” you heard the door lock behind you, “i can undo it, it’ll take me like ten minutes tops. it is literally not a big deal, i’ll take it down.” his voice dropped down to a whisper, “jesus fuck, I told nami this was stupid.”

he knelt next to you, forearms stretched forward as if he was itching to pull the flimsy housing to shreds. your hand grabbed his, face turning to meet his shy one.

“you did this for me?”

“uh,” he hesitated, “remember, blondie said no going out. so, I thought i’d try… this?” his voice grew weak, “you hate it.”

“you did it for me?” you repeated, almost in disbelief.

he sighed methodically, “who else?”

a grin broke on your face, “i didn’t take you for a romantic, roronoa.”

he shrugged off the goosebumps that threatened to break on his body at your reaction, “pfft. whatever. it’s not a… it’s not a big deal. nami helped… so, yeah.”

“you even put on my one of my favourite movies.”

“yeah, yeah.” the sportsman stood up, walking away from you to duck inside the fort and arrange the food items. but you could see his ear-tips growing redder, coy eyes carefully avoiding yours, “you’re, uh, you’re welcome.”

“but if you’re trying to impress me.” you followed suit, “this is not gonna work.”

he turned back to stare at you. a deer in headlights. “’s not?”

“well, I know you’re not a romantic. nami surely is though, it seems.” you settled down on the comfy mattress, turning your body so that it faced the wall the tv was plastered on, “i know this won’t happen again once we’re actually dating.”

“hey, it’s not like I’m not romantic at all. see, i’ve been doing well these couple of months. i think?” he tried to defend but you cut him, “you’re off season right now. once you have your five a.m. trainings and regular matches, you’d forget I even exist. you forget to eat, to fucking breathe when it comes to your game. a whole ass human?” you found yourself scoffing, “you would give up in a day. and that’s me just speculating based on observing you from afar per these past few months.”

he fell silent, probably reeling from your accurate observation. you sighed, trying to ease the unnecessary tension you had created, “i’m not attacking you, zoro.”

features downcast, lips pulled into an emotionless straight line. he repeated, “you’re speculating based on observing me from afar per these past few months?”

you probably should have drawn the line here, probably should have said okay and turned on the movie. but you were so well-versed in the language of self-destruction that someone should arrange a fucking pulitzer for you.

“you’re a sportsman first, son next.” you prayed your voice held atleast an inch of sympathy as you did a neat, little character assassination of the poor man. “as much as I appreciate the gesture, I am not sure where lover falls on that priority list. you like the chase, the idea… that i am something grand.” you stilled, “but i’m not. i am not an olympic medal, or a grand slam title. i'm just some woman.”

“you’re not just some woman.” he breathed slowly. “i suppose you have a point. i am not a lover. my hands find the racket before they find a bouquet, my words find silence before they do declarations of love. i- i don’t how to… just love.” he repeated to plead his case.

and this was it.

you barely held your breath as the man next to confirmed just who he was. he was not a lover. he was the number one on the global charts. and how selfish had you been to demand that he be anything but that demon on court?

“but,” zoro proved you wrong. “i wouldn’t have sacrificed long days and sleepless nights for just some woman. you underestimate how much you mean to me.” his breath grew strained, words unsure as if it was the first time he was telling the truth, “five years is a long, long time to come back home and yearn for your arms.”

you didn’t turn your head to gawk at him even though every cell in you wanted to. every inch of you wanted to turn your head, grab his face in your smaller palms and ask him to confess just how much you meant to him. but you were not sure you could listen to him come up empty handed like a fish out of water. you were not sure you wanted to find out just how easily roronoa zoro could break your heart.

but as the two of you fell into silence, your eyes zeroed in on the zooming in and out title card on tv instead, “let’s jus’ watch.”

“you mean everything to me. always have, always will.” you felt his palm on yours, and you flinched at his careful touches. pulling your hand back to your chest, you felt the familiar speeding up of your heart against your ribcage, “don’t. zoro, please.”

“don’t what?” he tried to ask, tried to turn toward you with anticipation making a home in his irises and vile thoughts on his lips.

don’t what? you tried to find the answer to the very same question. don’t what? what did you want to say to him? was it “please don’t make me think you could love me all over again.” or “please don’t break my heart again.” or just a simple “don’t say another word or i’d find myself risking it all for you. and i cannot stand to be the fool who fell for you yet again.”

just a series of unfortunate ‘agains’, it seemed.

instead, you turned your body towards his, tentative hands coming up to hold his face in yours before falling back to the mattress. you raked in a forbidden sigh, the sound so loud in the eerily quite room. finally looking at him, you found yourself growing dumber.

somehow, like this – vulnerable – he looked like just another twenty-two year old. not a world champion. not somebody capable of destroying you.

“i am not sure i’m ready to get my heart broken by you again.” you confessed slowly, like a coward. “i am not sure i can celebrate my next birthday, just to beg some meaningless god above for you once more.”

“then don’t.” his eyes drifted downwards, heartsick fingers twitching as they inched closer to your warmth. his words were low, like yet another coward. “don’t ask for me back if i break your heart again.”

was it that simple?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

26th of october, 8:09 a.m.

you woke up with open packets and stacked cups of ramen on the floor, some episode of friends blaring on the tv and zoro stirring you awake.

sunlight filtered through the window, streaming in and pouring through the linen onto the man in front you. he was pretty, achingly so. his hair was tousled, lips parted, and thick brows bunched together like he was playing a match right now, “wake up.”

“huh?” rubbing your eyes, you tried to blink sleep away but instead grew more confused the longer you ruminated about his words, “what?”

“up and runnin’.” he repeated, “i need you.”

“need me?” your face contorted to show pure, unadulterated confusion, “zoro, ‘slike eight a.m.? can’t you wait a while?”

something nostalgic stirred within you as he smiled and bent down to face you easily. did the sun always get caught against his frame like he was a deity with a chokehold on you?

his smile was easy-going, and suddenly, you were fourteen year olds planning to ‘run away’ from home because you wanted to see the world. his voice shook you out of the daze, “get your head out of the gutter. didn’t mean it that way.”

“huh?” you couldn’t even find yourself growing offended amid your sleep-infused, hazed state. “what do you mean then?”

he tugged on your arms to help you sit up, “we’re going on a road trip.”

“we… are?” your expression grew awry, “where?”

“pack up and meet me outside,” he stood up, “you’d find out once we get there.”

“but zoro, hey–” you tried calling out. but it was futile as he walked out of the room, and you stay seated in the mess of sheets and pillow and tried to make sense of what was and what is.

5:42 p.m. 🍓attempt 04: next destination: love!

zoro stared at his phone for what seemed like an eternity. your gaze shifted from him to the deserted road and back to him. the dull sun inching near the horizon skeptically as if watching you two making a fool of yourselves. the winds were warm, and your road-trip was in the hands of an absolute idiot.

you slumped back into the leather, muttering, “should’ve never let you navigate.”

“let me concentrate, woman.” he huffed as his forefinger and thumb zoomed in on the unknown streets on his maps.

“how do you ever go anywhere?! your navigation powers are in the negatives.” tone haughty, you turned around to stare at him, “what kind of grown ass man gets confused on google maps? it literally said go straight!”

“i did go straight.” he turned to stare at you, tone just as haughty. “and i have a driver usually, i don’t drive by myself.”

“you went straight?” you repeated, somewhat amused by his ability to get lost on a straight highway. you craned your head, eyes peering past the black, tinted windows to stare at the deserted road, “and we ended up here? near a ghost town?”

“hold on.” he shifted his attention to the useless app pulled up on his phone screen. his face bunched up in irritation, throwing his phone on the dash-board before shifting the gear to start moving, “no point staying in one place, let’s keep movin’ and we will eventually figure it out.”

“figure what out?” you groaned, slumping back all over again, “atleast tell me where we’re going.”

“surpr–” you cut him off, “there would be no surprise if we never reach it!”

“okay, fair.” he breathed in slowly as the SUV made its way down the deserted road, passing by curated farms only inhabited by scarecrows. he sighed, “if we don’t figure out the road by nightfall, i’ll tell you.”

10:53 p.m.

“so,” zoro avoided your heated gaze, finally admitting the truth, “guess we’re lost."

“yes. yes we are, roronoa.”

“and it’s nightfall, so, i should tell you the destination.”

“yes. yes you should, roronoa.”

“don’t use that tone with me.” he tried meekly and your eyes narrowed in response, “why? are you scared?”

“no.” he cleared his throat, trying to sound like his usual self as he looked around in the lonely diner. the wooden table was rickety, the theme of the diner felt vintage-y, but in a way that was more unused than vintage. a lone, old woman waited behind the counter as you both munched on your dinner. once done with his inspection, he continued, “but it’s unnerving. you sound like nami, and she’s a witch as far as i know. red-head, you know.”

“you have moss-green hair, roronoa.”

“witches support witches.” he emphasized, and in return, a witch-like laugh past your lips, “you should be unnerved. good, because i feel like i have no choice but to sacrifice you in a satanic ritual to go back home now.”

the old woman behind the counter looked at you with utter dread in her eyes but you were too busy stabbing your fork in your grilled cheese, “now, spill. where were we going?”

he sighed, “home.”

“home?” you repeated, “home?”

“i thought i’d take you back to our childhood home,” his voice trailed off.

“why?”

why that wretched place? the place that become bleak, repetitive once you were left all alone five years ago, once he left in the blink of an eye. you routine had become monotonous after him: badminton court, school, home, practice, home, practice, home, sleep. rinse and repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.

pursing his lips together, he looked down at his plate, “for old time’s sake, i guess?”

“old time’s sake?”

“there was a time when neither of us hated that little, suburban town.” he grinned, “remember that park with the broken swings?”

“that shit was haunted.” you took a bite, conspiring through a mouthful, “i mean why else was it never fixed?”

he continued, “and that public swimming pool? how was every guard there a creep?”

“except dave.” you nodded in agreement, a slight smile playing on your lips, “dave was cool.”

"he liked you so much, it was stupid." zoro huffed before popping a french fry in his mouth.

“you're the one to talk. do you remember courtney?” you grinned, shoving an index in his direction, “she had suchhh a huge crush on you in middle-school. it was honestly confusing.”

“why was it confusing?”

“you looked like a kiwi,” and you laughed when his eyebrows bunched together and he almost pouted, “i believe it was you that liked this kiwi.”

