#second of all i think it's important that the 2 blur. 'you are the man in me' lestat is an extra appendage to gabi

[feedingicetothedog]

if that is gabrielle in those storyboards and she's a brunette i will be a bit disappointed tbh. like i think it's important that her and lestat look a lot alike to the point where he becomes her male avatar to go out in the world and do the things she wants to do (before he makes her into a vampire and then she can do it all herself w/o him)

[biahouse]

Important, Gregory House x Reader

(This is my first story on Tumblr, and also my first Gregory House story. English is not my language, technically all of this is Google translate, so I apologize for any mistakes. But I hope you like it, I have a lot of ideas about our crazy doctor)

You love House. He doesn't care about anyone, but he cares about you. That's something, right?

The first time you met Gregory House was at your job interview.

You knew House's fame in the medical field, so your dream was to work with him and learn about his somewhat orthodox methods.

What you didn't expect was to be completely enchanted by the man 15 years older than you. House was moody, irritating, stupid, arrogant. A card-carrying asshole.

But there was something that made you suspicious every time he entered the diagnostic room. However, you weren't the only one.

You were good at hiding your crush on House, but Cameron always let it be known how much he liked his boss and what deeply upset you.

You were nothing compared to Alisson Cameron. Cameron was beautiful, kind, hardworking, confident. Everything you could never be, even if you tried hard.

That's why you shelved your feelings, buried them at the bottom of your chest and tried to hide as much as you could.

3 years have passed since you joined the team, and now with the departure of Chase, Cameron and Foreman, you were the only original member and House became more and more dependent on you. You have now done the work of four people.

And like a good doctor, you did your best to treat every patient who arrived at the department in the best way possible. But it was exhausting you.

The dark circles became increasingly prominent. You were sure you had lost 2kg in that week alone, since you didn't have time to eat and your hair fell out more and more every time you combed your hair.

But it was three weeks after you were working almost alone in the diagnostics department that your body reached its limit.

House and you were discussing what could be ailing an elderly man when he came up with a really interesting theory.

As always, you were sent to do tons of tests, but the moment you got up from the chair, your entire body lost consciousness.

“House” you mumbled the man’s name as you felt your entire vision blur.

"Yes?" The man responded, distractedly analyzing the symptoms chart.

"I think I'm going to pass out" was the last thing that came out of his mouth before the world went black.

•••

You heard the machine beep before your eyes could discover the place around you. It was hard to open your eyes, the bright lights of the hospital room shining brightly into your eyes.

You could feel your throat dry, and the various threads clinging to your body. It was uncomfortable and you tried to adjust yourself on the hard bed.

"I wouldn't move if I were you" House's unmistakable voice sounded in the room and his gaze shifted to the man lying on the bedroom sofa. "Welcome to the world of the living"

“Hi,” your voice sounded hoarse and you coughed, feeling your throat raw.

"Here" House stood up at an impressive speed and handed him a glass of water with a straw. You sipped the liquid with relief, your throat feeling better within seconds.

"How long was I gone?"

"2 days" House limped so he could check his devices. "You were exhausted, dehydrated and malnourished. New diet?" The man joked.

"The patient..." You started to get worried about the man they were treating.

"You're impressive" House looked at you curiously. "I tell you she's a living dead woman and you care about the patient."

“I’m fine” You waved your hand at him.

"It's not what your scans say" He shook the folder in his possession. "Why didn't you tell me that you couldn't do everything alone?"

“Because I can do it” You insisted.

"You're going to have a week off, until you can recover. In that time, I'm going to review some resumes, you need help" House said once again looking deeply at you.

"Why? You don't want new people on the team, you hate change" you tried to argue, knowing what the man was like.

"But I care about you. I think that's more important than my distaste for people" His admission scared both of you, but neither would admit it."Rest, I'll be back in a bit, with something called food"

And with that he left the room. Leaving behind your flushed face and your racing heart.

[s-sturn]

𖥔 OPEN ARMS!

part 2

summary: where Chris begins to keep Y/N away from his life after thinking he no longer wanted Y/N, then the girl decides to leave him after getting so tired of the relationship, making Chris realize that he was totally wrong.

warnings: angst, little fight, SADDDDD!!, swearing, regret, crying!!

masterlist!

Y/N’s POV

Chris was going to go out once again with his friends, leaving me aside as he has been doing these last few weeks.

He has been taking me away from his life for days, sometimes messing with his phone while telling something interesting about my day, he seemed much more interested in sending torpedoes to his friends than in hearing me speak.

All that was tiring, I see Chris finishing fixing his hair and sending a message to a friend of his who would be with him at this party, he left the room not even making a point of saying goodbye.

My mind was surrounded by thoughts, I felt that it was no longer important in the brunette's life, and that he didn't love me anymore and that he could even be with another girl.

Tears began to wet my pink cheeks, while I felt empty and alone, thinking that I lost the love of my life, and that now I would have to leave it.

I fell asleep in the middle of my thoughts, waking up the next day without feeling the presence of Chris by my side, leaving me so hurt.

I got up from the boy's bed, sitting on the edge, taking a deep breath and cleaning my face as I always did.

I leave my boyfriend's room going up the stairs of the house, reaching the kitchen, meeting the triplets.

I give a kind smile when I see Nick and Matt saying good morning, I would expect something from Chris, but he is as usual, on his phone.

━━━ How about we go out to eat? After all, none of us have anything to do. ━━━ Nick asked everyone at the table, while Matt and I agreed with our heads and I soon turn to Chris

━━━ I have things to do today, Nate invited me to another party and I'll go. ━━━ The brunette said arrogant getting up from the table and leaving for his room, where he would stay there, for a long time.

I get upset and irritated, making me get up from the table and go down the stairs to the door of Chris' room, I hit that piece of wood several times, soon coming away with Chris' angry expression.

━━━ Stop! That's fucking annoying! What do you want? ━━━ He said angry and rude, making me incredulous about the way he talked to me.

━━━ What the fuck is that, Chris?! You keep going out to parties, ignoring your brothers and me, who am your girlfriend! ━━━ My tone was angry, very angry.

━━━ What a drama, Y/N! I'm just having fun! ━━━ He rolled his eyes slightly as he crossed his arms

━━━ But to have fun, you need to kick me out of your life so much?! ━━━ After my question he was quiet for a few seconds, thinking about what to say.

━━━ Maybe. ━━━ My mouth fell, I couldn't speak or say anything, tears threaten to fall, but I didn't let them fall. ━━━ Maybe I don't even love you anymore. ━━━ His tone was arrogant and cold, I didn't recognize him anymore, the tears that threatened to fall finally wet my face, flashbacks come to my mind, reminding me of my first date with Chris, our first kiss, our first "I love you", our first look.

I didn't believe that the man who said he loved me so much, gave up the love he had on me, I sighed closing my eyes, while he took his attention to my person and returned to the phone.

━━━ So, I'll let you go, we're done. ━━━ My tone was crying, I left the bedroom door going up the stairs without looking back, my vision was blurred by so many tears accumulated on my face.

Nick and Matt asked what happened and I just replied that we had finished what made the two brothers go into shock.

They knew that Chris was the love of my life, that I wanted to marry him, have children.

I quickly said goodbye to the two of them leaving the house quickly, getting into my car and going back to my apartment.

I felt an inexplicable emptiness in my chest, an emptiness that Chris filled, my heart was broken, I didn't feel like doing anything else, just lying in my bed and sleeping for days and days, and when I woke up all this was just a horrible nightmare.

I thought at what moment he stopped loving me, at what moment I stopped being his girl, my head exploded, while my eyes looked like a waterfall.

CHRIS’ POV

It's been exactly 2 months since I last saw Y/N.

She cried so much, and I didn't comfort her as I always did, I caused her the pain and I never noticed it.

As soon as I heard the words she had left me, I bitterly regretted what I had said, I just wanted to run after her, hug her, kiss her, and beg for her forgiveness while saying how much I loved her, even if for a stupid reason I had hidden and denied these feelings.

For some point in my life, I felt that my relationship with Y/N was too good, which made me scared of everything ending and I ended up hurting myself again, so I pushed her away and denied my feelings, causing an inexplicable pain in both of us, which for some reason I had never noticed, I went out to parties and came back a lot in the afternoon, I always saw her lying on my bed, sleeping peacefully, it made me feel so guilty, for thinking that I really didn't have any feelings for her anymore, and that morning when I said those words I regretted it in the same second.

I felt so much guilt to the point that I didn't feel like doing anything else, I didn't want to eat or talk, I just grabbed the only blouse there was of Y/N in which there was her smell, I slept calmly, thinking she was there, and when I woke up and returned to my reality, I cried like a baby.

I can't stand the way she is missed anymore, her touch, her smell, her kiss, I miss everything about her.

I regret so much that I let her go.

I hated this thing sm, omfg 😭😭😭 And i’m so sorry if this post has spelling mistakes!

taglist.

answer this post if u want to be in my taglist!

[popcornforone]

I’ll Make An Exception

A Frankie (Catfish) Morales Fic

Day 20 of Pedrotober

Masterlist

Ooooh so you all liked soft Frankie reading Fink did you (im publishing this now I’m home from my second viewing of The Wild Robot in 48hs) well today you get a bit more of the menace that we all fantasise about. God he’s talented.

Synopsis:- it’s the morning after you met a hot stranger at the bar.

Word count:-1100

Warnings over & above:- most of this is done by messages to each other, masturbation,naughty photos suggesting activities, sexual tension, swearing, alcohol, hook up friends with benefits.

Thanks for giving this a read my loves. As always please thank @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for setting this up.

Had the night before been a blur, or did it happen? You weren’t sure. You knew you were overly tired on this Sunday morning. Not actual hangover that made you dash to the bathroom to be sick but you did have a small headache. Past you knew this would be the case for Louisa birthday & you had a bottle of water & some painkillers by the bed, past you knew future you would need them. You’d also clearly had not been that tipsy as you had got home, locked the house up, taken your make up off & changed into your sleep shirt. That blue & white stripy one. Yet as you laid there thinking about if you should get brunch, you also felt happy. Like something had happened the night before.

That’s when your 11:30 emergency alarm went off. You knew you didn’t want to sleep in & not get any sleep before work on Monday on Sunday night. You’d learnt from past mistakes. As your hand reached to turn it off it stopped. This made you sit up in bed & reach for the phone.

Unknown number

1 message

You swiped & clicked & your eyes widened.

Morning beautiful, hope you got in okay last night 😘

It floods back. The handsome man at the bar. The one with the dirty cap that looked older than him. The stray locks & curls trying to escape it. Big brown eyes. Soft large hands. A grey shirt & jeans which well showed him off in all his glory.

You lie in bed & smile. Your friends know you often don’t like guys to flirt with you at bars, but you signaled to them that this one was fine. He had started out nervous, but from your memory you remember a gently kiss on the back of your hand, you kissing his beard patch, & vaguely remember grabbing his phone to put his number in, before your girls dragged you to the next bar for their happy hour. Your eyes lingering on him for as long as you could. Your blushing right now thinking about him, when the next message pings through.

If you don’t remember me that’s fine, but I just want to check your okay.

You smile & reply to him.

Morning, I’m alive not hungover how are you… frankie?

Your being honest when you ask that, something in the back of you mind just clicked that this was his name.

Ahhh I’m so glad you’re alright, & yes I am Frankie… how many guys did you give your number to last night? You know he’s starting off soft but you can tell from the messages & how you body feels as you think of him, that he could be the right kind of trouble for you.

Just the one, he was kinda cute & shy, I liked him. You can’t see frankie blush as he reads that message.

Lucky him, so I didn’t scare you off?

No 2 for 1 cocktails are clearly more important to my friends than my dating life

Which is?

Until last night none exisitant

& now?

Possible

So you think I’m a good dancing partner?

Whoever said we’d go dancing?

I mean in bed?

You almost choke on your bottle of water at his reply, he’s being forward now he’s realised you’re up for it. It’s not usually what you go for but you are enjoying this. Your arousal growing, tempted to get out your vibrator as you message this handsome stranger from the night before.

Well that all depends, I like whoever I bed to take me on a date first

Ooooh so dinner before desert

Yes

Hmmmm & what would I wake up to each morning if I decided to peruse this. You then quickly snap a selfie not caring how bad your hair is & send it to him so he can see you sleeping in the sleep shirt. Frankie has to palm his cock instantly once he receives the photos.

Any panties under that?

Yes, a small red thong

Damn it baby

& you frankie? What does a smoking hot pilot wear to bed. Your turn to receive a topless selfie, you lick your lips looking at his good body, his chest you want to bury your head in as you bounce up & down on his cock moaning his name as he grabs your arse & he tells you to be a good girl. Your own hand goes to your clit.

Hmmm nice view

I think mine would be better. You then do the ultimate power move & take your thong off & send him a photo of it on the bedroom floor.

Well I’m sure that’s a view you’d like to see.

You fucking tease

You started it

Did not

Did too 🤪

You go back & forth with this. Your pace picking up. He’s asked you if you like someone in control, if you shut your eyes when you cum. The friction unbearable & you moan in a voice note going fuck yes. You have know I dear that this send him over the edge too. Frankie cums all over his hand. A waste he says to himself. After all the self pleasure he then send you one final message.

What if you turned your location on right now to your phone? What would happen?

I dunno come round & find out. You turn on your location & then hear nothing at all for 15mins. You lie there damp & ready to be ravaged by a man who you know nothing about other than he likes to pull a girls hair as she sits as his reverse cow girl.

Then the door bell goes off & you walk downstairs to open it. There in the midday sun stand frankie, he’d clearly thrown on what was near him, long shorts with paint stains on them a grey tshirt & that cap. you stand there still in just your night shirt & look at him.

“Hello handsome”

“Hi does this count as a date?” He asks as he clicks his keys to make sure his truck is locked & you can see his other hand is over his manhood trying to not cum at the state of you in a bed shirt that just about covers your bum.

“No but for you sexy”You wink & grab his hand”I’ll make an exception”

You drag him into your house & lock the door & he pushes you up against it. Clothes fly off everywhere as what was going to be your lazy Sundays for recovery becomes one of the most passionate afternoons of love making in your life.

[drewsbuzzcut]

Forever Doesn’t Measure

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

Part 3 here

warnings: angst, crying, pregnancy, small argument, and I think that’s all

You sit at the island bar, basking in the sweet sounds of Nolan laughing along with Mat. He’s laid out on the rug, the boy playing with cars and using Mat as a racing track. All while AJ is sleeping peacefully in the pack and play. It transports you back to certain moments of happiness, moments you wish you could always live in.

You make eye contact with Mat and it’s like he takes a skinny dip inside your mind, because he gives you a longing smile. You can see it in his eyes that he knows what you’re thinking about.

The peace doesn’t last too long when AJ wakes up in tears; it’s his feeding time. You’re quick to settle on the couch, your baby boy nestled in your arms under a blanket, happily sucking away. It’s your last month of breastfeeding before weaning him off, knowing that he can’t just not visit with Mat during his allotted time.

You focus on Angel’s blond hair and soft cheeks, distracting yourself from thinking about how you were once a married mom, but now a single one.

Mat’s body sitting beside you on the couch makes you look away from the baby. He peers at you with a softness that you’ve almost forgotten.

“Hey, thanks for inviting me. It really means a lot to be here with the boys and you,” he says, knowing that spending the Christmas holiday together is important.

You honestly didn’t want to because almost 2 weeks ago you were tagged in pictures of him and a girl together, who you assumed was his friend from home. However, the thought of your boys not seeing their father took away all your anger. You didn’t need to ruin their lives even more.

“The boys miss you a lot, and it isn’t fair to them for you not to be here.”

“I miss them, too, everyday. I miss being on morning duty. Believe it or not, it’s one of my favorite parts of being a parent,” he admits. You faintly smile, thinking about all the times Mat would come back to bed with either one of his twins or both.

“You still have morning duty,” you point out, your free hands brushing AJ’s hair to avoid reaching out for Mat.

“Yeah, for like every other week. It’s not the same. Especially because you’re not there with me,” your heart hurts at his words.

“Is this your way of saying you miss me?” You tease, desire taking over when your hand reaches out to brush his hair away from his forehead.

“Of course I miss you,” he says simply, holding your hand in his. The way his thumb sweeps over your knuckles is pure bliss.

You tilt your head towards him while letting it rest back against the couch, eyelashes fluttering and eyes glued on him. Your innocent looks breaks him down into mush.

“I miss you, too,” you say, growing shy and looking down to avoid his stare. He only guides your face to his, lips connecting in a blurring passion. You try to lean into him, but with your baby pressed to your chest, it’s kind of hard. Mat does the job, though, scooting close to you to the point you’re practically wrapped in his arms.

Your tongue seeks entrance to his mouth, prodding the seam of his lips to make its way to dance with his tongue. You have the innate need to explore his mouth as you haven’t done so in a while. He feels the same way.

“Daddy! Daddy, look!” Nolan’s shouts make the both of you jump away from each other, in a state of shock at what just happened.

“Wow, little man! That’s so cool,” Mat clears his throat before complimenting Nolan’s favorite toy that he’s showing off.

“Um… I need to burp Angel and put him down for a nap. I’ll be back,” you mutter before scurrying upstairs.

The second you’re gone, Mat notices your phone going off, and without thinking about it, he picks it up to see who messaged you.

Tito: Happy holidays! I’m so glad we finally got to see you and the boys. Angel is perfect. I miss you guys. Hopefully we can have another visit soon.

Mat frowns at the message, not aware that you flew to Vancouver to visit Anthony.

“AJ went to sleep right away. I swear I can just watch him sleep all the time,” you gush, not knowing what you’re walking into.

“You went to Vancouver?” He asks immediately, catching you off guard.

Your mouth opens and closes, truly not knowing what to say.

“Um… yeah. I took the boys to go visit Tito and Emma. It was only for a few days,” you say softly.

“How could you?” Mat asks incredulously.

“What’s the big deal?”

“We were supposed to introduce Angel to them together,” he reminds you of the detail you stupidly ignored.

“Well, we aren’t together anymore, so it shouldn’t matter,” your voice is in a whisper, hoping that Mat will get the hint to not yell.

“It does matter. He’s my best friend, not yours,” he spits out.

You fight the tears willing to slip down your cheeks.

“I’m tired of you saying hurtful things to me! I’m tired of you breaking my heart,” he tells you.

“Breaking your heart? What about the girl you went on a date with? Huh? That friend from home? Yeah, I saw those pictures of you two together,” you inform him.

“It wasn’t a date! She is a friend from home, one that has a girlfriend, but I guess you didn’t see her in those pictures. And what does it matter if I was on a date, we’re not together anymore,” he throws your words in your face.

Your hands gravitate to your stomach out of instinct, holding on to the soon to be last piece of Mat that you’ll ever have. You can feel your heart cracking, knowing that most of this is your fault. You’re the one to blame.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter. You’re free to date whoever you want. I’m sorry for saying hurtful things to you. I don’t hate you, I hate myself. Excuse me, but I think I’m going to take a nap. I’ll be down in time for dinner, just please watch Nols and keep an ear out for Angel,” you whisper, voice hoarse and ego crumbled.

You drag yourself upstairs, heading to your closet to pull on a large hoodie that you sneakily took from Mat before you moved out. Undressing out of your outfit, you put your hair up in a messy bun, and cuddle into your bed. Sleep takes over your body in less than a second. You hope you have dreams of your family being all together again.

Mat’s upset with himself for making you cry. To keep the picture of you heartbroken out of his mind, he starts completing miscellaneous tasks around the house, something he knows you’d appreciate. He’s lucky to get Nolan down for a nap even if it’s for 20 minutes. He takes a load of laundry upstairs to fold and put away. As he’s putting some of your clothes in your drawer he finds your paperwork confirming your pregnancy. To say he’s shocked is an understatement. A flurry of thoughts rush through his mind, tears starting to cloud his eyes at the secret you’ve been keeping. He’s not upset with you for not telling him, but at the fact that he has been missing out on the journey so far.

He exits your walk-in closet, coming face to face with your sleeping form. No one can stop him as he strides over to what would be your side of the bed- you’re asleep on his side -and lets his body sink next to yours. You’re on your side, facing away from him, so once he settles he nudges your body to turn into his hold. Your face connects with his chest, an arm holding onto him while one of your legs tangles with his. Eventually you end up on top of him, the natural instinct taking over. Besides, his warmth is to die for.

He allows his fingers to card through your mess bun; the urge to comfort you, strong. He watches your features as they are contorted into something resembling peace. You never see it, but Angel and Nolan look like you when you’re asleep. Both boys share that same blissful smile with you when sleep takes over. Mat first noticed it when Nolan was around one year old, and now he sees it all the time.

Light, pounding footsteps alert Mat, Nolan is making his way to the room.

“Mommy?”

“Mommy is sleeping, buddy. What’s up?”

“I hungry!”

“I know. We’ll start dinner in a little bit. Why don’t you lay with me for a bit,” Mat makes enough room for Nolan to cuddle with you both, you ending back on Mat’s side, facing him while your arms are still around him.

His eyes start to sting, thinking about another baby with you. He is so excited. His hand travels to your stomach, alerting you in the process. Your eyes pop open and you stare into his beautiful eyes. You know he knows. It’s as if anything but you touched your stomach, you immediately go into protective mode.

“Another baby, eh?”

“Another baby,” you confirm. He just smiles, eyes closed and lips closed, but the smile is so happy and a little smug.

Your one arm falls to rest around his waist, relishing in the small contact you have with his bare skin from where his shirt rides up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” you shake your head fast and repeatedly, swearing away the thoughts of telling him before this moment. “I just couldn’t tell you. We had just broken up, and I was so shocked about the news. I just didn’t want to disappoint you even more. Even Tito said I should wait,” you say rushing through your words.

Mat’s face falls and for a minute you’re confused until you realize why. You told Tito before Mat.

No no no.

“You told Tito before me?” He asks surprised and hurt, immediately getting up and your hand latches into his waist to keep him close to you, but he’s stronger and upset. He rips himself out of your hold, disturbing Nolan in the process.

He stands, pacing a bit, one hand through the hair and the other rubbing at his neck. Those actions stop when he realizes Nolan is watching his every move, so he picks up Nolan as if he’s a protective blanket, constantly playing with his hair and kissing his head.

“Don’t be mad at Tito, please. It was word vomit. I didn’t mean to actually tell him,” you explain.

“But you still did,” Mat finishes, walking downstairs and leaving you alone with more guilt than you can handle.

You stay in bed for no more than 10 minutes, forcing yourself to get up and attend to Angel. Once he’s all changed and settled, you make your way downstairs. The air is tense beyond measure. Mat is prepping the kitchen, but takes over with AJ to let you cook as he isn’t the best.

From the time of cooking and preparing to eating, everything is silent except for the scrapes of the utensils against the plates and chewing.

Mat sits across from you, holding Angel in his lap. He’s so small compared to Mat’s arms. You start to think about just how much time Angel is missing out with him and vice versa. That’s how it’ll most likely be with the new baby, too. You don’t even realize your tears are falling until Mat is seating himself next to you to comfort you. You can only push yourself away from him. You don’t deserve his affection.

“I love you. Don’t push me away,” he whispers in your ear.

You only shake your head in response, and for the rest of dinner, you’re both silent, just watching the boys.

As you and Mat clean up around each other, you ponder how things should go from here. How will it work with you being pregnant? At the sink, you feel his arms cage you in. His tall, strong frame surrounds you. His breath flows out his mouth and down the back of your neck. You ward off the chills that sensation brings you. His head leans down, forehead resting on your shoulder. His hands move to rest on your stomach. It’s at that moment when you break down completely. Your body goes limp as your silent cries take over, but his body flows seamlessly with yours, so he has you in his hold before you hit the ground.

“Don’t do this, Mat,” you say.

“Don’t do what?” His face frowns in confusion, eyes searching desperately for yours for a clue.

“Don’t forgive me or love me just because I’m pregnant. I don’t want you to be with me for the sake of the kids,” you sob out.

“What about wanting to be together for the sake of us? I love you and I will never stop loving you,” he says so sure.

You turn to look at him when you feel droplets hitting your blouse and soaking your skin through the fabric.

“You’re breaking my heart. Please don’t,” he mutters.

“I love you,” you say for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

“I want to be with you. Please. I want you. I want our family. I fucked up so badly. I don’t hate you. I love you. I overreacted about the whole nanny situation and I’m a fucking mess, but I need you. I want you,” you practically chant as you break through your stubborn walls.

“You didn’t overreact. I was being an asshole. I’m sorry. I love you. I want you. I want our family,” he says, sealing his lips to yours. It’s a kiss that can bring you back to life. A kiss that only gives you that fleeting emotion. A kiss that only Mat can give you.

“Mommy?” You hear Nolan calling out for you, so you break away from Mat.

He looks at you with a hint of worry, but more loving than anything.

“You ‘kay?” He forces himself between you and Mat, your face held in between his little hands. He looks at you with a look that you’ve only ever see on Mat when he’s making sure everything is good.

“Yes, baby. Mommy is okay. Mommy is happy,” you breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that you aren’t lying anymore. Pulling yourself off the ground with help from Mat and your little man, you bring all your boys into your arms on the couch. You feel like you can finally breathe again.

You and Mat make eye contact once more, fighting and breaking through each other’s walls- even though yours are more of a struggle to get through. You hate the way you treated him over the few months of separation, but there is nothing more healing than love being shared, love being felt, and love being created.

a/n: I’m so sorry this took long, but I hope you all love it! Thank you all for all the love and kind words<3

taglist: @literatureluster

[halosdiary]

Tsubaki | Rōnin!Toji series | 呪術廻戦

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

Summary: Toji Fushiguro is a ronin denouncing the Zen'in name. The clan did not take too kindly to being humiliated and decided to set him up.

Word count: 733

Contains: Violence, Gore, Sexual themes of some sort.

a rōnin was a samurai who had no lord or master and in some cases, had also severed all links with his family or clan.

The ronin was being displayed for all to see, beatened and bloody facing the death penalty for the murder of his late wife. A murder he never committed. It was all a blur, one minute he was happy married with his wife and newborn son. The next moment, his son was crying and wailing in his room, while he screamed at his wife's lifeless body.

"Please, wake up!" He shouted, tapping her cold cheek.

"My love, you have to wake up, please. I'm begging you." He hugged her body and cried silently into her body. 

"Don't leave me..."

He gently lied her body down as he heard multiple footsteps coming this way. He felt numb, and could not move his body what so far to defend himself. All he could wonder was, why? Why her of all people? Still numb, he didn't even know he was already on the ground. He blinked for a second and he saw a crowd of people. A man above him with a kitana and a wakizashi sword in front of him.

They were waitng for him to end it all. He is seeing his life flash before his eyes. All be can remember was that clan. That damned clan.

The Zen'in clan is the most "prestigious" family in all of Japan. They along with 2 other big families are responsible for keeping things in line for the country. All seemed well in the clan until it wasn't. A man born disgraced by his own clan. Not living up to the promises of his father, he chose the way of the ronin. He wasn't as lifted as his elder brother was, but still there was something about him like lacked Zen'in.

The man was in his own, no support from anyone. He soon fends for himself. He's done this for a long time,  untill he met his late wife, Himawari. She was the daughter of a local swordsmith. She'd seen him every now and then, give him some food, water and eventually shelter.

"So, do you have a name? Or should I call you the mysterious man?" Himawari giggled.

"It's not that important.." He dismissed the conversation.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." She offered.

"You're determined aren't you?" He asked Himawari. He chuckled a bit and looked at her.

"Toji."

It was all the ronin could think about, until he heard his son crying from a distance. It was when he immediately jerked himself back and frantically looked at the executioner and audience with those feral green eyes of his.

"What are you doing?! Stop him!" A man yelled out.

Toji dodged the executioner swings with his kitana. He gripped the wakizashi sword and jammed it to his juggler, slicing his neck. The crimson coming from the executioner's neck was coming out at a rapid rate as he fell before the people.

People were screaming and panicking as Toji jumped down from the stage, and walked over to the other men who were holding his son. He didn't say much to know they had something of his and he'd like it back. They didn't hesitant giving him his son back. Toji gently takes his son, and just walks off.

No one was stopping him after what he did to that executioner. They don't know whohe is or where he came from. But all they do know is, he's not someone to fuck with.

News about this ronin spread and it spread FAST, it even got to the place of pleasure, Yoshiwara. Other women whispered to themselves about the strange man.

"Did you hear?"

"He slit the executioner's neck and blood was EVERYWHERE!"

The whispers were everywhere, it was fascinating at first but now it was annoying. There was individual that was just looking in the mirror. They had the look of annoyance about this ronin guy. They checked if everything was settled for their shift.

"Alright Y/N." You said. "Let's get these shitty clients out the way today."

"Y/N! Let's go! We've got men out here for company!"

You frowned heavily at the yelling, and for some reason, you blame your family for putting you in this position.

"The next time I see my father, I'm slitting his throat."

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @lowkeyremi @bleach-your-panties @blkkizzat @buttercupblu

[menacing-menace-rat]

Platonic yandere justice league part 3 final

Part 1 Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman

Part 2 Aquaman and Green Lantern (John Stewart)

Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, the normal yandere shenanigans

The Flash

(this one borders on romantic but not sexual if that makes sense I have a hard time imagining him as a purely platonic yandere in any context.)

Your family were to Central City what the Waynes were to Gotham. Minus the double homicide 😬

Every citizen knew your name.

You have had many stalkers but none quite so enthusiastic as the city's own hero Flash.

It started playfully enough. He'd speed by you and back track just to say hello.

You were flattered at first. Such a busy important hero taking time to stop and chat.

The public loved it as well.

And for a little while you didn't mind his attention. He was funny and sweet.

You did always have a soft spot for goofballs and they don't get much more goofy than him.

You even consider asking him out once or twice.

That was until your security cameras started to mess up.

A blur of red would plague your cameras every now and again.

Small things would go missing in your home. Never anything expensive or important.

A hairbrush or a used night shirt.

When you slowed the footage you could hardly make out the familiar shape of your hero friend.

It wasn't enough to take to the cops and you yourself wasn't even sure if it was him.

Just to be careful you cut contact with him.

This wasn't a good idea.

Now Flash is by far the most unorganized of the justice league yanderes. No surprise there.

He'd have next to no self control.

If he feels like he should break in and "borrow" something of yours, he will.

If he feels like he's losing you he will just... stop that.

He'd take you to an abandoned warehouse he's fixed up. Somehow it still smells like a frat house thanks to him.

It would happen so fast you wouldn't have any clue what was going on.

One second you are walking home surrounded by bodyguards the next you are sitting in a warehouse chained to a wall.

He'd be so apologetic right away.

The regret is obvious.

He knew he couldn't just let you go now though.

He's isn't delusional enough not to see the problem here but he his arrogant enough to think maybe he can make you like him enough not to tell anyone.

The constant reassurance of "I'm not gonna hurt you!" Doesn't help anything.

He wasn't lying. He would rather die then be the cause of any kind of pain to you.

It's just that he's an idiot and has a hard time sounding convincing when he tells you this.

Thankfully this one is the easiest to get out of.

If you believe him you can just wait and earn his trust he will actually just let you go because again this was just a horrible mistake on his part.

Or you can ambush him. The man is super fast but he can still be knocked out easily enough if you get him from behind.

Flash is the most harmless and unpredictable yandere easily.

There is no guessing if he's lucid at any given moment.

I definitely think he and Green Lantern are tied for the safest yanderes though.

Over all a little scary but mostly harmless.

Martian Manhunter

You were an ER doctor working the night shift when you first met.

He was brought in disguised as a human.

He'd been knocked out and found under a bridge.

It it wasn't long before you found out he was something different.

Of course you knew aliens lived among you but it's a whole other thing to be face to face with one.

You all had no way of knowing this was Martian Manhunter a well known hero in the city.

Your coworkers wanted to turn him to the authorities.

You were always more open minded then most. You couldn't let this innocent man be taken a away and have God knows what done to him.

When you were alone you got him in a wheelchair and snuck him home to keep him safe.

It wasn't long after he woke up and transformed into the semi familiar form of Martian Manhunter.

You explained yourself.

He thought it while unnecessary it was a kind act.

Reading your mind he could see how kind and gentle you really were.

He was always fond of humans and their complex emotions and peculiar ways but something about you he really liked.

After thanking you he left.

Immediately he noticed how he couldn't stop thinking about you.

He didn't find you attractive. He wasn't attracted to humans in kind of romantic or sexual way.

But like humans, Martians could find platonic love just as fulfilling and even intoxicating.

He was well aware how much he thought about you wasn't normal. But what harm could it do?

Martians are rarely impulsive.

He would only kidnap you as an last resort.

He didn't need to kidnap you to keep you safe.

He would take the form of neighbors and coworkers to keep an eye on you.

While in these forms he'd scan the minds of everyone around to make sure no one was planning on doing any harm to you.

More then once he has had to dispose of some ill intentioned men on your nightly walks home.

He just walked watching you.

He'd even turn into a fly and watch you in your home.

Watching you made him feel so human.

In the time he spent around you he has learned so much about humanity and what it means to be human.

Eventually he would learn all he could form this level of contact and new he has to move to face to face meeting.

He'd come to your door one evening with a baked good to say thank you again.

Seemingly very naturally to you a friendship formed.

He'd leave your apartment and come right back in as some kind of bug.

J'onn unlike most of the others could be happy with this kind of relationship.

He above all else is very empathetic. He knows how traumatic it would be to you to be taken away from your life.

That being said if you ever found out about his unconventional form friendship he'd have to take you.

He couldn't let you leave his life.

He'd try to wipe your mind.

To make you forget his mistakes .

You would be his friend for the rest of your life.

Whether you knew it or not.

Sorry this took so long. I posted it but my tumbler crashed and I lost all my progress. I got discouraged for a bit. Sorry if this one isn't as good. I was rushed and panicked it would get eaten again.

[canonicallyobserving911]

WIP Wednesday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapters 24 & 25 will be posted soon (two chapters will be posted instead of one).

Buck and Eddie got married and Buck's officially Chris' second dad!

Currently 23 chapters completed: 893.1K Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

{#1 Previous snippet linked here}

{#2 Previous snippet linked here}

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I'm excited to finish writing Chapters 24 & 25 because Buck and Eddie are married and the Diaz family is starting the second half of their two-week long European family adventure. For anyone who hasn't read Chapters 22 and 23, here's a brief overview. In Chapter 22, Buck and Eddie got married, Chris was their best man and Eddie successfully surprised Buck with all the things he had planned for him including a three-tier wedding cake. Their honeymoon started that night and they had an important conversation before they consummated their marriage. In Chapter 23, they left Rome the day after their wedding and proceeded to visit 5 other cities for the remainder of their time in Italy. By the end of it, they agreed to continue speaking Italian even after they return to the U.S. because while they were in San Gimignano, they made a decision that could affect the course of their family's lives forever. What was the decision? 👀

They departed Rome at the end of the chapter and they landed in London on Christmas Eve to start the second half of their family adventure. What else are they going to do while they're still in Europe? Will Buck meet his biological father? 🤷🏽‍♀️

___________

Here's a snippet of Eddie on the verge of having a panic attack because of the state he sees Buck in after he enters the room.

_________

Buck keeps reading, he’s still looking down and by the time he makes it to the end, his chest starts feeling funny again like it's felt for the past two days but it’s much stronger this time.  It’s so intense, it causes him to drop the thing he’s holding in his hand.  His vision blurs and he thinks he’s grabbing at his chest because his heart feels weird kind of like it did in March but he’s not sure if he’s imagining it.

He leans forward and tries to reach for the back of the couch but his vision starts to close in and to him it appears he’s standing in a haze of fog as everything in his line of sight starts to get smaller.  He wants to move but he’s too far away from anything that won’t injure him and he’s scared that if he does, he’ll collapse and bump his head on either the credenza or the end of the couch but neither of them is a viable option.

While he tries to make a split-second decision, at that moment, his husband enters the room with a big smile on his face that quickly turns into one of extreme concern when he sees the state Buck’s in.

That sharp pain Eddie felt in his heart at 3:17AM returns but this time it’s so strong it causes his eyes to widen and all the air gets sucked out of his lungs.  He watches as Buck continues to grab at his chest then everything starts happening in slow motion.

With his eyes locked on Buck, he notices his eyes are red rimmed, his cheeks are wet, his skin looks pale and since Eddie’s a trained paramedic, he recognizes the signs of what appears to be a bradycardia event of epic proportions and he knows he needs to act fast or else Buck’s going to hit the floor.

He moves quickly but his legs feel like weights are around his ankles.  He needs to move so he can catch him because now Buck’s swaying on his feet and he sees his knees buckle in real time.  He sticks his arms out like a quarterback does when he’s about to catch the football and he realizes he did it just in the nick of time because now they’re filled with the weight of his husband and he's able to stop him from hitting his head on the edge of the couch.

Eddie has a flashback to March when Buck was hanging from the aerial and he thinks he’s going to lose it.  He screams through labored breaths, “MY LOVE… TALK TO ME.  TELL ME WHERE IT HURTS.  IS IT YOUR HEART?  TALK TO ME PLEASE!”

No response.

Buck’s already unconscious so he gently lays him on the floor, gets on his knees, reaches over from the back of the couch, grabs two throw pillows and puts one underneath his head and the other underneath his ankles to elevate his feet.

After he gets him positioned, he notices Buck’s body is lifeless and it causes him to exhale a half cry and a scream.  “OH MY GOD!  AMORE—MIO!  PLEASE… WAKE UP.  WAKE UP FOR ME MY LO—VE!  TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG!  BUCK PLEASE DO—N’T LEAVE ME… PLEASE!”

No response.

Eddie feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin because he doesn’t know what happened and the last time he saw Buck like this he was hanging from the top of the ladder and his body was dangling in the air.  He was dead for three minutes and seventeen seconds and in his mind he’s not sure how long it’s been because he didn’t start counting when he saw Buck fall because he was too busy catching him.

All his fears about Buck dying again and leaving him flood to the front of his mind like the swirling waters from a category 5 hurricane and as tears roll down his face, he feels like he’s drowning and his lungs are beginning to close and he can tell it’s the start of a panic attack.

What happened that caused Buck to have what Eddie believes to be a bradycardia event? 👀

Is it his heart or something else? 🙃

Is it possible there are long lasting effects from the lightning strike that were missed by the cardiologist? 🤷🏽‍♀️

What's going to happen next? Will Eddie have a panic attack? 👀

___________

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories.  Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie.  It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Buck, Eddie and Chris are finalizing their ‘To Do’ Lists, double checking their itineraries and packing their suitcases in preparation for their trip to Europe so they can board their flight that departs Los Angeles, CA on Friday, December 15, 2023 at 3:25PM.

Chapter 22 - While Buck, Eddie and Chris spend the first 8 days of their European family adventure in Italy, their primary reason for going will be fulfilled as well as several others they hadn’t considered or anticipated.

Chapter 23 - As the Diaz Family continues their Italian family adventure, they’ll say, “Ciao” or hello and goodbye to a lot of things almost immediately after they become an official and legal family.

Chapter 24 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 25 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-23 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapters 24 & 25 will be posted soon.

[skyholly]

The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

Chapter 3 here!

Chapter 4 here!

Chapter 5 here!

Chapter 6 here!

Chapter 7 here!

****************

Chapter 8. Guinevere

With a simple blow of her lips, Lanfear sent them flying through the portal, and Guinevere instantly felt the warmth and powdery feeling of the sea engulfing her. She let herself immerse in it, calmness washing over her. Water had always had that effect on her, ever since she could remember. ‘My little guppy’, her father used to call her, she remembered with fondness, before the memory turned blue. Torvin isn’t your father. 

And Moiraine is my mother , Guinevere thought, closing her eyes under the water, salt prickling her lips. I should’ve realised before . Her mother’s… Anvaere’s —she had to correct herself— reluctance to talk about Moiraine, her uncanny resemblance to the woman, her dreams as of late … It all was so obvious, so plain to the eye. She felt so stupid, so deceived. How did I miss it?  How didn’t I realise? Why was it kept away from me? How did so many adults consent to it? Why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel relieved? Why do I feel so resentful? How could Moiraine care so little for me? How could she not wish to see me at least once? Why didn’t she care? Why does she still not care—? Her thoughts became overwhelmed by a piercing pain in her head, as if hammers were banging on it, as her lungs suffocated in water. She was drowning . She briskly opened her eyes, salt burning on them, as her arms desperately reached for the surface, when a strong hold grabbed her from her armpits and hastily pulled her out of the water. Guinevere took deep, desperate breaths, coughing water away from her lungs. 

“Burn me!” Lan complained, water up to his chest, as he carried her to the shore. “Haven’t you been taught how to swim?”

Guinevere was so dumbfounded by the question, she hesitated for a moment before answering, staring at the man with an irritated look on her face. “Of course I know how to swim,” she scoffed, as he placed her on the ground, her feet warming up at being slightly buried in the hot sand, “I was just… thinking.” 

“On how drowning would make for a fitting end?” The man mocked her, making sure her stance was steady before letting her go. 

Guinevere creased her eyes in astonishment. “Aren’t you supposed to be the quiet one? The brooding one?” She silently remarked, annoyed, crossing her arms against the wet fabric over her chest. Guinevere glanced around and saw nothing but water and sand. They were in a desert that stretched to the ocean’s shore. This isn’t Falme, she realised, anxiously snapping her head around. How did we end up here? Her mind was a blur of memories, and she was confused for a second, before all the recent events came rushing back to her. 