“tch, that was lifetimes ago.” your voice softened as he stayed quiet, the two of you just looking at each other as if registering each other’s silence as the only, absolute truth. the knife lodged in your grilled cheese slipped past your grip and a soft clang rang out as it hit your porcelain plate. you hummed, “should’ve told me we’re going back. i would have helped you navigate, zoro.”

“’sfine.” he shook his head, right hand coming up to scratch the itch away and re-set the strands of hair, “we can just head back. if we leave now, we’d reach by dawn. it’s pointless to go back to that old town now.”

you sighed, fingers interlocking as you slumped back against the worn out seat. the booth was cold against your back, the light bulb flickering momentarily as the two of you existed in a place far removed from reality, a place where the two of you were just twenty-somethings eating dinner at a worn-out diner.

“are you done eating?” you asked once he pushed his plate away. he nodded and you found yourself tugging his arm to leave the diner.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, confused, as he trailed after you. you glanced back once, “if we keep moving forward, we’d probably figure it out, right?” you stilled, turning fully to face him, “let’s go home, yeah?”

if roronoa zoro could, he would follow you to the miserable depths of hell. what was a small town compared to that?

he nodded, “yeah.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

27th of october, 6:29 p.m.

“this is it, huh?” you stared at the massive suburban home in front of you. the lawn was trimmed, kept nice and clean as you two stood in front of what was once your humble abode.

your family had sold the place once you expressed that you wanted to move away to do better in your profession, and you had never had the heart to come back and check who bought the place or who didn’t.

“wanna walk around town?” zoro offered his palm, albeit a bit hesitantly, “let’s see what has changed.”

well, that small creak behind your middle school had dried up, now littered with popped soda cans and torn packs of chip. cigarette butts stuck between jagged rocks and dried leaves. the ‘haunted’ park was still not fixed, but you saw little children running around, the scarfs against their tiny frames flying behind them momentarily as they chased each other around. and the leaves on the ground stirred like they were alive under their light footsteps. the old public badminton court had been renovated, it seemed, and the streetlights had been upgraded to a softer orange-y shade rather than the harsh white you both grew up under.

“they made another mall where the theatre was.” zoro commented as you both walked by what used to be your old cinema hall.

“you remember the theatre?” you asked as your eyes raked over the looming white structure with faces of celebrities plastered onto hoardings with the bold declarations of ‘now playing’.

“of course,” he shrugged, muscled arms methodically going up and down, “we had our first date there.”

“it wasn’t a date. you told me you wanted to catch the movies and then you tried to hold my hand for the next two hours.” you emphasized, kicking the dried twigs on the sidewalk. zoro joined in, lazily kicking fallen leaves and scoffing, “perona said it was. i even bought you caramel popcorn.”

and you found yourself giggling, “you even remember the flavour?”

“i remember everything.” his tone appeared to be nonchalant, “a white tank-top with strawberries on it and a blue-wash jeans, that’s what you were wearing.”

you lips pressed together, “can’t believe you remember that.” you came up to softly poke his side, “who would’ve thought you’re a romantic?”

“yeah, yeah.” he rolled his eyes, biting down an infectious smile, “i just have a good memory.”

“good memory?” you scoffed, “how come you’re such a bad navigator then?”

“tch, i’m just a bit geographically challenged.”

you laughed as your footsteps fell one in front of the other, and he trailed behind wordlessly.

as zoro saw you walk in front of him, your dainty hands interlocking so you could stretch them overhead and the way you looked back at him to beckon him towards you, so as to follow you faster. all of it made his heart twist unnaturally in the pit that was his chest. all of it.

next, you both passed your old high-school. standing at the metallic fence, the sun dipped far below the horizon as the streetlights behind you flickered and came alive. the two of you stood behind the metallic, looking at the buildings that had seen you grow in it’s hallways. when you sighed, the air fogged up just a tiny bit, “your blue jersey from state championships, and black jeans. white adidas too.”

“hm?” zoro cocked his head to your side, and you continued, “that’s what you were wearing on our not-date.”

“you remember?”

you pressed your forehead to the metal, the cold fence digging indentures onto your forehead, “of course i remember. i actually have a good memory.”

the two of your stood in frigid silence and the nightly winds grew stronger around you both. you pulled back, turning your face towards zoro, “it’s growing cold, wanna head back to the car?”

his thumb came up to ease away the red markings on your forehead, the friction of his touches melting away the cold essence of the metal. once he was satisfied with his damage control on your forehead, he nodded, “one more pit stop, then, let’s head back.”

10:02 p.m.

the car was parked in the middle of the field where you had spent reckless evenings just like this with zoro five years prior, to the very field where you had last seen him before he left without a word.

you remembered that cruel night as if it was your whole existence. it might as well have been considering how many time you had replayed the same night in your head over and over and over again, wondering if you had done something stupid.

you had sneaked out of your home, and he had sneaked here after his practice was finally over. his hair was sweaty, boyish features coloured a brutal shade of petrified as he approached you under the night sky.

“what’s wrong?” you had asked once you had noticed his downcast eyes and his shivering hands.

“nothing.” zoro had pressed his lips into a thin smile, “’m just tired from the practice.”

“oh?” you held his palm in yours, pressing a sweet kiss to it, “don’t worry, soon you’d win the state championship and then we would have all the time in the world to hang out, right?”

maybe you should have understood it right then when roronoa zoro simply nodded and looked away you. he had never been a good liar anyways.

that night, you both had sat down on the ground. staring up at the night sky, you had traced the constellations with your finger-tips and made false promises of a candied future that never came by. the soft grass under you both had tainted your cream coloured shorts green that day. yet another cruel reminder of him, yet another proof that he and you were real, yet another physical evidence of the love that once was.

“why’re we here?” you couldn’t be bothered masking up the irritability in your voice. the raw edges of hurt cut right back your mortal body as you stepped out of the passenger seat.

“c'mon.” that’s all zoro said as he lend you a hand and helped you climb the car’s roof top.

“zoro.” you repeated sternly, but he just helped you up without much explanation. once you were perched on the metallic frame, he climbed up and your voice momentarily wobbled, “a-are we sure the roof’s not gonna break?”

“no, ‘snot.” he clarified, slowly inching closer to you till you could feel his body warmth against your arm.

tilting your face upwards, you drunk in the sight of the malevolent sky littered with heavy, grey clouds that covered the usual litter of stars; so cruel but so pretty underneath it all.

zoro pulled his knees to his chest, softly perching his chin atop them with a sigh, “pretty, isn’t it?”

“why’re we here of all places?” you pulled your knees to your chest, mirroring his actions.

“it felt wrong to leave without seeing this place once.” he admitted softly, “d’you hate it that much?”

“yes. i do.” you nodded, burying your face against the jagged, scarred skin of your knees. you hated this place, and the pair of green-stained cream shorts in your cupboard were nothing if not the proof of that.

“such a shame,” he sighed, “’s a pretty place.”

“zoro–” but he cut you off, “we’ve changed so much in these five years, haven’t we? let’s get to know each other again.” he lifted his head to look at you, “what’s your favourite hobby?”

you scoffed, “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not.”

“did perona put you upto this?” your eyes narrowed, head still tipped back to stare at the grumbling sky, “or nami.”

“no.” he stressed, “my hobby is probably playing pool now. luffy put me onto it, it‘s kinda cool.”

“i thought sleeping was your favourite past-time.” you turned to look away from the sky and at him but somehow couldn’t. you sighed, slowly admitting, “that was what you always said in interviews.”

“did you stalk me via interviews?”

you tucked your knees one over the other and straightened up, “says the man who watched every match where I got my ass handed to me.”

“i never said i did or didn’t stalk you.”

“you also didn’t say that you won’t break my heart again.” his eyes were boring into yours as you turned your face to finally find his, “you just said to not pray for you back.”

“would you believe me if i told you i won’t break your heart?”

traces of sleep lingered in his eyes, patterns from guilt long-gone-by traced onto his cheeks. you realized with a certain ache that you would probably believe this man if he told you he made the colosseum in his past life, and that he was Genghis Khan re-incarnated. but the fact that he won’t break your heart again? doubtful.

you turned your face back to the thundering clouds. they flashed a myriad of colours and loud sounds enveloped your mortal figures as they churned impatiently above you. you heaved in a breath. slowly exhaling, you asked, “when i lost women’s doubles against the boa sisters, you know what they said to me?”

you believed he knew the answer, being an interview-stalker himself. but he played along, “what?”

“they asked me if you broke up with me because I threaten your legacy as number one, zoro.” a deep sigh passed you by, “since i’m still number two, and from the looks of it they don’t think i’ll be one any time soon.” a mirthless laugh escaped your lips, “honestly, i don’t think I’ll be one any time soon.”

“do you really think i give a crap about shit like that?” zoro raised his face fully, widened eyes looking at you as if you had just accused him of skinning men alive.

“why else would you leave everything behind to be number one, roronoa?”

to you it was clear. he wanted to be number one, so, he left everything behind to be it. simple as that. he wanted to go after his dreams, so, he sacrificed everything he loved. you just happened to be unfortunate enough to be one of those things he loved. simple as that.

“i promised someone.” he finally admitted when you stayed silent, “back when i was in foster care.”

“what?” you found yourself turning your face to look at his, and the man who stared back at you seemed to be a man ravaged and hunted, like a mere prey for guilt.

roronoa zoro had never kept any secrets from you. never. not when he met you as a kiwi-looking middle-schooler at thirteen, and not when he was about to be twenty-three a decade later. no secrets other than his past in foster care. you knew mihawk adopted him when he was eleven, and perona when she was fifteen but no more than that. his past in the foster-care, that one was off-limits.

no questions, no answers.

and you had never pushed. it was something he wanted to forget and you’d be damned if you brought his demons to his under the pretence of harmless curiosity. that was it.

no questions, no answers.

then why was he speaking of it now?

“i only had this one friend. no. she was more like a sister, really.” his eyes hardened, “kuina. she was obsessed with this game, and i hadn’t even heard of it. every fucking time she got her hands on the tv to the communal room, she would turn on sports channel and tear through them till she found one playing re-runs of badminton.”

your muscles ached, and suddenly you were reminded of the air you had ceased to breath in. zoro continued, “she used to drag me to play, and then she used to beat my fucking ass at it. every fucking time. then, one night…” his voice grew thicker, like tar lodged right in his larynx, “she told me that one day, she would make it out of that shitty foster system and she would be number one.”

“somehow, seven year old me thought it would be fun to argue with her. so, i told her ‘no, i’d be number one and you’d be watching.’ she told me no. she had every right to. she was a better player than I was. she deserved this more than i do.”

“zo,” your hand found his bicep as his eyes glossed over, “you don’t have to tell me.”

but you didn’t know any player by the name of kuina, so, it didn’t take you long to guess where the story was headed. somehow, you stomach still dropped when zoro spoke the next part aloud, “she died a day later. ran into the fucking street while chasing the shuttle that the wind blew over. died on the fucking spot.”

“zoro.”

“i made a promise. a-and she was my sister.”

“zoro.” and you moved to engulf him within your arms. you felt him shudder under you, face pressed to your chest in a bleak effort to hold back tears as you held him tighter and tighter against yourself. as if your weak, mortal body could undo the past or stop him from the torment that was his own mind.

“i’m sorry.” your words paled in comparison to the feelings that brewed within the depths of your stomach. as if to reflect the words you couldn’t utter, drops of rain poured down onto you both mercilessly, as if the skies were mourning.

“i’m sorry.” you repeated, arms moving haphazardly to hold him to yourself closer. his hand moved with just as much desperation, trying to clutch onto you as if you were the only tangible thread of sanity left within him, as if your touch was all that grounded him, kept him alive.

“i- i can’t, i won’t lose you.” he mumbled into your skin, “i won’t let it happen. not again.”

he raised his face to look at you and bloodshot eyes met yours. his hair stuck to his forehead, lips quivering and you couldn’t tell which drops were tears and which rain on his soaked face.

your eyes racked over his frame. from his uncaring hair, to the eyes that had grown weary far too young, to the same pair of lips you had ached to call home, and finally the arms that you had yearned for much the same for the past five years.

“zoro?” you leaned towards him as your voice grew weaker. rain drops on your lips clung helplessly as he followed your voice, face falling forward till your foreheads were mere hairsbreadth apart, “y-yeah?”

why did your breath sound so strained? how come you could feel your heart pumping wildly against the bones lodged in your chest? how could you taste the metallic taste of blood and rain on your lips like as you heaved out ragged words?

you bit your lip to stop it from quivering helplessly. words failing to voice what not even your brain could, you asked for similar candied lies, “say you won’t break my heart again.”

words desperate, he nodded, “i won’t.”

“no,” your breath grew more ragged as each second passed you by, “no. swear on it.”

his calloused palm came to rest on your cheeks, forehead touching as he closed his eyes shut. “i swear on it. i, roronoa zoro, promise to never break your heart again.”

“and if you do?”

“you’re more than welcome to break my skull with my own racket. plummet it down really hard.”

a small smile cracked at your lips, “really?”

“promise.” he hummed. and as he leaned forward to catch your lips against his in a sickly, sweet routine, you pulled back.

he barely had the second to react before you crashed back into him. you couldn’t wait any longer. your lips against his in a clash of teeth and lips and tongue and the faint taste of rain on your skins.

“’s pouring.” he panted, words barely being processed in your lucid state, “wan’ you s’bad though. so, so fucking bad.”

the next you knew, your wet back met the leather backseat of his car.

the sportsman hovered over you momentarily. and next, all you felt was his naked skin pressed to yours, his calloused palms tracing patterns long-forgotten to your sides as he gulped down anything you had to offer. any cries, any grudges, any desires.

you pushed him away just to be able to breath, but air seemed to be the last priority on zoro’s mind as he caught your lips against his in a methodical, little game all over again. panting against your pretty lips, his fingers tried to rid you of your soaked jeans and panties. and all of it was so lewd, so unbearably lewd.

from the sounds of his skin on yours, the sound of the rain violently crashing against the tinted windows and the sounds of his desperate huffs and pants as he tried to manhandle you and get rid of the whatever unholy layers separated you from his feral touches.

“z-zoro,” you stuttered helplessly and the man that peered down at you resembled more a demon ready to fester on the last bit of your lucidity rather than the man you loved.

“c’mere.” he husked, and within moments he was under you. laying prettily on the backseat as your honeyed heat hovered only inches away from his pretty lips. as he stared up at you, his strong arms wrapped around your hips and he pulled you to his lips.

“fuck,” his eyes rolled back as he ran an experimental flick of his tongue against your core, and you flinched, already pulling back from him.

and how could you blame roronoa zoro for tightening his grip against your thighs and fully seating you over his face?

“none of that hoverin’ shit.” he declared in a series of hot pants against your drenched cunt, “let me eat my girl out properly.”

“z-zoro,” you bucked forward as his lips attached around the sensitive nub, sucking like he knew your untimely demise was his very duty. strong fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he ate you out like a man starved, like a man ravished.

it was all so messy, all so untamed, feral. just a mix of spit, your honeyed fluids and his insane determination to make you unravel at the tip of his tongue.

he sneaked in a hand, forefinger and thumb pinching the nub as his tongue delved deeper into your velvety hole. your eyes rolled back as his strokes stayed unrelentless against your heat and you found yourself falling apart at his preying touches, “oh my god, zo. ‘m gonna fuck–”

“cum f’me.” he rasped against you, the other hand coming down to smack the fat of your ass. you ass recoiled under his pressure and you jolted as he rubbed the stinging area better. hot tears pricked at your eyes as he brought down a unrelenting hand at the same strawberry-red patch of skin. the pain mingled in with the methodical strokes of his tongue and the messy rubbing from his fingers pushed you past your limit.

your walls spasmed, sickly sweet dew pooling at his lips as you bucked forward with a strangled cry in your throat, “zoro, zoro, zo.”

you weren’t quite sure if you imagined it, or if you truly felt roronoa zoro smirk against your aching cunt before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses onto the damage he had done.

as you tried to catch your breath, zoro kissed – no, devoured – your clit. your throbbing bundle of nerves caught between his lips dangerously, he sucked on it as you bucked and keened over him, “one more. c’mon, baby.”

“no, please.” you tried to cry out but the maddened man could hear nothing over the blood rush against his ears and the ecstasy of your orgasm on his tongue. clenching his eyes shut, all he could focus was on the way you squirmed over him. trying to run away? pushing him away?

he couldn’t help but grin like a man gone far too gone because this was like a challenge, and what did roronoa love if not challenges? you were practically begging him to eat you till you cried and begged him to let you go, were you not?

“z-zo.” your voice failed you at your fourth orgasm and all you could feel was the muscle pushing in and out of your sore, aching cunt and his fingers pulling on your nipple so, so meanly. “z-zoro,” you tried again, this time without stuttering, “you’re s’mean, zo.”

“am i?” the way he sounded, you felt like only more torture was on your way, “am i so, so mean?”

you nodded, tears rolling down your pretty face as he thumbed your sore clit and cooed, “sorry, baby.”

“y-you’re not sorry,” you hips spasmed at his careless touches and you threw your head back to hold back a cry, “you’re n-not sorry at all.”

“’m not,” he admitted cockily, pulling you upwards so he could press kisses to your sore thighs, “only i get to ruin my girl.”

“y-your girl?” you sounded so out-of-it, so innocent with the way he had fucked you dumb. wobbly lips, teary eyes and hoarse voice. god, he loved you. he nodded, peering at you as if breaking it down for you, “my girl.”

pulling your quivering thighs off of him, he sat up and softly placed you on his lap. when you met his pussydrunk face, his lips were drenched off of your essence. he wiped his face off the back of his hand, then using the same hand to pull your jaw forward to kiss you senseless all over again.

his mushroom tip sat hotly against your inner thigh, smearing the glossy precum all over your soft skin. as zoro battled his tongue against yours, your nimble fingers toyed with his flushed cock-head. as you softly thumbed the slit, zoro found himself whimpering against your pouty lips, slowly pulling back.

“ah, fuck.” he breathed in slowly, eyes rolling back as you finally stroked his dick. you met his eyes definitively as you brought up your soft palm to your mouth. spitting on his soft skin, you brought it back to his angry shaft nestled against your thighs.

moving it up and down, your face dipped down to his neck to bite down on his pulse. instead of whimpering the way he was, his strong hand came to push your head harder against his tanned skin. he rasped, “harder.”

and you sunk your teeth into his skin with enough force to break his skin, just to find the man under you stutter and his white seed to coat your hand. his hips stuttered, eyes clenching shut as realization set in, “f-fuck. shit hah, i came?”

growing cocky at the way he came undone, you bit down a teensy bit harder. until you felt the sweet taste of iron on your lips and you pulled back to see a small droplet of blood beading at his neck. but before you could apologize, zoro noticed your crimson hued lips. pulling you towards him, he revered in the sweet metallic tang of his blood against your tongue. madman.

the sportsman hummed against you as he pulled your sore hips upwards and positioned his cock to nudge your slit ever-so-slowly.

“mmph, zo–” you tried to speak but his mushroom tip got caught against your clit so deliciously. moaning, he guided his dick to finally push past your hole and your jaw went slack at the sinful stretch.

hair sweaty and clinging to your skin, your head was thrown back as he pistoled his dick in with slow circular motion of his hips, and you tried to ground himself by digging your nails into his shoulders. zoro grinned, his canine on display unabashed, “feel good?”

your jaw slacked open, just for nothing to come forth other than half-coherent jumbles of his name as his tip kissed your sugary sweet spots with the urgency of a madman. shallow thrusts into your cunt only resulted in persistent prodding of his tip against your g-spot. his thumb pressed debauched words to your clit as your hips moved on their accord, with only one goal: to forget anything but his ungodly thrusts into your rueful cunt.

“feel s’good, zo. feel so, so good hah mhph–” you babbled, nodding as he moved your hips up and down to fill you up and leave you empty over and over and over again. a hand snaked upwards to pull at your roots, tipping your head back so that he could sink his teeth and brand up your soft skin just over the column of your throat.

“feel good?” he repeated, eyes almost crossing over at the crimson mark on your neck. if you felt like you were losing sanity, there was no need to feel lonely cause zoro trailed not farther behind. he laughed, bringing you down harder on his shaft, “feel good, baby? does my girl feel good?”

you nodded, eyes clenching shut as his cock massaged your gummy walls and his thumb tortured your poor, aching clit so well.

the familiar feeling built within you again, like a fire that burnt you to a crisp from within. your walls spasmed, head thrown back, drooling as roronoa zoro made it his life’s purpose to fuck you as hard as he could. to a point, where, you felt like he was just holding back to not break you.