Lanfear almost killing her felt like a dream, something unreal, but the tightness of the silver linings pressing against her skin proved otherwise.

She’d also attacked the Amyrlin, and Guinevere had tried to help her, before Lanfear furiously dragged her into the Ways. 

Guinevere was enraged at the woman. She curious about why she hated her so much. Moiraine was curious about her dreams. 

Lanfear opened the portal to Falme. 

Lanfear thrusted into her brain, her mind drowning in painful realisations. She admitted them three being important, that they all had a role to play still in Falme.

Lanfear sent them flying through the portal.

But they weren’t in Falme.

What is Lanfear planning?

Guinevere kept on looking around, when her eyes stumbled upon her aunt Moiraine — your mother, Moiraine — away from the shore, studying their location. “Where are we?” She asked the Warder. 

“I don’t know,” Lan confessed, “but we better follow her.” He said, pointing towards the Aes Sedai. Guinevere glared at the older woman, feeling her skin burning with all fury and rage and resentment and sadness and curiosity bottled up on her. 

“Guinevere—” Moiraine whispered, raising her hands in surrender, with a tiresome look on her face, at the sight of the girl marching towards her with menacing steps. 

“Why?” The girl asked dryly, stilling in front of her, biting her lips to prevent tears falling from her eyes. Every breath felt like stale air as she waited for Moiraine’s response. “Why?”

“Guinevere…” The older woman sighed, shaking her head, “you were never supposed to—”

“Why?!” She insisted, forcing the older woman into a guarded position. 

“I-I-I had a mission,” Moiraine stuttered, her eyebrows frowned in trepidation, “a duty towards the—”

“Why?!” The young girl’s whimpers interrupted her. “Mother or aunt, it makes no difference, why did you ignore me all those years? Why did you never look for me at the White Tower? I was right there.”

Moiraine pursed her lips into a thin, harrowing line; her eyes creased with grief,  “Guinevere, is not that easy to explain—”

“Did you ever stop to think about how neglected I would feel? How alone? How I’d grown up hearing Barthanes’ stories about our impossibly funny, caring, exceptional aunt only to find out she was anything but that?!” Guinevere sobbed, her words pouring out of her mouth in a torrent of anger. “At first I had made peace with the fact that you simply remained  permanently away from the Tower but to learn that you actually visited it regularly and you couldn’t look for me even once —”

“It was too hard, Guinevere!” Moiraine barked, anger seething through her teeth. “Getting close to you would’ve endangered the whole mission, which is the reason I left you with your aunt in the first place!” She kept on screaming, but she immediately regretted speaking to her in such a harsh voice. Moiraine tried to approach her, taking gentle steps towards her, arms reaching for the girl’s hand, but Guinevere backed away, roughly brushing the bitter tears away from her cheeks, leaving an almost invisible trail of sand over her face. 

“Where are we anyway?” She sniffed her crying away, crossing her arms over her chest in an indifferent motion, studying her surroundings. “Do you even know where Falme is?”

The older woman stared at her feet, and shook her head, before raising her gaze towards her, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Guinevere—” Moiraine insisted again, reaching for her. 

The young girl sharply pushed the woman’s arm away, and took a few steps back, maintaining the distance between them. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” She snapped, overwhelmed. “It’s… I’m… I’m just…I-I-I need some time. To think, alright?” She looked at Moiraine, and gazed into her eyes, as blue as the midnight sky , before the older woman nodded. Guinevere mimicked her gesture, pursing her lips in discomfort. “Do you know where Falme is? We need to get to Rand.” She urged her. 

“It’s that way,” Moiraine replied, gulping as she pointed toward what appeared to Guinevere to be an endless desert. Despite her doubts, Moiraine’s confidence made it hard for Guinevere not to believe she knew what she was doing.

“Alright, then.” Guinevere bit her lip, casting a final glance at Moiraine before resolutely heading in the direction Moiraine had indicated. She walked in haste, eager to make some space between her and the pair. Guinevere could feel the sand shifting beneath her feet, water tickling her ankles, the sun beating down on them mercilessly.

Her mind was a storm of emotions. She almost wished Lanfear had stayed quiet, that she could remain oblivious to the truth. Knowing her aunt didn’t care for her was one thing, but realising her own mother had refused to acknowledge her existence for so many years… That the only reason Moiraine had reentered her life was because of the Dragon Reborn. The sting of that revelation cut deep.

Guinevere tried to empathise with Moiraine’s situation. It couldn’t have been an easy choice to leave her behind. At least, she hoped it hadn’t been. But bitterness and anger furiously overpowered any sentiment of sympathy she might have felt. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she came to a halt, and closed her eyes, feeling the water at her feet, letting it wash some of her anger away. 

Moiraine did what she thought was best. She made sure you grew up in a loving family. She had a difficult choice to make, and did what best she could. She assured herself. But was it even? The sneaky thought creeped into her mind. A difficult choice? Guinevere snapped her eyes open, the sun blinding her for an instant. She couldn’t make sense of her own emotions. She wanted to slap and punch and hurt her for neglecting her all those years. She stood in awe of her, for remaining so dutiful. She resented the fact she’d considered the mission more important than her. She hated that she couldn’t help but love the woman nonetheless. 

She turned around, and saw the pair less than half a mile behind, almost embracing each other, a silver weave of the One Power circling them. They’re bonding again , Guinevere realised in astonishment. She wasn’t jealous of their bond; rather, she felt a deep curiosity for a connection she had never known. She’d never taken on a Warder, as she didn’t want to have a man following her around all day, and besides, most Yellow Sisters didn’t take on Warders, as they weren’t really needed. But she’d always been intrigued on what it felt like. For nineteen years, Lan had been Moiraine’s Warder. Guinevere wondered what that meant for her. Was he there the day she was born? Was he even her Warder at that time? She shook her head in frustration. They needed to get to Rand. She focused her sight on the front once more, and began walking one again. 

Ahead, the desert stretched out endlessly, the horizon wavering in the heat. Guinevere’s thoughts were so consumed that she barely noticed when Lan caught up to her.

“Slow down,” he urged gently, his tone softer than before. “We need to stay together.”

She glanced at him, her expression hard, and then sighed, her shoulders sagging. He was right, of course. As much as she wanted to run away from Moiraine, she knew she couldn’t afford to be reckless. Not now.

“Fine,” she muttered, slowing her pace but not stopping. “But I’m not ready to talk to her.”

Lan nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Take your time. Just don’t wander off.”

As they continued, the terrain began to change subtly. The sand became firmer, as mountains started to rise by their path. After a while, Moiraine caught up, maintaining a respectful distance behind Guinevere. The silence between them was heavy, laden with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the dunes, Lan suggested they make camp for the night. He built a small fire, the flames flickering against the encroaching darkness. “Sit by the fire,” he instructed the two women, “I’ll check the area for any danger.”

Before he left, Lan removed his own cape and gently draped it over Guinevere’s shoulders. “Stay warm,” he said quietly, his eyes full of concern. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the desert, leaving Guinevere and Moiraine to share the warmth of the fire.

The two exchanged furtive glances, the silence growing increasingly uncomfortable, until Guinevere finally broke it. “I don’t think I’m angry, you know.” She said, in a small voice, avoiding looking at Moiraine. “Upset, yes, but not angry.”

“Are you sure?” The woman asked, searching for her eyes. “You’d have every right to—”

“I understand,” Guinevere interrupted her, restless, eager to get this matter over with, “at least I think I do. I would’ve been angrier,” she confessed, “if I believed it was a matter of convenience, but I know now it wasn’t. Or that I hope, at least. You had a mission, far more important than raising a child… You did what you had to do, and I understand that.” 

“Are you sure?” Moiraine insisted, taking her hands, and this time Guinevere didn’t resist her touch. “You can be angry at me, Guinevere. Light knows I… you can ask me questions, if you’d like to.” 

Guinevere hesitated, her lips parting and closing as she struggled to find the right words, if there even was such a thing. “I don’t think that’s for the best,” the girl finally said, staring into her eyes, “in fact I wish for things to remain as they are… o-or were. I must admit I am… shocked by this, but it doesn’t change anything for me, not really. I have a loving mother, have— had a loving father, and a happy family and childhood. And I guess I have you to thank for that as well. That you made sure of that.” 

Moiraine squeezed her daughter’s hands, as she pursed her lips, and slowly nodded, fighting back tears. She seemed hurt by her statement, as if she were expecting more of the girl, but Guinevere couldn’t make sense of her emotions. “You’re very compassionate, Guinevere,” Moiraine blubbered, “and I can’t claim that’s a trait you got from me.”

Guinevere abruptly snapped her head towards Moiraine, her cheeks reddening not from the fire’s heat but from embarrassment, action that didn’t go unnoticed by the older woman. “What is it?” Moiraine asked, encouraging her to share what was on her mind. 

Guinevere’s blush deepened, unsure of how to phrase her question. “It’s just…” she began, fidgeting and picking at her nails, “I’ve been wondering… w-what about my father?” Her voice trembled with apprehension.

Contrary to her fears, Moiraine’s eyes softened at the mention of the man. “He was very compassionate too,” she said, a wistful smile tugging at her lips, “and he had a talent for music. A talent you share as well, I’ve been told.”

Guinevere hesitated, already dreading the answer to her next question. “Had?” She whispered softly.

The older woman inhaled. “He’s been gone for a long time now.” Moiraine confessed, gulping. 

Guinevere nodded, guilty about not feeling sad. She had had a father, Torvin, and she had mourned him as such, but this man… her biological father, he wasn’t anything to her. Should I feel sad? I don’t feel sad about him dying, I only wish I could’ve known him. “How?” 

Moiraine pursed her lips into a sad grin. “I wouldn’t know.”

Guinevere only hummed in response, as she noticed Moiraine straightening her posture, and sensed her heart start beating at a faster pace. “There’s something else you ought to know, Guinevere,” Moiraine said, gathering courage, “since we’re already on the matters of fathers and parents and… well, now that you’ve found out that… well, that you’ve found out the truth…”

“That you’re my mother.” Guinevere finished for her, staring deeply into her eyes. Moiraine gulped, swallowing a sob. “Yes, well, now that you know—”

“What is it?” The girl urged her, gently. 

Moiraine took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I had a partner,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “not- not your father, he was just—”

“It’s the Amyrlin, isn’t it?” Guinevere interrupted her, with the ghost of a mischievous grin on her face. 

Moiraine’s eyes widened in shock, as Guinevere shrugged her shoulders. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” she explained, “I was in the Sun Castle and in the Waygate with you both.” 

“Alright,” Moiraine nodded, awkwardly processing the information, “well you should know, Siuan was my partner while… while I was pregnant with you.”

“Oh.” Guinevere didn't exactly understand the dynamic between the three, but she felt she would be stepping over the line if she asked about it. 

“And she is your mother as well, or at least she—I mean we both, regarded you as our daughter at one point. She cares for you in ways she has not been allowed to demonstrate. I just thought you should know.”

Guinevere nodded. “Alright…” she whispered, indecisive. 

“What is it?” Moiraine asked the girl, gently grabbing her shoulder, noting her apprehension. 

“Nothing, it’s just… What do you mean by ‘at one point’?” 

“Oh.” 

“Hm.” 

Moiraine turned her head, her eyes staring deeply into the fire. “I meant that at one point we did consider raising you, before the prophecy came down on us and we had to choose otherwise.” 

“So you were happy?” She asked, unsurem her heartbeat starting to race on her chest. “About me?”

“Of course we were!” Moiraine exclaimed, turning towards her, embracing her hands. “We both were excited and longing for you, you shouldn’t doubt that, not now or ever.” 

It was Guinevere’s turn to swallow a sob. “Alright,” she whimpered, “thank you.” 

“Oh, Winnie…” Moiraine whispered, placing a hand on the girl’s face, tenderly brushing her cheek, when they became startled by a figure walking towards them.

The two of them stood up in alert, Moiraine reaching for the One Power and Guinevere for the knife against her thigh, until their shoulders dropped in relief, realising it was just Lan returning from his rounds. 

“Everything alright?” Moiraine asked him, sitting down once again. 

“Everything seems… quiet. I’ll remain awake, you two have some rest.”

“Alright.” The two women conceded, laying down against the sand, using their capes as covers. The last thing Guinevere noticed before falling asleep were Moiraine’s soft caresses on her hand. 

Guinevere abruptly woke up, with a scream stuck down her throat, her agitated chest rising up and down at an uneven pace. Lan was already by her side before she could notice, putting the cape over her shoulders once again, shielding her from the bitter wind, asking her if she was alright. 

“I-I am—”

“Guinevere?” Moiraine asked, worry creasing her brows as she pulled her into a reassuring embrace. “Was it Lanfear? Did she hurt you?”

“N-No,” the girl muttered, her voice softening as she leaned into Moiraine’s comforting presence, “it was just a nightmare, that’s all.”

Guinevere felt Moiraine sigh in relief before gently holding her by the shoulders, guiding her to a distance where they could meet eye to eye. “Guinevere…” the woman began, her voice shaky, “I need you to tell me about your dreams.”

A blush spread across the young girl’s cheeks. “Why?”

“That does not matter, what are these dreams about?” Moiraine insisted. 

Guinevere cautiously stared at the woman, frustrated by her reluctance to share information. “Does this have anything to do with Lanfear calling me Ilyena?”

Moiraine warily hummed in response. 

“Who was she?”

Moiraine took a deep, quivery breath. “Ilyena Therin Moerelle. She was the wife of Lews Therin Telamon. Brutally murdered by him after he’d made her watch their children die, as the madness had already taken over him.”

Ilyena Therin Moerelle. She was the wife of Lews Therin Telamon. Brutally murdered by him after he’d made her watch their children die, as the madness had already taken over him , the words resonated in Guinevere’s mind. 

She was the wife of Lews Therin Telamon. Brutally murdered by him after he’d made her watch their children die, as the madness had already taken over him.

Brutally murdered by him after he’d made her watch their children die.

Brutally murdered by him after he’d made her watch their children die.

Brutally murdered by him after he’d made her watch their children die.

Those words felt like nails being viciously hammered into her brain. Guinevere widened her eyes in panic, her breathing growing ragged, as realisation fell upon her. 

“G-Guinevere,” Moiraine stuttered, “what is it?”

“M-My dreams…” the girl stammered, “they’ve always been the same. Three little children — my children, somehow— dying in front of me, and I can’t do anything about that. There’s always a man… A man I could never recognise, but ever since I met Rand… It’s like I know it’s him, despite them looking nothing alike.”

Moiraine closed her eyes in resignation, her head tilting the slightest, as she subtly let an exhale out, her face tensing with frustration. 

“W-What is it?” Guinevere asked fearfully, studying the fleeting glances exchanged between Moiraine and her Warder.

“Nothing I would like you to worry about.” Moiraine replied, though her voice betrayed a hint of unease.

Guinevere’s heart pounded in her chest. “You don’t get to keep secrets from me anymore, Moiraine,” she taunted, her voice tinged with defiance.

Moiraine’s eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and resignation. “Guinevere, some truths are burdensome. I only wish to protect you.”

“Tell me.” The girl insisted.

Moiraine clenched her jaw, her gaze steely. “I won’t.”

“Tell. Me.” 

“No.” Moiraine snapped, losing her patience, turning her face away from her. 

Guinevere’s face flushed with anger, as she took the older woman by the shoulders, forcing her to face her. “What do my dreams mean?” 

“They mean that Lanfear’s assumptions are correct,” Moiraine barked, eyes furrowing with sorrow, “you are the reincarnation of Ilyena, just as Rand is the Lews Therin Telamon reborn. Your dreams aren’t nightmares, Guinevere, they’re memories.” 

Guinevere shut her eyes, as she recalled her dreams, the children's screams slicing through her mind like shards of glass. The haunting images of their small, fragile bodies, lifeless and cold, burned behind her eyelids. Each cry echoed in her soul, tearing at her heart, the agony almost too much to bear. She felt the overwhelming weight of helplessness and grief, a visceral pain that twisted her insides and left her gasping for breath. The horror of their deaths was seared into her consciousness, an unrelenting nightmare that refused to fade.

In that moment, a terrifying clarity washed over her. “I ought to stay away from Rand, then.” She exhaled, opening her eyes, which were brimming with tears. 

Moiraine reached for her, and softly rubbed her thumb against the girl’s cheek. “I don’t think the Wheel will give you such a choice.” She said, sorrowfully. “But there’s still time, the Pattern is not yet weaved, do not fright. Rest, for now. I’ll make sure no nightdreams haunt you the rest of the night.”

Guinevere wasn’t sure on how Moiraine could achieve such a thing, but she didn’t comment on it. “Thank you.” She whispered, leaning into Moiraine’s touch. It feels nice. It feels right. 

Guinevere laid down on the sand, and closed her eyes, immediately falling asleep, and nothing but darkness visited her afterwards. 

Lan woke her up at the crack of dawn, softly brushing on her shoulders. Guinevere sighed, feeling warm and rested, and opened her eyes to discover she was huddled against Moiraine. The woman’s presence beside her brought a rush of conflicting emotions; gratitude for Moiraine’s help, confusion over the night’s events, and an inexplicable sense of closeness that both comforted and unsettled her. Anvaere is your mother. 

“Good morning, Guinevere,” Lan said quietly, his voice breaking the momentary silence. His eyes held a mix of concern and something else she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Good morning, Lan,” Guinevere replied, her voice hoarse from sleep. She shifted slightly, trying not to disturb Moiraine, who still slept peacefully beside her.

Lan handed her a waterskin and a piece of dried fruit. “Eat and drink. We need to move soon. I’ll let Moiraine rest some more; she needs it.”

Nodding in acknowledgment, Guinevere accepted the provisions and took a few sips of water. Once the sun sat higher on the sky, the man woke the Aes Sedai up, and they set off towards Falme once again. 

Moiraine led the group, and Guinevere closely followed her steps, finding herself growing more at ease with the woman’s presence. She isn’t so bad , she thought. It would take her some time to get over her resentment, but maybe one day they’d be able to discuss things further, with more clarity. Her contemplations were interrupted as Lan hurried to join them.

“You’re faster than you used to be.” He teased Moiraine, and Guinevere could see a hint of a smile on the woman’s face. 

“Feels like I’m running without buckets on my back.” She joked back. Guinevere didn’t understand what she meant by that. Moiraine remained quiet for a moment, before turning her head towards the man, not slowing down. “You’re thinking about Lanfear.”

The man nodded. “I still don’t understand why he only woke her.” Lan explained. 

“They’re too dangerous, I think, the others,” Moiraine explained. “The Forsaken fought amongst themselves as much as they fought the Dragon. But everything I found out said that Lanfear, Lews Therin, and Ishamael were inseparable before the War of Power…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of something ahead that left her momentarily stunned. Guinevere followed her gaze and spotted it in the distance: Toman Head.

“I think I know where we are,” the older woman said, her tone weighted with realisation. “Lanfear planned this.”

“ ‘ Above the Watchers shall the Dragon be proclaimed… ” Guinevere whispered, “ bannered ‘cross the sky in fire .’ That’s what Verin Sedai said. Lanfear wants you to raise the banner, she said so herself. She said we all had a role to play still.” Guinevere resolved. Moiraine nodded slowly, her expression grave with the weight of worry. “But what role do I have to play in all of this?” The girl asked. 

Moiraine pursed her lips in concern. “I don’t know.” She replied, troubled. 

They continued walking at a haste, Lan scanning their surroundings with a worried furrow in his brow, until they were mere miles from the Tower. Moiraine sighed, her gaze sweeping the area, freezing in place as her eyes stumbled upon a dozen boats lined along the coast right beside the Tower. Guinevere followed the trail of her gaze, and noticed silver lining flowing through the boats, towards the top of the Tower, and froze in her place as well, as she exchanged a worried look with Moiraine. 

“Keep moving,” Lan urged them, apprehensive, “there’s watchers on these cliffs. What is it?”

“Shielding.” Moiraine and Guinevere said in unison.

“Are there weaves?” Lan asked. 

“I think it’s Rand they’re shielding.” Moiraine deciphered, carefully studying the threads. 

Suddenly, Guinevere felt a searing pain in her abdomen, so intense that it nearly brought her to her knees. She grunted, clutching her side.

“What is it?” Moiraine asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I-I don’t know,” the girl confessed, her mind rushing into a thousand different conclusions, “but I think… I think Rand has been hurt. I know he’s been hurt,” she corrected herself, “I don’t know how, I just know it.”  

Moiraine glanced at Guinevere, then at the boats, exchanging a meaningful look with Lan that left Guinevere feeling perplexed. What are they thinking? What are they planning? 