“l-look at me, angel.” his hand squished your cheek mercilessly, pulling your face down just to press a mocking peck to your pouty, drooling lips and laugh when you jolted from the orgasm, “oh my g-god, zoro! fuck aah, hah shit shit shit.”

you slumped forward, sweaty forehead pressed to his heaving chest while he continued to fuck into your overused cunt. his thrusts grew weaker – erratic – before he painted your walls white.

“shit, baby.” the man laughed, his chest vibrating from the stuttered falsetto, “one more?”

“zo…” and the way you looked up at him so teary-eyed, shaking your head no. another challenge?

so now, of course zoro had you pressed in such a mean mating press, mumbling against your swollen kiss-bitten lips, “you’re doing so well, baby. ‘m so proud of my girl.”

“y-yeah?” you stuttered out, batting your tear-stained eyelashes so well that zoro couldn’t help but lap at the tear-drops cascading down your cheek, “mhm, course angel. take one more for me, can you?”

you nodded as if you had a choice.

his chest pressed up against yours, broad hand pulling your knees so far high so that he could plunge in and out of you so very easily. zoro panted with every slow drag of his shaft against your addictive, sugar-sweet walls because every small movement seemed to set you alight. your cunt grabbed at him hungrily, clutching him so tightly as if you refused to let him go.

managing a few more thrusts, he brought your weak hand upto his throat and pressed your hand onto his pulse. you stared at him, wide-eyed, before pressing harder. as your soft hand pushed harshly against his pulse, zoro pushed into your heat harder with a low whimper.

his hips sputtered as splashes of white painted your walls all over again.

the sportsman heaved, dipping his sweaty face down to the crook of your neck and pressing his body weight on yours. after what seemed like eons of just catching up his breath, zoro slowly pulled out and you gasped at his absence.

“are you okay?” he pressed a chaste kiss to your collarbone before trailing upwards and pressing another to your cheek. your muscles went slack under him, soreness creeping up the tendrils of your flesh as you fluttered opened your eyes, “’m tired.”

“already?” the man grinned, licking a soft stripe up your jaw. your weak hands pushed him away, groaning, “already?!”

“sorry, c’mere.” settling beside you in the cramped seat, he pulled you to his chest. humming faintly as his fingers softly caressed the damp tressed and you melted against the feel of his warm skin against yours.

the soft pitter-patter of the rain against the windows quietened, the morning mist hovering around the car like some forbidden protector and dew clung helplessly to leaves in the field. zoro pulled you closer to himself, his shallow breath against your forehead and his soft fingertips massaging your sore hips, “i think i love you.”

“you think?” your eyes fluttered open, trailing up softly to take in his peaceful expression. you bit the inside of your cheek, stomach churning as you dug your cheek against his chest and nodded, “i think i love you too.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

11th of november, 12:01 a.m.

“go on,” you shoved the cupcake in his direction, the candle light flickering softly and barely holding out against his stuttered breath, “for real?”

“hm,” you nodded, “make a wish, zo.”

“i don’t even have a religion.” he mumbled and you pinched the taut skin of his bicep in retaliation, “jus’ do it.”

“okay, fine. here goes nothing.” he closed his eyes. eyebrows bunching up in concentration and high cheekbones coloured orange from the weak flame. a moment passed by as the two of you stayed huddled on his bed, him praying and you looking at him.

a soft breath and the flame went out. when he opened his eyes, you smiled at him, “what did you wish for?”

“nothing,” he replied softly, calloused fingers interlocking with yours, “think i have everything i could ever need already.”

“happy birthday, zo.” you pecked him and pulled back, but he pulled you back to him.

knock, knock, knock.

“are you both done?” perona knocked at the door, “everyone’s waiting for you out, idiot.”

the next morning your twitter was flooded with the same blurry photo of you kissing zoro at his birthday party.

@/roronoaswifeyy said: yOU TWO ARE MY ROMAN EMPIRE OMG!!! @/sweatytoenails asked: IS THIS ANOTHER PR STUNT?11 OMG I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER BREAK-UP. @/boaboaboa said: GUYS I THINK THIS PICTURE IS LEGIT, SOMEONE SAW THEM GO ON A ROAD-TRIP TOO

@/monkeydluffyofficial: very proud of zoro to be able to pull such a pretty woman without showering for days on end ❤️😃 @/dailycelebgossip: BREAKING: two-times grand slam winner and current number #1, roronoa zoro confirmed to be going out with his former flame!

@/vinsmokesanjiofficial: we will be releasing an official statement, until then PLEASE STOP TAGGING ME, YOU’RE BLOWING UP MY PHONE. AND @/ynln ANSWER MY CALLS. @/nami_bizconmgmt: like@/vinsmokesanjiofficial said, please wait for the official statement and @/realroronoazoro PICK UP MY CALLS.

zoro wrapped a strong arm around your waist. sleep lingered in his eyes, and the pattern of the pillow case was imprinted onto his skin instead, “what’re you reading?”

you giggled, “people are losing their mind over the fact that we’re dating.” you looked over your shoulder, “can’t believe a PR stunt got us here.”

“oh, about that.” he mumbled, “nami never asked me to do that, i was just feeling bold that day. paid off pretty well though, didn’t it?”

“huh?” your eyes widened, words sinking in at a much slower rate, “HUH?”

“what?”

“HUH?”

“what?” he repeated with a grin, “it worked, didn’t it?”

“YOU ASSHOLE!” you pushed at him and he just held you tighter against his chest, “mhm, love you too.”

ladies and gentlemen, this is your friendly reminder to not go back to your ex by the way! they don't deserve you and aren't roronoa zoro!

a/n: i cannot believe this has come to an end!! aaaah took me fucking forever to finish it (and i have like 5 more characters to write for ://) but im so so grateful for anyone who loved this and has shown me that love. thakyou so much you guys! i'd be making an ao3 soon enough so that it's easier to navigate. again, thankyou for keeping up with me <3 tagging: @litlebruh @mist-ixx @briezy04764 @otkuhotgirl [the credit for feral!zoro goes to her] @mars-mizuko @florallyarranged @ayumitho @lyany2k @dietcokefizz @kokanee-readinglist @angelsforever999 @rengokushuaige @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @gojoistetti tysm for reading!! you all were so incredibly nice that im sobbing :')) i hope y'all enjoyed this! much love, vix <3 m.list

#the op aus series <3 #op au #one piece #op #opla #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro smut #zoro x reader smut #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader smut #zoro smut #zoro angst #one piece angst #one piece smut #opla smut #op smut #zoro opla #one piece zoro

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matan4il · 8 months ago

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Update post:

Today is the 180th day of the war. Almost 6 months since the Hamas massacre started this war. And still, when I came across a video clip of TV announcers broadcasting on Oct 7, 2023 and I heard the words, "hundreds of Israelis have been killed" (even as I know that the number was actually greater than that, something that took time to confirm back in October), it still felt like it just happened, like it's still hard to believe it's real, and not a nightmare that we might wake up from any moment now.

A combined terrorist attack (vehicular and then stabbing) took place over night. A 26 years old Arab man drove his car into 4 policemen, injuring them, one initially was in a serious condition. The terrorist then drove on, stopped by another group of police personnel, where he got out of the car and tried stabbing them. He was neutralized.

Obviously, everyone in Israel has heard about the aid workers killed in Gaza. IDK yet how it happened, what the details are, we're all waiting to hear, just like other fair-minded people are (I'm not talking about the anti-Israel crowd, who have made up their minds before the incident even happened, they come pre-programmed with the belief that everything wrong is both Israel's fault and intentional). For now, it looks like a huge, tragic mistake, based on misidentification in the middle of the night (such mistakes sadly happen. The accidental death of 3 Israeli hostages in broad daylight was an example that it does, and other "friendly fire" incidents that have happened to Israeli soldiers are another. That's war, there's tragically no army with zero mistakes on its record). I am SO sorry for the innocent people killed, and their loved ones. I feel for them, for their pain and loss.

That said, how do I know it wasn't intentional? For one thing, because World Central Kitchen is actually one of the few humanitarian aid organizations that tried to help both Palestinians and Israelis. Which is one reason Israel very much wanted WCK to be a major factor in aiding people in Gaza in the long run, not just during the war, and the last thing it would want, is for these workers to be hurt, and for this organization to stop working there. The other thing is that we know an incident like this might provide enough international pressure to force Israel to stop the war, while our hostages are still held in the hands of brutal rapist terrorists, and while Hamas still exists, and threatens more massacres like the one we saw on Oct 7. What logical country would sacrifice the safety of its 9.8 million citizens (and the 8.4 million non-citizens it sees itself as responsible for, too) just in order to kill 7 random people, who were perceived as helping it, and who aren't even a part of the group that supposedly this country is targeting? It's not a logical call to make. Anyone who thinks Israel did this intentionally, is treating the Jewish state as if it's a comic book evil villain. I wonder why. When a humanitarian aid airdrop accidentally killed at least 5 Palestinians, and at least 18 were killed during another, I don't remember that anyone was quick to say it was intentional without so much as an investigation, or that those responsible for it must be stopped, rather than that they must study what went wrong, and continue while taking precautions that it won't happen again.

In Belgium, a home for Holocaust survivors has been vandalized with supposedly pro-Palestinian graffiti, reading "Gaza free" and followed by a swastika. This is pure antisemitism, very thinly veiled.

Here's a reminder that if Hamas is allowed to continue existing, and ruling Gaza as a dictatorship, that's not just a threat to the lives of Israeli and Jews, it's also horrible news for Palestinians. IDF soldiers found in Gaza documents that reveal how Hamas had tortured and brutally executed one of its own commanders back in 2016, based on the accusation that he's gay. Anyone who claims to be pro-Palestinian, but is silent about the human rights abuses that Palestinian suffer at the hands of their own leadership, is not that at all, they're just exploiting the Palestinians to demonize Jews.

This is 22 years old Dor Almog (right) and his best friend, Amit.

Amit invited him to the Nova music festival, but he had to miss most of it due to an exam he had. Dor planned to study, and then join his friend at the end of the party, but he fell asleep, and was woken up by the sirens alerting everyone about the thousands of Hamas rockets fired at Israel at 6:30 in the morning. "That was the last time I saw Amit," Dor said about the moment his best friend left for the party. "We've been friends since the age of zero." Amit went to the party and was murdered by Hamas terrorists. Dor and the rest of Amit's friends decided to get his tattoo on their body, and that at some point they would travel to India, which was his dream that he didn't get to fulfil. Dor fought to be called for reserves duty in Gaza. He's the only soldier who survived the deadliest incident there, in which 21 Israeli young men were killed, the last operation his unit was supposed to be a part of, before being discharged. When the explosion took place, he was in a building that collapsed, he fell two floors, and the building crashed over him. "I smiled, because I thought I was about to die, and be with Amit again. But then I literally saw a light at the end of a tunnel, and started crawling there." He was kept in a coma for 5 days, to help his body cope, and only 2 days after he woke up, was he told the news about what happened to his friends in the unit. "That was the real blow." When asked about being a hero, he said, "I'll be that when I get back on my feet."

May Amit's memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack

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cerastes · 1 year ago

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Hey. It's been a while. I think it's right to update you on stuff so tl;dr I'm probably not going to be around for some time, and if I am, it'll be in a diminished capacity, but if you're interested, do check under the cut. I'll also immediately state that I am not in any dangerous situation, it's other stuff, but I'll immediately dispel that before the cut just in case you just wanted to know that in particular.

Let's talk for a bit.

Long story short, the economy here is in shambles. The idea was for me to already have a new job, but that's not gone according to plan. I've been eating into my savings for a while now, and the people that told me that I had a job lined up for me September or at the latest October, meaning, this month, have been ghosting me. It seems to not be an option anymore, and no explanation was ever given to me. A shame, because it came from a place of relative trust.

This has eaten away at my nerves somewhat, and though it is the month of my birthday, I can't help but notice that, between the economy being this bad here, how hard it's been to land another job, and the fact that I'm eating into my savings, well, it's got me more than a bit worried. I'm not in any immediate danger of losing the roof over my head, or starving, or anything like that, but after a few months of "well, my savings take yet another hit this month with no end in sight", it's been rather rough, you'll understand, and it's compounded a bit. For just a second, and not as a primary, secondary, or even tertiary plan, more like a twenty-eighth measure if anything, I did entertain the dark idea of maybe asking for a bit of help here, and the moment that thought came up, I realized, "Ok, this is truly and well affecting me, I never want to do that", because, again, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger of homelessness or anything that grave, but it's been weighting on me enough that, even as a distant glint in the horizon of an idea, I did consider it. I don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own horn here, but for over a decade that I've had this blog, and the community/following/whatever you want to call it that has grown around it, I've never once asked for something like monetary help, because I think that can be a slippery slope. I've seen people far bigger than me, and some smaller, too, get addicted to asking for donations or help, or simply start taking it for granted when they ask for such a thing. My friends will tell you I writhe in agony when I receive a gift such as a game or something over the mail. My logic is that I don't need it, not in a proud way, but rather, in a "I wish you would spend this money on yourself instead, or on someone that truly needed it". With this in mind, I realized that, for me to even slightly consider that as an option, for the first time in my life, it meant that it was biting away at me far, far more severely than I thought. It's translated to other parts of my life as of late; I've not been depressed or anything, but I've felt this itch, this remarkably implacable feeling of "my man, you don't deserve to be taking it easy right now, something has to change, progress needs to be made".

I went out to wander for a few days, then arrived at my cousin's farm. He and his wife live a humble, hard working life, he invited me to stay for a while, I accepted, it was real nice, we hanged out, went exploring creeks and mountainsides while knocking back a few beers, the whole shebang for two guys that grew up in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow, it's true that the whole exposition that was the previous paragraph is something at play, but I also just... Haven't really wanted to be online at all. I don't want to check anything, read anything, and I feel a deep sense of alienation that I've not really felt in a long time. I suppose this is one of those good ol' Bro Is Going Through It, if we're to summarize it in a few words. It's easy for me to dispel negative thoughts and bounce back normally, because I've done a great deal of personal building and homework on knowing myself inside out, but not even this black belt in Drimobrain has helped this time around, and well, it bothers me, obviously, bwahaha. It's the first time in a few years that I really sincerely do not understand what's up with me, and while it's not really something I would consider me being rock bottom or anywhere near those depths, I do think I'm still below surface level, which is something I don't admit to easily, but have no choice to. I would love to be able to give this malaise shape and firmness through written or spoken word, but right now, it's a work in progress.

What bothers me the most is the sense of alienation I spoke of before: It makes no sense for me to feel this way, I'm treated with love and kindness every day, no one's silencing me in any way, I don't deal with barbs or hostility. So why is it that that's how I feel? Or perhaps it's something that feels similar, but I've no clue what it is, so I'm compounding it with alienation?

Regardless, it's all compounded into me just... Not wanting to be online. In the words of a friend of mine, "Dreamer has a fetish for self-development and growth", and, well, yeah, she's got that right despite the wording, I like to feel as if I'm improving every day and becoming better every day, even if slightly, and right now I feel like I'm just degenerating. Is it because my mood has been sour overall? Maybe. It might as well just be the fact that I Just Don't Want To Be Online For A While, and capricious clown that I am, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don't want to do something, I don't do it. I'm tied to nothing and no one except my desire and drive to do or not do things. I can't change that, nor do I want to change that. And in this case, my heart's said to me, "fuck going online, go out, do things, try to get a job".

I also almost got recruited into something fucking vile that I thankfully noticed in time to avoid, but that's a story for another time.

There you have it. Am I leaving the internet/blue website forever? No, of course not, I like it here. Are things hard right now? They are, to be honest. Are they the worst it could be? Not at all. Do I have complete clarity of what's up with this fog inside of my head? No, and that bother me quite a bit. Are things going to be alright? Yeah, I think they will be.

I do regret it's in October of all months that this is going on, because it's where my shitposting power is at its apex due to my birthday, but hey, things happen, not necessarily for a reason, but they can be handled in such a way that it gives them meaning. I'm a fervent believer in that. I'm sorry this isn't the update you may have been hoping for, full of Lucina cosplayer blowjobs and other such hijinks, but hey, they can't all be Rainbow Road, haha.

So in case we don't see each other for a while, I hope you're all doing fine and dandy. I'm alive, I'm trying to be well, and most importantly, most fundamentally, most quintessentially,

I stay silly.

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yelenasdiary · 1 year ago

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Can i please request a flufftober fic where kate has planned out a nerdy date for reader? Comic shops and maybe a cute japanese bakery or retro arcade? Some friendly competition with some of the arcade games and some crazy fluff? Kate x fem!reader please. I love your writing so much :) thank you for considering

But I Didn't Win?

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Fem! Reader

Summary: Kate finally asks you out on the perfect date!

Warnings: None, all Fluff! | 1.3K

AC:I missed Kate so much!! I hope you enjoy this!! x

October Special Masterlist

Kate was more than nervous as she approached your door, 15 minutes earlier than she told you she'd be here to pick you up. Her palms were sweaty and her mind running with "please let this be the perfect day!". It took a lot of confidence for the archer to finally ask you out, after learning just how much you loved Japanese food and comics, she planned the perfect date.

A loud knock on your door alerted you that your date was early but you expected that and you thought it was rather sweet. You opened the door and smiled, "you're early" you greeted the brunette.

"I'm sorry, if you're not ready, I am happy to wait" Kate replied trying her best to kind her nerves. "Oh no, I'm ready, lets go!" you smiled, grabbing your purse and pulling the door closed behind you. Kate's growing smile made you blush at just how adorable she was, it was no secret that you both had had an eye on each other but of course you were both too nervous to act on it.

"What's the plan bishop?" you asked, linking your arm around Kate's. She blushed but acted normal, "I thought we could go to the arcade first then to this bakery I know of, I think you'll like it! Then after that, if you aren't bored of me yet, I thought we could go to the comic book shop" Kate replied with confidence. You chuckled, "I doubt I'll get bored of you Katie! But I do hope you're not a sore loser because I am going to kick your butt at these arcade games" you teased.

"Wanna bet on it?" Kate looked at you with a raised brow.

"Of course! If I win, you have to win the giant Lucario plushie that I've been saving my tickets for!" you replied with a playful smirk!

"Deal! And if I win, I get to take you on another date on Friday night" Kate said with a boost of confidence in her tone.

"Deal!" you shook her hand gently, trying to hide the fact you were blushing.

The arcade was one of your favorite places to go, Kate was more into playing video games online than coming to an arcade, but this wasn't the first time you both spent a few hours here. Playing a couple of rounds of hoops first, of course Kate won at that game, and she was sure to boost her win!

Next was a ride on motorcycle racing game, which to the proud smile on your face, you won! You had the advantage of Kate being somebody who walked around the city rather than driving. Then it was off for a couple of rounds at the air hockey table, it was a close game full of giggles and playful insults, but you won at that by 1 point.

The afternoon followed with a one-on-one match on Street Fighter, an army shooting game, taking in turns on Pac-Man, playing multiple other games before ending the friendly competition with Dance Dance Revolution. Unfortunately for Kate, she lost, making you the winner of the bid.

"You look a little too happy with that Lucario plushie" Kate playfully rolled her eyes as you teasingly snuggled the large stuffed toy while walking to the next stop on your date. Kate didn't even get close to enough tickets to win the plushie, so you kindly donated your saved tickets and the ones you had won today. "Look at him! He's adorable!" You pouted at her before snuggling into him a little harder. Kate chuckled, shaking her head, "I hope you're hungry because we're here!" she replied.

"Oh my god!" you gasp, "I've heard of this place online but I haven't had a chance to check it out!" you added with a smile. The small traditional Japanese bakery just opened up a few months ago and you've been dying to try the delicious foods that you saw advertised on their Instagram page.

"I remember you talking to Yelena about it" Kate smiled softly, "I booked us a table" she added.

"A table, at a bakery?" you cocked a brow, your cheeks red with blush. You found it adorable that Kate had booked a table for you both even though booking wasn't necessary.

"Well I really didn't want to bring you here and it be too busy so I wanted to be sure you could really enjoy yourself" Kate explained, hiding her own blushing cheeks with a smile.

"That was pretty smart thinking! I'm starving!"