“Why?” The man asked. “You don’t know who they are. What if Lanfear put us here for you to do this? What if those ships are full of innocent people? What if it’s not Rand?” Guinevere’s eyes widened in shock. Moiraine is planning to sink those boats. 

“I will let a thousand innocent people die if there’s even a chance that he will live.” Moiraine snapped. “That is what it means to support him, do you understand that?” Lan remained unsure, but Guinevere positioned herself behind Moiraine, with a fierce look on her face, letting it be clear she supported the woman’s intentions. It went completely against everything she’d been taught as a Healer, but she knew there was no other option, as the pain in her gut became more and more intense. Rand’s dying, he thought, desperation creeping down her stomach. 

Suddenly, shouts erupted from behind them, and they turned to see several men on horseback galloping towards them. Guinevere froze at the sight of the horses, as realisation fell upon her. 

“I need one of those horses,” Guinevere abruptly declared, “I need to get to Rand. I know he’s hurt, I can heal him. And we need to remove the shield from him. This is why Lanfear put us here. Mo-Moiraine, you can attack those boats from here.” She said, turning around, but someone’s grip on her arm didn’t allow her to go away. Moiraine’s. 

“Winnie…” The woman whispered. 

“I’ll be alright,” the girl assured her, “I know what I’m doing. And besides, you said it yourself. This is what it means to support him.” 

Moiraine nodded, but was still reluctant to let her go, which left Guinevere with no other choice but to use a certain Talent of hers. She grasped Moiraine’s arms, feeling the One Power's warmth course through her veins, and saw the recognition in the woman’s eyes—she understood but did not resist. “It will make things easier, the mission is what matters most now.” Guinevere explained. Moiraine hesitated for a moment, before easing into the girl’s Talent. 

An excruciatingly long second passed, before Moiraine drew her hands away, straightening her posture, exchanging a meaningful look with Lan. And before Guinevere could even realise, Moiraine was weaving threads of golden weaves and Lan was fighting the approaching soldiers with a precision and determination the girl didn’t even believe possible. Guinevere herself took some of them down, using one of her Talents, which secured her a horse. She swiftly mounted it, and rode towards the Tower. 

She jumped its steps two at a time, until she reached the top, where she stood for a moment in shock. Rand was just by the stairs, laying hurt on the floor, over the arms of a long-limbed, wiry boy with brown eyes, while Egwene was pulling on a dangerous amount of the One Power to protect him from a man’s attack. Ishamael , Guinevere realised, in terror. The man looked at her, recognition flickering in his eyes. 

She allowed herself one more glance at the man, before running towards the redheaded boy. “Rand!” She whimpered, falling onto the ground next to him, her knees scratching on the process, desperately reaching for his abdomen. 

“Gwen,” he exhaled, his mouth curling into a sweet smile as her name left his lips, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “W-What are you doing here? How did you get here? I thought Lanfear…”

Guinevere hushed him, as she had no intention of paying any mind to his words, as healing him was her role. She was staring in distress at his wound, on the side of his abdomen, exactly where she had felt the piercing pain. Guinevere’s breath got caught up on her throat at the realisation that it’d been performed by a dark weapon. That’s alright, you can handle this, she tried calming herself. She closed her eyes, seeking for the flame and the void, steading her breath and her heartbeat, as she pulled on golden weaves that quickly started to heal the darkened injury. She opened her eyes moments later, to find Rand’s wound cured, for the most of it at least, and more people surrounding them. A tall man carrying a big axe, who she recognised as Perrin, the boy that she had healed at Tár Valon, and two more women she didn’t know. A dark haired one and a red haired one. The woman with dark hair had her hair braided over her shoulder, and was wearing the clothes and makeup of a sul’dam. Guinevere couldn’t puzzle out why everyone was so calm at the thought of such a vicious woman being by their side, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

Rand remained in shock, brushing over his healed injury, as Egwene’s agonising screams reached them. Guinevere took a better look at her, and had to prevent a sob from leaving her lips at noticing her ragged clothing, how scrawny she looked, how pale and fragile. She’s been forced into becoming a damane at one point , she realised, in dismay, fury starting to make her blood boil. 

“Rand, Rand,” the boy who was holding him urged him, grasping how Egwene was growing weaker by the second, “you’re gonna have to do something.”

“I-I can’t,” the redheaded boy whispered, agitated, “I’m shielded.” 

Come on, Moiraine , Guinevere urged her in her thoughts, as tears threatened to fall through her cheeks, we need you… I need you now, mother.

**********

Author's Note: Alright, only one chapter left! It'll probably be published next week. I must say, I wrote this in a haste and it has NOT been proofread at all, and english is not my first language, so please please comment on any incoherences. There's only one chapter left, before an epilogue, which I'll probably take a long time to publish since I will use the time bewteen the last chapter and the epilogue to do some HEAVY editing, but that will have to be after finals. Again, I hope the decline in comments it's not due to the story being a dissapointment, and if it is, please tell me what you wished would've happened different, or in which direction you would've liked the fic to go to. Thanks for reading and commenting, I appreciate it a lot, and I hope you enjoy this rather messy chapter!

Chapter 9 here!

[intertexts]

i lied actually that krouse/luke interaction i posted earlier isn't wibby and virion it's actually wibby and ashe <3 what is more important than two kids trauma bonding over feeling like freaks because of their powers!!!!!! Dakota has his martyr complex, virion has his identity issues, but when it comes down to it both of them see their powers as something good, something that can be used like a tool, etc. they don't get it. ashe, actively discouraged by his father to use any of his powers AT ALL, literally locked in his house while his dad (hypocritical piece of shit) goes out and. uses powers. william, who got his powers from feeling like a freak and continued to feel like EVEN MORE of a freak after he got his powers. well. I think they just understand each other on such a core base level. emo kids unionizing you are so important to me. I think they like to sit on the roof at night and just talk about shit and look at the sky. william smokes and ashe doesn't give him shit for it even lightheartedly like virion or dakota would.

also not exactly related but also kind of related. very important to me that early on in their friendship ashe sneaks out of his house when mark isn't there. teenage rebellion is the catalyst for everything (also the irony of mark doing everything in his power and more to stop things from happening to ashe only for it to turn out that his actions are what directly led to ashe rebelling and meeting the wards and joining them and everything that comes after) . he finds out when ashe sneaks back into his room one night not realizing mark was home and his clothes smell like smoke . cue the "where the FUCK were you, what the FUCK were you doing" argument.

ohhhhh emo kids union....... emo kids union u are everything to me!!!!!!!!!!! god!!!!!! esp. in this context.... u are so right. they understand each other on a core level...... the loneliness the alienation the shared experiences. william loves dakota & virion so much & they love him & they'll always b trying 2 be their for each other in their own fucked up ways but like-- they'll never understand william thinking "i wish i could call my parents and cry and tell them everything but i could never do that." or "yeah i hate my brother and he scares me sometimes and i wish i didn't want to trust him like i do"!! what does that mean to the orphan n the guy who grew up with loving (dead) parents? ashe gets it though! he knows what it's like to be so angry and frustrated and lonely.... they click so immediately. ashe goes yeah i'm fucking terrified that one day i'll lose control and hurt everyone around me. i mean, i wish i was like Good, hahaha, but that's just not for me so i'm just trying make as much good as i can come out of something that straight up sucks, right? & wibby goes ohh. Ohhhhh. shit. like. it's exactly what ur saying man. locking eyes awkward cautious smile with the one other kid wearing a black tshirt n skinny jeans at camp & just Knowing Exactly who you're gonna be friends with. the relief of it.!!!!!

side note 2 me they r both breaker/shakers hehehe (wibby's ghost shaping kiiind of blurs the line? & after his second trigger when he gets Way better at mimicking humans & shit he's frequently miscategorized as a master. he kind of is? well. you know. blurred lines. but i don't think he's working with anything Living.) which i like a lot. same trauma solidarity!! you KNOW they r sitting on that roof w smokes & booze (neither of them even like the booze but it's part of The Thing) (dakota substance abuse baggage virion would rather die than be in an altered or unfiltered state in front of people) feeling kind of scared and gleeful that they actually get to have this Cool Person experience they always figured they'd miss out on forever... u know they're talkin bout all the normal shit they Did always want to do and did miss out on. actually yeah now that i'm thinking about it them genuinely barely even filtered through levels of irony larping all the shit they missed out on due to being Fucked Up is so important 2 me.... i need them to light fireworks in the street and accidentally stay too close & run away from them giggling & go to the grocery store at 2am & go to concerts... they get to be kids for a bit in a way that only the two of them understand. yk?

FUCKING ILL OVER THAT. BTW. YEAH. god if i think abt ashe & mark too long i'll die but that's so good... yeah.... perfect... i bet ashe kind of likes that his clothes smell like smoke btw. like real proof he Does have friends that he hangs out with now. god i bet they give each other shitty stick n pokes and are really normal about it.

[pandalandalopalis]

Devil May Cry Wolf - Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader [Chapter Sixteen]

Masterlist Previous Chapter

Story Synopsis: The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.

The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.

The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.

Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.

You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.

Chapter Synopsis: You go through therapy. You go on a date with Steve that gets interrupted.

Warning: Brief mention of Wolf’s suicide attempts. Brief allusions to sexual assault.

Part 2 - Chapter Sixteen: Wolf, Interrupted

A/N: Therapy is important and it can help. I’ve been to therapy many times and I’ve had about four therapists over the years. It can be hard but it does help in the long run. It’s important to remember that healing is not a linear process. Just because you experience set-backs does not mean that you’re not getting better. It also looks different for everyone. Also! Not all therapists are right for everyone. Don’t be afraid to get a new therapist if you feel the one you have is not working for you, they won’t be offended. Sometimes therapists have different styles and you need to find the one that works for you. If you’re having a hard time, I strongly encourage you to seek therapy if that’s something you have available to you (I know it can be expensive which I recognize is something that can make getting therapy difficult). I know it may sound trite because people say it so often, but it will get better. You’ll find your way. I love you all. Anyway. I got DMCW brainrot. This is over 13k words. Enjoy.

You told her everything. You did not hold back.

But telling your story was not like the times you had told it when you weren’t sober. Anytime you tried to say it casually, like it didn’t matter, the words got stuck in your throat and it was an effort to get them out.

It took a long time to get through everything. You thought it would take one session to simply tell her everything that had happened in your life, just the facts and background, not how you felt or what you thought about them — but it wasn’t like that. Each moment in your life that you went over, your eidetic memory brought to the forefront. 

For some of them, a fifty-minute session was not enough. Your first weeks in the Red Room. The first time you killed someone. Each of your two suicide attempts. The reason behind those suicide attempts.

You re-lived each of these memories in graphic and vivid detail, with no substance to blur the edges and numb the feeling. To get the words out on what happened took a long time. You knew the Doc saw the moments for herself, so she knew them already, but the point of the therapy was for you to say it out loud. To narrate it yourself. To tell the story in your own words. It was a way to . . . walk through the memories, rather than let yourself be dragged through them.

It was a slow and excruciating process and many times you asked yourself what the point was. How this would help you.

And yet, throughout, the Doc re-lived the memories with you. You felt her in your mind, her telepathy like a warm hand wrapped around yours as you walked through each painful and anguished step. Someone who waited patiently each time you stumbled. Each time you found it difficult to continue. She waited. And sat with you. And let you lean on her when you were ready to stand again.

Fifty minutes, every day, you endured. You wanted this to work and you wanted it to work as fast as possible. But the Doc told you that healing is a process, and it is a non-linear process. She told you that you may get better and then experience set-backs where things get worse again. She told you that’s normal. That healing is not just continuously getting better and staying better until you’re completely healed. She told you that healing takes as long as it takes and that it can’t be rushed. Which was why she encouraged you not to time travel ahead to the next session, as if you could live as many therapy sessions back-to-back as you could in an effort to fix yourself as fast as possible. She told you that part of the healing process involved learning how to live daily life with your trauma. 

She gave tips on how to build healthy coping mechanisms. She taught you how to be grateful. To take time out of your day to recognize the things you were grateful for. Not being in the Red Room. Not living with the threat of violence every day. Being able to make your own choices. And little things, too. Coffee. The colour of the sky. The way the outside air smelled on a crisp, clear day. 

She encouraged you not to let yourself be alone. That being alone would only induce intrusive, negative thoughts of your past and send you spiraling. 

But you couldn’t contact Matt. The two of you still weren’t on speaking terms. You weren’t ready to see him yet. Not after what he had said. 

So between the sessions, in the evenings and on the weekends, you contacted Karen. She wasn’t like the Avengers, she knew who you were and what you’d done. You didn’t have to pretend you were someone that you weren’t. 

You didn’t talk to her about your trauma, that was saved for the Doc, but you spent time with her. Let yourself not be alone. Talked about things that didn’t matter. Went to coffee shops and walked in the park. 

Karen was only happy to oblige you. She kept your mind off things. She had a wealth of things to talk about. She gave you suggestions for books to read, smutty romance stories that could keep your mind busy in the times when you were not in therapy and when you were not with her. 

She did ask things, but she did not push. She was always gentle. How are you doing today? How is therapy going? Is there anything you’d like to talk about? 

Have you seen Matt lately?

Some questions you answered and some you did not. But you were always honest with her. When she asked you things, she seemed to genuinely want to know the answer. She was easy to talk to. Today is fine. Today is not good. Today is really bad. Today is better. Therapy is good. Therapy is the worst thing invented. Therapy is like putting your heart on a metal pike and watching it bleed. Therapy is helping. No, there isn’t anything I want to talk about, but thank you.

No, I haven’t seen Matt lately. And that was it.

Karen noticed the first day that it looked like Matt hadn’t slept a wink. He was distracted, he was irritable. His mind was clearly elsewhere. He checked his phone messages almost obsessively. He snapped a few times at her and Foggy.

When she tried to ask him what was wrong, he only told her Nothing, I’m fine and wouldn’t give her anything more than that. Then she told him off for being an asshole to her and Foggy when they hadn’t done anything to upset him like this. He apologized, but didn’t explain his behaviour.

This went on for the next week. After his apology he no longer snapped at Karen or Foggy, but his distracted and sleep-deprived mood stayed. He barely got any work done. He was tense, all the time. Karen kept trying to get what was wrong out of him but he refused to say.

It wasn’t until Y/N contacted Karen on the weekend that she finally knew the reason why. 

Y/N had never contacted Karen directly before. They always hung out in a group of four, with Matt and Foggy. So when Y/N asked if just the two of them could hang out, she didn’t dislike the idea but she was a bit surprised.

Karen thought, if anyone would know what was wrong with Matt, it would be Y/N. And then all the pieces fell into place when Y/N admitted,

“Actually, um, Matt and I are not on speaking terms right now.”

Suddenly all of it made sense. Karen had seen the way Y/N and Matt were with each other, she knew how close they were and what they meant to each other. The fact that they weren’t talking, that was the reason for Matt’s lack of sleep and bad mood. The obsessive voicemail-checking made sense now, too.

“What happened?”

And then Karen noticed what she hadn’t a moment before: how much Y/N’s demeanour represented Matt’s. Worse, even. The bags under her eyes and the vacant look in her expression. Her faraway stare. And for the first time that Karen had ever seen of her, Y/N’s eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to— Fuck, I’m sorry.” Y/N scrubbed at her face, like she was embarrassed by the tears running from her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Whatever it was, it was clearly something bad. Karen touched Y/N’s hand and made her voice very, very gentle. “Are you okay?”

And then Y/N’s face broke and her voice was a shattered and wrecked admission, “No.”

The sobs came as if she couldn’t stop them. Karen did not hesitate to wrap her arms around Y/N. She held her and let her cry into her shoulder.

When Y/N was finally able to pull enough of herself together to speak, she gave some explanations. How she got sober recently. How that made it difficult to cope against the things in her past that had happened to her. How she used to use drugs and alcohol to cope against her eidetic memory, which made her re-live things in crystal clear detail. How she started going to therapy. How her therapist suggested she reach out to someone. To not be alone.

She didn’t explain what had happened between her and Matt, but Karen knew that whatever had happened meant that Y/N couldn’t reach out to Matt so she wouldn’t have to be alone. And if Y/N was reaching out to Karen, it probably meant that Matt was not just Y/N’s closest friend — he was her only friend. 

On Monday, when Karen saw Matt in the office again, she knew she needed to give him something. For his sanity.

“Y/N’s okay.”

Matt’s head snapped up when Karen spoke. His eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

“She contacted me. We had lunch yesterday.”

“You saw her?” Matt hadn’t known where she was. It weighed in the pit of his stomach, the idea that she had run away again, that she was far away or lost in time. That she wasn’t coming back. And he was so fucking angry with her, for making bad and selfish choices, for the things she had said during their fight, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from being worried out of his mind. He couldn’t sleep. He could barely eat. Because he knew, no matter how angry he was, that losing her would kill him. 

But she wasn’t gone. She was still in New York. 

And yet a worse thought found him: Did she find a way to get rid of her memories after all? When Karen said she was okay, did she mean she was void of her trauma? Perfectly fine without the truth of her memories haunting her? “She’s . . . okay?” Matt repeated. 

“Well, to be honest,” Karen said, “she’s really not okay. She’s working through a lot of things, and I’m not really sure how much of that you know. I still don’t know what happened between the two of you; she wouldn’t say. And I won’t ask you again, because I know you won’t tell me. So, she’s not okay . . . but she’s trying to be.”

She still had her memories. She didn’t get rid of them. 

Something very heavy lifted off Matt’s shoulders. 

God. He was so tired.

Karen didn’t tell Matt any other details about her meeting with Y/N. She wasn’t sure if Y/N would want her to tell Matt any of that. But she gave him enough to give him peace of mind.

Matt nodded, not saying anything. Then he took off his glasses and put his face in his hands. 

Karen walked over to where he was sitting at his desk, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Let them sit in silence like that for as long as Matt needed.

That evening, Matt and Foggy went out for drinks at Josie’s. Karen had plans, so she didn’t join them. 

Matt knew that Foggy’s patience had run out before he even spoke.

“Okay, you really gotta tell me what’s going on with you,” Foggy said. “I know you love bottling things up but I was hoping this time around our friendship would be different. You can just keep secrets like you used to. May I remind you that that was the reason our friendship fell apart in the first place.”

Matt sighed. ��I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused, collecting himself. Now that he knew that Y/N at least hadn’t left New York and hadn’t erased her memories, he felt prepared enough to talk about this. “Things between Y/N and I are not good. We’re not talking right now.”

Foggy’s tone was sympathetic. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure how much you’re aware of Y/N’s past, but she’s been through a lot,” Matt began. “I won’t get into it, but there’s a lot of bad there. A lot I’m sure I still don’t know about. Things a person should never have to go through. And she’d been using alcohol and Oxy to cope with that.” He paused again. “She got sober recently. Because I asked her to.” There was a tinge of guilt there though he knew it was ultimately her choice, though he knew that it was ultimately a good thing. She still did it because he asked her to. And she was still suffering because of it. “I didn’t ask her to do it forever — just for a night. But she decided to get clean. I think a part of her wanted an excuse to do it. But she’s not doing well. She’s not coping. And I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know how to protect her from things that have already happened.” 

Useless. What did he have besides his fists? What was he worth more than that? What did he have that could help her?

“She . . . she tried to have all her bad memories erased,” Matt continued.

“What? You can do that?”

“If you find a telepath, I guess so,” Matt said. “But I guess the telepath she found refused to do it. We fought about that. I didn’t think it was a good idea. I . . . didn’t know what would happen to her if she did. If it went wrong, if it wiped all her memories, if I would lose her forever.” Matt held his beer tightly in his hand, feeling like teeth would break under the pressure of his jaw. “She said . . . she’d rather that happen than keep the bad memories. She said that our memories, everything we’d been through together, weren’t worth keeping. She said that . . . that I wasn’t worth keeping her trauma.”

“Shit,” Foggy swore softly. “That’s harsh.” He was quiet for a moment, taking all this in. “Do you think she meant what she said?

“I don’t know,” Matt answered honestly. “I mean . . . is it fair to ask her to keep all her bad memories? When it’s making her suffer like this? I don’t know. And the thing is I’m really . . . angry with her. That everything we’ve been through together could mean so little to her. But at the same time I’m. . .” he breathed in, hauling the breath into his lungs, “. . .just really, really worried about her.”

Foggy sighed. “What I’m about to say . . . it’s not going to help you. And you probably don’t want to hear it. But it needs to be said.”

He paused, and Matt waited.

“Now you know how it feels.”

Oh.

Right.

How many times had Matt made things difficult for Foggy and Karen when it came to his other life? How many times did he make them worry? Make them angry with what he was doing? Let them down? Make it hard for them to be friends with him? . . .Say awful things?

“Yeah,” Matt breathed. “I know.”

Maybe this was karma. Matt thought of the way he treated Y/N when he was at the lowest place in his life. When she saved him. When she kept coming back, time and time again. How angry he was. How cold. 

And for the first time, Matt really considered how hard Y/N tried when he was being so horrible to her. He said so many terrible things to her and she didn’t let it stop her. Both Foggy and Karen had given up on him, both before his near-death and after it, but Y/N refused to. She took every bad thing he threw at her and she kept coming back.

“You should forgive yourself,” she’d said, sick with withdrawal, sitting pressed against him under the warm spray of his shower. “I already have.”

“What do I do?” Matt asked after a time, and he hated the rough sound of his voice when he spoke. “I think I said something she took the wrong way. I told her I was afraid that erasing her bad memories might change her. I think she thought I meant that her trauma is such an integral part of her that getting rid of it would make her unrecognizable. I didn’t mean that. I don’t really know what I was afraid of . . . I just didn’t know what would happen if she went through with erasing her memories. I know I have a lot of memories that I’d rather forget. But I wouldn’t erase them because I don’t know how that would change me. But I don’t believe that everything I am is built on the bad things that I’ve been through.”

Matt paused when he realized that wasn’t quite true. Was he not his father’s bloody knuckles and fighting spirit? Was he not his father’s death? Stick’s weapon? Elektra’s death? Stick’s death? His mother’s abandonment? Y/N’s disappearance? Foggy’s abandonment, Karen’s abandonment, everyone who had ever left him. . . . Every broken bone and bruise and wound and everything that hurt. . . . Wasn’t that everything that made him into who he was now?

Matt exhaled. “Maybe I am. Maybe that is what I meant. I don’t know. Shit.” But did he believe that about Y/N? That she was the Red Room and every person she’d murdered and the things she’d done that terrified Frank Castle and the kids she’d helped traffic into the Red Room and the things the Winter Soldier had done to her and all the things she couldn’t even tell him. . . .

No. Of course not. Of course he didn’t think that. Maybe he was his trauma but she wasn’t. She was friendship and the only good thing he had at Saint Agnes and the person who chased away his loneliness. She was funny in a dry way and incredibly smart. She was the person who had his back, not just before she disappeared but after — The person who pulled him from the darkness and made sure he was okay before she even considered leaving. Who stayed because he asked her to. Who joined him in his vigilantism, who felt the need to get her hands dirty the same way he did. Who felt that same sense of justice that he did, though she wouldn’t admit it. She was those things. Not the Red Room. Not everything she wouldn’t say. Not her trauma.

But God. He was an asshole for making her believe that that’s what he thought about her.

“Is that what you think?” Foggy asked, cutting through Matt’s thoughts. 

Matt shook his head. “I don’t really think that she—”

“Not Y/N,” Foggy interrupted. “You. Do you really believe that who you are is built on the bad things that you’ve been through?”

Matt paused. “Well . . . isn’t it?”

“Matt. That’s not true, and I don’t want you believing that it is,” Foggy said. “You’ve done so much that has nothing to do with the bad things you’ve been through. You’re a lawyer. You help people by defending them in court. And you’re . . . not always a good friend but you’re a good person. If you were really all the bad things that you’ve been through then you’d be a villain and a bad guy. But you didn’t let all that bad stuff change you like that. Which means who you are is not those bad things. Okay?”

Matt gave his friend a tight smile. “Thanks, Foggy.” Maybe he was right. Maybe Matt needed Foggy to be right. Maybe he needed to let himself believe it rather than dig himself into a deeper spiral like he used to do.

And yet.

You are not worth keeping my trauma.

“Now,” Foggy said, “the karmic justice of you having to deal with Y/N’s situation in exactly the same way I had to deal with your situation aside . . . Do you think she’ll find a way to go through with erasing her memories?”

“I thought she might, but now I don’t think so,” Matt answered. “Karen said Y/N reached out to her, and that she’s trying to work through things. Which means she still has all her memories.” He rolled his beer between his hands. “I was afraid she might run away again, but she met with Karen, which means she’s still here. She hasn’t left.”

Foggy nodded, thoughtful. “Okay. Well, maybe she just needs some time, y’know? Maybe find a way to make it clear to her that you’re here when she wants to come back. Doesn’t mean you’re not owed an apology for what she said, but maybe she didn’t mean it. I mean, I don’t think you meant some of the things you’ve said to me in the past.” A beat passed and Foggy continued, “I hope you didn’t mean some of the things you’ve said to me in the past.”

“No, Foggy,” Matt agreed. “I didn’t mean them.”

“Okay, well, give her a chance to apologize and just be there for her when she wants to come back. There isn’t much else you can do. Trying to tell her what to do probably won’t get you very far. I know that never worked on you,” Foggy said.

Matt took a deep breath. He knew Foggy was right. Neither he nor Y/N liked being told what to do very much. Every choice they’ve both made was ultimately their own. Y/N would have to find her own way there — but he’d be there when she needed it. Even if he was still angry with her. 

Matt took out his phone and stood from his chair. “Could you give me a few minutes?”

“Sure man. Take as long as you need.”

Matt dialed Y/N’s number and stepped outside. She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to. 

Instead, he left a message.

A month passed.

When all this started, after your first session with the Doc, you’d called Fury and explained that you thought you were okay to return back to work after your kidnapping, but you needed more time to recover from it — not physically, but mentally. Although the source of the trauma was a lie, the reason for needing more time off wasn’t. Fury understood and gave you the time that you’d needed.

Steve had called not long after. Not only did you take time off from work, but you started staying in your own apartment rather than Avengers Tower. You couldn’t bear to see Bucky, not now, not when you still felt like killing him might bring you some peace. Steve must have wondered where you’d gone. Where you were.

You didn’t answer him. You couldn’t bring yourself to. You weren’t in a place to answer the phone and pretend like you were fine. You knew Steve wouldn’t expect you to be, knew Fury probably told him and the others why you’d taken more time off. . . . But talking to him was still a type of pretending. And you just couldn’t. Especially not when thoughts of killing his best friend, brutally and without mercy, pervaded your thoughts.

You wondered if Steve called Matt at any time to ask about you. You wondered what Matt would say.

 

(He did. When Y/N didn’t answer Steve’s calls, Steve called Matt. He was just worried about her. She’d left so abruptly the other day when he asked her out, and then by the next day Fury was telling them that she was taking more time off work to recover from what had happened to her. And Steve had waited for her to come home so he could talk to her, but she never did. And then she didn’t answer his calls. He called Matt because he thought that maybe she was staying with him. And if she wasn’t, he’d know where she was. 

Matt had told Steve that Y/N was staying at her old apartment. Steve didn’t even realize she’d kept her old apartment. Steve had asked for her address, but Matt refused to give it to him. Told him to give her some time.)

(In truth, Matt had panicked the minute Steve called him asking for Y/N. Because that had meant that she wasn’t going to work and this was before Matt knew that Y/N had remained in town. This was when he still worried about her running away. He thought that maybe she really had.

When Steve had asked him for Y/N’s address, Matt didn’t give it to him. If Y/N really was gone, then she wouldn’t be there when Steve showed up, and Steve would go to Matt again, and Matt wouldn’t have an explanation. If Y/N was there . . . Well, Matt figured that she wouldn’t want Steve bothering her. The fact that she wasn’t answering Steve’s calls should have told him as much. 

Matt thought about going to Y/N’s apartment. He thought about it obsessively. But he didn’t. He told himself it was because he knew she didn’t want him there — and not because he didn’t want to confirm if she really was gone. If she really did run away.)

Matt had called you a few times after your fight, but you hadn’t answered any of them, and he stopped calling soon after. But a week later, he called again. You didn’t answer, but unlike the other times, he left a voicemail.

You refused to listen to it.

After a month, you had finally gotten through all the facts and events of your life with the Doc. And now came the analyzing, the dealing with and the dissecting of everything you’d been through. Sometimes you talked about what you wanted to talk about, focused on what you wanted to focus on. Other times the Doc took the wheel, driving you to things you’d maybe rather avoid. Unlike the story of your life, this part was not linear. It went where it needed to go. And sometimes where it needed to go was not where you wanted to go.

“Have you talked to Matt yet?” Doc asked you softly. As much as you’d hated her in the beginning, you had to admit that she had a gentle touch. It didn’t make you like some of the things she had to say any better, but her endless patience and kindness paired well with your stubbornness and aura of violence.

You avoided her eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because of what he said.”

“What did he say?”

You gritted your teeth. You knew she knew what he said, because she’d seen the memory. But you always had to explain these things with your own words. “That if I take my trauma away, I’m not me anymore.”

“That’s not what he said.” Doc’s voice was gentle but firm. 

“That’s what he meant.”

“You don’t know that. Do you want to see what he said?” Doc asked. 

You didn’t really. You didn’t want to see Matt again, didn’t want to have to re-live that memory again, but you did want to prove the Doc right, and so that need won out.

“Fine. Show me what he said.”

You took a moment to close your eyes, letting the Doc work her magic. You opened them when you could smell Matt’s apartment rather than the citrus smell of the Doc’s therapy room. 

It was like the scene was frozen in a tableau and you were waiting for the Doc to press play. Yourself and Matt stood before you. You had tears running down your face, but your expression had morphed into something hard and determined. Matt was gripping your arm, his own expression. . .

The only word you could find to describe it was desperate.

“You can’t just erase what you want,” Matt said when the Doc let the memory play. “You have to learn to live with the memories, like we all do. If you erase a part of yourself you wouldn’t be you anymore.”

Hot shame ran through you, unlike the first time when all you had felt was rage. When Doc paused the memory, you said, “See?”

She looked at you. “See what? What am I seeing?”

“He said if I erased a part of myself, I wouldn’t be me anymore,” you repeated. “If I erased my trauma, I wouldn’t be me anymore. He’s saying that my trauma makes me who I am. Like I said before.”

“But he didn’t say that,” the Doc pointed out. “He said ‘a part of yourself’. He didn’t say ‘your trauma’. As a telepath, I know that there’s a truth to what he’s saying. Memories are weaved and interconnected with each other in delicate ways. It’s not so easy to pick and choose things to be cut out without affecting the whole web. But the idea that your trauma is what makes you who you are is not what bothers you about this. Because part of you already believes that, and has for a long time.”

You stayed quiet. You didn’t deny that’s how you felt. 

The Doc took you out of the memory and out of Matt’s apartment and had you sitting in her therapy room again, on that soft couch with many pillows to hold and the calming smell of citrus surrounding you. 

“In fact,” the Doc continued, “you believe that so much that you consider the person you used to be before the Red Room to be dead, don’t you?”

She is, you thought. In all the ways that matter, she is. She’s trapped in that Red Room, in that red room, and she won’t ever leave.

The Doc sighed gently through her nose. “Here’s the thing. Trauma does make up parts of who we are. That’s the hard truth. It can change us and shape us. For reasons that I won’t get into . . .  something traumatic in my life pushed me to be a pacifist. Would I be a pacifist if that trauma wasn’t there? I don’t know. But being a pacifist is a large part of my identity, now. A large part of what I believe in. But that doesn’t mean my trauma makes me who I am. It has shaped me, for better or for worse — and mostly for worse, don’t ever let someone tell you that trauma is ever a good thing. I think it’s . . . how we choose to respond to that trauma that makes us who we are. Not the trauma itself. Do you choose to do better? Or do you choose to be worse? That’s all. And it’s important to understand that everyone changes over their lifetime, even without trauma. That’s just a part of living. But you have some choice in how things change you. Heroes and villains often have similar backstories, have you ever noticed that? Death, loss, trauma. But they walk very different paths. They start in the same place, but they choose their own path.”

“I’m not a hero,” you mumbled.

“How would you define a hero?”

You thought for a moment. You thought about Steve. “Someone good. Someone with unshakeable morals. Someone who helps people.”

“You help people,” she pointed out. “You don’t think that makes you good? And ‘unshakeable morals’ is a high standard that would be difficult for anyone to uphold. Even Captain America.”

“He seems pretty perfect to me.”

“His best friend was brainwashed by Hydra into being a weapon used to murder,” the Doc said, and your hands gripped onto the bottom of the couch at the mention of Bucky. “You don’t like that the Avengers trust him to be in their group. How do you reconcile that with Steve’s ‘unshakeable morals’?”

You didn’t know how to answer that because you really couldn’t reconcile those things in your head. Steve was Steve. Steve was kind and good and a hero. Bucky was the Winter Soldier, a monster that had beaten you and was a walking reminder of the Red Room and all the trauma you found there. You couldn’t make these things fit together in your mind.

“Does Matt have ‘unshakeable morals’?” the Doc asked.

Your teeth gritted together at the mention of him. “Matt doesn’t kill.”

“You don’t kill,” the Doc pointed out.

“I used to kill,” you reminded her.

“But you don’t anymore.” 

You continued to stare at the floor, not looking at her. After a moment, the Doc continued,

“We can pick this back up another time, because this wasn’t my point. I said you’re not upset about the idea that your trauma makes you who you are. You’re upset because you believe that that’s what Matt thinks.”

You shut your eyes.

“You don’t care what you think about yourself,” the Doc went on. “And you don’t care about what other people think of you. In fact, you never really have, not even before the Red Room. But Matt’s opinion of you matters. Do you want to expand on that?”

No, you didn’t, but you knew the Doc wasn’t really asking. You get out of this what you put in, she had told you in the beginning. You could refuse to talk about things all you want, but then you wouldn’t be getting any better.

You opened your eyes. You kept them on the floor, on the plush carpet with its swirls of colour. “What Matt thinks of me makes it real,” you admitted. “I can think whatever about myself, and maybe it’s not true, because I’m too close to understand, or something. And people think what they want to think about me. I’ve been a lot of things. I’ve pretended to be a lot of things. I’ve been bitchy. I’ve been an asshole. I’ve been a monster. I’ve liked it that way. It never mattered what anyone thought because they don’t know me.” You paused. “Matt knows me. I think he’s the only person who does. He’s the only person I’m close with. The only person I trust. Even when I didn’t know it was him, when he was the only person to hold out his hand, when he was the only person who said that my soul was worth saving, I believed him. I believed in that. And when he called me a monster, that became real, too. And it hurt. It hurt that there was someone close enough to me who could rip me apart from the inside. I didn’t like it. But I couldn’t stop myself from feeling that way. When Matt said he wanted me to stay in New York, I stayed. When he told me that when I first came back into his life, when he didn’t believe it was me because he thought he didn’t deserve to have me back, I felt worth something. I felt worth something to him. When for a long time I didn’t think he’d want me, after the Red Room.”

You paused.

“If he looks at me and sees my trauma, it makes it real,” you said, quieter than before. “It’s one thing for me to believe that. But I couldn’t bear it if he saw all of that. Saw all the blood I took in service of the Red Room. Saw the monster they turned me into. Worst of all, even though I haven’t told him, if he saw, if he saw—” You felt bile rise to your throat as you recalled the memories. The memories of the red room. “—saw that I am damaged. In a way that can’t be undone. See the— the—” Hands. The hands. “—Like I’ve been marked—”

You felt like you were going to throw up, and it wasn’t the first time you did so in the Doc’s room, so you reached for the bowl on the table before the panic and trauma could leave your throat—

“But he wouldn’t see those things. He’s blind.”

You froze, your eyes narrowing. You brought your hand back and stared at the Doc, at the slight amused tilt to her lips. A flash of anger ran through you. How could she joke at a time like this? “You’re not funny.”

“I’m a little funny.”

And then you realized what she did. She distracted you. Threw you off so you’d leave the memory you’d latched on to. 

You took a breath. Tried to do what the Doc had suggested, to acknowledge the thought, the memory, and then let it pass over you. Like you were a heavy rock in a river. Letting water wash over you without being washed away. 

“The truth is, you don’t know what Matt thinks and you don’t know what he meant when he said that,” the Doc said. “I could tell you what I think he meant but there’s no guarantee that I’m right, either. You can only know if you talk to him about it.”

But you still weren’t ready to face Matt again. What the Doc was saying about everything was rational and yet you couldn’t get yourself to believe it. You re-lived that argument again and again in your mind, and each time Matt’s words felt like a burning sear. It felt like he was so against you finding a way to rid yourself of your trauma, and you couldn’t get yourself to believe anything else. You couldn’t bear to be around him again. Not yet.

At the end of your session, the Doc asked if you were okay to start having appointments once a week rather than once a day, and you agreed. It was time to start transitioning back into the real world.

Well. Real-adjacent for you, that is.

You worked on steadying your breathing as you rode the elevator up Avengers Tower. Worked on preparing yourself for acknowledging thoughts of killing Bucky and letting them pass over you, should you see him again.

When the elevator door opened and you walked further onto the floor, you noticed Steve reading on the couch. No one else was there, from what you could tell.

You cleared your throat and prayed your voice would come out steady. “Hey.”

Steve looked up and his eyes widened slightly. “Hey.” He closed his book and stood, coming over to stand in front of you.

“I’m sorry I . . . didn’t answer any of your calls,” you said slowly. 

Steve shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “But you know you could have told me if you were still having a hard time.” He didn’t say it like ‘You should have told me’, but rather like he wouldn’t have been offended if you told him you needed space. “I would have understood.”

A part of you felt guilty for not answering his calls, but you didn’t trust yourself to answer them then. “I thought I was okay to come back to work. But I got back here and realized I wasn’t. It had nothing to do with you,” you added hastily. “I know I left kind of abruptly during our last conversation.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, and a bit of pink tinged his cheeks. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

“I do want to go out with you.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised.

“That’s what you were asking me, wasn’t it?” you continued.

“Well, I— Yes,” he settled on. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “How about dinner Friday night? You pick the place.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He smiled and it was wide. 

“Oh, and just for future reference,” you added, “I’m really not a fan of the ballet.”

You’d chosen something much more modest than the dress attire you usually preferred. It was an off the shoulder, ruffley dress that went down to your ankles, in a pattern of pinks and creams that resembled flowers. Gentle. Feminine in a soft way. Everything to represent your good girl persona that you portrayed for the Avengers. 

You met Steve in the hallway and had to admit, he looked good in a suit. He complimented you and told you you looked pretty, and offered you his arm before getting into the elevator. 

The two of you chatted in the car on the way to the restaurant. When you got there and let Steve help you out, you realized how fancy the restaurant was, and you were impressed. Steve clearly put some thought into this date.

He led you inside to the table he had reserved and pulled out your chair so you could sit down. Once sitting himself, Steve reached for the wine list and began looking it over.

Panic sparked in your chest.

If he asked you what kind of wine you wanted, would you say yes? Would you tell him your favourite? Would you drink a glass, two glasses, three glasses, and relish the way it numbed your mind and took you far away from the memories that constantly plagued you?

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to just let him order and drink it like everything was normal. So easy to return yourself to old habits. It would make everything so much easier.

But.

What would Matt think?

You took a sip of the water the waiter had already poured for you and tried not to bite your teeth down around the edge of the glass. You didn’t want to see him and hadn’t seen him for five weeks and yet you still could not escape the truth you’d admitted to the Doc: that what Matt thought of you mattered, it mattered so much.

It’s why you went to the extreme of erasing your memories. Returning to drugs and alcohol would be an easier solution, and one not so permanent and changing. But you knew Matt wouldn’t approve of that. That was it. So you tried to find another solution. But he didn’t approve of that one, either. And so you found yourself unable to seek another telepath who’d probably erase your memories if you paid the right price. No, you went back to the one telepath you knew would still say no. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Every second you continued to let Steve look at that wine list was an internal war with yourself. 

God it would be so easy. It would be so easy.

FUCK.

“What kind of wine do you like?” Steve asked, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Red or white? Or rosé?”

Moment of truth. Which one was your favourite? Red was bold and sexy. White was safe and sweet. Rosé was a unique blend of the two, maybe that one was the best to signal to him that you were a good girl but also fun and adventurous—

“Actually, I have a bit of a headache. Do you mind if I just have water?”

You wondered if that was just about the hardest thing you’ve ever made yourself say. It felt like it, in that moment. 

“Of course, I don’t mind,” Steve said. When the waiter came and Steve looked at him to hand him back the wine list, you blew out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I think we’re just going to stick with water, thanks.”

When the waiter left, you said, “You can have a drink if you want to, don’t let me stop you.”

Steve gave you a smile and shrugged. “To be honest, I wasn’t even sure what I was going to order. I’m not really a wine guy.”

This made you smile. It was a thoughtful gesture. 

Slowly, you unclenched your hands in your lap and hoped you hadn’t been digging your nails into your flesh hard enough to draw blood.

“So,” Steve began, and took a sip of his water, “how’s Matt?”