Kate chuckled before opening the door for you, "after you" she gestured with her hand for you to go walk in first.

The bakery welcomed you with the smell of freshly baked goods and the smiles of the workers as they greeted you and walked you to the booked table Kate made. "All of this looks amazing!" Your eyes scanned the menu unsure of what you wanted to try.

"Order whatever you like, don't be scared" Kate looked up from the menu at you, "I'm paying" she added. "Oh Katie! No!! You already paid for all the games we played!" you replied, shaking your head. Kate ignored your reply and looked back down at the menu, not taking no for an answer.

"Fine, but you find any comics at the comic store, I am buying them for you!" you cocked a brow at her once more before your eyes went back down onto the menu. Silence was shared between you both as you looked over what you wanted to eat, after a few moments you finally settled on three different things to try and so did Kate.

After the bakery, both you and Kate wandered to the comic bookstore only a few blocks away with your stomachs full and red blushing cheeks, slightly to scared to reach for each other's hand. "Thank you for lunch Katie!" you broke the shortly lived silence between the two of you. Kate turned to you and smiled softly, "it's nothing" she replied.

Once at the comic book store, you couldn't help but really take notice of the type of comics that Kate was picking up, which ones she carried around the store with her and the ones she silently hummed and arred at before putting it back.

"Look Katie! It's you!" You held up at comic with an illustration of Kate on the cover, "I'm getting this one!" you added with a cheeky smile on your lips. Kate just chuckled and shook her head before making her way to the counter to pay. "Hey!" you playfully slapped her hand away from her purse as she went to pull out her bank card, "I said I was paying" you reminded her, your hand reaching for your purse.

The date went even longer after the visit to the comic book store, Kate took you for a walk through central park, stopping for ice cream before walking you home. "Do you want to stay and watch a movie or something?" you asked as the two of you came to a stop at your apartment door. "I would love too but I have to get home to Lucky, it's dinner time for him" Kate replied with another playful eyeroll.

"Well, in the case" you paused, smiling softly as you took a step closer to Kate, dropping your new plushie to the floor. "Thank you for today, I had a really lovely time" you added, your eyes dropping to her lips. You gently ran your tongue over your lips before slowly pressing them against Kate's, kissing her softly but deeply. The dark haired girl kissed you back without hesitation, her hands found your hips and pulled you closer into her. You smiled against her lips, "I'll see you Friday, right?" you asked as you pulled away.

"But I didn't win?" Kate questioned with a slightly confused look.

"To me you did" you smiled softly at the blue eyed girl before unlocking your front door, "I'll see you Friday at 7 then" Kate replied, trying to hide her growing smile.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #hawkeye #flufftober

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sunbeamedskies · 10 months ago

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I've seen a lot of troubling antisemitism in the Our Flag Means Death fandom lately regarding Taika Waititi. Please hear me out.

A lot of people want everyone to comment about the Israel/Palestine war. It's understandable. What Palestinian civilians are going through in Gaza is a nightmare that no one deserves. They are overwhelmingly paying the price for Hamas' actions- a group they have no control over and are also harmed by. Thousands have been killed.

After October 7th, Taika signed a letter asking for the Israeli hostages to be released. It did not endorse any specific actions taken by the Israeli government- it was simply in support of the hostages.

But you know what he was immediately accused of?

Supporting genocide. Even though what he signed was about Israeli civilians- including the elderly, disabled, and children- who were being held captive by Hamas.

On October 7th, Jews died in a single day in numbers that hadn't been since the Holocaust. Israel contains half the world's entire Jewish population. The majority of its population are descendants of Jews from middle eastern and north African countries who were forcibly kicked out in violent pogroms and had nowhere else to go. Many are descendants of Holocaust survivors as well.

I think most non-Jews would be astounded at how much the majority of the worldwide Jewish community is still mourning and reeling from October 7th. It triggered a lot of intergenerational trauma in many of us, yet I hear barely any non-Jews talk about it.

And yet you immediately accused Taika, a Jewish man, of supporting genocide just because he didn't support hostages being taken and random civilians being murdered. Do you really think he trusts people not to twist his words if he attempts to talk about Palestine too, when you turned a moment of legitimate pain for members of one of the persecuted groups he's apart of into accusing him of being a genocide-supporting monster?

We Jews not only have to deal with the memory of October 7th, but also with people conflating any support for the hostages with support for the Israeli government. When we say that criticism of Israel can at times get antisemitic, this is the kind of thing we're talking about.

Many of us are simultaneously mourning for Palestine and horrified that a right-wing fascist government that has little care for Palestinian lives has taken over Israel. Innocent lives taken shouldn't justify the killing of other innocent lives, and we are watching it happen, feeling powerless.

And it gets worse, because targeting Taika specifically because he's a person of multiple marginalized identities, when you don't attack white members of the crew nearly as much, is ironically racist.

Unintentional antisemitism and unintentional racism is still antisemitism and racism.

Take a deep breath and please reflect on how you have no idea what it's like to be Jewish right now, and how some of your own antisemitic criticism about his signature has likely contributed to his silence about Palestine. If no matter what he says his words and actions are twisted by so many of his "fans", he might think there's nothing he can say that will do any good.

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henrysglock · 10 months ago

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Local Man Uses The Cyclical 27-Year Torment Nexus To Try And Change His Fate [EPIC FAIL COMPILATION]

You probably guessed that this is the time-travel post I've been slaving over. You'd be right. This is the newest and most formal iteration of my long-standing time loop theory (I have drafted flowcharts back from February that actually predicted a dimension/time fuckery event in 1943 in relation to Brenner, which was made canon by TFS). So...Let's just dive right in. Note: I'm planning to keep calling TFS Henry "Henry" here just for simplicity's sake.

Now, fair warning: There are a few big "bear with me"s in this post. I promise they make sense, I just need you to hear me out.

It all started with Henry's self-proclaimed superhero name: The Stardust Spider.

Some of you may have seen my original post about The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars (here).

Before anyone says "Oh, but that album didn't exist yet", a reference in 1959 about a Bowie album that wouldn't be recorded until November of 1971 is in keeping with TFS's habit of directly referencing things from the '70s that "don't exist yet".

However, all that aside, there's a specific piece I want to return to, because it bugs the living daylights out of me.

There was a cut song that was meant to go on the album The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars titled "Shadow Man":

For obvious reasons in relation to Henry in The First Shadow, this song already stuck out.

Specifically, though, these few stanzas hit me weirdly:

You should call and see who answers For he promises to come running Guided by the truth For the Shadow Man is really You Look in his eyes and see your reflection Look to the stars and see his eyes He'll show you tomorrow, he'll show you the sorrows Of what you did today You can call him foe, you can call him friend You should call and see who answers (see who answers) For he knows your eyes are drawn to the road ahead And the Shadow man is waiting 'round the bend ('round the bend) Shadow man is waiting up ahead

The Shadow Man is you from the future. He's waiting up ahead to show you the the truth/the consequences of your actions.

Considering that the TFS version of Young "Henry" has a direct connection to both the Shadow and Dimension X from a young age, and he also experiences what seem to be Vecna-type visions, this becomes particularly interesting to me...Especially seeing as said fates are not only possible for future "Henry", but also canon for future "Henry". (See: Vecna guy vs Mindflayer guy)

So, when I see an almost comical number of lines in TFS relating to rewriting known, undesirable endings (here are a few of my favorites):

And when we revisit some of the on-film classics:

I start to think it's time we revisit the concept of time-travel and trying to change your own fate.

It's always hard to know where to start with posts like these, so I'm going to kick things off with the technical aspect: The Cycle.

Something I've talked about in the past year, mostly on Discord, is this concept of a time loop. Not just any old time loop, though. A 27 year cycle, specifically.

Not 20, not 30...

Now, we all know the TFS timeline is messy as hell and doesn't actually align with anything that's possible in filmed canon...or within its own time span, even.

For example, the attack on Mr. Newby happens both some point after October 1st, 1959 and before November 20th, 1959...but the papers for the incident report it on March 20th, 1958:

The timeline we're given also largely fabricated, as I pointed out in relation to the newspapers with dates that don't actually exist.

However, much like NINA, the sequence itself being fake doesn't mean the events didn't happen. It's just not happening in the time frame we're told it's happening in:

It's a set of real events, just portrayed on a different time scale.

So, with all that in mind, I want to lay out a timeline, starting from Season 4 and moving backwards in time:

— Vecna opens the rifts, and El opens a gate to Dimension X in NINA, both in 1986. The March 1959 Creel Murders occur exactly 27 years before the Rifts and NINA's Dimension X gate open in 1986...at which point the Mindflayer is shown to be active.

— Mothergate opens through to Dimension X at some point between November 1983 and October 1984, this being somewhere between 16-28 months prior the Rifts opening. The paper about the attack on Mr. Newby, dated March 20th, 1958, is released exactly 610 days, or 20 months, prior to the Creel murders on November 20th, 1959. It's not necessarily the exact dates that are important here (again, these dates are relatively unreliable), but the gap between the dates.

When put in accordance with filmed dates (i.e. setting the release of this paper exactly 610 days prior to March 22nd of 1959), the paper for the attack on Mr. Newby would have been released on July 20th, 1957. This would be in line with Edward Creel's move to Hawkins in the spring of 1957...while also occurring 27 years before July of 1984, at which point Mothergate is open, and the Mindflayer is active.

This July date is especially funny to me considering we get "throwaway" lines like this...with shots in filmed canon from summertime:

Top: Joyce and Jim beginning their investigation into the attic attack. Hopper Sr. is questioning why Joyce and Jim are investigating, rather than attending school. Bottom: Alice and Henry with the rabbit death scenes in filmed canon, the setting showing full foliage and both children in summer clothing. "Is it summer break?" I don't know. You tell me, Chief.

Per TFS, Henry went missing in a cave system near his home town of Rachel, Nevada (hold that thought) at some point in the year prior to the attack on Mr. Newby. We've been told that Dimension X was involved in this event in Nevada, something happened there that left "Henry" altered physically. He was also flayed at some point around this time.

This all coincides with Henry's dramatic mood shift from a "normal and good" boy to one suffering from Mindflayer-induced psychosis. This change happened in tandem with the Nevada incident, dating back 10 months prior to the attack on Mr. Newby:

If we set Henry's initial disappearance in line with filmed canon like before, it becomes September of 1956, which is just over 27 years before Will's disappearance in November of 1983, at which point we know at least one gate is open.