Acknowledge the thought. Let it pass over you. Acknowledge the thought. Let it pass over you. Acknowledge the thought, let it pass over you—

“Fine,” you answered, thankfully even. “He’s a busy defence lawyer so I haven’t seen him much lately. But that’s okay. He’s doing important stuff, you know. How’s the team been since I’ve been gone? Any interesting missions?”

Steve took the bait to switch topics and you were grateful. The two of you chatted for a while waiting for your meals and you felt . . . good. Things were going good. You weren’t drinking. You were sober and things were okay. You were getting through this.

Your phone rang in your clutch and you gave Steve a sheepish look. “Sorry,” you said as you reached in to turn your phone off.

A strange feeling spiked in you when you saw the name caller ID was Foggy Nelson. 

Foggy never called you. The two of you weren’t really close, you only hung out with each other when Matt was there. 

Why was he calling you? Maybe . . . maybe it wasn’t strange, maybe he really was just calling to hang out, maybe Karen mentioned to him that the three of you could hang out without Matt, maybe—

Steve must have seen the hesitation on your face, because he said, “You can answer it if you need to.”

You looked up at him. “I just— It’s Matt’s friend, and he usually doesn’t call me, so I’m just. . . .”

“Answer it,” Steve said, giving you a smile to show he wasn’t mad. “I don’t mind.”

You gave him a tight smile in return. “Sorry. It’ll just be a sec.” You picked up the phone and held it to your ear, fighting back a hiss as you said, “Hey this really isn’t a good—”

“Matt’s not breathing.”

Something shattered in you. 

You couldn’t think. You were sure all the blood had left your body. 

Not breathing

Not breathing

Matt’s not breathing

“What?!”

Foggy’s voice was urgent and he spoke quickly. “I found Matt unconscious in his apartment and he’s gasping like he can’t breathe— Claire won’t be able to get here in time and I know you can get here right away— Please hurry, Y/N, I don’t know how much longer he has—”

“I’ll be there.” You hung up and felt like your head was spinning. You stood and Steve stood with you.

“Everything ok—”

“Matt’s hurt,” were the words that came out of your mouth. “I have to go. I have to— God, I’m sorry, Steve, but I have to leave.”

“It’s okay, go,” Steve said, nodding. “Do you need me to call the driver—?”

“No, no,” you said. Panic thrummed fast and painful in your chest. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.” That was the last thing you gave him before you turned and ran out of the restaurant.

In the moments between getting outside and teleporting in a discreet place, your mind was racing.

God, why the fuck did you stay away for so long? What was the reason? It seemed to matter so little now. 

If Matt died— God, fuck, if Matt died— How could that be the last conversation you had with him? When you said those awful things? Fuck, when you told him he wasn’t worth anything— Is that what you said? You might as well have said that. Did you just give up the last five weeks you might have spent with him? For what? For what?

Oh, God, oh, God—

You teleported into Matt’s apartment, and there he was lying, bruised and bloody and unconscious, his body hidden behind the blurs of your tears—

“What do we do?” came Foggy’s panicked voice. “Do something!”

You snapped into action, leaning down and putting your hands on Matt. You listened to the way he was gasping.

“Help me,” you ordered, and Foggy helped you peel the top part of Matt’s suit down to bare his torso. You felt his body and pressed your ear to his chest.

“He has a collapsed lung, I have to poke a hole in his chest so the trapped air can escape,” you said, and you wondered if saying it out loud was more for you or for Foggy. 

You pulled your dress high over your leg and gathered the skirt around your waist, not worried about scandalizing Foggy as you reached for the knife strapped to the inside of your thigh. You grabbed it and all the memories of the textbooks you read and informational videos you watched came back to you, clearer than it ever had before. Your hand might as well have been the hand of the surgeon you watched on the pneumothorax video as you counted his ribs, braced your hand on his torso, then cut a small hole in the right place between his ribs. 

The gasping sound ceased as Matt inhaled deeply and exhaled successfully. Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. Began breathing normally.

“Oh thank God,” Foggy breathed in a whoosh.

You stared, frozen, knife still raised.

“Y/N?”

He almost died. He had almost been dead. He almost died and the last thing you said to him was calling him worthless.

You dropped your knife and it clattered to the ground as you hurried to your feet and to the kitchen sink and you vomited.

You took a moment to rinse out the sink when you were done, then wiped your mouth and turned around, sliding down the side of the cabinets. 

Then you sobbed.

It was parts relief and parts guilt and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying in loud, messy gasps, tears pouring from your eyes in an unending stream.

Face buried in your hands, you didn’t notice Foggy coming over until he sat next to you. There was a moment of hesitation, then you felt his arms wrap around you and your head rested on his shoulder.

“C’mon, it’s okay,” came Foggy’s voice. “Matt’s okay. He’s breathing. He’s done this a bunch of times, he’ll be fine. I think he even said he dealt with a collapsed lung, once. He’s alright.” Foggy’s hand stroked your arm.

After a moment, your sobs subsided. Foggy said, “C’mon, we should move him onto the couch.”

Pulling yourself together, you helped Foggy move Matt onto the couch, take off his Daredevil suit, and put him in comfortable clothes. It worried you that he stayed unconscious through all of that, but Foggy didn’t seem worried, so you held onto that.

When you were done, the two of you sat in the chairs across from the couch in the living room.

You stared at Matt’s sleeping form, exhausted from the adrenaline leaving you and all the crying you did. 

Foggy’s voice broke the silence after a few moments, like he needed to fill it with something else. “So, uh. You look nice. Where were you?”

“Uh.” Your head was still spinning; you were still frazzled and worried about Matt. “I was on a date.”

Foggy was very surprised by her answer, and so he couldn’t stop the word from leaving his mouth, “What?” From everything he’d seen between Matt and Y/N, it was clear to him that the two of them were stupidly in love with each other even if they both didn’t realize that yet. So the fact that she was on a date, with someone who was not Matt— “Why?”

You were still having a hard time processing things right now. You stared at Foggy, your mouth slightly parted. What did he mean ‘why’? Did you need a good reason to go on a date with someone? “. . .I don’t know how to answer that.”

“With who?” Foggy followed up.

“Um. Steve Rogers.”

“Captain America? Damn.”

You continued to stare at him, confused at why he was reacting this way. “. . .Are you in love with me? Because this is a wildly inappropriate time to confess. Your best friend is unconscious.”

Foggy’s eyes narrowed as she came to the wrong conclusion. “No, I’m not in lo— I have a girlfriend! You know that I have a girlfriend!”

She simply continued to look at him, and then looked back at Matt, as if this conversation exhausted her too much. Foggy decided he could save any follow-up questions for another time.

After another little bit, you told Foggy he should go home and rest; you would watch over Matt. It took him some convincing, but he finally conceded. He told you to call him if you needed him, even if it was the midnight of the night, and he left.

You continued to watch Matt. To listen to his breathing, mostly steady if somewhat strained.

You don’t know why you remembered it in that moment. The unopened voicemail sitting in your phone’s inbox. Matt’s voicemail that he sent you a month ago.

You took out your phone and found it, pressing play and holding your phone to your ear.

“Hey.”

It had been a while since you heard his voice. The idea that you might never have heard his voice again cracked something in you.

There was a pause, as if he was figuring out what to say. “I know we aren’t talking right now. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know we both . . . said some things. But I wanted you to know that . . . I know that the bad things you’ve been through doesn’t make you who you are. That isn’t what I meant. I was just . . . worried. I just want you to be okay. And I want you to know that . . . I’m here. When you want to talk. If you want to talk to me again.” He took a breath. “I care about you. A lot. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

When your voicemail box signalled the end of the message, you put the phone down and cried. And cried. 

The first thing Matt noticed when he woke up was that his whole body hurt. But that wasn’t really unusual for him, especially considering the fight he got into that he barely had the strength to drag himself back to his apartment after. 

The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on the couch. He tried to remember if he had passed out here or on the floor.

The third thing he noticed was the soft clothes on his body, not his Daredevil suit, so someone must have changed him out of it. Foggy, maybe, or Karen—

And the fourth and final thing Matt noticed, was Y/N.

He recognized her smell, the shape of her body, the sound of her breath. She had moved one of the living room chairs closer to the couch and was now curled up in what must have been an uncomfortable position, sleeping. Her eyes were screwed shut tight, her expression pinched, and her whole body tense. 

What was she doing here? Was she okay? So many questions ran through his mind, but the loudest words in his head were,

She’s here. She’s here.

Y/N shifted, and by the small intake of breath Matt could tell that she was awake now. Matt could tell Y/N was staring at him.

He didn’t dare breathe.

“Hi,” she finally whispered, barely more than a breath.

“Hi,” he whispered back.

“How are you feeling?”

Matt tensed. Her voice sounded wrecked. “You know. Hurts but I’m okay.” He wanted to know why she sounded like she had been crying. “What happened?”

And then her face broke and a sob left her mouth, and suddenly she was up and on the couch, wrapping herself around him, holding him so tight it hurt in his injured state but he didn’t worry about that, he just let her press her face into the crook of his neck and cry. She was shaking. He wrapped his arms around her back and braced her against him.

“Foggy called me,” she sobbed. “He said you weren’t breathing.”

Oh.

She was crying because of him. Because he got hurt.

Dimly in the back of your mind you thought you should be holding him more gently, you should be careful of his injuries, but the only thing you could think was that he was okay and he was not dead and you never wanted to let him go again.

“I’m sorry, Matt,” you sobbed. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said. You mean everything to me.”

She wailed, and the sound broke his heart and tears sprung to his eyes and his face crumpled. He squeezed her to him and he didn’t care if it pressed on his chest and made it hard to breathe.

“I don’t know what I would do if you were dead,” she cried. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. I’m sorry the last thing I said to you was so fucking awful. I was in pain and I didn’t understand what I was saying but that’s not an excuse. If you had died and that was the last thing I said I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Matt had never been sure. What he meant to her. Since he got her back after she’d been missing for twenty years, it was difficult to say where things stood between them. Besides her withdrawal delirium that prompted the You were the only person I ever really loved, she never said these things out loud. 

But maybe he was looking for words when he should have been looking for actions. The way she risked her life to save his. The way she stayed to help him when he was in the darkest place of his life, when he said so many terrible things to her and tried to push her away like he did with everyone else. The way she stayed in New York because he asked her to. The way she got sober because he asked her to.

The way she kept all her horrible, traumatic memories. Because he asked her to.

And he had kept asking himself why when the reason was so very clear. She cared. She cared about him. He was worth something to her. He meant something to her. And she was a broken, sobbing mess at the idea that he could have died.

I don’t know what I would do if you were dead. There was a time where you wanted to say those words out loud but you couldn’t. When you couldn’t let Matt see your heart that way. When you still lived behind walls and you weren’t ready to take them down.

Now you said the words freely, let them pour from your mouth, let the bricks lay scattered at your feet, let your heart be bare and raw. Because you had to say the words. He had to know.

“A lot happened when I was unconscious, huh?” came Matt’s voice, and it brought a foreign sort of relief and amusement to your chest and you couldn’t stop the small laugh that left your mouth. 

But it ceased when the guilt returned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I didn’t want to hurt you like that.”

“I accept your apology,” Matt said. “I know you didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean a lot of things I said when I was struggling, too.”

Some weight left your shoulders and your sobbing began to subside, and you breathed in Matt’s smell and felt grateful that he was alive. He stroked your back and you felt comforted by the motion.

And then you pulled back so you could look at him. There were tears running down his face as well and you let yourself wipe some of them away with your hand. Tried not to let yourself overthink the gesture. “I know I’m not . . . good at saying what I feel. I think it’s because I haven’t felt anything for a really long time. Even before the alcohol and the drugs. I didn’t have the luxury of feeling. If I let myself feel I’d fall apart. So I did everything I could not to feel. And when I got the chance, I kept myself numb. I don’t even know if I was good at talking about my feelings when I was a kid. I don’t think I was. I think I’ve been running from myself longer than I even remember.”

A memory graced you briefly. Of being fifteen and realizing something you felt. Something you were afraid of saying out loud. Something you were afraid to tell Matt.

“But I’m going to . . . try,” you continued. “To say what I feel. Not when I’m in withdrawal and sick with delirium and too weak to stop myself. Not when I’m angry or upset and things come out wrong. Something I choose to say.” You paused, collecting yourself. “You’re my family, Matt. You’re the only family I have. You know me. I think you’re the only person who does. If I lost you I’d be alone.”

You’d thought a lot about if anyone really knew and understood you and realized that of course it was Matt. Even though you’d changed so much and only recently come back into his life. He was the only person who knew you from before, the only person capable of seeing you past the monstrous mask you wore. But more than that. When he didn’t even know it was you, he was the only person to reach out his hand and ask you not to kill. To attempt to save your soul. There was still so much he didn’t know and so much you hadn’t told him, but he still knew you. He (metaphorically) looked at you and told you that even though you were different (even though he was different), there were still parts of you that were the same. He saw that. And you were physically incapable of lying to him. You didn’t believe anyone else would be capable of seeing more than what you wanted them to see. You the pretender. You could not hide yourself from him. He was the only person capable of knowing you in the ways you didn’t want. To be truly known. All of it. That made him your family and you didn’t know if anyone else could come close to that.

And that knowledge fucking terrified you but you didn’t know how to say that part out loud.

Family.

You’re my family.

How many times had he thought the same thing? When they were just two orphans in Saint Agnes, when all they had were each other. When she went missing, when they finally pronounced her dead and had her funeral, when he felt like he lost a part of himself, like when he lost his father. When she left a void he didn’t know how to fill anymore. When he considered Foggy his family but it never felt the same.

You know me. I think you’re the only person who does. It was the same for him. Besides Stick, for a long time Y/N was the only person who knew about his abilities. Foggy was his friend and he knew Matt in most of the ways that mattered, but he didn’t know about the Daredevil part of him for the longest time. And when he knew, he didn’t understand it. There was a time in Matt’s life when he thought Elektra was the only person who saw him for what he truly was — but that wasn’t right, either. She saw the violence in him but not the good. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t kill. Both Foggy and Elektra saw parts of him but not the whole.

Y/N saw all of it. When she returned to his life, she saw the Daredevil part of him and she understood and accepted it. More than that, though she killed like Elektra killed, she stopped when he asked. She understood the point behind it — maybe not the value of human life but the way killing harms your soul. And when Matt was close to breaking his rule, she pulled him back. She who had killed so many and didn’t see the value in human life. She saw it was important to him and tried to stop him from making a choice that he could not take back. 

Elektra had once said to him, “You hide from yourself. You don’t let anyone in.” And it was true. And he’d tried to let Elektra in but there were parts of himself she refused to see. When Y/N came back into his life, he didn’t let her in; she tore her way in. She wouldn’t let him hide from her and she wouldn’t let him hide from himself. She kept reminding him of who he was when he was so broken and she found a way to keep him from losing himself. And though not killing Fisk had ultimately been his own choice, she had never left his side. Would have let him kill Fisk if that was his choice. And would have stayed to remind him of who he was had he done it. She never tried to tell him who he was, like Elektra or Foggy or Karen, who saw him in different and incomplete ways — Y/N just knew. And kept reminding him until he saw it for himself.

If I lost you I’d be alone. That’s what he was so fucking terrified of. And he needed her to know that.

Matt’s jaw worked but he nodded. Then he took a breath. “I was afraid of losing you. I lost you once before. I didn’t want to do that again.” At some point in the hugging and tangling yourself around Matt, his hand found your upper thigh, and he gripped it as he spoke. It was a comforting pressure on your body. He used his other hand to hold yours, and you held it tightly. “I was afraid you’d run away or do something reckless you hadn’t thought through . . . like erasing your memories.” He pressed his lips together, pausing to sharply inhale through his nose. “Maybe it’s selfish to be afraid that you’d lose memories of us when you just want your pain to be gone—”

You pressed your hand to his chest as you interrupted him, “No, you were right. It would hurt me, too, if you did something like that.”

In the hours after Matt did not die, you got some clarity on the whole situation. You tried to see it from his perspective. What you would do if he wanted to erase all his bad memories. If he told you he’d rather . . . rather be a blank slate than deal with the trauma. It would hurt you, if he made it seem like your memories together meant so little.

Your heart seemed to be beating really fast in your chest, a forgotten but not unfamiliar feeling whispering in the back of your mind, with your hand over his heart and his hand on your thigh and holding your hand, with the two of you so close—

The feeling disappeared as soon as it arrived, before you could label it, the moment you remembered that there were other things you wanted to say. You took your hand back and shifted your body so your feet were on the floor. You kept your hand wrapped around Matt’s.

“I need to . . . ask you—”

“I didn’t mean what you thought I meant,” Matt said, anticipating the direction of your question but not quite what you were about to ask. “I don’t think all you are is just the trauma you’ve experienced. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry if it came off that way.”

“I know,” you said. “I listened to your message. I didn’t listen to it until tonight, but I heard it. I know that’s not what you meant. But I still . . . I have to ask you. . . .”

She swallowed, and she was trembling again. Matt held her hand tighter, held it with both of his hands, and he stroked the back of her hand and her wrist though she was turned away from him.

“I want to know . . . what you see when you look at me.” She said it like it was an effort to get the words out. “If you see . . . the blood . . . of all that I’ve done . . . for the Red Room. . . .” Her voice became a whisper. “The things you don’t know. . . . Can you still see . . . the ways I am. . .” She seemed to choke on the word, unable to get it out for a moment. “. . .ruined?”

The things you don’t know.

He always suspected that there were lots she had not told him yet.  He wanted to ask, but he knew that this wasn’t the time for it. Knew that that wasn’t what she was asking of him.

She seemed very far away from him now, and he didn’t want her there, didn’t want her to live in memories, wanted her here with him, and so he said,

“Well, first of all, I don’t see those things because I’m blind.”

Laughter bubbled up sharply and unexpectedly and pulled you from the memory that had grabbed hold of you. “Fuck off,” you breathed through the laugh, and you leaned back onto the couch and let yourself look at Matt again. There was a small smile on his face, like he was glad he was successful in pulling you from that dark place. He still held your hand and your wrist with both of his hands.

“I don’t see those things,” he finally said in a serious voice. “I just see my oldest friend, trying hard to make things better for herself.”

Something heavy left you, and the relief attached brought tears to your eyes again. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

“And what about me?” Matt asked. “Do you see . . . bloody knuckles and . . . someone who doesn’t know when to quit fighting?” His tone was light but you knew his question was not.

“I told you what I see,” you said. “You’re my family. That’s all.” You didn’t have the words to explain all that you saw of him. You were always a woman of action, not words. But you hoped that he would understand. That him being your family meant that he meant everything to you.

Matt nodded. Her admission meant something to him, but he still wasn’t sure if . . . he believed it about himself. If he was more than what he said.

But that didn’t matter right now. Y/N was here, and she was okay, for the most part, and that’s all that mattered.

“I started going to therapy,” she said, and his eyebrows raised.

“Really?”

She nodded. “The telepath that I went to . . . she’s a therapist. She uses her telepathy to help people. It’s why she refused to erase my memories.”

Matt absentmindedly stroked her wrist and hand. “Is it helping?”

She thought for a moment. “I think so. It’s not easy. It’s so fucking far from easy. Sometimes I think it’s just about the worst thing I’ve been through. But it is. Helping. Things feel better now than before.” 

“That’s good.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

You smiled at him, and the feeling of lightness that rushed through you was almost overwhelming.

Fuck, what a concept it was to truly feel again. You were so used to numbing the pain and the grief and the trauma that you forgot you numbed yourself to joy, too. To all other good emotions. It had been a long, long time since you felt this way. You’d forgotten what it felt like. And the intensity of it brought tears to your eyes again but you didn’t mind.

You leaned forward and you hugged Matt again for a second, just needing it for a moment, just needing to remind yourself that he was here. With you.

And you were not in the Red Room.

(Not physically.)

When you pulled back this time, you noticed Matt grasping some of your skirt in his hand. His eyebrows knitted together.

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh, y’know,” you let yourself joke for the first time in a while, “I like dressing up when I go save my friend’s life.” 

“Sure.”

“I had a date tonight,” you explained.

“With Steve?”

“Yes. Had to leave before dinner. You owe me a meal.”

Matt looked like he was considering this. “How nice was the restaurant?”

“Pretty nice.”

“You know I’m a defence lawyer that gets paid in muffin baskets, right?”

“Tough. I’m taking you for all you’re worth, Murdock.”

Your stomach growled in a moment of great comedic timing, and Matt chuckled.

“C’mon, let’s get you something to eat.”

You looked at the non-existent watch on your wrist. “It’s like, three AM.” That was a guess, but you couldn’t be that fair off, right?

“It’s the city that never sleeps, we’ll find something. Just give me a minute to change.” Matt stood.

And made a noise like it pained him.