We also have 1952, at which point TFS Henry would be 7 per his age as a 14 year old/freshman in play canon. This exists in a 27 year interval against 1979, when El opens the original gate that sends One to Dimension X, where he subsequently shapes the Shadow into the Mindflayer.

Here comes the first "hear me out".

My questions are:

Since Henry/Vecna/The Mindflayer/etc. in general don't show any capability for opening gates before 1986, then how the hell is the Mindflayer possessing anyone in 1959?

How did "Henry" get involved with Dimension X in Nevada in the 1950s?

Unless, by some chance:

Dimension X exists all the time simultaneously (i.e. it's a space outside time)

The gates exist simultaneously across time and space in the Right Side Up in 27 year intervals. By which I mean: A gate that opens in, say, 1983 would exist simultaneously in 1956, so on an so forth.

There's the disappearance of Captain Brenner and the USS Eldridge in 1943, which would, interestingly enough, align with 1970, the supposed year of El's conception.

Then, 1952. Now, I'm not sure what's special about 1952, when TFS "Henry" was 7, because they don't actually say what happened to make that year important! They make a point to show it to us, though, meaning something happened...we just don't know what. All I can say is that 1952 does exist in a 27 year interval against El's 1979 gate. Hold that thought.

Those addressed, let's fast-forward 4 years: 1956/1983.

Now, to be fair, there is some uncertainty in my mind about whether this specific gate incident stems from Brenner's involvement with Project Rainbow in Nevada pre-1957*, or if it stems from Mothergate in 1983, or if they created some kind of wormhole between the two locations 27 years apart...but that's a concept I need to explore more thoroughly in a another post.

In short, though: Did a singular El open a singular Mothergate? Did El open mothergate? Did Mothergate actually open on November 6th, 1983...or are we just supposed to assume it opened the same night Will went missing/the demogorgon came through? We're never given a concrete date for when Mothergate actually opened.

* In TFS, Brenner claims he's dedicated his life post-1943 to Project Rainbow with the goal of finding Dimension X, and that he's doing so in pursuit of knowledge regarding the circumstances of his father's death in connection with the Philadelphia Experiment. The USS Eldridge, Brenner Sr.'s ship, disappeared into Dimension X briefly on October 28th, 1943. "Brenner Sr." was the sole survivor. "He" returned to the Right Side Up with a completely unique blood type, supposedly altered by his travels into Dimension X. This is what ultimately led to him succumbing to his injuries, due to his body rejecting all forms of blood transfusion. Brenner Jr. tells us that about 10 months prior to Henry's first stay in HNL, a scientist from Project Rainbow escaped Brenner's lab carrying a container of a dangerous material, and ended up near the same Nevada cave system Henry disappeared into. We don't know how or when this material was collected, or what it was, but we know they found Henry's Captain Midnight spyglass next to a body (identity unspecified) with no trace of that dangerous material. We get no further detail about the Nevada Disappearance.

Anyway, someone opens a gate in the fall of 1956 and/or 1983 (my money's on it being directly linked to an El in 1983 either way). No matter who did it, though, someone opened a gate at both time points, showing us this 27 year link between the 2 dates, 2 key locations.

"Henry" goes missing in Nevada in 1956, and ends up involved with Dimension X...Which aligns with the choice of song surrounding this version of the Creel family while they move into their new home:

Coincidentally, 27 years in the future, so does Will, in Indiana. Their experiences are linked across those two spaces via that 27 year period.

We know that regardless of the gate in Nevada...Mothergate, at least, stays open until from fall 1956/1983 to fall 1957/1984. That covers exact time frame that the adjusted dates for both Henry's accident with the boy in Nevada and his accident with Mr. Newby fall in (as well as Will's time between his disappearance and his flaying).

The closer we get to Will's flaying in 1984, and the closer the Mindflayer gets to crossing through Mothergate, the more TFS Henry sounds like One (post-1979) while he's possessed in 1957, the more strangely he behaves in general (almost as though the Mindflayer is more enmeshed in his everyday life/closer to the surface), and the stronger the possession attempts seem to become overall. He begins giving nightmare visions to other people, namely tormenting Virginia with spiders and her past. He has his final and most powerful "Vecna" vision on the night of the attack on Mr. Newby.

Any kind of reciprocal gate irt Mothergate in the '50s would have gone unnoticed, since the papers in TFS indicate that HNL wasn't established until Brenner showed up to take Henry in.

Mothergate closes briefly, only for a gate to open in July 1958/1985 in the underground location of the future Starcourt Mall. This, in 1958, is during our unaccounted-for 20 months between the attack on Mr. Newby and the Creel murders. (Something rattles about this and the scene where Henry nearly makes full contact with the Mindflayer, when he has a handful of duplicate lines re: his 4.07 monologue self, but I don't have sufficient evidence to make that claim with any certainty.)

That gate closes, until Vecna opens gates in Hawkins in March of 1986, and El opens a Dimension X gate briefly and simultaneously in both Hawkins/Nevada in September of 1979 (September of 1952) and Hawkins/Nevada in March of 1986 (March of 1959) during NINA, concurrently...at least one of which may have gone unnoticed, since the Rainbow Room and the surrounding labs seems to have been abandoned entirely after 1979, and HNL as a whole has once again been abandoned after the events of 1984 ("unnoticed" and "abandoned", I say as if the building isn't still being surveilled by Brenner/Owens et. al...I just mean that the building isn't in use by the government at that point in time.)

We're shown the Shadow activating all the way in Russia due to one or multiple of these events. 27 years earlier, in March of 1959, the Mindflayer once again becomes active, per TFS's adjusted dates. Chaos ensues.

At this point, "Henry" starts swapping between sounding like his young self and sounding like his 4.07 Monologuing Adult self again, doing that kind of "I've seen the future" foreshadowing talk with Joyce that his visions did with him:

Here, he also sounds distinctly like ST3 flayed Billy, specifically in the way of the scene with El in the cabin when "Billy" outlines the Mindflayer's plans for her, her friends, and all of Hawkins while crying.

The rest is, well...history. Whatever fuckery went on, it doesn't seem to have made much of a difference. After all, TFS is a "canon event", meaning it had to end the way it did.

Remember those thoughts I asked you to hold?

TFS being a "canon event" means it had to end with Henry in the lab alongside baby El...thus completing our loop, which starts again with the events of 1979/1952. A 27 year loop. TFS may be indicative of a time loop.

Hence:

Out of place dates from the 1970s start to bleed into the 1950s: - A town like Rachel, Nevada, which wasn't established until 1978, now exists circa 1952-1959 after El opens a gate to Dimension X circa 1979 in Nevada circa 1986 via NINA, which exists...about 40-50 miles from Rachel.

- An album like Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars (November, 1971) or a song like "Chuck E's In Love" (April, 1979) gets referenced circa 1957-1959. - An article about a "younger, more handsome" alien clone of Elvis appears in a 1959 Weekly Watcher paper about the Creel murders, despite Elvis having been 24 at the time...making this an article more likely to have appeared in the '70s or later, likely sometime around Elvis' death in 1977.

2. The Shadow is always depicted as the fully formed Mindflayer circa 1956-1959, despite the shaping event happening in the 4 years between 1979-1983:

3. Henry has Vecna-type visions, despite being the only vision-giver we know of circa 1957-1959.

4. 6 different guys later in the HNL massacre: 2 with the original baby El, 2 with teen El via NINA, and 2 in an as-of-yet unseen product of NINA's Loop (see: the final scene of TFS).

All this laid out, some questions remain:

Why do Henry's visions show him the genuine, terrifying reality of his future?

Why are these visions generally lacking in coercion?

Why are Vecna chime sounds heard before the major supernatural events that deal with visions, even though we never actually see the clock? (They're heard before Virginia in the attic, before the attack on Mr. Newby, before the Creel murders, and in the basement when Henry monologues at Joyce while viewing the corpses of his family.)

Why don't these chimes play when the Mindflayer alone is present, e.g. when no visions occur? (See: Henry contacting the Mindflayer in the lab)

And we don't really get an answer to any of these. Not an easily spotted outright answer, anyway.

But what's really fascinating, which I mentioned just a second ago and takes me back to the top of this post, back to the "Stardust Spider" and Shadow Man, is the fact that despite occurring concurrently with the possession attempts...none of these visions contain an ultimatum. There's no "If you don't obey me, I'll hurt someone you love", no "I'm showing you what's going to happen if you don't obey me", nothing of the sort.

The closest we get to coercion is the bathroom vision, when Henry fights off a possession attempt in the school bathroom and ends up in a vision regarding Patty. When "Patty" starts to talk to him about his future, about how Henry's going to kill her and so many others, Henry says "you're not Patty...what are you?" Then he gets into a physical brawl with her, which is surprisingly well matched. Vision Patty encourages him during that fight, saying things like "That's it!", "We want the same thing!", and "We can have her!"

Those seem like pretty straightforward "the Mindflayer's encouraging Henry to kill" encouragements, right?

Yeah, at first glance. However...lets read that back right quick, but with Moral Objectivity Goggles on this time. Henry openly, verbally identifies that Vision Patty is "not her, not Patty", but is, in fact, something else. He does this multiple times before he lunges at "not Patty", and he is subsequently encouraged by not-Patty...who tells him they want the same thing. That's not suspicious at all. The motives here are definitely crystal clear and totally aren't conflicting in any way.

There's the straightforward surface aspect, and then something else piggybacking on it, complicating it. Hold that thought.

Other than that instance, the negative parts of Henry's visions are all just...information. They're showing him what will come to pass...almost like they're motivating him to fight the Mindflayer. Hold onto that thought too, it buddies with the previous one.

Henry's freaking out about Prancer because he's getting close with Patty, and he's worried he'll hurt her?

His vision informs him that he's going to kill more, that he's going to hurt things, that he's going to kill Patty if he stays around her and/or gives into the Mindflayer's desires. And then it happens. All of it. He kills more animals. He hurts things and people, the pets and lab animals, Mr. Newby, and Inmate 58361 being prime examples. He gives in to the Mindflayer's desire to kill and kills Virginia. He does, by the extent of his perception, kill Patty in the accident.

The same goes for his vision in the attic. Henry's up in the attic using his powers to find someone/snoop on them, fearful of opening himself up for a possession attempt?