You were up immediately, putting his arm around your shoulders and wrapping your arm around his waist to brace his weight against you. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

He breathed out in a sound that might have been a scoff. “You’re so motherly when you’re sober.”

You rolled your eyes and fought down an amused smile. “I will leave you here and take your wallet.”

“Stealing from a blind man, that’s not very nice.”

You breathed a laugh through your nose, then looked to his kitchen. “We could eat here.”

“I don’t really have much in my fridge.” Matt knew he should eat better, but between how busy he was being a lawyer and being Daredevil it didn’t give him a lot of time to make proper meals.

“Okay, we’ll go to my place, then.” 

She gave him a moment, like giving him a chance to prepare himself,

 

and then he felt his surroundings change from his apartment to a different one. 

She set him down at what he could tell was the table in her kitchen. She went to the fridge and started pulling out things while Matt took a moment to take in her place.

It smelled like her.

“So this is it, huh?” Matt said.

You looked up at him, leaving your thoughts of what you should make for the two of you for a moment. “Hm?” 

“Your apartment.”

Your eyes narrowed as realization hit you. “Have you never been here before?”

“No.”

“Huh. I guess not.” There wasn’t any particular reason you had never brought him to your apartment. For the longest time, it just wasn’t home to you. It was just a place you slept. A place you kept your alcohol and drugs. Just a roof over your head and nothing more. 

The Doc encouraged you to change that. Decorate. Make it a safe place. Make it a place that felt like a home. So you did. You painted the walls with colour and you bought things to fill the space. In the places between your visits with the Doc and your outings with Karen, when you had nothing to do but sit in your apartment, it did make it better somewhat. You bought pillows and blankets and little lights to hang up in your bay window and it became a place you liked to read whatever smutty romance book Karen had recommended.

You fought down a smirk at the explicit nature of the last book you’d read and began chopping some ingredients for omelettes.

“Wait, you’re making us something? You can cook?” Matt teased.

You snorted. “I am an adult.” You shredded some cheese. You paused before saying, “. . .My therapist told me it would help if I ate better. If I put effort into making things and figuring out what kinds of things I like.” Food never really mattered to you before, not like that. It was just something that kept you alive. In the Red Room, it didn’t matter what you ate so long as you ate something. And somewhere along the way, after you got out, you kind of forgot that enjoying food was something you could do. That it was more than just sustenance. 

It was like your coffee. The way you took it black for so many years because you didn’t have access to milk or cream or sugar. Until you were reminded that you could have those things now.

Food didn’t seem to matter as much as keeping a good stock of alcohol and Oxycodone. Food was always secondary. What did food do more than keep you from starving to death? The alcohol and Oxy actually served a purpose — so it took priority.

But the Doc pointed out how food could be so much more than that. And how good it could feel to spend time on something, to make something, and be rewarded with something that was enjoyable to eat. 

You got the chance to figure out what you liked, too. That never really seemed important before. But it felt like something significant, now.

“I mean I’m not a professional,” you continued. “But I can do more than boil eggs or make toast.” You gave him a smile.

Matt didn’t want to bring up anything heavy again, not when she was smiling and speaking lightly and making them food though tears were drying on her face. On his face. But there was something he needed to say and he felt like he needed to say it now.

“I didn’t know where we stood.”

He heard her food prepping cease and felt her attention on him.

He continued, “When you found me again. Even after Fisk. I didn’t know where we stood with each other. So many things had changed since Saint Agnes. You decided to stay but you . . . were distant. I didn’t know how you felt about our relationship. I didn’t know what you thought about who I was to you. We never talked about it. You never talked about it.”

She didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“But the more I think about it, the more I think I should have realized,” Matt said. “You went out of your way to save my life. You kept coming back, even when I think you didn’t want to. Even when I pushed you away and said awful things. Foggy and Karen had given up on me, but you never did. You didn’t consider leaving until you made sure I was okay. And when I asked you to stay, you stayed. You did things to show me what I meant to you. That our relationship still mattered to you, even after all this time. And I’m sorry I couldn’t see that for so long.”

You nodded slowly, taking this in. And you had something you wanted to say as well. You took a moment to stare at the bricks that were once the walls you kept up and you refused to build them again, though it felt difficult not to. “. . .Your opinion of me matters to me,” you said. “I think it’s the only one that does. Sometimes I don’t care what I even think about myself. But you. . . . It makes it real. What you think about me makes it what I am.”

His eyebrows were pulled together and his jaw worked and he opened his mouth but you beat him to it.

“Don’t apologize again,” you said, knowing what he was thinking, about the awful things he had called you that he didn’t mean. “You don’t have to apologize again. I just wanted you to know. That what you think matters to me.”

And Matt knew what he had to say next. “You’re my family, Y/N. Okay?”

She nodded, and he could tell there were tears in her eyes as she smiled. “Okay.”

You made omelettes and you both talked about things that didn’t matter and reminisced about your past and laughed and for the first time in the fifteen years you were gone and the twenty it was for Matt, just like when you were kids, you stayed up all night and talked until sunrise.

A/N: Fucking hell this was long and a bitch to edit. There were a lot of parts I went over a bunch of times wondering if I should change it or keep it the same. Some feedback would be really really nice for this one.

Tag List: @stupidiout100 @coff3e-and-biscuits @caswinchester2000 @waywardsister1111 @ummvengers @asongofmarvelanddc @1971marauders @krazy-katt-lady @flowercrowns3438 @takethee @lov3vivian @burn-crash-rqmance @readers-posts

[xylerray]

Wandarer and Reader seeing each other for the first time again

Game: Genshin Impact

Character shown: Traveller, Paimon, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Reader

Authors note: OKAY OKAY HOLD UP SO I JUST READ A FAN FIC AND THE AUTHOR SAID I COULD USE IT FOR SMTH OWN AND I WAS LIKE „FUCK HELL YEAH“ SO IMMA DO THAT NOW. I WILL ALSO REPOST IT SO YOU KNOW WHATS GOING ON LMAO. And if I give you a gender or smth I am very sorry and also very sorry for grammar mistakes.

Inspiration from: @fruityvegetable THANKS A FUCKING LOT FOR THAT I JUST AHHHH CANT RN PLSSSS (can I get ur dc pls?)

„It‘s okay.“ the Traveller said. Then they explained to you in great detail who he was. Your eyes widen with every story they told. But then they said one thing „He is the son of the Raiden Shogun. A failed puppet.“ with just that it hit you. You jumped up from the seat on the bench. „MY LOVE THAT IS MY LOVE“ you screamed, already rushing after him. „Their what now?“ Paimon asked confused and in the next moment all three of you were looking for him. But you sadly couldn’t find him. After a whole day looking for him and not finding him you broke down. „How could I be THAT stupid. I didn’t even remember him. The one that tried to protect my little brother. The one that showed me the world.“ tears running down your face as your voice broke into many pieces. „This is all my fault. I am so sorry Traveller.“ The traveller answered:“it’s okay. He erased himself from the world. It is a wonder you remembered him. And when he finds out he‘ll cherish it I’m sure of that.“

In this night you hardly could fall asleep. Wanderer always crossed your mind and you judged yourself for not remembering him even more. „But I still love him… I will always do so…“ you whispered.

The next morning went sloppy for you. With almost no sleep you tried to get into your clothes somehow but didn’t quite manage to do that. You stepped out of your small apartment. The sun shining directly into you face, the sunshine’s feeling like the sun is screaming for the day to be good but for you nothing was good. You lost your one and only love. You did not remember him. How could you??? Why?????? You went to the meeting spot from yesterday hoping the Wanderer would cross this way once again. And after 2 hours waiting he did. But as soon as the little puppet noticed you he turned around and made a run from it. But this time you won’t let that happen. With the low energy you had you sprinted after him and pushed him down with you landing on him.

„What the hell? What are you thinking?!“ shouted the little man beneath you. You sat up and let him breath a bit. „I wanted to apologise, my love! I was so stupid! You are the most important person in my life and I just forgot you! I am for real a big disappointment. I am very sorry again.“ you stated, staring straight into his eyes. The failed experiment in front of you just sat there not even breathing. He admired you in the moment. „My love“ you still called him that. You…still loved him… „Dear?“ you tilted your head with a worried look on your face.

The next second was blurred out of you memory and your lips were one. Shocked you sat there until you gave in. Even if Scara seems to be bad at a lot he certainly gives the best passionate kisses. When you pulled away you only had eyes for his angry expression. „I thought I had lost you. Don’t give me such a freaking fright again ,understood moron?“ Scara scoffed. „Yeah sure my dear.“ you giggled

The Traveller and Paimon staring from far:“ if they won’t watch out, they will make children on the street.“ „TRAVELLER“

Hehe this is a lil rushed now I hope you still like it! Thanks for reading! Requests open!

Bye<3 Good morning/evening/night/day<333

[theerrorofmylife]

Crime Fighter pt. 2

- So.... part 2... you guys asked and you shall receive! I meant to have this posted for Christmas but oh well. I am not confident whatsoever in my abilities to write smut, so please be kind. This is not for minors- I repeat THIS IS NOT FOR MINORS you’ve been warned. 

Content:  Reader stops by the Batcave under Wayne Tower after Bats calls them over for help on a case. However, things escalate because they are both incredibly desperate for each other. 

Here’s Part 1: Crime Fighter 

Warning:  Sex, Lots of sex, kissing, making out, fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, THESE TWO ARE HAVING SEX, swear words, etc., I’m not sure what I missed but I know I did- HAVE AT THEE!

    Rain pelted my helmet as I wove between cars and trucks in the upper Gotham streets, and holy shit was it cold. Days seemed to blur together since the migraine incident, and weeks became months became casually getting invited to the Batcave every other day. I’ll be the first to admit that I spent days and nights losing hours over him. Moments and singular little phrases blurred together the more I thought about it. Seconds spent holding his hand after he’d help me on my bike, little light touches on my back when we walked into a crime scene, the way he looks at me when I walk up to him after a case-well-closed. The little whisper that night… “he would love you” … the vivid memory of his lips on my forehead. I couldn’t care less if Bruce Wayne, billionaire recluse, loved me. I wanted this man, my Bat, to love me. 

The stairs were all I could focus on as I made my way into the cave. Our latest case was still running through my head on repeat, slowly driving me insane. A series of medical equipment manufacturing plants had been robbed over the course of the last month, tallying up to a total of 7 buildings and over 25 pieces of equipment stolen. We spent night after night in the cave trying to figure it out, trying to stop whatever was going on before it happened. Over that time, I got to re-meet The Bat with new eyes. This man loves this one takeout place on South St. it was actually hilarious. To be fair, it was growing on me as well. If only we had been paying attention to the tiny details rather than trying to figure out the big picture, we would have noticed the tiny desk plant that went missing from the 5th building. Poison Ivy was using medical equipment to create a toxin that would grow plants in peoples lungs. Now, I never mind a good monstera deliciosa, but I do prefer them outside of my body. But that wasn’t important right now. Right now, all I could think about was the way he pulled me to his chest, turned us towards a wall and caged me with his arms so that a glass beaker would crash into his back rather than my face. I still vibrated with the ghost sensation of his hands. 

“You called?” As he turned to greet me there was a smile on his face, a grin that had become so much more frequent, reserved just for when we’re alone. Parking my bike near his, a nervous glee set inside me, and I couldn’t stop the grin. He still hadn’t taken to removing the mask for me, but I knew that would take time, more time than we already had. And I was patient. For him, I would be patient.

“There’s some evidence I need you to look at,” I walked up past him to look at the monitors. He didn’t move, only made room by making a small space for me to stand in front of him. “You were always better at seeing the bigger picture.” He was directly behind me, the arm leaning against the table pressed against my side, he was so close I was sure he could feel my heart speed up at the closeness.

“Am I now?” Yes, yes act coy and snarky, let him build the conversation because clearly, I’m way too distracted by his arm to do it myself. I felt him shift, moving behind me, the arm that was pressed into my side lifting so that his hand pressed against my lower back as he passed behind me. The warmth that sunk in and then completely dissipated was intoxicating.

“You know you are.”

“Mm, I thought you were the great detective here. Why do you need me?” 

“I want you.” My heart nearly fucking stopped. The goddamn implication of that statement, the ideas that it gave me. Sure, I had thought about it, you can’t blame me when this hunk of brooding emotional baggage was around 24/7. Ever since I spent the night after my migraine, he became a plague on my most intimate thoughts. First just passing thoughts, fleeting ideas and images. Then little daydreams and purely innocent wants. But after a time, it became an infection; a shiver as his hand brushed my lower back, my thighs crossing as he looked at me a certain way, and the heady feeling when he put his hand on my knee during an interrogation. His hands were the curse that tortured me though, his hands were huge and the thought of them on my waist, on my thighs, dipping between them… I was a lost cause, and I knew it. 

He seemed to realize the implication as well, his eyes on me, flicking about my face as if looking for the same reaction I was. I should fix this, I should speak up, I should SAY SOMETHING DAMMIT. My mouth opens and closes like a moron, and for a moment I think I’m suffocating because now his eyes are flitting between mine and my lips and oh god get it together. “Do you?” I'm an idiot. 

“Always.” He sounded so breathless, as if he could not risk his words to disturb the space settled between us. Chills set upon my arms and not for the first time I was eternally grateful for his closeness. There was barely a few inches between us now, and I could practically feel the human radiator in front of me through my suit, but instead of overwhelming me with discomfort… I became desperate for his hands on me. An ache grew in my chest, a desperate need to be touched that damn near made me sick with nerves. Everything I ever wanted, and it’s right here waiting to make a move. My eyes moved from his to his lips and back again, only to find him staring back with a deep intensity that made my head dizzy. This silence was agonizing, and my hands shook from nerves. I got so focused on the fact that I was beginning to panic that I hadn’t even notice the few inches between us had become less than a few centimeters now, less and less by the second. When I felt his lips barely pass mine, the shaking inside me stopped, and the anxiety in my chest lodged in my throat as I pressed forward.

I have kissed many people in my time, each slightly different with the same overarching form of conduct. Every kiss before this one meant nothing when B kissed me for the first time. It was sloppy, I’ll admit, and it was clear he hadn’t really done it before, at least not in a long time, but he was a fast learner, and as his hands grabbed my waist to pull me into his chest, the force sent me reeling. I would like to say I was more elegant, less messy, but that wouldn’t be true. Because the moment I felt his hands and his lips and the way both made my head swim, I became so incredibly desperate for more that I could hardly be blamed for dropping all sense of decorum. When he broke away from me, I remembered that breathing was important and tried to regain myself as he leaned his forehead against mine. His hands tightened around my waist, and I felt the force with which he lifted me up and onto the table with ease. I barely sat on it, and a good portion of my thighs hung off the edge, but whatever care for stability I may have once had was overpowered by the concept of his hips between my legs. He looked down at me once more, and I nodded with extreme enthusiasm. I heard him chuckle lowly before his hand wrapped around the base of my jaw and he kissed me again. Clumsily, I pulled at his belt and tried to undo the clasp at the front. Instead of actually succeeding like I hoped I would B grabbed my hands, gently tossed them aside and did it himself. When the belt hit the floor, he began kissing my neck, inching his way down slowly, as his hand gently pulled at the waistband of my pants.

“Please…” He slipped one hand into my hair at the base of my neck as his other undid my pants, slipping into my underwear where the pad of his forefinger gently pushed against my clit. Jolts of sharp pleasure ran up my hips and I had to actively refrain from bucking my hips up against his hand. The rough fabric of his suit rubbed against my thighs as he shifted his stance, pushing my legs apart. He pulled my hair gently so that I leaned back only slightly, enough for him to place his lips against mine. My hands shook as I wrapped them around his shoulders, the wonderful sensation giving me jitters.

“Hey, hey look at me, is this ok?” He nudged my nose with his and I looked up into his eyes. Those ice blue eyes. I nodded very enthusiastically. “Is this?” His hand slipped further and brushed his fingertips against my entrance.

“Yes.” Slowly dipping his fingers inside me, I sighed at the stretch. I was by no means a virgin, I’ve had plenty of partners of varying origins, so sex was no major endeavor for me. Usually. B’s fingers were huge, and callused and two alone made me lose my breath. This nauseating weight started in my chest, and I felt myself tightening around his fingers and his other hand pulled away from my hair and grabbed my hips to pull them farther off the table. I was barely sitting on it now and I was beginning to feel pressure in my lower abdomen. Little moans and breathy pleas were all I could manage, it just felt so good. He slowly moved his hand, pulling his fingers out before slowly pushing back in, pushing the pads of his fingers against the inside. The pressure began to get intense and my hands on his shoulders clawed into the armor of the suit. He continued to move slowly, only removing his had from my hips to place his other thumb against my clit. With both his hands occupied I lost my ability to speak as my walls sporadically tightened and released with his fingers still inside me. I was breathless, gasping and rocking against his hand ever so slightly. After a few seconds he removed his thumb from my clit, then slowly pulled his hand away.

“What do you want? I need for you to tell me.” Fuck, words are the last thing I wanted to think about. Resting my head against his shoulder, I tried to regain my breath.

“For the love of all things holy, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m-” My back hit the table with a soft thud as he pushed me down. My pants, albeit having fallen low on my thighs, were tugged off all together. His hand on my chest stayed there as his other hand lifted my knees to rest on his shoulders. My breathing regulated easier while laying down but that didn’t stop my breath from catching when I heard this belt come undone with a click. His left hand left the loose belt, pushing between my legs again to rub my clit slowly. My eyes roll back, and I hear him take a harsh breath before letting slip a low groan. It took effort, but I leaned my head forward just enough to look between my thighs where I got a perfect picture. With one hand rubbing my clit with his thumb, the other was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down at the same pace as his thumb. His head was thrown back, eyes closed with his mouth open. He was big, bigger than I expected. I threw my head back gently, whining little obscenities as I tightened around nothing. “Mm!” I whined when his hand pulled away but sighed as I felt the light pressure of him lining up with my entrance. 

“Shhhh relax, I got you.” His hand that wasn’t guiding his dick inside me came to rest on my hip, rubbing little circles with his thumb. He was slow to push in, taking his time to allow me to acclimate to the stretch. Again, 100% not a virgin, but holy shit. There was a slight sting, then immense pressure as he filled me to the limit and then some. The push was so satisfying and filling that it forced me to sigh out all the air in my lungs. He was easily 8 inches and him taking his time gave me the wonderful opportunity to feel every bit of him. 

“Fuck…” I was gasping quietly as he slowed to a stop, I couldn’t feel his thighs against my ass which meant he wasn’t even fully in. I hadn’t even realized my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, I looked up to see his eyes closed, brows drawn in concentration, with his mouth slightly open to let out ragged breaths. To say that it was hot would be an understatement. My eyes were focusing and unfocusing as I watched his eyes open. His once ice blue eyes were darker somehow, and his pupils were blown wide. He looked predatory. Suddenly I felt the drag of him pulling out and then the heavy push back in. There was heavy friction that sent sparks of pleasure up my abdomen. It was absolutely amazing. He began moving, pulling out slowly only to push back in with force. It wasn’t anything erratic or rough, but it was firm and precise, like he was doing it on purpose. As much as I loved the slower pace, I was more needy than I realized, so I moved my hips with his. Slowly lifting to match his, he seemed to get the idea, grabbing my hips harshly. His fingers were bound to leave bruises, but I wasn’t opposed to that at all. I wasn’t opposed to any of this, finally having B to myself like this and knowing that I wasn’t totally crazy thinking he would want me like this as well. His movements were harsher, hitting deep and I slowly adjusted to fit him entirely so his thighs brushed against my ass as he moved. It felt absolutely amazing, the slow build of pressure below my abdomen creating a slightly nauseous feeling in my stomach. But that needed fast when he pulled out. 

“B? No no please don’t sto-” I was pleading with him, there is no way he could be stopping now, I think I might kill him holy shit. 

“Shhh, come’ ere.” He slowly pulled me to my feet and turned me before I could fall, “Is this ok?” I nodded, not entirely sure what he meant but I’d probably agree to anything if it meant he’d continue fucking me. He pressed me forwards till my hips were against the table and on instinct I laid down on top of it, my ass high behind me. His hands immediately grabbed my hips, lifting them off the table and realigning himself with my entrance. My toes barely grazed the ground beneath me and something about not touching the floor while he slowly pushed back into me was intoxicating. It was different, the drag of his cock in me was pressing against the pressure in my abdomen, increasing it greatly. His rhythm became so much harsher, snapping into me with a force that shook the table. I couldn’t do much but whine and try to breathe but every time he push back into me so hard, I heard his thighs hit my ass and felt the table shift, the air was forced from my lungs. Through my own sounds and the sounds of us together, I heard him from behind me, muttering explicatives through gritted teeth and groaning lowly. One of his hands tore away from my hip and I heard fabric moving before his hand hit the table above my head, holding his mask in his fist. His mask…. Oh fuck. He’d taken his mask off. I suddenly felt his forehead against my shoulder, his hair falling and brushing the side of my face. His lips pressed against my shoulder, then moved up my neck as he continued to move inside me. I was stunned. Not only was I beyond thinking with the overwhelming amount of pleasure running through my system, but I couldn’t move past the idea of him removing his mask. But his other hand pulling away from my hips, letting me softly settle on the table again before wrapping around to press his fingers to my clit distracts me, and I’m lost in the feeling again. I let out little moans with every thrust, barely able to keep my breath as the hot tightness between my legs grew worse and worse. His hips move faster, and the pressure is becoming more tangible as I feel a sharp tightening in my hips before an overwhelming release. It’s a confusing mix of tightening and relaxing as my walls contract around him. I try desperately to breathe through it, but my mind falls blank, and I can’t think of anything but the pleasure rocking through my body. B continues to move, slowing his finger on my clit to gently coax me through my high, his thrusts losing rhythm but not force. He kept moving in and out of me, breathing heavily, until he pushed all the way in and stilled. He buried his head in my shoulder, moaning loudly now as my body brought him over the edge, barely moving now. His hips jolted every now and then as he slowly came down from his high, heat flooding my lower body as we both slowly relaxed into each other.

“Mm,” he rubbed his face into my shoulder, “Are you ok?” I nodded slowly, still fuzzy in the head. He chuckled quietly, shifting to kiss my shoulder again. We stayed like that for several minutes, still pressed together, cum dripping between the two of us. Suddenly, with a sharp kiss to my cheek, he pulled out of me. I whined, the rush leaving me with nothing, no energy to move or string a sentence together. I stayed still, acutely aware that he still had his mask off. I may be… very dazed, but I had enough sense to know that if he wasn’t ready for me to see his face then I wouldn’t move until he wanted me to. 

“B?” He hummed in response, “your mask?” He was somewhere behind me, and I didn’t have the energy to push myself off the table. 

“Do you want me to wear it?” What a loaded question. I respected his privacy, his identity, and the deep-seated secrecy that comes with the job. But I also don’t think I could live without seeing him after this. 

“No.” I heard him walking around behind me before a wet washcloth was placed beside me. His hands wrapped around my waist to lift me up. Once again, standing was not an option, but he held me up and turned me to sit back against the table. Looking up, I met his eyes, but now I saw the angular nose that accompanied them, and then his cheekbones, then his lips, and his jawline, and his eyebrows, and- “You…”

“Yeah…” Bruce Wayne. Billionaire, recluse, and... Batman. Of course, he was Batman, of course my Batman was Bruce Wayne, it made so much sense. The same night that had haunted me for weeks suddenly hit me like a truck. ‘He would love you’. 

“You said… but if you’re…” He looked so worried, but it was his own fault for ruining any chance I had of a coherent thought. 

“Is this ok?” 

“Yes! But… that night, at the tower, you said-” He smiled, something he used to do only rarely. 

“I know what I said.” But then… that meant…

“Do you?” With a low chuckle he shook his head, bright blue eyes crinkling in the corners. 

“Yes. Now lay back.” My eyebrows shot up in excitement. 

“Again?” This time he laughed, an actual laugh that was full and deep. 

“Later, let me help you first.” I sighed in disappointment but groaned the moment his large hands grabbed my legs. I was still incredibly sensitive and the washcloth, no matter how warm and comforting, still rubbed my sore clit gently causing my body to jolt and shake a little. “I know, I’m sorry.” Once he was done, he gently helped me put my underwear and pants back on. I stood, leaning against him, and he helped me into the tower elevator. “Hey...” 

“Hm.” I couldn’t really respond because I was trying to focus on standing rather than falling. 

“I love you.”

  -- 

@wolfie1494 @tumb3ld0wn @projectcampbell @niviiera @dur55​ @spidercat​

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi hi! I just read your AIB Chishiya see you on the other side AND LOVEEEEDDDDDD ITTTTTT❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Your writing is chef kiss! I’m not sure if your requests r open atm, but if possible! PLZZZ do a part 2 when they in the hospital! Even if it’s a mini one!! Thank you for reading my chonky message and have a good day! Or night ! Where ever ur from 😂 :D

Honestly didn’t think anyone would ask my for a follow up to that fic but I’ll bite. And also thank you for liking that fic cuz I honestly didn’t think I do a good job portraying Chishiya.

Previously on See you on the other side:

Lost and afraid you almost called out in a state of panic when a voice, cool and collected, reached out to you. Silencing the unnecessary noise within. “You’re finally awake.”

You followed the sound of the voice and were greeted by a vaguely familiar pair of brown eyes and a Cheshire Cat smile. You furrowed your brows as your brain overworked itself for answers as to why this fake blonde felt so important to you. Did you use to date? No, this was probably what people meant by experiencing de ja vu.

You felt as though you know someone but the details as to how or why were blurred beyond belief, making it impossible to find the solution you needed to ease the unrest within yourself of not being able to solve what would be considered a simplistic question. Normally you would’ve said that you’ve never met this man in your life but for some reason deep down you’d know that would be lying; you did know this man but it seemed as though your mind had been wiped of the answer as to why.

“I’m sorry, this might seem like a stupid question but have we-“

“Met before? No.” He says. “However it seems that we are very much experiencing similar issues. We feel as though we met and yet try as hard as we can, we can’t find a good enough explanation as to why we feel that way.” The fake blonde adds but ultimately shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. “I’m sure all will be resolved in due time once that fog clouding the restricted areas of our mind is finally lifted.”

He looked over to you in your bed and you could’ve sworn that he was trying to take in every detail of your face but tried to do so with discreet but somehow you could see through it. See through him as though it was second nature. “So I wouldn’t worry to much as for right now since you, myself and countless other survivors are in much fragile conditions.”

“You know, despite taking for god knows how long I still don’t have your name.” You then decided that now would be an overtime moment to change subjects as to not continuously mind fuck yourself into a headache. Certain parts of your body ached like shit, even with you being hopped up on medicated drugs and you didn’t feel like wanting to add headache onto that list. So it would be best to follow the fake blondes advice and give it a rest.

“Chishiya.” The male answered swiftly. Damn even he name felt familiar, almost as though you and countless others have said it over a million times but again…you didn’t know where and you didn’t know how.

you responded with yours in turn and Chishiya hummed as though with familiarity.

You didn’t know how long this feeling would last but you sure hoped it wasn’t for very long as you were dying to know the potential relationship you had with Chishiya.

Unknown to you but Chishiya was also curious about the context of his relationship with you. He wasn’t using to feeling much at all but for some strange phenomena, your supposed first meeting made him felt more then he had felt in a long while and needless to say, his interest was peaked; Chishiya could only wonder if you could hold it long enough before he grew bored.

[broken-clover]

Well, that's probably an easier and more digestible way to phrase it than 'the man I might've been fostering feelings for (as well as my other dear friends) disappeared and I'm not sure if he's even alive or not anymore and I've started to (platonically) love and get attached to you and my new friends but now I'm afraid that means I'm going to lose the three of you now too because of it' especially when talking to someone like Tao.

...

...Y'know, I had the realization that, while entirely unplanned and accidental, all three of the women in Team 2 are united thematically in how through their own home narratives, they not only lost someone deeply loved and important to them, but they were lost so profoundly that even the memory of them has been warped beyond recognition in the minds of those who remember them (Ragna was outright wiped from existence, I-no's memories of Will were faded from time travel (and Axl was either a new identity or a parallel version of himself based on interpretation) and while Pink faked her death, she lived a life so divorced from her origin yet died anyway with most not knowing who she really was).

I doubt this game was designed with any sort of introspection in mind but it's nuts to compare my first and second parties to view them as

Team 1- haha buncha fruity dweebs off having gay adventures

Team 2- You were wrenched out of my life so suddenly and harshly that I'm not sure the wound in me can ever physically heal in its entirety, you have physically become a part of me in how my old wound scars, the passage of time and reality has made your memory blur and the snapshots of your existence fade. Even the pain has begun growing fuzzy but I continue to cling to it despite how futile and self-destructive it is because it's all I have to remember you by, to remember that you existed and that we were together because even after so long I don't want to think about a world where you don't exist even if you only remain as an echo.

[darkspace7]

[That Which Protects The Falling Rain] Part 2 Teaser

Part One - [HERE]

His head ached.

(…Urgh. What the fuck happened? Did I get rammed by a truck?)

Feeling as though he had just fell from a great height, consciousness slowly returned to him as a he made his journey out from the oppressive dark into the muzzy blur that was the waking world.

(Maybe a hollow chucked me into the side of a building again. Holy fucking shit that hurts…)

With a slit eye, he stared out at the fuzzed miscellanea that surrounded himself with a brief haze of confusion until the cobwebs dusted themselves from his mind and he recalled –oh yeah, that’s right, I wear glasses- and groped around himself searchingly. Upon location, he slipped them on and waited as the world resolved itself around him and a few things made themselves glaringly apparent.

The first: he felt absolutely awful. There was a deep ache down to his very soul and every single piece of him felt raw. As if he had been stripped of his skin and then had it stretched over his bare skeleton and pinned back into place by a bunch of searing hot sewing needles prickling his…well…everything.

Second: he was currently back at home, in his bedroom with no real idea as to how he had come to be there. However, he had the indescribable notion that he had previously been somewhere very different and nowhere even remotely near the place whatsoever. (But if that were the case then just where had he been? And how…)

(Don’t think about it.)

And finally the most important thing: why the hell was he on the floor of all things? Urgh. (Even if he did have a rather nicely done rug that he had stitched together all by himself in his spare time –thank you very much- covering the cold hardwood beneath that was still asking for any variety of aches and pains that would hit him the very moment he sat up.) Had he had a nightmare and accidentally rolled out of bed? Well, that would explain the vague sense of creeping dread that lingered at the fringes of his mind. As if he were forgetting something important.

(Don’t think about it.)

(It had been a while since he’d had a nightmare, now that he thought about it. Truly, when had been the last time he’d woken up in a cold sweat with the air all knotted up in his chest as he struggled to breathe. Hand outstretched as he continued to reach for out for his mother grandfather but was never quite able to catch as it faded to black. How he bit back the silent screams that wanted to escape as so not to wake his sisters or his old man with the noise. But didn’t he live alone? He was an only child after all and -outside of brief snippets brought about some by rather extenuating circumstances- he hadn’t actually held a conversation with his father in literal ages. Calling their relationship strained would be generous at the best of times and it would seem as they would never even have a chance to mend it because the very last time he had saw the man it had been as he was fishing the silvered arrow out from his emaciated corpse-)

(Hold on a second, even in the middle of the night it was never this quiet at his house. Where were the soft sounds of his sisters puttering about? The thuds of old goat-face as he trounced about getting himself ready for another long day at the clinic? Hell, he couldn’t even hear Kon as he scurried about doing god-knows-what like the little menace he was. Also his room looked nothing like this? Where the fuck was he???)

“Ichigo. Oh my god, just shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” He groused, staring blankly up at his ceiling.

…Wait.

(…Ishida?)

“…Ichigo???”

…Oh shit.

He jerked up (ignoring the rolling twist of his stomach as he did so) with a gasp as the feeling of hot knives were suddenly being rammed through his skull as he they thought about it.

Clutching at his head as if his life depended on it, short breaths hissed through gritted teeth as the fiery static subsided leaving a bitterly cold ache in its wake. He let out a hysterical half-sob as things continued to click into place as he remembered.

And oh dear sweet god did he remember.

(‘That…that was just a nightmare?’ It wasn’t. ‘All of that actually happened?’ Yeah…)

And now? After suffering through all of …that… they were just –what- shunted off to some alternate dimension? Thrown back in in time? Or maybe he genuinely had went mad from the stress of all those battle and what he was experiencing now was all just a dying dream as the void slowly consumed his soul.

(How morbid.)

But…

But if they truly had made it back…

Turned back the swing of the pendulum to before…

(Before Aizen had made his grandiose move. Before Yhwach rose up from the millennia old shadows with his army to enact his revenge. Before the subsequent collision. Before he failed so thoroughly at his role as a protector, swept up instead by the whims of supposed fate. Before he foolishly sought a place at the royal bastard’s side just so he could drive a stake in his deadened heart at the first chance. Before their thoughtlessness got everyone killed.)

He had to be certain. He had to check.

(Quick get your phone, check it! Hurry!)

The mad dash for the device had his sock-clad feet slip up on the bare hardwood and in the process he smacked his arm into the bedside table before he caught himself on its edge. Ignoring the bruise that was sure to form, he swiped the object from its charging dock. With a sense of trepidation, he flipped it open, wide eyes scanning for the date and stared.

There on the digital readout they stood, the numbers a stark contrast against his pale background. Right now, it was currently three-fifteen in the morning, around two years off from the date he last remembered. It hadn’t been a dream.

(It wasn’t a dream. They were back. Oh my god-)

At a loss for words, he let the device clatter to the ground, bonelessly following suit as he was slowly but surely consumed by the sort of numb disassociation that came from experiencing two weeks’ worth of repressed emotions from a lost future all at once.

He stared blankly at his hands.

They were shaking.

(I can’t believe it, we’re really back! This means that bondage-fucker’s plan actually worked holy fuck-)

Yeah, great.

The indistinct weight of another’s attention, shifting at the edge of one’s perception that could be felt but only just so. The subtle widening of eyes unseen.

(Ah, hey Uryū you good?)

Was he…good?

(Okay, yep. Stupid question. Ah…)

A wince trailed by conciliatory motion. The throes of night given substance, black-as-pitch and impossibly heavy but so very kind. This presence settled tentatively upon his shoulders. (Because of course he would; that even like this he would prioritize others over himself because that’s just who Ichigo was. Even if it was in part because of your own actions that led to everyone else getting killed –himself included- he’d still have the heart to treat you like a care-worn quilt. Even if you didn’t really deserve it.)

His breath hitched.

(Hey, easy, none of that now. I need you to do something for me, real important. Yeah? Think you can manage it?)

What?

(Okay, so I’m gonna need you to breathe in to the count of five, hold it, then release. Could you do that for me?)

He grimaced faintly. Why was he asking him to do something so asinine?

(Don’t question it dumbass. Just do it. Yeah, just like that. In…)

And so he did, despite feeling like a total idiot, the teen continued follow along to the beat of the other’s directions. But even so, he couldn’t help but notice as the knot in his chest seemed to lessen a bit more with every passing moment.

(Hold it. Keep at it. You’re doing fine.)

Ah, wait. He was having a panic attack wasn’t he? Like himself, Ichigo grew up among medical staff so it figures that he would have some sense of what to do if something like this occurred. (So why was it that he couldn’t have remembered the steps himself and spared them both the trouble of having to sit through something like this? How pathetic.)

(…And release. There. Now, you holding up a bit better?)

As he came back to himself, the presence drew back slightly but lingered around the edge of perception, almost as if uncertain whether or not to leave him be. Regardless, he didn’t quite trust the stability of his voice at the moment so in lieu of that he aimed a wave of weary appreciation in the other’s general vicinity. And judging by the sensation of a terse nod not his own, he understood.

(Okay? So…we’re in the past. Or an alternate dimension. Or…something. Holy shit. Okay, focus. Now. What do we do next? We can’t fuck this up like we did last time. So the main thing now is: we need a plan.)

“Mhm.” He agreed, blearily allowing gravity to draw him back down to the floor. The teen let himself sink into the soft blue-and-white rug. Face somewhat muffled, he said: “I’m open to suggestions.”

So, following Ichigo’s lead, they began to hash things out with the starting bullet point being the one thing they did know and then tacked on to that.

(Now, just so we’re clear, this is all operating under those previously mentioned assumptions because the alternatives are just…no. Got it?)

A nod.                                                                                          

(Good. Okay, so as it currently stands that whole prophecy shit hasn’t fully come into play yet so we have a little bit of a leeway on that front. The way I figure it, Yhwach won’t be at his full power for another two years –give or take- which gives a set span of time that we can use for preparation. We’ll need every second of it too because, realistically, any hope we have right now of just offing him and being done with it we probably can’t feasibly pull off.)

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.” He said into the carpet only to earn the feeling of a mildly annoyed look and gentle thwack on his already aching head. He rolled his eyes with a grumble as the other –satisfied that there would be no further interruption- settled.

(As I was saying: That’s because I guarantee you the moment we do try poking around a bit, we risk not only setting his entire Quincy army on us but any fumbling with that will probably alert the Gotei 13 and by extension Sōsuke. We can’t forget that right now he has that bullshit hypnosis spell over everyone over there because he’s still pretending to be a good guy or whatever. ‘Sides, you and me both know how badly we’d get our collective ass kicked trying to solo a war against three different armies at the same time.)

Not that they still wouldn’t try if things ever came to that.

But, still, priorities.

“We don’t exactly know the full scope of their resources or capabilities right now nor have we really had the chance to take stock of our own situation. I mean, it was kind of a mess toward the end there so how can we be sure of what carried over and what didn’t?” Dark eyes squinted up at the ceiling as he rolled over and proceeded to ignore the severe headache behind his eyes from the motion. He could curl into a ball and wish he was dead later there were more important things to deal with right now.

“There’s also the added mess of how we’re gonna find a place where we could feasibly test them out without everyone and their mother coming to snoop.” Maybe they could see about sneaking into his father’s practice range? But then again, that ran the risk of drawing the elder Quincy’s attention and then he would –urgh- actually have to talk to his dad.

(Right. Because that would definitely lead to some awkward questions. Good point. Uh, hey Uryū what do you figure would happen if you were to square up two instances of something like “The Almighty” against one another? Would they be matched and cancel each other out or would that, like, break reality or something?)

They contemplated this for a second before deciding it was something to come back to later.

(So training and then what? More spy shit? Scoping things out?...Maybe going to grab you some painkillers or something?)

Ignoring that last jab he let his eyes fall shut, “I was thinking more along the lines of gathering allies.” He could sense the other perk up a bit. “On the Quincy side of things, I know for certain that there’s at least one person we could probably convince to join our cause and that could potentially give us an in to what the others are doing right now.” He carded his hand through the carpet’s fibers, blue-&-white wool soft against callused fingers. “Not only that, but we’d also have to find some way to sway your Reaper friends to our side. Because I hate to say it but without their added firepower the chances of us actually pulling off this little venture are next to nil. Whatever we do, we have to make sure it’s done right from the very outset if we want any of it to go according to plan. ”

(Urgh, check your phrasing dude. The way that you said it there makes it feel like you’re trying to pull off a bootleg Sōsuke impression or something. Gross.)

With his free hand the teen flipped him off.

(Alright, sheesh. Don’t bite my head off. Anyways… So to sum it all up: The main issue we’re facing right now is lack of resources and we can’t do much until we have more info on how to go about getting those resources and so as it stands we’ll probably have to wing it until can be sure there are people in our corner that we can trust to get this shit done.)

“Yeah. Basically.”

(…We’ve done more with worse odds.)

 “…That’s not very comforting, Ichigo.”

(I know but it’s all I’ve got so deal with it.)

The mutual urge of wanting to stick a tongue out at the other was a strong one and he would have probably followed through on it if his stomach hadn’t picked that exact moment to turn over on itself. He stifled a moan as he rode it out, hand clenching and unclenching with every wave of pain. Shit. Was it just him or was it warmer in there than usual? To distract himself from heat licking at his veins (and the increasing wave of concern he could feel radiating out from the other) he offered: “B-But on the brightside I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones who remember any of this anyway. So unlike everyone else we’re not starting at zero. We have the advantage.”

(…Right, okay. That brings us to up to what stuff we could change and what we probably shouldn’t.)

He nodded. “True, if we change too much that could be bad too. All that knowledge would be useless and…” Just the very thought of seeing the others have to face a world worse off than the one prior left a lump in his throat. (No. Absolutely not. That cannot be allowed to happen. I’ll protect them, this time.)

(I won’t watch them die again. I r e f u s e.)

Swallowing thickly, the sensation of bile built at the back of his throat alongside a groan. He pressed his palms to his eyes and let out a curse, low and vehement. His body was already feeling like an overused pincushion and this sure as hell didn’t help any. He couldn’t deny it any longer, something was wrong. Of course being thrown into an alternate past what-have-you as they had been would have some sort of cost because why wouldn’t it? God, nothing could ever be easy for them, could it?

And then there was Ichigo hovering behind his eyes, the other teen’s agitation practically overflowing from the writhing mass of eventide-in-shadowy dark. The balmy presence pressed forward, likely spurred on by his waning attention. He could feel the unspoken question on the other’s non-existent lips.–

Was he okay?

–So he hurriedly pushed himself up and bolted for the bathroom to release the meager contents of his stomach.

To which the answer was: No. He was not.