The vision version of Patty's mother catches Henry and tells him she "wants to tell him a secret" while his body is being puppeted to attack Mr. Newby. The next time the curtain rises to show us the inside of Henry's mind, he's seeing himself as Vecna, strung up on the tentacles and strangling people with them...just like the end of Season 4. Once again, he's seeing the future that will come to pass...should he fail to fight the Mindflayer off.

We can tell it's a vision, not what's physically happening in reality, because: a) Henry's watching himself in the attic from the stage below. b) It's got the messed up red lighting c) They show us reality just moments before, not a tentacle in sight and without Henry on the stage there observing:

d) The ending of the vision doesn't match with reality:

At the end of this vision, Henry passes out both in the void and IRL, while the vision version of Henry remains crouching. That is a different guy, entirely separate from IRL/Void Henry. There is at least one other person in the visions who is not a product of the vision itself.

Remember those thoughts from a bit ago that I asked you to hold?

Well. This also happens to be the sequence where we not only get Vision-Patty repeating Henry's own words from just after Prancer's death ("It's not real. It's not real. It's a nightmare") back to him, a phrase IRL Patty has never heard, but we also get:

Visions Patty telling Henry how to fight and evade the possession, as if she knows what she's doing ("It's your dream, remember? Anything is possible").

Vision Patty telling Henry she loves him as the last-ditch effort when his "good dream" memory of the real Patty fails to save him from the possession.

These are both things IRL Patty wouldn't know or think to say, since IRL Patty fully believed that Henry attacked her of his own volition out of malice, and she needed to be shown a drawing of the Mindflayer by Mr. Newby in order to abandon that belief.

IRL Patty's behavior is not the behavior of someone who a) knows the ins and outs of Henry's situation with the Mindflayer, and b) coached him through overcoming a possession attempt a little while earlier. It's just not.

Just like before, we're seeing contradictions and complications between vision-selves and IRL selves, along with a sense of piggybacking within possession attempts, wherein the vision serves as motivation for Henry to fight harder in resistance to the Mindflayer...while the Mindflayer is possessing him.

It's starting to become my favorite thing in the world: A pattern of behavior.

In summary:

Henry's are visions are visions of his future, and they're being shown to him by someone.

They are separate from, but piggybacking on, the Mindflayer's possession attempts.

The purpose of the visions isn't solely to torment Henry or coerce him into doing the Mindflayer's bidding. In fact, the content of the visions seems curated to make Henry fight harder in resistance to the Mindflayer.

So if, for example, Vision Patty ≠ IRL Patty, but she's acting against the Mindflayer's best interest/in support of Henry...then...

I think my answer to the questions of "who", "when", and "how" should be at least somewhat clear by this point:

Someone...from the future.

Specifically, someone from 1979-1986 who has access to the gates from the Dimension X side, someone with both vision-giving and time-related abilities who's directly connected to the Mindflayer/the Hive Mind, but who has a vested interest in countering the Mindflayer, saving Henry Creel, and trying to change the course of the future.

A traitor. A spy, if you will.

"A spy...from the future?"

[gestures at the Signs] Yeah, you heard me.

A spy from the future.

So, on that note: The point in this section wherein I ask you to hear me out.

I get the feeling TFS Henry is being told and/or shown what will come to pass in the future by himself...the Mindflayer.

And you're probably going "How do you figure that one, James? Isn't the Mindflayer a villainous force?"

I mean, yeah. Of course it is. However...

There are clearly multiple forces at play within the Mindflayer (hive mind!), and TFS shows us that Henry Creel wouldn't choose to be a villain.

Thus I think the visions in TFS are situations where, as in the 4.07 rabbit scene, things look really damning on first view. They play on our empathy using small, visibly-frightened, helpless victims and shocking, violent circumstances to guide us into making the assumption that everything about the situation is inherently malicious.

We're shown this poor little guy, "Henry". He's 14 years old, he clocks in at 5'5", he's skittish/scared of (ha) his own shadow, and he's geeky to the nth degree about comic books (just LOOK at that Captain Midnight salute? What an cute little nerd). He's immediately lovable. He's also, we find out rather abruptly, plagued by horrific visions and murderous fits of possession.

The immediate response is to go "He's being psionically tortured by some sick, sadistic son of a bitch who hungers for nothing but blood and control", just like Nancy and the ST fandom collectively did with Young Henry's rabbit scene...only to be proven wrong about Henry's intentions via TFS.

I mean, does anyone (anyone who's able to read this post, anyway 🤭) look at TFS Henry, filmed Young Henry, or even Orderly Henry and go "Yeah. He totally wanted what he got, and if he had the chance, he definitely wouldn't try to save himself from that fate"?

No.

TFS Shows us that "Henry" was a terrified, traumatized boy who wanted it all to stop. He's kind, brave, and stronger than he seems. We're also shown that he's capable of overcoming the Mindflayer to issue warnings to people he cared about (i.e. telling people to run, or prophesying dangers he'd seen via the visions). He was trying to survive with next to no help while causing as little harm as possible. He was a good kid, and he certainly wasn't evil.

So, all that said...I think that, via the Shadow's hive-mind capabilities, Henry's "fronting", in a manner of speaking, in order to show this version of himself the future. Probably as a warning, probably as motivation to fight the Mindflayer, and all with a nice side-dish of "here's how you fight this thing off so that my current future doesn't become our future" before someone else tapes over the figurative laptop camera.

[coughs, drops this Brenner-Mindflayer collage on the table in front of you, and then scurries away]

With that said, I'd like to loop all the way back to the top of this post: The "Shadow Man" may be Henry from the future. He's waiting up ahead to show his younger self the true outcome of his choices.

We all know how TFS ends, though. Hence:

[EPIC FAIL COMPILATION]

This brings me to my final "bear with me" point: The matter of the strange double-agent vibes from the UD in every season.

I'm not sure if anyone else outside the unholycule has noticed this, but in every season there's at least one instance of the UD just...offering up information.

"It does?"

Yup! Let me explain.

On first glance, we look at things like Nancy's vision and even El's vision with Billy in the cabin, and we go "Oh, it's because [insert "the bad guy's cruel/he wants to scare her/his hubris will be his downfall/all serial killers want to be known for their crimes" etc here]"...but maybe that's not the case.

For example: Vecna told Nancy his backstory, and then he immediately went

"Oh hey, so not only am I revealing my identity (Which may help you find out more about me via lab records later on, things like...maybe a list of my abilities, or my weaknesses, like the fact that I have a nut allegry. Allegedly.), but I'm also gonna give you a sneak peek of my apocalypse plans. For free. As a treat. Don't use these to prepare or anything. I'm totally not giving you a head start".

Terrifying, yes. A taunt and a threat on surface view, yes...but also showing his hand. "I want you to tell Eleven everything you see" Why. Why would he want that. He may be confident in his plans, arrogant, even...but he's not that stupid.

I'm serious, though. Check it out in comparison to Henrys visions of the future. The pattern is patterning:

We can track that back to El's cabin scene with Billy, wherein he tells her she shouldn't have looked for him, warns her that they all can see her, and that they're going to be coming after her...and he cries about it. That's vision Billy. That's someone else who piggybacked into El's mind from Billy's mind. That's not real Billy, just like how Billy in Max's vision wasn't the real Billy. The person giving El that vision warns her. Why on earth would he tell her that they can see her, that they're coming for her? That's sensitive information! It would be smarter to let her think she's safe and use that false sense of security to catch her off guard.

In fact, this pattern patterns so well that I'd like to argue this: Henry's TFS visions, Nancy's vision, and El's vision are all the same type of behavior displayed in NINA's chess scene, just in different contexts.

Henry ("Henry") gives some kind of scary prophetic information ("He and the others are going to attempt to kill you", "I would very much like to show you where I am going", "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"), and then we're left to question if it's a scare tactic, manipulative misinformation, or helpful inside information.

It's not that the Mindflayer or Vecna can't hide things from people (see: "Somewhere he didn't want me to see")...like, say, the fact that the Mindflayer is now able to see El, or that Vecna's planning to open 4 gates with his 4 kills.

It's always this miraculous "Huh! Weird info-dropping behavior from the UD's side. Shouldn't look that gift-horse in the mouth though. It's probably just a writing oversight or a shoehorned exposé, so really there's no need to question it." situation where it's just...information that's offered up with no real explanation.

Some of my favorite examples:

...and it's all topped off with Max's line:

"He's been telling us his plan this whole time".

That is to say...You're telling me:

The first message from the Upside Down isn't any of the messages that are concretely Will's, but instead it's the one that's a repetitive Henry line...and it's conveyed in a distinctly not-Will style? A message that saves Joyce, something that's definitely not in the UD's best interest given her tenacity in finding her boy...but is definitely coming from the UD nonetheless?

Will, who fell total prey to the Mindflayer in less than 3 days, was not only able to figure out how to defeat the Mindflayer, but was also strong enough to convey it in Morse code? The Mindflayer, who is able to keep secrets (see below), just...let that information slip?

El, who acknowledges that the Mindflayer is more than able to hide things from her, is suddenly released into Billy's memories and allowed to find the source unimpeded?

The Mindflayer, as Billy (Remember: not actually Billy, because Billy can't give visions or invade minds), is telling El that because he's able to see her now, she shouldn't have looked for him? The Mindflayer, which was supposedly building the Fleshflayer to track El down and kill her? Suddenly he's telling her she shouldn't have done the thing that allowed him to find her more easily?

Vecna's giving up all the information about himself and his plans before he's even gotten the 4th gate open, despite him being so secretive about it up until that point?

Henry's visions in TFS are going to scare him into resisting the Mindflayer, making it less likely that he's going to upgrade to killing humans, i.e. the very thing the Mindflayer wants him to do?

None of that makes any damn sense...until we hit this last point:

Orderly Henry is known for giving inside information about "Papa" to El with no clear motive other than getting her to leave the lab.

Now, if you know my page then you know Em's been talking about double meanings in phrasing recently (see: this post about "who"s and "what"s).

So, with that in mind, I'd like you to chew on this:

"He's been telling us his plan this whole time." vs "He's been telling us His plan this whole time."

By which I mean: "He's been telling us some other man's plan this whole time."

[Mike voice] Superspy.

As a parting thought, I made it all into a nice, neat set of collages: