#hes just got Clues and Hints and Unease

[sirensongster]

"There was a further obliging flash, which found him looking directly into the little yellow eyes of the Patrician, who was clawing patiently at the side of his glass jar. It was a gentle, mindless scrabbling, as if the little lizard wasn't particularly trying to get out but was just vaguely interested in seeing how long it would take to wear the glass away." - Sourcery

i was looking through for vetinari characterization, gotta properly research the night watch fic (its becoming a Thesis. help), and jfc. bro was in glass solitary confinement for a week or two. just scrabbling at glass, for lack of literally anything else to do. did the librarian even feed him?? he had to have, right??? Thats what he gets for yelling in the presence of a sourcerer ig, but god damn.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FOOLISH SPRING WINDS, BLOW MY WAY ; SATORU GOJO

summary; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo — who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends (..but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided), fluffy n sweet overall, satoru doesn’t know how to make friends + thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, he’s a little shit but he means well, switching povs, lots of gojo slander (but reader sees the light eventually), big shoujo vibes, they’re both tsunderes <33

a/n; i ended up scrapping the series i wrote this fic for originally, so i thought i’d rewrite it and repost it on its own!! teentoru is such a grumpy little kitten i need to squish his paws

satoru gojo is annoying.

it might seem blunt, but after many weeks of careful thinking, you’ve decided no description could possibly fit him better. 

when you first met him, on that first day of school, you had no idea what to think. no real expressions or tonal shifts to clue you in on who he was, how he felt — nothing but the slightest peek of a terrifying blue to set your nerves on edge. 

in hindsight, you’re almost certain it was intentional. he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand — observing you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his surname. 

it’s a kind of power; a safety measure.

… but evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. the very next morning, he was already beginning to loosen up, after getting more accustomed to the new environment and classmates. showing you his true colours; just a little hint of cerulean, a single dip of paint on the blank canvas of his soul.

and with the revelation of his genuine personality — your unease around him festered even more.

where could you even begin to describe him? for one, he’s childish. and cocky. and loud. arrogant, selfish and flamboyant — just generally an asshole? you could go on and on. none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly up to something, eager to push someone’s buttons, to get attention. like a bratty toddler. uninterested in manners, or even common courtesy; he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it. 

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless. 

as if that wasn’t annoying enough — you have no choice but to admit that he does have a certain presence to him. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though. you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall. freaky, long limbs. like a noodle and an alien had a baby.

but, more than anything — above all else — what frustrates you most is the fact that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it… gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those baby blues eyes and those snowy locks of hair. and he has no issue getting what he wants. 

absolutely zero. 

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way. like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. you can only assume he’s never given much thought to the prospect of being a decent guy, because that’s the only thing he sucks at.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

… annoying is still the most fitting word, though. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone, in his entire life. 

and, yes — maybe you’re being a little harsh to him. but why should you bother being jovial when he won’t return the favour?

gojo is annoying; and when you say that, you mean annoying to basically everyone. as a basis for existing. always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. you’re no exception to this rule, of course. but you’re almost certain that he has it out for you specifically.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re sure of it.

compared to geto or shoko, you aren’t very self-assured — and you think he must have sensed it the moment he laid eyes on you. sensed that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease. 

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin. it started as soon as introductions were over, and it still hasn’t gotten better. he loves catching you off guard, throwing you an unneeded comment or two, just to see what reaction you’ll give him next. almost like he’s solving an equation — said equation being you, the limit of your patience. and you keep giving him what he wants; a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. you can never seem to successfully ignore him. he’s just far, far too good at being insufferable.

… and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. even when you try to get along with him, it backfires. you don’t have a single thing in common. you don’t understand him at all. 

(and that suits you just fine.)

a heavy sigh slips from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the surface of the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, your mind muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts and discomforting feelings.

you’re exhausted. completely and utterly spent, even though the day’s barely begun — running on three pitiful hours of sleep, all broken up and jumbled by nightmares that wouldn’t stop spooking you. not a single wink of proper rest. 

and it’s painfully obvious. in your face, your posture, the dark crescents beneath your eyes; in the way you can’t help but drag your legs as you walk, your hair disheveled, little sighs and grumbles slipping from your lips for every step you take. all you can do is sluggishly blink the exhaustion away.

you just feel so tired.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, no real reason to get out of your comfy bed, leave the safety of your cozy little dorm room. but you need breakfast, right now, or else you’ll literally explode — so you still get up on shaky legs and try to mimic the appearance of someone… even moderately well-rested.

it doesn’t work, but that’s besides the point. 

so you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen. walking idly — clumsily — enjoying the sight of fleeting, fluttering cherry blossoms through the windows you pass. little pink butterflies.

once you’ve crossed the threshold, you’re relieved to find the open space entirely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, not even a mischievous gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world — but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t want anyone seeing you like this, tired and meek, a little vulnerable.

(least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.)

with laboured, groggy movements, you waltz around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. enjoying the soothing melody of the pan sizzling, singing along to the purring of espresso being made. it’s nice and pleasant to your sensitive ears, as you blink under the rays of sunlight shining in, throwing together a lazy breakfast. 

you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables once you’re finished. eager to soak in the peace and quiet, wolf down a sandwich and copious amounts of caffeine.

but, as always — the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes out across the open air is a chipper one, a familiar one. a voice you were desperately hoping not to hear today. 

all you can do is continue to sip from your cup of coffee, inwardly wincing, silently going through all five stages of grief simultaneously — before accepting your unfortunate predicament. 

(that’s just your luck, isn’t it?)

finally, you raise your weary head, knowing exactly what sight you’ll be met with once you do. 

and, lo and behold — there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, a little woflish, wearing those ugly sunglasses and making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, hate and worship at the same time. he plops down next to you like it’s nothing, a little too close for comfort, unconcerned about your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in that sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s a teasing tilt to it, too — the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

under normal circumstances, you’d flip him off. maybe even just glare at him, silently, or raise a brow in challenge.

but you’re far, far too tired to. too anxious. too in need of sleep, in need of a peaceful breakfast that he oh so cruelly ripped from you. all you can muster is the energy to glance his way.

for just a second, your eyes meet. not like you can actually see them, from behind his glasses — but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny, bright and excited. too much to handle, right now.

”… morning.”

as soon as the mutter has left your lips, you take a tentative bite of your sandwich. gaze trailing sluggishly back to your plate.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff — but no such luck. 

you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, study your face, the way those twitchy fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of the cup you’re drinking out of. the way your eyes shift from place to place, unfocused, your eyelids flicking shut every couple seconds. slow.

he’s always been observant — but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired. 

gojo is silent, for no more than a mere moment; contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before. did something happen?

…

(— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.)

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, a little teasing, showing off the white of his teeth. even though you look out of it, he can’t help himself — despite his own intuition telling him to let you be. 

you’re just too fun to tease. suguru and shoko only ever raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog, but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, distract him when his mind is too full of noise. 

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness inside his chest.

but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets. 

what he expects is for you to glare at him. tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation — either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day. 

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. that traitor. shoko is nowhere to be seen, either, probably off smoking in some random alleyway. or hanging out with one of the kyoto losers.

… the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years… but maybe he’d feel just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while after waking up, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. no one to talk to, no one to look at. he was practically dying of boredom. but then he entered the kitchen — and saw his saving grace. his dear little irritable classmate. 

he was so relieved. content in the knowledge that he’d get to push your buttons to his heart’s desire, bask in your playful banter and cold, joking little looks until suguru finally comes home.

only this time — you don’t react at all. 

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. you just keep eating your breakfast, and drinking your coffee, in total silence. 

gojo waits, just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything. 

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows, as his glossy, cherry-tasting lips curl down into a little pout.

honestly, he’s kind of annoyed. just what is your problem? what is with you, today? 

… it’s no fun if you’re not playing along. 

gojo can’t help but grumble, a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

…

whatever. so what if you’re not talking to him? so what if you won’t even spare him a glance? gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. 

not even a little bit.

…

but, really — would it take so much effort for you to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired. 

or, what — did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive… are you? or is that it? 

what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. he knows you know. so why are you acting so…. 

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it can reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you, not right now — doesn’t want to feel that discomforting pang in his chest.)

a strange sensation bubbles up in his chest. something frustrated, a little unnerved; at your lack of a reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more. 

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

(… it’s fun when you do.)

the silence lingers on, stretches out across the room, festers and grows as you gulp down your breakfast. all while gojo keeps on sulking, still sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, but you pay no mind to it; methodically washing your dishes in silence. 

you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either. still sitting there, seemingly deep in thought, grumbling something under his breath. 

he watches as you leave, gaze trailing after you, until you’re completely out of sight. 

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried so hard not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek, meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

this time, no nightmares came to haunt you. having practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, your body finally decided to give you some peace of mind, some well needed rest. thankfully.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs — enjoying the feeling of your veins waking up, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than enough to give you the little jolt of energy that you need.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time just rotting in bed — maybe you could take a walk around the schoolyard instead? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and the grounds of the school are just littered with them.

even just the mental image is enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, reaching a hand out to push your door open. excitement stirring in your veins.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

all you hear is a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of something colliding with the door. a low curiosity overtakes you — eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place, just laying unassumingly on the dusty floorboards. as you crouch down to get a better look, you recognize it instantly; a small carton of strawberry milk. a plastic straw plastered on its side, and an evil looking cow mascot staring at you from the front. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines — your personal favorite. you drink it every time you need a tiny pick-me-up, the sweet taste always managing to soothe your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it, silently, in deep contemplation. holding it in your hand as the gears turn inside your head. could someone have dropped it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

… did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

…

your mind stills. 

(no way.)

when you think about it — that’s the only explanation that makes sense. shoko and geto aren’t there, and you barely know any of your senior students. yaga-sensei would never give you strawberry milk without a lecture on the dangers of cavities, either.

that just leaves one possible culprit.

but you can’t wrap your head around it. why would he do something like that? he doesn’t like you — you know that much. so it couldn’t possibly be him.

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you like it, contrary to your other classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto wouldn’t go for strawberry milk if he could choose something else. it might as well be the only thing you and gojo have in common — the one thing that binds you two together. 

a single carton of strawberry milk. 

it’s almost comical.

(if it’s really true — if he really did do it… then you wonder why. maybe he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy. 

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you, to believe that it’s true — if only because you kinda like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. 

where could he be? in the kitchen, still? in his dorm?

just as you begin to wonder, a flash of white dances in the corners of your vision. when you glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud, in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about. 

you stop.

then you start walking again. with more decision, this time. hurrying to the exit.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging idly as he gazes at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin. pink petals dance all around him, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking. 

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights, instantly regretting your decision. blinking nervously. you walked here almost entirely on impulse, but now that you’re face to face…

(it’s a little scary.)

… still, it’s far too late to back out now. you can’t do much except join him, so that’s exactly what you do — albeit a little hesitantly.

trying to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. feeling the steady bench beneath you, breathing in the scent of sweet-smelling cherries and soap.

an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something. 

it’s a little tough. mustering up the courage to say anything, even just to face him. the decisiveness you felt just a moment ago has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re too nervous to verbalize anything.

but eventually, after a deep breath or two, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” 

it’s almost a whisper. soft and fragile, mumbled beneath your breath as you stare at the cherry trees in front of you. you know his eyes are on you, though. you can feel them, almost feel their weight in the palm of your hand. like marbles.

weakly, you raise up the carton of strawberry milk. glancing over at him, not quite managing a smile, but trying your best to look somewhat appreciative. 

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back up at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. 

then he turns his head away, swiftly, his hair tousled by the movement — a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard him speak through.

when you look a little closer — you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. it makes your lips curl up into a small smile, but you barely feel it.

(like this, he’s actually kind of cute.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow his bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but you can’t help but stare, as sneakily as you can muster.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. fleeting, hard to get a grasp on, so pretty, and so out of reach — despite being so close. 

if you wanted to, you could reach over and touch him. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul — and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you, straight away, blooming on your tongue. you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing even further — it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles, a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate. 

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes, as they float up into the sky; as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light. 

gojo is the first one to break it — in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”… you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher the sudden statement. you can’t get a good read on his expression, with those eyes of his conveniently hidden; he must have regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place. 

and you burst into laughter.

gojo blinks at you, caught off guard, his eyelashes flapping like a little dove scrambling to get off the ground — staring at you like you just grew a second head. that makes you laugh harder, a bout of giggles spilling past your lips — you just can’t help it. 

”did —” you wheeze, softly, thoroughly amused. trying and failing to bite back the laughter. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you. a little stunned, for a moment. the sight only makes your smile bloom further, eyes crinkled as you meet his gaze. from the angle you’re viewing him through, leaning back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes. they’re awfully pretty — blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, tiny splotches of white. 

they look like the blue sky. 

you called them menacing, before, but now you aren’t so sure. they seem soft, in the sunlight, especially when seen like this — right after catching him off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious. something to savour.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though. 

after a moment of two, he scoffs — turning away yet again. a soft, soft pout on his lips.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding nothing but irritated, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you. now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly — the tips of his ears turning redder at the sound. 

(he really isn’t so bad, after all.)

for a while, you don’t say anything else. afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than ever before — and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees. childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you’re starting to think that you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet. a little sweeter than usual, though you choose not to dwell on it.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. not dishonest.

you suspect that gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you aren’t sure. after all, you’re vehemently avoiding his gaze — a little embarrassed by your own sincerity. 

he doesn’t know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel unsure of himself. your tone is soft, almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you again. as always. afraid to let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though, more of a vaguely amused huff than anything. 

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you only chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.” 

gojo should be irked, should grumble and bite back, but you don’t give him the chance to. 

”i just… you know,” you taste the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”… and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.” 

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little flustered. gnawing on your bottom lip.

”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap. feeling a heat on your nape.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all. 

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust off your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation. 

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex — before he has to accept that it exists. only this time, he doesn’t succeed. the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. he hears them loud and clear.

and he flushes under the light of the sun.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.) 

what actually ends up leaving his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. 

”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered. it doesn’t.

one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

tossing the now-empty carton into a trash can, you try to calm yourself down. feeling oddly excited, as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. but you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him. there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye, hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes, a blur of colours and facial features, sparks and dots.

you wonder if the whole world looks like a painting, to him. 

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities. it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement. to see how well it holds up. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it. it’s there, despite everything — in those eyes, in that single carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention. all eyes on him, at all times. 

you think that sounds just a little exhausting. 

even as you return to the safety of your dorm room, you still can’t help but wonder. there’s still so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach. almost lonely, in a way. you wonder what he looks like, when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. 

(what is an actor without their audience?)

and, despite everything, after all is said and done — you really, really don’t understand satoru gojo. not at all, not in the slightest. not one bit.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

[anakinskwkler]

The jewel and the blade

Summary: Anakins fear to be vulnerable with the princess leads to a distance in their friendship.

The soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the princess’s chambers. The air was thick with the scent of fresh vanilla, and the gentle hum of the castle outside hinted that it was a calm day. The Princess lay still beneath her blue, silken sheets, her chest rising and falling in a serene slumber, oblivious to the world outside.

Standing near the doorway, Anakin skywalker, her royal knight, kept a watchful eye. His posture was rigid, his armor gleaming in the morning light, yet his expression was calm—an unwavering sentinel at the princess’s side. His thoughts, though, remained on his duty, not on the quiet stirrings of the day.

The door creaked open softly as the princess’s handmaidens entered, their whispers breaking the stillness. Their presence was a signal of the day’s start, and without a word, they moved to her bedside, ready to rouse her from sleep. Anakin's gaze flicked to them briefly, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes, before returning to his protective stance.

But as the handmaidens’ gentle hands stirred the princess awake, Anakin's eyes stayed on her figure before the door slowly shut. The quick eye contact they had made in that moment had sparked that bit of tension that was always bubbling when they were around eachother.

The princess slowly woke, the soft morning light streaming into her room. Her handmaidens quietly entered, moving to her side to help her prepare for the day.

She got dressed into a pale, lavender gown made from silk. The dress fit her figure well, it was quite flattering on her. Her handmaidens put half her hair into a bun while the rest fell over her shoulders. The Princess put a pair of elegant slippers and opened the door to her room, her eyes meeting anakins soft blue eyes.

Anakin stood at the door, waiting silently. His posture was straight, his expression calm, but there was something tense in the way he carried himself.

The princess looked up at him. “Good morning, Anakin.”

“Good morning, Princess,” he replied, his voice even. They began to walk down the hall to the stairs, on their way to the dining room.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You’ve seemed distant lately.”

Anakin hesitated, his eyes briefly shifting away. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

She studied him for a moment, sensing that something was troubling him more than he let on. “You don’t have to hide it from me, Anakin. If something’s wrong, you can talk about it.”

Anakin’s gaze flicked to hers, and for a second, he looked like he might say more. But instead, he shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s my duty to keep you safe. That’s all that matters.”

The princess didn’t press further, but she didn’t believe him. She could feel the unease in the air, and though she didn’t know what it meant, she knew something was coming.

Anakin would usually be open with the princess, he'd rarely talk this formal with her unless they were in the company of others so it was quite strange.

Hours later, The princess was making her way to the garden when she saw anakin already sitting on the bench facing the small fountain. He was sitting alone, just staring off into the distance in thought. Something was wrong with him but she had no clue what.

She watched him from afar for a few moments before slowly walking up behind him. He felt her presence and slightly straighten himself and focusing his eyes. She sat beside him, not saying a word.

"Anakin.." she spoke quietly.

"Yes milady?" He answered, not making eye contact.

"I told you to call me by my name." She urged once more like she did often.

"I know, I'm sorry..Y/n.." He said as he looked at her finally.

She looked back at him, his eyes had a tinge of sadness and longing. The blue eyes that were usually bright, and welcoming, were now dull, and lost.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked in a curious tone.

"Of course,"

"Whats going on is your mind?" She blurted out.

He wasn't very shocked, only slightly surprised at how she asked. His eyes looked away, back at the piece of grass he was fidgeting with. "I told you earlier, nothing. I'm fine"

"Anakin-" She started before he cut her off, "Y/n, i said I'm fine. Please drop it." He said in a firm voice.

He had only spoken like this to people who had been disrespectful or rude to her, but had never actually used it on her. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him, the expression on his face was one she hadn't seen, he looked lost.

Days went by and Anakin's attitude remained the same. The princess felt hopeless, watching the man she secretly loved look so deep in despair. The feeling to hold, and comfort him got stronger each day, making it hard not to ask what was troubling him.

The both of them found themselves in the library late that night, sitting across from each other while reading books. Little did anakin know, the princess had put her book down a while ago, now she was just staring, admiring him.

He felt her gaze on him and looked up, meeting her curious eyes. "Yes?" He asked with a soft chuckle. That was the first happy emotion he'd shown in a few days, it warmed her heart to hear. "Sorry.." she said, cheeks tinting with a pink shade.

"Everything alright?" He asked, "No.." she answered. "No? What's bothering you?" He said, placing him book down. "You. The way you've been so detached lately." She told him honestly.

He sat up straight at the confrontation, clearing his throat and becoming stand off-ish again. "I haven't been-"

"Yes you have, anakin!" She interrupted, "You've been talking to me like I'm my parents, you've been less talkative, you have no emotions other than sad, and you haven't been the Anakin i like to be around. She ranted.

He didn't speak for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "It was the anniversary." He said simply, she looked at him with a confused looked, "Two days ago was the anniversary of my mom's death."

Her heart sank. How could she have forgotten. "Anakin im s-" "Don't be. I'm fine." He said looking down. "Anakin, I'm sorry. I..I forgot. I'm sorry I've been pestering you, I just- i didn't understand why you didn't want to be around me." She told him, hoping he'd look at her.

It was silent. Awkward, and silent.

"That day...that day I did terrible things because I let my emotions take over me and i-" He took a breath, "I don't want to let them take over again." He continued.

"Is that why you've been so distant?" She asked softly, he nodded in response. "I was afraid. Afraid I might breakdown." He confessed.

"Anakin you could've-" "I can't be weak in front of you, y/n. I just can't." He said firmly, looking up at her for a moment before looking back down to hide his glassy eyes.

"Being weak around you means letting you in farther, any time that happens...I lose them." He stood up and started to walk towards the door. She stood after and rushed towards him, gently grabbing his first to stop him, "anakin, don't leave. Please.." he stopped for a moment, glancing at her over his shoulder before turning away again.

"Anakin please, talk to me...you can be vulnerable, it's normal." She told him with hope in her eyes. "Im not supposed to be weak-" "it's not weak, anakin!" She interrupted "Being vulnerable is a brave thing to do, meaning you're strong. So please...just open up." She pleaded, voice cracking like the crackle of the candles lighting the library.

"I have to go, Princess." He said firmly before pulling his arm away and walking to his chambers.

First post in a whileeee and I'm so sorry!!

Have had this brewing for a few days now

This is the first part of this story BTW!

I HATE the fact that i used y/n multiple times but also hated saying princess repeatedly so 🤷‍♀️

Also happy early valentines day!

@saradika for the dividers!

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Cross My Heart, I Regret It

Bangchan x Gn!Reader

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

Chan awoke to the dull throb of a headache pressing against his skull, the remnants of last night’s drunken haze still weighing heavily on him. His limbs felt unreasonably warm, cocooned in something soft, something that smelled vaguely familiar- like vanilla and lavender.

Like you.

He shifted, the feeling of the sheets...different. 

Missing the protective barrier of clothes; the sheets tickled his skin.

His breath hitched.

His eyes snapped open, and the moment he registered the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, the familiar yet unfamiliar dresser besides, and his lack of clothing his stomach twisted with unease.

This wasn’t his apartment.

This wasn’t his bed.

This was yours.

A sinking feeling settled in his chest as he sat up slowly, scanning the room with growing dread. As he pulled the sheets up to his chest.

"What the hell. Why am I..."

Before he could fully process the implications of where he was, the state he was in, and what exactly had happened, the door creaked open.

There you stood- arms crossed, expression unreadable, fatigue evident in the subtle droop of your shoulders. Your gaze met his, cold and steady. Hands gripping pain killers.

A throb went through his head.

“You’re awake.”

Your voice was devoid of any inflection that would give him an hint of what you were feeling.

Chan swallowed thickly. “Y...Yeah.”

A heavy silence stretched between you, dense with unspoken words. He searched your face for something—anything- that might clue him in on how bad things - or what things - had gotten between you two. But you gave him nothing.

He shifted again, the feel of your sheets way to prominent to not ask.

"D-Did we-"

"No." You said slamming the medication onto the bedside table. "You just get too comfortable don't you?" You say, irritated grin settling in your face. "And you listen as well as a 2 year old when your drunk."

"H-huh...?"

Then, it hit him.

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

You had been kind enough - reluctant, but kind - to let him sleep on your couch. Since by the time you got to the dorms from that spot on the sidewalk he had yet to sober up. And he felt like a bit much to just hand off to the boys.

And a small part of you wanted to dissect that look in his eyes, that tone of voice when he promised he was okay.

Maybe because it reminded you of yourself.

And, in his drunken stupor, he had agreed to stay on the couch, much to his dismay.

Or so you had thought.

Somewhere in the midst of his hazy, liquor-clouded mind, Chan had decided that the couch was too far, too cold, too unfamiliar.

He wanted to be near you. He knew in the back of his mind you were still mad at him.

YN-ah will be mad...but...they won't care that much right?

He pouted.

YN-ah is nice...they'll let me sleep on the bed too.

As he made his way towards your room, he decided needed to use the bathroom. 

I should brush my teeth...hmm...

He grabbed the one and only toothbrush on the counter and as he brushed decided he wasn't comfortable enough.

Do I always leave the heat on? I thought I usually turn it off around this time...

He took off his jacket and then shirt. Rinsing his mouth, opting to put the unrinsed toothbrush on the counter rather back in the cup and made his way towards the bedroom. Stripping of his socks leaving them in in a small trail. 

He had stumbled the bedroom instead, stripping away the last constricting layers of his clothing with the singular goal of seeking comfort.

He crawled into the bed and sighed, comfort surrounding him like a hug.

The next thing he remembered was your scream, sharp and panicked, piercing through the darkness like a siren’s wail.

“CHRISTOPHER BANG, WHAT THE HELL?!”

His vision had been blurry, his limbs heavy, but he had barely managed to register your horrified expression before-

Smack!

Your palm met his bare shoulder with enough force to sober him up by half.

“What is wrong with you?!” you had seethed, your hands flailing as you shoved a blanket at his very naked self. “I told you to sleep on the couch!”

Chan, still half-conscious, had only mumbled incoherently, attempting to pull the blanket higher over himself. “S’cold.”

“Oh, you’ll be cold when I throw your stupid ass outside.”

Despite your rage, despite the deep scowl on your face, you had begrudgingly dragged the blanket over him and turned on your heel, muttering curses under your breath as you stormed out, slamming the door shut behind you.

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

Chan groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. Yeah. That explained a lot.

He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly under the blanket. “Y/N...”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The sharp finality in your tone made something in his chest tighten. He exhaled, watching as you rubbed your temples, as if just the sight of him was giving you a migraine.

Which made him rack his brain for other explanations of your behavior.

Did I do something worse...? Say something worse?

“There’s a hangover cure on the desk,” you continued, motioning next to him. “Drink it, shower, get dressed, leave, and pretend this never happened.”

Chan straightened slightly, tension creeping into his posture. “Can we-”

“No.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

For the first time, something flickered across your face. Something unreadable, something almost hesitant. But it was gone just as quickly.

“I don’t have to know what you were going to say.”

It shouldn’t have hurt. But it did.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

Silence.

And then, softer than before, you murmured, “I don’t hate you.”

Chan stilled.

His breath caught, his body going rigid at the weight of your words. But before he could speak, before he could even think to reach for you, you took a step back. creating distance, setting an invisible line he knew better than to cross.

“Just…don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

"Y/N hear me out-"

"I can't do this-"

"Y/N I'm sorry-"

"Chris, I said no-"

"Y/N please just give me two-"

"You said you loved me!" You blurt out loudly. Your voice wavering and tears almost immediately spilling.

"Wait-what...what do you..."

His mind was reeling.

Did I really...

He took a breath.

"You know how you always used to tell me drunk actions are sober thoughts..." You said, trying to bring levity to the situation. But Chan knew there wasn't much to the humor you tried to project in your voice.

“You said…you loved me last night,” you said, your voice shaky as you spoke.

Your chest tightened with the weight of the words, but you forced yourself to say them anyway. Your throat knotted with tears.

“When you were drunk. You said it all the way home. A-And you clung to me and...and I- I hate myself, you know that? Because..." You swallowed. "When...when you said it, I actually believed you for a second. I wanted to believe you. I wanted to hear it. I needed to hear it. After everything, I thought maybe, just maybe, you were finally reciprocating my feelings.”

Chan's chest constricted as he saw you look at him. 

"YN-ah..."

You swallowed hard pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“But I’m so stupid, Chris. I’m so fucking stupid for even considering that you meant it. Because you didn’t, did you? You were drunk, and you probably didn’t even know what you were saying. Theres no way you could have meant that...right? And I hate myself because I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different between us. That maybe you could be more than my friend but- but it was so final when I confessed and I know that. I know it's not like that between us, that it can't be-"

By this point your emotions were getting a hold of you and Chris quickly pulled on the pants he thrown to the side in habit last night, ignoring the dizziness and deep throb that hit his frontal lobe as he made is way towards you. 

He wrapped his arms around you as you cried.

“You don’t know how hard it is to love someone who doesn’t love you back, though. To stand there, day after day, giving every piece of yourself, hoping one day that they’ll see you. The same way. The same way you see them." You sobbed into his chest, your tears slicking it. "And when you say things like that, when you tell me you love me…it makes me feel like a fool. I feel like I’m the joke, like I’m being played with. And that’s on me, isn’t it? Because you already told me you couldn't - didn't.”

You tried pulling back but Chan held you to his chest.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..." He murmured, running his hand through your hair.

“I can’t do this. I can’t let you come in and out of my life, like it’s nothing. I told myself I wouldn’t take you back. Not even as a friend. Because I can’t keep wanting to give when you can’t even reciprocate. I can’t keep putting myself in a situation where I’m constantly drained by someone who isn't capable of loving me the way I love them.”

Chris swallowed, and the one thought that came to the forefront of his mind-

I can.

I...

Do.

He realized that here, holding you.

But he couldn't admit it in a setting like this.

Your voice broke with the weight of everything you had been holding in, and you almost couldn’t say the next part, as you pulled back. “Do you know how much it hurts to wait for something that’ll never come?”

"I regret it. Everyday, I regret it Y/N-ah."

Why was I so fucking dumb? Did I ruin what could have been? Why am I only realizing now Y/N is all I want. All I need.

"Every. Single. Day. I swear on it."

You stood there, trying to draw in a shaky breath. 

"I was wrong, to say that. To lie so easily." Chan let out. "It's only obvious that I was lying to myself now. And I don't know how to fix this. I want to. But I don't know how." He bit his lips nervously, as you guys stared at each other for a moment.

You shook your head, tears finally threatening to fall as you met his eyes.

His brown eyes harbored much too many emotions that you had the capacity to unravel at the moment.

“I...can't do this right now." You shook your head. "I need to think and..." You swallowed. "I just...give me time, okay?"

Chan pursed his lips then opened them to say something more, but you shook your head.

"Please."

"Of course." He whispered.

As you made your way into your room to grab your jacket and make your way outside for a walk you hesitated. 

"I...won't ghost you this time." You licked the tears off your lips. You turned to look at him.  "I shouldn't have to begin with. I'm sorry."

"You promise?" He asked quietly.

It seemed as if you were back in time. The night that was catalyst for some of the most miserable weeks of your life. 

You nodded once. "Cross my heart."

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy @my-neurodivergent-world @notastraykid @vietjeb @laughatdanger @shuporanglinos @getyoassoutthetrunk @laine2353 @juliettejwnewinesa @lililixie @captainchrisstan

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Beginning to learn

Adar x reader

Uruk and mortal learn things from one another in this. Suggestive themes.

Written with specifically season 1 Adar in mind.

You wandered the tunnels in search of Adar. There were matters to be discussed but it was like he avoided you.

He had been everywhere others told you to find him but by the time you got there all you were told was "Apologies, lady. Lord Father just left."

It took you almost hours to finally get to him and catch him off gaurd.

"Why do you avoid me?" There was a tone of annoyance to your voice and Adar visibly curled into himself at the directness of your words.

You and Adar were new to relationships, especially of mixed kinds. In the short weeks of knowing and being with each other Adar learned about mortal's routine bleeding. It had sent panic through his entire being as he found you in your chambers reeking of blood and in visible discomfort.

"I am confused as to why you believe I avoid you. The tunnels are close to completion and I am overwhelmed with overseeing it all." You could see he lied. His eyes had a tell. Yes, Adar was busy but it was not work that overwhelmed him.

It was your scent.

"Come take a break, then. If you are so overwhelmed. Calm your mind and eat with me, then you may go again." Even if he lied, it was still clear he was not entirely okay.

Taking a step towards him you caught his arms and pressed yourself against him to leave a kiss on his jaw.

"..Adar?" He was in trouble now, he felt the looming dark void in his mind grow. The voice that spat nothing but filth and hurt. You would be disgusted, how would you not be.

There was no denying you felt what you did with your body flush against his. With a quick glance down you took a step back to look him in the eyes.

"Are you ..aroused by me being near you? Is that why you ran?" You were confused. You and Adar had talked about communication and boundaries before, making sure both of you would voice your concerns.

"It is not that." The air of disgust was now visible to you as well, but it was unclear what is was directed towards. "I need to get used to smelling you in the air. Your current state is affecting me in ways I am sure you are uncomfortable with."

"My current.." You had no clue what he meant, but the idea of him believing you'd be uncomfortable with him being attracted to you was hurting your feelings more than him avoiding you.

"That's not a reason to avoid me. You are allowed to ask such things of me, I'm not afraid to lay with you if that is what you think." With a huff you crossed your arms and waited for a response, but he stayed quiet.

"Adar." You siged and looked at him. "I need you to speak. In clear terms, what is wrong here?"

"I can smell that you are.." You could see Adar search for his words. "Fertile.. Uruk noses are sensitive and I prefer to keep my distance as to not cause you any unease."

At his explaination heat rose to your cheeks. "You can smell that? What else do I need to know that you can just sniff out?"

While you were on one hand embarassed that your body was letting everyone know of something you had no control over, you were also curious to learn more about the uruks.

"There is also arousal, which I catch a slight hint of right now. Does this sort of talk interest you in such ways?" Adar's question made you want to let out a huff of laughter with how he did not seem to understand, but it also saddened you with how undesirable he saw himself.

A smile crept upon your face, now it had become your turn to be shy about things.

"What can I say. I suppose thinking about such things, about doing them with you is affecting me." You gave him an apologetic look, still unsure how he was faring in the moment.

Closeby the sound of a group of uruks drew closer and before you you watched him shake off his current state and hold himself with that leader stature that came naturally to him. "We'll speak more after today's business if attended to. In my chambers. Come find me then." You bid each other farewell and moved on.

Later that day, within the privacy of Adar's chambers you found yourself sat atop his hips. Your garment bunched up at at yours after you had helped him out of his armor and left him in just his tunic and trousers.

Adar's face still held no sign of true enjoyment.

"I am not offending you with any of my actions, am I?" You stopped your already slow ministrations, not wanting to cross a line.

"No, not offensive. I don't want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. Don't feel you must do this because of how my body responded before." One of his hands had come to rest against you, yet still over your garment instead of the skin of your thigh.

"You are not forcing my hand, nor my mind. I do this because I want to. There are no chains that bind me to these tunnels. No shackles that force me into this bed." With the utmost care you took his hand off your clothed waist and placed it on your bare thigh. "I want you. For my own pleasure, and yours."

There was loads of convincing needed to have him put his hands on you more intimately, let alone have his cock inside of you. Sighs of "oh, Adar please.." and "your hands feel so good." Turned into your combined moans as Adar finally gave in to the pleasure he felt. He gave up his control for you to take the lead and with the events from earlier gone from your minds you allowes him to spill inside of you, only realizing once the deed had already been done.

"You know the children you bear won't be fair like you.." The way he spoke sounded like he felt as if he cursed you, but you weren't letting him. Everything he gave you was a blessing, and never a curse.

"Fairness is in the eye of the beholder, my love. And I am sure they will be perfect."

You knew Adar wanted to speak against your words but he stayed quiet, knowing he could not win in this. You loved him and his children with all their flaws ans imperfections.

Perhaps, he thougt, he should start to learn from you in seeing himself through your eyes.

[pastafossa]

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

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This couldn’t be you.

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

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

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

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or had you been the one wearing them? 

Maybe…?

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

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon. 

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

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

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

What you didn’t know was… 

Why?

Why here? 

Why these people? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it. 

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

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

Matt was alone. 

You’d left him alone. 

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

So… why did you feel so very sick? 

Sympathy. 

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

Protect yourself. 

Protect what you might one day have. 

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

You were wearing one of his shirts. 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Matt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you climbed inside a thread?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you saw was heartbreaking. 

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

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

“Jesus,” you whispered. 

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

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Emotion. It’s emotion.

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

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

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

The stones. 

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

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

Still nothing. 

And something inside you… cracked. 

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

You’d been loved. 

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world. 

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

You. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with a blink—

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

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

“It’s me. I’m here.”

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

And your weakened heart… skipped.

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

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

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

And you… smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called. 

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

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

You knew. 

You… remembered. 

“Always,” he’d said. 

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

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

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt. 

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

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

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

“...Remember that. if nothing else.” 

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

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

Silence. 

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

Red threads never lied.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, just let me—”

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

A soft intake of breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...D.” 

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

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

“Leave me alone!”  

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

Wait. 

You’d… you’d called him…

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

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

…Steady. 

Truth.

Could it really be you?  

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

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

You loved him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me when you come back.” 

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

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

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

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

Because all that was left was him… 

And you. 

[cumtastiics]

Hi, can I get a yandere boss x indifferent female reader? Like the reader wouldn't feel anything for the CEO's advances and the CEO gets really frustrated and goes complete batshit yandere mode. Thank you ❤️

yan!ceo x indifferent!fem!reader

tw: yandere, implied dr/gging

a/n: this really isnt what was requested by that yan does not really go complete batshit yandere mode but I hope u still like it

this can be read as a g/n reader honestly no clue how to make it mainly fem reader mb

he was so fucking sick and tired of it.

you were really just slow, weren't you?

he got you drinks nearly every morning, whether coffee or tea. he complimented what you wore every morning, only getting a small "thanks" in response.

you never spoke to him unless he spoke first.

he was annoyed. he was obviously desperate for your attention, so why would you not give it to him?

the lack of reciprocation, it all wore him down to his breaking point. as he stood in line at the coffee shop, waiting for your usual order, he felt a surge of frustration rising within him.

when it was finally his turn, he ordered two black coffees and a pastry, just like every other morning. but this time, he made a subtle change. as he handed over the second coffee cup and pastry, he looked into your eyes with an intensity you had never seen before. for a brief moment, you caught a glimpse of the raw emotions brewing beneath his usually calm exterior.

"here," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "i thought you might want to join me for once. maybe we can actually have a conversation today."

you were taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor. his intense gaze unsettled you, sending a shiver down your spine. with a hesitant smile, you accepted the coffee cup and pastry from him, not wanting to provoke any further frustration. as you took a sip of the rich, black coffee, you could taste a hint of something different, something unfamiliar.

curiosity piqued, you glanced at him over the rim of the cup. he was watching you intently, as if waiting for your reaction. the lid of his own coffee cup remained untouched, steam swirling lazily from its surface. there was an air of anticipation about him, almost as if he had been yearning for this moment.

with a surge of determination, you decided to break the usual pattern and engage in conversation. "so," you began cautiously, "what made you think i'd want to join you today?"

a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, barely noticeable yet brimming with a sense of triumph. "i've noticed how you take your coffee," he replied, his voice low and velvety. "and today, i thought i'd surprise you with a little change. a subtle gesture, if you will."

you couldn't help but feel a mixture of intrigue and unease. the depths of his obsession became more apparent with every passing moment. yet, there was an undeniable allure to his unwavering determination to win your attention.

as the two of you sat at a small table near the window, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped the air. the atmosphere crackled with an unspoken tension, like a taut wire ready to snap at any given moment.

"tell me," he began, his eyes fixated on your every movement. "what goes on in that beautiful mind of yours? what thoughts keep you awake at night?"

you wouldn't lied if you felt nauseous. "i…" you hesitated speaking.

"do you feel sick?"

"a bit," you held your stomach, desperately trying to make it not noticeable.

"oh, i know."

want more? request

[ene-ask]

Hii! The characterization in this au so far is *chefs kiss* and I genuinely love how you've portrayed them so far!! The slight unease from Prima and the hints of the affect from being the only bot for so long!! D-16 and his relationship and hints of insecurity and hypocrisy with Orion! Elita being stern but obviously caring about her friends! Orion and the slight obliviousness but he's still obviously a smart mech!! Jazz and his background/relationship with Orion and slight teasing towards D!! You make them all so real with mistakes and attitudes and I love it <3<3

My apologies for the spiel but I just really wanted to express how well you're doing and I can't wait to see the others! I also wanted to ask about how other apprentices see our boy Orion? (Outside his general circle). I know you said the other Primes don't mind him much but would the other apprentices resent him for being Prima's special one? Would he be bullied or talked about? Maybe a crush of a few? I'm sorry if you've answered this already but thank you for sharing your art and work ^^

Ahhhh I’ve been feeling quite down and this really brighten my mood, thank you!

I genuinely always try to give the characters some dimensions, doesn’t matter how brief the appearance can be. If I can’t express it in action then it has to be in the dialogue, it’s something that’s quite important to me. I’m really glad that you guys are already connecting with the characters before we delve in the meat of the story

Orion hmmmmmmm….. I think I’ll keep my original statement that Orion is an enigma to them. First apprentice of Prima they’ve ever seen and no idea how he got there, zero clue what his test or qualities were that made Prima choose him

It’s logical to assume they’re curious about him, perhaps a few would approach him to see what info they can get. They wouldn’t bully him because it seems evident that Prima is oddly fond of him. Crush however… I don’t think so, he’s practically a nameless cogless who has no manner, a less than average nobody to these apprentices’ standards

[off-task]

In Genet's Favor [Codron x Reader Chapter 1!!!]

Idk man, there is literally ONE CodronxReader out there and I need more, so I will provide more!!! I haven't written fanfic in a LONG time. I also have no clue where to post this to so... enjoy, Tumblr. I will do my best to keep the reader gender neutral btw!!

Word count: 1,387

You are an America to France survivor. How you got here will be revealed, eventually. Your loyalty lies with Marion Genet. You are a mere civilian at Maison Mere. You aren’t Guerrier, but are skilled in close combat and close-range weapons. This, fortunately, lands you the duty of being in charge of Melee Inventory. Since your arrival, Genet has taken a liking to you. Almost favoring you?.. At least, that’s what it seems, most days. 

The sterile chill of Genet’s office was stifling, but you kept your focus on her words. She had been unusually forthcoming today, reminiscing about her life before the outbreak, sharing passed stories about work, ambitions, and love with you. It was rare to see her so relaxed, and you found yourself caught between fascination and unease. Genet rarely shared anything without an ulterior motive, and you had seen the way she was with others, on the occasion that she would share something personal. There was always a lesson behind it, followed by an undoable action of punishment. However, she was never like that with you. This seemed... genuine, as if she was speaking to you as a peer; a friend. Even still, you always kept your guard up; who knew when her favoritism towards you would run out. 

The sharp knock at the door pauses the conversation, Genet’s eyes staying on yours, a sly smirk spreading across her face. Without a response, two Guerrier walk in, followed by- him. You had seen this man, in passing, shortly before meeting with Genet. His features were sharp and he walked with such an unrelenting presence, making him difficult to ignore. Up close, he was even more striking; his scarred face carried a weight that seemed to fill the room, his cold eyes briefly flicking to you before settling on Genet.  

“Leave us,” Genet gestured to the two Guerrier, her tone shifting to the crisp authority she wielded so effortlessly. With the door shutting behind them, Genet’s attention shifted to the man left behind with us. “So. Who are you, and what brings you here?” 

He snaps his head in her direction, leaving no room for unnecessary silence. “My name is Stephane Codron. I am from Maseille. A few years ago, a traveler came through and spoke of a movement in Paris. He said it would make the world right again. He gave me this tattoo, and told me I was now a warrior. For Genet. For you.” He paused, his gaze floating towards you, if only for a small moment. You felt your brows furrow together, eyes quickly turning to Genet. Was your face feeling warm? 

“Hmm... Should I thank you?” Genet raises a brow at Codron, clearly unimpressed with him seeking her out. 

“You can thank me later,” he cuts Genet off, full attention back on her, “for getting you what you want.” 

You couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering on him. There was something magnetic about the way he held himself, every movement measured, every glance, deliberate. When his eyes met yours again- just for a second- it felt like a jolt.  

“Ah yes. They told me..” Genet’s thoughts fell off. She had noticed. Her sharp eyes flickered between you and Codron, a hint of amusement curling at the corners of her lips. She leaned back in her chair, her expression turning almost sinister. “You know,” she said, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “We were just talking about life before all of this. Perhaps you’d like to join the conversation, Codron?” 

He stiffened slightly, the line of his jaw tightening. “I doubt it’s relevant,” he replied, his voice sounding so gruff and uninterested. 

“Ah, so focused and serious,” Genet said with a dismissive wave of her hand. But her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if filing the interaction away for later. She nodded her head in your direction, “You may leave us now. I unfortunately must discuss business with our new friend, Codron, here. Don’t go far, however. I will need you back, shortly.” 

You lower your eyes, slowly nodding, and taking your leave. As you exit the room, his eyes catch yours, once more. This time, there was something there- a moment of curiosity, perhaps, or a subtle acknowledgment of the way you had been looking at him. You weren’t sure, but your heart was beating just a little faster as the door clicked behind you. You truly couldn’t help but admire his presence, even as your mind raced with questions about him. What kind of man had he been before all of this? And why, despite the danger that seemed to radiate from him, did you feel so drawn in?  

Thoughts of Codron filled your mind as you made your way down the hall, careful not to wander too far. You didn’t want to wait directly outside of Genet’s office, in fear of it seeming as if you’d been eavesdropping, yet you didn’t want to miss Codron leaving. The thought of catching his eye again sent a lump of excitement to your throat. Suddenly, you were...smiling? Seriously? Over this man that you had met for a mere few minutes? Are your hands sweating, too? No way. Absolutely not. You find yourself speaking out loud, as if having a conversation with another person. You are so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even notice Codron coming out of Genet’s office, and staring right at you, seeing you mumbling to yourself. His eyes widen, your eyes catching his and mirroring his expression. Red. Warmth. Your face. The absolute embarrassment that you feel shoot through you is immeasurable. 

Thankfully, Genet calls for you to come back to her, pulling you from Codron’s concerned stare. You awkwardly nod and slide passed him, making your way into the door, quickly shutting it behind you. The air in the room felt charged. You stare at the spot where Codron had stood just moments ago, as you try masking the heat that was creeping up your neck. 

“Interesting,” Genet said, her voice cutting through the silence. 

You turned back to her, your composure slipping. “What is?” 

Her smile was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there- a knowing curve of her lips. “You,” she said, folding her hands, neatly on the desk, “You’ve never been one for distractions. Always so quiet, so composed. And yet...” 

Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to meet her hard stare. “And yet?” 

Genet leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. “You couldn’t stop looking at him.” 

Heat flooded your face, but you kept your expression neutral, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “He’s... intimidating. Hard not to notice...” 

“Intimidating,” Genet repeated, drawing out the word as if tasting it. “That’s one way to put it. Codron has a... presence, doesn’t he? A dangerous man, but loyal. For now.” 

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You knew better than to challenge her or press for details, so you remained silent. 

Genet tilted her head, studying you like a puzzle she was piecing together. “You know,” she started, her tone almost controversial, “men like Codron are rarely what they seem. The scars, the bravado- they're shields, meant to keep people at bay. But I wonder...” 

You stiffened, her scrutiny making your pulse quicken. 

“I wonder if you're the kind of person who likes to see what’s behind the shield,” she finished, her smile turning sharp. 

You forced a steady breath, unsure of how to respond. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

Genet laughed softly, the sound both amused and dangerous. “Of course you don’t. Just... be careful, my dear. Codron might catch your eye, but don’t forget whose favor keeps you safe.” 

Her words were a warning, but the undertone was clear- she'd noticed your interest, and she wasn’t above using it to her advantage. This was it. Your first lesson. You had finally been threatened by Genet. 

You nodded, keeping your expression calm, even as unease coiled into your chest. “I understand.” 

Genet smiled again, satisfied. “Good. Now, where were we?” 

The conversation shifted back to pre-apocalypse memories, but your thoughts lingered on Codron. Genet’s words echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just stepped onto very, very, dangerous ground. 

Chapter 2

[totkdaily]

Day 57: Yiga in Lanayru, and Akkala

The tower I climbed in the Abandoned Lanayru Mine is a forge, and it's manned by a Steward. I think this is the first one I've seen in the Depths, and only the second I've seen outside the sky islands. 

Another Steward asks me to go to the Central Abandoned Mine - if I do that and come back here, it'll give me something. 

There's a Yiga building here with a journal.

They want to conquer the Depths, but they say they need to find every entrance to do so. The journal ends: "Glory to Master Kohga."

I hope that's just something they say. He fell into- oh. He fell into an apparently bottomless hole. Is he… is he here somewhere?? 

Surely not. But unease follows me as I gather the remains of zonaite in the mine. 

I can't see any more lightroots from here, so I head back to the Ulri Mountain Skyview Tower, thinking to head to Tarrey Town - and spy Dinraal emerging from a chasm! I chase to catch up with him, but I don't have the right gear. I only just grab a shard of his spike and a claw before the heat of his mere proximity threatens my life. 

I drop to the ground and land in the shadows of North Akkala Beach - right next to a shrine! 

I spend the early morning scaling the cliff up to the Akkala Lab. Didn't Robbie say he needed something from here? I don't think I've spoken to him in over a month. Still, I should check it out. I've always loved the Lab. 

I scale the outside first to enjoy the view from the top, but it's a grey and cloudy day. And… that's weird. There's a frog sitting in Robbie's sun lounger. And… it bears the mark of the yiga. I've got a bad feeling about this. 

I look for further clues as I head back down the lab. There's boxes of bananas at the base of the telescope. And from the front, it's obvious - frogs and banana crates everywhere. 

I summon the Sages, ready my gear, and knock. 

It's a closer match than I'd like, but I dispatch the Yiga guards. Inside, there's only a fashionista - Konba. It sounds as though he's been forced to work against his will to make the Yiga's outfits. He gives me the Yiga armor he just finished. I suppose I could use it as a disguise, though I dislike the idea of wearing it at all. Konba points out I'd need the whole set before I could pass as a Yiga member anyway. 

There's a Yiga journal here. They're interested in sourcing Zonai devices, as well as Zelda and myself. Even they haven't seen her. They say they're setting up traps to catch me, but I've only encountered the weird cucco prophecy scam, and that hardly seemed aimed at me. Don't pick up bananas on the road? I'd have hoped I would have spotted that one for a trap without the hint. 

There's a map with Yiga hideouts on it, I think. Let's see…

Here, the Colosseum, somewhere north of Death Mountain and the old hideout in the Gerudo Highlands.

There's also a travel medallion prototype, which I should probably give to Robbie. Was that what he wanted from here?

For now, I head down the hill to the East Akkala Stable, and stop at the shrine on the way. 

Penn's the first person I see at the stable. He mentions the god of horses is near here - I'd forgotten my dream about it! - and the suspicious lab, the mystery of which I think I've probably solved by clearing out the Yiga. But no news here of the Princess, so he's off! That was quick. 

I speak to a few people at the stable. Aya is preoccupied with the monsters on North Akkala beach- I must have missed them, but she'd like me to deal with them, please. Rudi says Malanya's at Bloodleaf Lake, north of here. Rudi would like a picture of Octorok Lake when the water's high and it looks like an octorok. Maybe in the rain? Atin's newspaper says that YunoboCo is restoring Goron City again - that's good. Khini points me towards the horse god, and then goes back to selling buns. I buy and eat one of his Malanya buns, and I feel filled with stamina. 

The korok at the back of the stable wants to go down the hill to meet its friend. I summon Peaches and hook up the wagon for transport. I can probably do this before bed. 

I ignore the blood moon rising behind me as we gallop down the hill. Which means it comes upon me right as I'm fighting off two bokoblins in a cart. 

When the Gloom clears, I reunite the koroks and take the knight's bow the bokoblins had. Then I take both the horses and carts back to the stables to bed.

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Five: The Unease

_____________________________________________

Astoria's POV

At first, it was little things.

I'd wake with my blanket pulled slightly higher than I remembered. Or my quill, left lying across my Potions essay, tucked neatly beside the parchment instead. My books, once stacked with precision, shifted just slightly on my desk. Barely noticeable. Easy to dismiss.

Maybe I was just tired. Stressed. O.W.L.s were creeping closer every week, and my sleep had become light, filled with strange dreams I couldn’t quite remember when I woke.

But then came the mornings when I knew.

When my eyes blinked open and I could feel it—something had been there. The air felt different. Still. Watched.

I'd sit up slowly, scanning the dim room lit by the faint glow of my enchanted clock. The door, however… the door had been locked when I went to bed. Always. A quiet charm I cast each night, just a whisper under my breath.

And yet—sometimes—I’d find it just barely ajar.

Not flung open. Not broken. Just softly, precisely closed. Enough to let me doubt myself.

But I didn’t.

Not really.

I was careful. Controlled. I knew what I did and didn’t do. And I had locked that door.

So why was it open?

I began setting a silent alarm charm at the base of the door. A private spell—a faint pulse against my wand beneath my pillow if anything crossed the threshold.

Nothing happened the first three nights.

The fourth, it vibrated once.

And then stopped.

I lay there, frozen. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t move. Just kept breathing—slow, careful, quiet.

There was someone in the room.

But when I finally opened my eyes, the space was empty again. My wand was cold in my grip. The door was, as always, gently closed.

Too gently.

I started sleeping lighter. Started waking at the faintest creak of floorboards. But I never caught anyone. Never saw anything.

Until the whisper.

“You don’t have a clue, do you?”

My eyes snapped open. My heart slammed against my ribs.

That wasn’t a dream. That voice had been inches away from my face. Low. Controlled. Familiar.

I shot up, but the room was silent.

My wand was in my hand before I was even fully conscious. The door—gently closed again. The charm hadn’t gone off.

And yet… someone had been in here. Had stood over me. Had spoken.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Just lay curled beneath my blanket, listening to the silence, the ache in my chest tightening.

It was the voice that haunted me most.

Because I knew it.

Smooth, practiced. A little colder than most boys his age. With just the faintest hint of amusement laced in the words.

Draco Malfoy.

My stomach turned at the realization.

I liked him. I did. Against reason. Against pride. He had this way of walking into a room like it belonged to him, of saying my name like he was already familiar with it. I hated how easily he got under my skin.

But this—this was something else.

This wasn’t schoolboy arrogance or flirty smirks in the corridor. This was silent. Patient. Obsessive.

And terrifying.

I’d never been afraid of Draco before.

Now, I couldn’t stop wondering if, even now—especially now—he was just outside the door again.

Waiting for me to fall asleep.

_ _ _

[tearitar]

7 & 8 for the ask meme!

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it

Suddenly I'm having a hard time remember anything I've ever written so I'm going to narrow this to only tf2 fics;;;

It probably speaks to the utterly mundane and repetitive days at Teufort base that Spy doesn’t figure out something has gone very wrong until it’s been two hours since he’d last used the teleporter. His first big clue is when he respawns with Sniper in the locker room and sees a new scar across Sniper’s nose and cheek. Spy stares. He’s very good with faces. Sniper has never had that scar before—certainly did not have it this morning before battle—and if it’s newly acquired then respawn should have done away with it. Even more strange, the scar looks old, though Spy can recognize the mark of a slash made by a blade. Sniper catches him staring. He doesn’t seem to mind, flashing Spy a crooked grin. “Rocket got you too?” With growing unease, Spy says, “Yes.” Sniper glances over his shoulder, checking to see if they’re alone, then looks back at him. “You’re staring.” The amused tone Sniper takes is puzzling up until he leans over to kiss Spy’s cheek, entirely quick and painless, and Spy might’ve passed it off as a greeting had he been in certain parts of Europe, but as it stands—they are in the shithole that is Teufort, and Sniper isn’t European. Spy punches him on reflex.

Believe it or not, the opening scene to hindsight, which is a time travel fic. It's not the fanciest or prettiest prose I've written for tf2, but man, it's extremely efficient. Exposition and fic beginnings aren't especially easy for me to do (i prefer in medias res 90% of the time) and I haaaate dragging on an intro but I also need to table set, especially for a long (FOR ME) fic like this. I think this works out pretty well in terms of establishing timing, situation, relationship levels, and POV character emotion. I don't often write so tightly, LOL. I love being wordy.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

this scene from just might come crashing.

under the cut, it's sorta long.

“I'll stay if you'll have me,” Sniper says, undressing in the bathroom. He pokes his head out. “Daft fuck. I know what you're doing. You assumed I’d go out by my lonesome for two entire weeks. No people. No civilization. No showers.” “Yes.” Spy raises an eyebrow. “Since you were raised by wolves in a cave.” “Oi, show some respect for my parents,” Sniper says. “I'll have you know me mum’s a very lovely ‘roo. Raised me proper. In a pouch and everything.” “That does certainly explain many things,” Spy replies. Sniper steps out of the bathroom, naked but still sadly unshowered. He strides over to the bed and takes Spy by the chin, his hold firm. “I'm gonna spend the night with you ‘cause I wanna, alright?” Sniper says, leaning over him. His sharp-eyed look is back, the one Spy finds both dangerous and endearing. “You really thought I was gonna fuck off in the woods the whole time?” Spy doesn’t answer that particular question, at least not directly. Still, he feels as if he’s admitting something incriminating when he returns Sniper’s look. “I wouldn't be upset if you did.” The corner of Sniper’s mouth tics upwards. “Miserable shit,” Sniper says fondly. He drops his hand to turn back to the shower.

mrrmmm.... what can I say.. I wrote the entire fic around this specific exchange. I love writing humor and dialogue, so I can't help but put in a little joke right before some kinda sideways hinted barely-there yet super implied confession. They're both miserable people in this fic, but Sniper's the one to finally call Spy out on it and shift boundaries. He's calling his shot, and he's asking if Spy wants to play ball. I think this dialogue is the most romantic I've ever written them and it's completely to my tastes and preferences as far as confessions go, which makes it my favorite, lol. Sniper is so fond of Spy in his rough and insulting affectionate way, and if a reader can't see that here then I'm sorry my writing is not for them. :P

[all-my-writings-and-musings]

No Pulled Punches

Chapter Three: Reunion

Chapter One: Here

Chapter Two: Here

A slightly alternate take on the Lantern fight in episode 8, where Tang endures some more realistic injuries after Macaque kicks him into the wall, but still finds the strength to summon his powers and take the Ring.

Did anyone order some Tang angst, with a little hurt/comfort to follow and a dash of FreeNoodles? No? Here it is anyway!

Final Chapter!

Always a deep sleeper, Tang took his time waking up, only dimly aware of some far off discomfort he initially attributed to sleeping in an odd position. As he slowly grew more aware, additional little clues came to him to indicate something was off. The sheets below him were not familiar, there was a hint of something chemical to the air, and the discomfort in his side was intensifying and expanding. A grimace twisted his features when the unpleasant sensation registered as pain.

At that exact point, a number of concerning facts became readily obvious; he was somewhere he did not recognize, and he wasn't exactly in the best of shape. His heart began to pound as a million fears raced through his waking mind. Thoughts of being kidnapped by demons yet again were foremost, but considering the fragmented memories rapidly putting themselves together, he potentially had far more to worry about.

A gentle hand on his shoulder helped him to calm down straight away. The touch was impossibly familiar but hard to place, not that he was in much of a hurry as it started lulling him back to sleep. He was halfway back to unconsciousness when a far off voice broke the silence.

"Tang, can you hear me?"

Not bothering to open his eyes, he mumbled out a reply that he himself barely heard, answering more out of habit. "Five more minutes…"

"Five more what?" an exasperated voice echoed back, energetic tone surprising him enough that he opened his eyes on the spot. 

Suddenly very much awake, he gasped reflexively as the light met his eyes, a move that racked his aching chest hard enough to make him flinch. His hand flew to the hurt and found a hospital gown over thick bandages instead of his usual attire, a discovery that made everything start to fall into place. When the brightness faded after a few quick blinks, he found himself in the interior of a small but cozy hospital room. Two familiar looking blurs hurtling his way left little time to get a good look around.

There was no time to brace before he was hugged on both sides, Pigsy and MK each calling out his name in relief as they wrapped him up in a warm embrace. Forgetting everything, even the pain, he raised his arms on reflex to hug them back as tightly as his injuries allowed. Everything that had happened before he'd lost consciousness was now clear in his mind, and he wanted to savor every moment back in the presence of his friends. He'd come closer than he cared to think to losing them all…

"You're okay, you're okay!" MK repeated enthusiastically, a few happy tears dotting his cheeks as he gushed with contagious delight. Tang couldn't help but chuckle a little at the endless stream of gratitude, holding the boy close to assure him he was indeed okay. Well, more or less okay.

After a solid minute of not being let go, he finally spoke up. "What happened? Why am I…?" fading off in thought, he realized all at once that the one thing he'd risked life and limb for wasn't at hand. In a fresh panic, he spoke up without waiting for the hug to end. "The Rings! Are they-"

MK pulled back to grab something off a nearby table, becoming a blur from more than just speed as he stepped out of the range of Tang's vision. Realizing he didn't have his glasses with a bit of unease, he at least felt a sense of relief upon beholding the three Golden blobs in his young friend's hands. An equally hazy smile was apparent on MK's face even with his lackluster vision. "They're safe, I got them all, see?"

"Not… really?" he confirmed with the tiniest hint of good natured sass, mostly wanting to lighten the mood a bit as he gestured to his bare face. 

Pigsy wordlessly handed him the frames, which he took with a touch of relief upon seeing them intact and cared for, feeling much more comfortable once they were settled on his nose and the world fell back into focus. Noting that the lenses had been cleaned, he settled his head back on an admittedly comfortable pillow with a soft sigh when a wave of weariness crashed over him. His escapades had taken enough out of him that just hugging was exhausting. Knowing there was much to catch up on made it easy for him to stay awake for the time being, even if he was far less animated than usual.

"What-"

"Wait!" MK interrupted in a flurry of movement, grabbing his phone from his pocket and dialing at the speed of light. "I've gotta go let the guys know you woke up!" 

Already starting the first phone call, he ran out of the room before they could react, Mei's frantic voice just apparent on the other line as he rushed out of the door with a quick promise over his shoulder.

"Be right back!" 

Rapid footsteps faded down the hall in the time it took for him and Pigsy to look back at one another. In that moment he finally had the time to notice just how exhausted his partner looked, probably even more than he was. Sympathy and guilt twisted in his heart in equal measure. It had occurred to him even in the heat of the moment how worried Pigsy would be, but to see it now…

He tried his best to think of the shortest yet most expository summation of his evening; his desire to help, his climb into the Lantern, his confrontation with Macaque… Even with all of his passion for storytelling, it was going to be a doozy.

"Pigsy I-"

Desperate arms wrapped about him in a far deeper hug than the last, pulling him in close enough for Tang to feel the beating of his partner's heart through the hospital gown.

"Thought I lost you…" Pigsy said quietly, voice breaking before it faded into silence. It was Tang's turn to tear up. The man he'd loved for most of his life clung to him as if he might evaporate in an instant, holding him close even whilst his arms shook. Holding him back despite his own trembling, Tang allowed the hospital to fade away, feeling a few more hot tears on his shoulder. All he wanted was a few precious seconds to bask in the love he'd never take for granted again.

"You didn't." he promised with all the strength he had left, head bowing as the effort of a simple embrace took its toll.

Pigsy pulled back as soon as he felt the leaner man going limp against him, wiping away the tears that had gathered before he tenderly helped his partner sit upright on the gathered pillows. There was a mountain of unspoken words between them, but neither had the slightest idea of where to start. It didn't help that they were both more exhausted than they'd been in recent memory. For a moment they simply sat hand in hand, each daring to believe that the other wasn't going anywhere whilst they gathered their thoughts.

"I know you're tired, but I've- we've, got a lot of questions." Pigsy said at last, focusing on what needed to be done because it was easier than what needed to be said. Gladly taking the opportunity, he kept his hand on Pigsy's while laying his head back with a sigh. He wanted to tell them everything at once, but he was struggling just to keep his head up. Sleep would come quickly once he'd told his story.

"Of course." he confirmed, quickly ignoring his fatigue and scrolling through the events he'd endured in his mind. A flash of purple and a memory of explosive pain made him hesitate, but he pushed down the worry with a quick adjustment of his glasses and a glance to the window. Thoughts of their vulnerability compelled him to speak up. "But, uh, are we safe here?"

Pigsy secured his hold on his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "You don't need to worry about Macaque; Monkey King is keeping an eye out all around the hospital, and we haven't seen a thing." he explained, encouraging his partner to look back at him. Tang knew that Sun Wukong wasn't the only one Macaque would have to deal with when their team inevitably met him again, and he had to wonder if their foe knew just what kind of an enemy he'd made in Pigsy. "Sandy and Mei were in the food court, but if I had to guess, they won't be long."

Tang nodded, halfway surprised they couldn't already hear the gang tearing across the hospital to get to them. Finding that focusing on action helped him feel more secure, he tried to think of the work that needed to be done. Retelling his story would only be the first of many important steps now that they had the Rings. 

"Once they're here, I'll explain everything." he promised, getting a little more tucked in beneath the thin hospital blankets as the chill of the room made him shiver. Pigsy was already unfolding a spare blanket by the time he began gathering his thoughts in earnest, trying to make his memories flow clearly and in order. Feeling the additional warmth of the blanket as it settled over him helped to focus his mind. "Where to beg-ow." 

The tiniest shift sent a hot stitch of pain through his chest, making him flinch and cling to his bandages. 

Pigsy had a hand on his shoulder before he could open his eyes, his careful grip keeping his partner upright as he spoke up quickly and with open concern. "If you need more time, we can-'

"It's not that bad now, just a little sore." he assured, trying and failing to make his point with a shrug that only aggravated the injury further. Hissing through clenched teeth, he hugged himself as he tried not to shake from the shock of pain. His voice was more of a wheeze when he finally found it. "Okay, a lot sore…" 

"Tang…" Pigsy said more urgently, his tired eyes wide with worry that cut through any excuse Tang could have hoped to conjure up. There was no denying that he was hurt, and that his body could only stand being pushed to a limited degree. All he could do to make things better was be honest.

"I'll let you know if I need help. Promise." he said whilst desperately hoping he conveyed just how deeply he meant it. Pigsy nodded in understanding and agreement whilst squeezing his hand. Gingerly tracing the bandages on his side, Tang used the opportunity to ask a question of his own, curious as to what all he'd endured without realizing it. "Did I… break anything?"

It was a very insufficient question, as he'd felt more than a few things break on impact, but he wasn't sure of a gentler way to ask.

"Quite a few things. It's all on your chart, here. I… didn't get a chance to look through it yet." Pigsy answered quickly, his tone growing strained once he produced a thin manilla folder that had been tucked away on the table. Tang couldn't help but be a little concerned, and he hesitated out of worry for what he might find before he opened the file.

"Oh, my…" was all he could say at the detailed notations on the X-Rays. It had been apparent he was injured the moment it happened, but to behold the degree in such clear, clinical detail… Realizing what Macaque had inflicted on him through a simple lack of restraint sent a shiver down his spine. If it hadn't been for the quick actions of his friends, he would have been in deep trouble.

"How long was I out?" he asked quickly, snapping the file shut and making sure it was out of reach. When he saw Pigsy close his eyes to think, he was left to assume he had been unconscious long enough for the hours to blend together. 

"It's been about… a day, give or take a few hours." Pigsy confirmed. Tang could hear how every hour had drained him, and had to wonder what his friends had done to pass the time while they waited for him to wake back up. Thoughts of them worrying for hours twisted his heart with guilt before his partner continued. "You're up earlier than they were expecting. I've had a couple doctors tell me you should be-"

A great rumbling from down the hall probably had the other patients on the floor worried that a stampede had broken out in the hospital, but he and Pigsy knew what was coming just before his door burst open yet again.

"TANG!"

His entire world became one gigantic embrace as he was centered in what had to be the biggest group hug of all time, the entire group joining in to celebrate being together again. Mei and Sandy made up for lost time by hugging him even more tightly than MK and Pigsy, showing just enough restraint to avoid aggravating his injury.

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" he laughed as his glasses were knocked halfway off his face in the chaos, his hair thoroughly mussed by the time Sandy released the group from his massive arms. Straightening his lenses to see the euphoric but tear stained faces welcoming him back, he smiled gratefully, only now realizing just how deeply he'd been missed. He promised himself never to doubt his position in the group again as he allowed the pillows at his back to support more of his weight. "I missed you all too." 

A loud and emphatic meow drew his attention just before a blue ball of fluff hopped onto the hospital bed, and Mo padded into his lap without waiting for approval. Purring with the determination of a therapy cat intent on doing his job, the feline looked as happy as a cat could be to see someone.

"Oh, including you, Mo." he welcomed softly, finding a touch of relief as the warm bundle snuggled against him. A fuzzy head nuzzled under his chin before the cat curled up on his lap and began purring to offer as much comfort as a little bundle of love could give. Tang found the soft hum to be a genuine source of relief for his lingering pains.

"Alright, hold off everyone, give him some air." Pigsy encouraged gently, staying right at his partner's side as the group gave their friend the much needed space around his bed. 

"Sorry, we were so worried!" Mei said, apologizing for their enthusiasm as she wiped away a few happy tears. 

"Are you okay, Tangy? Anything I can get you?" Sandy asked before producing a bag almost bursting with goodies. "I stocked up at the food court but I can go back!"

"I'm fine, really." Tang said gratefully, noting that for a change he wasn't hungry in the slightest. Ignoring that, he took advantage of the moment to introduce a bit of much needed levity. "That being said; what's on their menu?"

The group shared a freeing chuckle at his seemingly boundless love for food, and with that they all breathed a little easier, allowing Pigsy to come in and move the conversation along.

"Tang, if you're ready, you wanna tell us what happened?" he asked gently, giving his partner plenty of opportunity to decline.

Tang took a shallow breath, thinking back on everything he could remember. There was a small part of him that recognized how, despite the stakes, this was a story like any other. Given that it was his, he wanted to tell it with a touch of pride, as well as the recognition he felt it deserved. He was confident he'd earned that much. "Well, where to begin…"

A thunk against the window made him tense, but he had five very protective friends between himself and the possible attacker before he could even turn to see what caused the commotion.

Not moving with any particular urgency, Sun Wukong opened the window from the outside and squeezed through, stopping only when a loud and very confused voice shouted from multiple stories below; "H-Hey up there, you can't-!"

"No, it's cool! This is my friend's room I'm breaking into!" the Monkey King assured the security guard, ignoring the many complaints that followed to plop himself into the hospital room. Shaking some snow from his fur, he closed the window behind him to cut off the yelling with a roll of his eyes. "Yeesh, touchy!" 

Turning around to find everyone frozen by his unexpected arrival, Wukong looked past them all and brightened when he saw Tang awake and upright.

"Hey, Tang my man, good to see you up! I haven't seen any sign of you-know-who, so I figured I'd drop in to check on things." he greeted, stepping inside and plopping himself down on one of the many comfortable seats in the well furnished room. "Mind telling us how you got your hands on that ring?"

"He was just about to!" Pigsy huffed with a snort, giving the Monkey King slightly more grace than usual due to present circumstances. Looking unconcerned, Wukong shrugged to return the floor to Tang.

"As I was saying…" he accepted with a clearing of his throat, feeling a touch more energized as he got right into the thick of his tale. Tweaking a few of the details to heighten the drama and enhance his heroics, he thoroughly enjoyed his friend's immediate investment in his every word. MK listened with the same wide eyes he always had when Tang told the most exciting of the Monkey King legends, something that touched him and encouraged him to give it his all. Not even total exhaustion could keep him from being excited to recount a slightly more graceful version of his descent into the Lantern.

"I would have had the Ring in minutes, but that was when Macaque showed up. He knew I'd find it, so he let me do all the hard work of tracking it down before he attacked!" he said with a flourish, ignoring the twinge of pain it produced for the sake of the story.

"How did you beat Macaque?" MK asked with wide eyes, waiting with literal bated breath for the answer. Tang smirked and tilted his head to allow the light to glint off his lenses.

"It was a simple matter of outwitting my foe!" he declared, losing a bit of steam when he realized what part of the story he'd arrived at. There was no way to summarize all that had happened in a way that made sense, as he had yet to make any sense of it himself. Total honesty seemed his best bet. With a tug on his gown's collar and a small cough, he allowed the words to tumble out as they came to him. "There was also… some… intense burst of power of the likes of which I've never experienced that emanated from the core of my being and allowed me to take the Ring, which I believe played a small role in my victory."

A silence that was so profound it made the snow landing outside sound like cannonballs overtook the hospital room. 

"You have powers?!" Mei shouted to break the quiet, a rush of fiery green energy crackling about her flailing limbs. MK joined her with equal enthusiasm and a beaming smile, "That's so awesome, Mr. Tang!"

"We're on our way to being a full superhero squad!" Mei agreed as the two bounced around the room in a literal blur, making Tang chuckle at their exuberant joy.

"Hold up!" Pigsy said firmly to stop the chaos before something expensive was broken. Keeping his hand over Tang's, he spoke calmly, but his eyes betrayed a touch of concern. Tang could tell they'd be adding this to the list of things they needed to discuss in private. "What kind of powers are we talking about here, Tang? I've known you for a long time, and I haven't exactly seen you… shapeshift, or nothing like that."

"It wasn't quite like anything I've seen before, certainly not like the abilities you use, MK." he explained, looking to the young boy as he tried to recall the moment in greater detail. When MK used his abilities, the effect was tangible to anyone in close proximity, and the energy he had experienced felt quite different. It was a challenge to describe exactly how though. "These were more… defensive, like a physical, protective manifestation of will. It all happened quite quickly, but it felt and certainly looked like I summoned a kind of shield-"

He was unexpectedly interrupted by Wukong, who stood up in a flash and bore an expression of urgency. "Was it a bubble? A golden bubble?"

"Yes, actually." he replied reflexively, only realizing after he'd answered how little sense the question made. "Exactly."

"How would you know that?" Pigsy asked pointedly, saying what was on everyone's mind at the incredibly accurate guess. The Monkey King's expression went blank under all the eyes in the room turning his way.

"Ah! That's a technique I've seen a few times, while fighting demons and stuff!" he said at last, rubbing the back of his neck while an awkward smile failed to convince any of them. Coughing and softening his tone, he pretended to be very invested in a speck on the floor as he continued speaking. "It's… pretty rare. Great for keeping people safe." Sitting back down on his chair and resuming his usual air of confidence, he gestured for them to go on. "Continue, please."

Tang readily took the opportunity, finishing up the story on a happy note. "After that, I ran back into you all!" he said with a slightly nervous chuckle, recalling how the adrenaline rush had still been going strong when he'd tumbled into Pigsy's arms. Though he had once considered such fortune to be unrealistic and lazy in storytelling, he had a very different view after having lived it. That newfound appreciation for simple luck made him smile softly as he pushed up his glasses. "Quite the fortunate coincidence, if I do say so myself."

"I just can't believe you beat Macaque!" MK said in agreement, his eyes shining in delight. Something clicked within him as the name of their enemy passed his lips, and his face dropped when guilt took over. "I'm… so sorry I didn't-"

"MK, I'm the one who went off alone." Tang interrupted, firm but gentle. It had been foolish to go off on his own, and while things had turned out well he never would have wanted his young friend to feel responsible if they hadn't. Once he'd discussed things with Pigsy, it seemed a talk with MK was in order as well. He beckoned for the young boy to approach and took his hand in his own as he spoke.

"It's not your job to protect everyone, okay?" 

MK smiled and sniffled, his eyes welling up with grateful tears as he nodded in understanding. 

"That's right." Pigsy confirmed, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. "We're all here to protect each other, yeah?"

"You know it!" Mei confirmed, giving MK a dragon sized hug that replaced his tears with fresh laughter. 

"Awww, group hug!" Sandy declared happily, his great arms encircling the entire group for a massive embrace. Tang once more laughed along as he was gently smushed against his friends, their careful arms avoiding his injury. Mo purred dutifully at his side as everyone savored the moment. Tang closed his eyes and joined them, not caring if they took a hundred years. He'd never doubt his place among them again…

"Awesome group hug guys, ten out of ten!" Monkey King said from the other side of the room, giving the display of affection two not-at-all sarcastic thumbs up. "I can feel the love from here!"

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 2, Chapter 9

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 2

Chapter 9

Matt tried to hold on to his positivity over the next 24 hours. But it became increasingly difficult as the doubts started to multiply inside him.

It all started with a text message.

Or rather, with an ignored text message.

I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you left. Can you let me know you arrived okay? I’ll be safe out there, if you promise to do the same. Matt.

He sent it straight after he listened to Calina’s voicemail. But he didn’t get a reply.

He figured she must be tired from her journey to…wherever it was the Widows called home. He figured she would respond in a few hours when she’d gotten some rest. But by mid morning, there was still nothing. So he sent another message.

 Hey, please text when you get the chance, to let me know you got there okay. I’m in the office all day, so I’ll have my phone with me.

 Nothing.

And after several more hours of compulsively checking his messages, unease started to grow. Was she safe? Had she made it back to the Widow’s base? Had she gotten in trouble en route?

Or was something else going on?

He replayed her voicemail again, hunting for any clues that might explain the doubts he was now experiencing. Doubts about whether she was telling the truth when she said she’d be home soon.

But her voice sounded…fine.  Completely normal. There was no hint of anger, or evidence that she was upset or hurt.

She sounded fine.

But she’d been trained her whole life to pretend, hadn’t she? She’d been trained to lie. To create a false persona, and manipulate people with words. And he’d seen first hand how easily she was able to deceive him...

So maybe he couldn’t trust her words, or the calm tone of voice she spoke them in.

He listened again, even more carefully.

“I’m sorry to leave like this, but Yelena called. The Widows found something - about what happened to me - and they need my help with it. So I’m headed back to the base for a few days.

I’ll keep in touch - as much as I can.

I…um… ….

Nevermind.

Take care, Matt. Be safe out there.” 

That pause…She'd brushed it away with a murmured ‘Nevermind’, but there'd been a distinct pause. And the more he listened, the more he convinced himself that that pause was in fact filled with everything she wanted to say, but couldn’t.

Or wouldn’t.

That pause was the real message. The rest was fake. She was just pretending that her sudden departure was all about Widows' stuff and had nothing to do with his rejection of her.

Just like he pretended last night that he hadn’t rejected her at all.

Shit!

He needed to drop his pretence, so that she’d drop hers. He needed to be honest, so that she would be honest in return.

He still didn’t know what to say about what happened between them. But it was starting to feel imperative that he say something. So after getting home from work, he dialled her number.

But it just rang and rang and rang.

His nerves taut with unease, he hung up and typed out another message:

 I’m sorry for last night. At the gym. And I’m sorry for afterwards, for pretending it didn’t happen. Please call me when you get the chance, Calina. We need to talk. I want to fix this between us. Please.

 After another few hours of silence, he sent a final message before heading out for the night as Daredevil.

 Please call. I miss you.

 It was the truth. But that fucking wall around his heart fought him on even that measly amount of honesty. His gloved finger hovered over the send button for a long time before he finally found the courage to push it.

Then he switched off his phone, unable to bear the silence emanating from it any longer.

When he turned it back on in the morning - after a brutal night on the streets and a restless night alone in their bed - he was greeted with more of that damning silence. And by the time he got to work, his unease had turned into full blown panic. He paced his office, his phone pressed against his ear as he listened to Calina’s phone ring out. 

The moment Foggy and Karen arrived, he marched into the front office and ambushed them. “Did Calina say anything the other night?”

“Good morning to you too, Matt,” Foggy teased as he shrugged out of his coat.

“This is important, Fog. Did she say anything?”

Karen answered instead. “She said she had a headache, so she left early. We never really got a chance to talk to her.”

“I offered to walk her home, but she said she was fine by herself,” Foggy added. “Why? What’s going on?”

“She left," Matt replied. "She left me."

“What? What do you mean?”

“She wasn’t there when I got home. She left me a voicemail saying the Widows had a lead on what happened to her so she needed to go back to them for a few days. But I haven’t heard from her since and I’ve been calling and texting…”

He waited for their reassurances. For an ‘I’m sure she’s okay’ or ‘its probably nothing’. But there was just a heavy silence. And he sensed the two of them looking at each other, concern radiating from them.

As well as…guilt?

“What is it?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“When she came back from the bathroom that night, she looked upset,” Karen said. “And just before that, Foggy and I had been talking about…We were worried that she might have overheard us, because she left straight after.”

Matt got a sinking feeling in his gut. “What were you talking about?”

Karen twisted her clasped hands and Foggy shifted on his feet.

“What the hell were you talking about?” Matt repeated, his voice louder now.

“We were talking about you and Elektra,” Karen replied, her voice unsteady.

“I was talking about you and Elektra,” Foggy clarified, stepping in front of her. “Karen was just listening to my theory.”

“Your theory?” Matt bit out. “What exactly is your theory?”

“That because you’re still in love with Elektra, you’re maybe - subconsciously - using Calina as a way to make up for not saving her.”

“Jesus, Foggy! What the fuck?” Matt turned on his heel and raced back into his office.

“She might not have heard!” Foggy called from behind him.

But Matt knew the truth.

She heard.

It explained why she’d suddenly left and why she wasn’t taking his calls.

Fuck!

This was a nightmare.

He grabbed his phone off his desk and mashed the redial button. He needed to speak with her. He needed to tell her that Foggy’s theory was complete and total bullshit. He needed to beg her forgiveness and plead with her to come home.

He needed to hear her voice and know that he hadn’t lost her forever.

He listened to her phone ring and ring, but this time he didn't hang up.

He wouldn't.

He would keep calling until she finally answered.

 ———

 “Will you answer that thing, or fucking chuck it out the window or something?” Yelena growled.

Calina had already muted the ringtone, but the sound of the phone vibrating in her pocket was audible in the room. It had been ringing on and off for what felt like hours - and every time she declined the call, another one would come through minutes later.

Matt wasn’t taking the hint.

He’d texted her again a couple of hours ago, so at least she knew why he was being so insistent.

 I know you heard what Foggy said at the bar. It’s not true, Calina. Please answer the phone so I can explain. Please.

 She’d read that message a million times, but couldn’t bring herself to believe his words. He was just feeling guilty, that was all. He was a good man - a good, Catholic man - it was natural for him to feel guilty about hurting her.

“You know I can’t answer it,” Calina sighed. “And I can’t turn it off or ‘chuck it out the window’ - I’m still waiting to hear back from Melina.”

Yelena typed a quick message on her own phone then held it up. “Problem solved. Melina will text me with the dosage, so can you please do something about that phone?”

Calina nodded and powered off the device. Everyone in the room groaned in relief, causing Calina to duck her head in embarrassment.

Inessa, one of the youngest members of the group raised her hand. “I must have missed something - why exactly are you ignoring Matt?”

To Calina’s surprise - and consternation - every single Widow now knew about Matt. 

Anya couldn’t keep her mouth shut about him being Daredevil - which they all thought was pretty cool - and then Yelena told them all Calina was living with him - which they found even cooler.

She was the first of them to try to make a life for herself. The first to get a job. The first to get her own apartment.

And the first to live with a man.

They were all fascinated.

And it completely unnerved Calina. It was as if they were all looking to her to set an example. To show them the way. To show them it was possible to leave the life of a Widow behind. It was a big responsibility - with a hell of a lot of pressure attached.

And she felt like she was failing.

“Yeah,” Sofia chimed in. She was another Widow from Calina’s cohort, but they’d never spoken much growing up. Sofia came across as very…intense. “What happened between you two?

Calina looked around the room. The Widows were camped out in the main living space as they waited to hear back from Melina. The older Widow had developed her own version of a truth serum and they were going to try it out on the man downstairs. But she needed to calibrate the dosage first - apparently there was a fine line between getting answers and causing a cardiac arrest.

The mission was going smoothly so far. Calina had ridden her motorcycle through the night and had arrived at the Widow’s temporary operational base outside Washington just before sunrise. She’d managed to grab five hours of - restless - sleep on one of the empty cots, then she’d joined the other Widows for the strategy session.

That night, she’d suited up, and joined the team to infiltrate Volkov’s residence.

And it had been easy as hell. Almost too easy.

Volkov was either supremely arrogant or extremely stupid, because he was living alone, with no bodyguards or security personnel. Which meant the eight-strong Widow strike team that extracted him seemed like massive overkill.

They’d transported him blindfolded and sedated to the mansion in South Carolina, and now he was tied up in a fortified room in the basement, guarded by Anya and another Widow named Alyona. The rest of them were taking a break while they waited for the next step in the plan. 

They made a strange sight, lounging around the cream-coloured mansion in their Black Widow suits. Combat boots were resting on the antique oak coffee table in the centre of the room, and various guns and weapons were stowed on the mantle over the ornate fireplace, battling for space with chintzy knicknacks and floral-scented candles.

It was a stark juxtaposition - one the other Widows didn’t seem to find as jarring as Calina did. But she’d had the benefit of living in the ‘real’ world for the past few months, where people didn’t dress in black neoprene jumpsuits while relaxing around the house.

She looked down at her own jumpsuit, and grimaced. She’d reverted right back to the Widow’s mindset the moment she’d left New York. She even had her hair in braids.

A lifelong habit was hard to break.

“Calina?” Inessa said, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you not want to talk about it?”

Inessa was a relatively shy girl, and so petite and slender. She must have had skills - there was no way she’d have gotten through the Red Room otherwise - but she always looked so fragile and delicate to Calina. She brought out all of Calina’s protective instincts.

And, unfortunately, Calina could never resist indulging her questions. Maybe that was Inessa’s hidden skill.

“There’s not much to tell,” Calina replied, trying to downplay the hurt and humiliation she was feeling. “I misunderstood what was between us, that’s all.”

It was the same line she’d given Yelena and Anya when they’d met her in Washington yesterday. They’d accepted it with a nod, but Inessa wasn't put off so easily. “What do you mean?”

“I…,” Calina was spared from answering when Yelena’s phone pinged and everyone sprang back into action-mode.

“It’s from Melina.” Yelena confirmed, reading the message. “Sofia and Kira, you take this and start prepping the drug, we’ll follow you down.” She handed them her phone, and they took off running for the basement. The rest of the team filtered out of the room, leaving Calina alone with Yelena and Katya. 

Yelena marched ahead, intent on starting the interrogation, but Katya stopped Calina with a gentle hand on her arm. “I know there something more going on between you and Matt than a mere misunderstanding,” Katya said softly. “You can talk to me if you want.”

She took Calina’s hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. The move took Calina by surprise - the Widows weren’t demonstrative people and usually only touched each other during sparring sessions. But she was learning that - away from the Red Room, and out from under the control of the serum - Katya was a very caring and empathetic person. The simple, kind touch made her feel like they were becoming true friends.

And it made her want to open up. She just wasn’t sure where to start. “I…we…,” she faltered.

“What is it? What happened?”

“I…I fell in love,” she whispered. “And he didn’t. He barely even saw me as a friend.” Saying the words aloud hurt. They wrenched something deep in her chest, and caused tears to gather at the back of her eyes.

“Oh, Calina. Are you sure?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “That I love him? Yes, unfortunately.”

“No, I meant that he doesn’t love you back. We saw the two of you together, remember? It was clear that he cared about you very much.”

“No offence, but what do you know about reading other people’s feelings? What do any of us know?  We never grew up seeing love and care and affection. We don’t know what it looks like. I know what it feels like, but I don’t know what it looks like. And I made the mistake with Matt of misinterpreting his basic sense of compassion and responsibility for something much more. I was a fool, Katya.”

“Don’t say that.”

Calina pulled away from the other Widow. “I know you guys want me to trail-blaze some path for you all, but I’m floundering out there. It’s so hard. Nothing in our training prepared us for it. I can play a role and pretend to be someone else in my sleep, but I have no idea how to be me. I have no idea how to deal with all these…feelings…I keep having.”

Katya frowned. “I’m so sorry. We all just assumed you were happy out there. That you were thriving away from all…this.”

“I was happy. For a while.” She crossed her arms over her chest and kicked at the ground. “You know that proverb, ‘After a storm comes fair weather; after sorrow comes joy’? I think it should be the other way around, ‘After joy comes sorrow’.”

“I’m sorry,” Katya said again. She shrugged, and gave Calina a sad smile. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for listening.”

“That’s what sisters are for.” Katya hooked an arm through Calina’s and the two of them started walking towards the basement. After a few moments of silence, Katya spoke again. “What is it like?” she asked shyly.

“What?”

“Being in love?”

Calina thought back to that moment in the gym - the moment of realisation, before she’d leaned towards Matt and ruined everything - when her feelings had finally crystallised. Then she tried to put it into words.. “It’s…it’s like that sensation you get when you jump out of an airplane - that weightless, exhilarating, heart-pumping thrill. You feel like you’re on top of the world and can do anything. But when its unrequited love, its like your parachute never opened and you collided with the ground at a million miles an hour.”

“Oh,” Katya said quietly. “So it’s wonderful, but it also kind of sucks.”

“Yeah. It really, really sucks.”

 ———

 Never had a man suited his name better than Maxim Volkov.

In English, it translated to Great Wolf, and he embodied that moniker completely. He was a big man, with a wild, predatory look to his eyes. Even strapped to a chair, with several guns trained on him, he looked calm and in control as he sized up the Widows surrounding him.

He barely spared a glance as Sofia prepped his arm and administered the truth serum. She was the medic of the group - trained from a young age in combat surgery to assist in missions. She had a terrible bed-side manner, but a steady pair of hands and an encyclopaedic knowledge of medicine. 

“How long until it takes affect?” Yelena asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the counter that ran along the wall directly in front of Volkov. The basement had originally been used as a laundry room, but the Widows had removed all the washers and dryers, and embedded hooks for restraints in the ceiling and the tiled floor. It looked exactly like what it was - an interrogation chamber.

No, a torture chamber.

Because that’s what they were about to do - torture this man. Not using violence, but by cracking open his mind against his will. And no one knew how torturous that was than the Widows in this room.

Yelena relished the idea - she was dying to turn the tables on the men of the Red Room - but Calina felt uncomfortable.

She kept wondering what Matt would think of all this.

She knew he wasn’t averse to using brutal tactics to get answers - she’d seen him beat people for information on the streets. But there was something…honest about that method. This felt too underhanded. Too close to the Red Room tactics.

And she wanted to be better than that. 

But at heart, she was a pragmatist, and she knew that taking the high road had never gotten anyone, anywhere. The Widows needed answers. They needed to know how much of a threat they faced - their survival depended on it - and this was the best method available to them. A member of the Red Room would be able to withstand threats of violence and physical pain. But no one could withstand this serum - at least, according to its creator.

“Melina said it would be fairly instantaneous,” Sofia answered.

“Melina Vostokoff?" Volkov asked, his Russian accent thick with distain. "That traitorous bitch? I used to jerk off when I thought about her back in the day - she filled out her suit like no other Widow. Now I just want to put a bullet through her conniving brain.”

The Widows looked at each other, surprised by the candid revelation.

“I guess its working,” Katya remarked.

“Good,” Yelena said. “Let’s see what he knows.”

It turned out, he knew a lot. And none of it was good.

“How many Red Room personnel are still alive?” Yelena asked at one point.

Volkov smiled. “Enough.”

“Be more specific,” Yelena bit out.

“Dreykov had a secret faction of Red Room operatives that worked just for him - off the books and away from the prying eyes of the Kremlin. They survived your little purge after Dreykov’s fall because you had no idea they existed - very few did.”

“But you did.”

“Yes. I’ve always been privy to Dreykov’s secrets. He treated me like a younger brother. And now that he’s gone, I intend to continue the family business.”

“But you were just a handler. You weren’t upper management.”

“Just a handler? Or a man of many talents who went where Dreykov needed, and did what needed to be done?”

“So what was the plan in South Korea? Why was that mission important enough to need your oversight?”

“The Japanese Ambassador was embezzling billions of won from the South Koreans. Dreykov wanted me to steal it from him. After the Red Room fell, I continued the mission, in an attempt to get the money for myself and my faction.” He leered at Katya as he continued answering Yelena's question. “But you stole my little Widow from me, and I had to come up with a Plan B.”

“You had to come up with the plan? So you’re the man in charge of this new faction?”

“Yes. Congratulation, ladies. You won the jackpot.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out as far as his restraints would allow. He looked like he was relaxing in front of the television after a hard day at work, and it started to give Calina a bad feeling. He was too at ease. He didn’t seem to care that he was revealing all this information. He didn’t seem bothered by their questions or the fact that he was answering them against his will. She wondered if there was a sedative effect to the truth serum…but even before it had been administered, he’d been eerily calm.

What did he know that made him so confident?

Yelena continued with her questioning. If she was unnerved by Volkov’s manner, she didn’t show it. “Did that ‘Plan B’ have something to do with what happened to Calina?”

Volkov sighed. “No. Aminev went rogue with that. He was nothing but a common thief. He stole some serum and some tech and decided to go it alone. He betrayed the ideology.”

“How did Aminev find her?”

Volkov’s smile turned feral. “We never lost her. We never lost any of you.”

Calina’s bad feeling exploded into outright panic. And she could feel it rippling through the other Widows in the room.

Even Yelena sounded shaken. “What do you mean?”

"Did you think those microchips in your thighs were our only way of tracking you?" He shook his head, as if disappointed. “You little fools. You’ve been on the grid this entire time. You only had the illusion of freedom. And once we finish manufacturing enough serum to get you all back under control, we’re going to round you up and shatter that illusion.”

He shrugged, and spread his hands. “Or maybe it’ll happen sooner. They’ll be coming for me, you know. Once I miss my check in, the rest of my team will figure out what happened. Then they’ll come for me. And all they’ll have to do is follow the little dots on their screens…all the way to the South Carolina coast.”

———

CHAPTER 10

These next couple of chapters are for all of you who enjoy the ‘Unofficial Black Widow Sequel’ aspect of this fic...

@hollandorks @yanna-banana @stilldreaming666 @tearoseart-blog @chezagnes​ @freckledbabyyy​ @acharliecoxedfan​

[primofate]

Strength (Part 4) Xiao x fem!reader (trigger warning) Angst

Summary: He tries time and time again to warn you that hanging out with a yaksha is not the best decision. When you actually disappear he comes to terms with the unease. Little did he know that there was so much more hiding behind your smile.

Warnings: pining, FAMILY VIOLENCE/ABUSE, dark themes, profanities, there are only brief mentions of it but I suggest not to read it if you’re not comfortable.

Read: (Part 1)  (Part 2)  (Part 3)  (Part 5)  (Part 6 - final)

“Verr Goldet… That girl…” Xiao glances at Shuyin who was playing out on the huge balcony of the Wangshu Inn. Verr Goldet follows the adeptus’ gaze, her eyes stopping at the little girl who resembled a little bit of you. She looks back at Xiao with an unreadable gaze. “Y/N’s sister,” the owner of the inn confirms.

“...And Y/N? Where is she?” Verr Goldet hesitates to answer, shifting her weight from one side to the other and once again glances at the seemingly happy little girl. “...I’m not sure. I was told she’d come pick Shuyin up in a week but it’s been nearly two… And--”

Verr Goldet abruptly stops, prying her eyes away from the child and getting back to her work. “It’s nothing,” she tries to look busy. Tries to get the adeptus’ gaze off of her, but Xiao doesn’t back down. “And?” 

The shuffle of papers was the only sound between the two of them, coupled by distant chatter and sounds of the inn all around. Verr Goldet closes her eyes and sighs, dropping the papers on the counter. It doesn’t look like she can escape Xiao’s questions.

“The girl, Shuyin… When she came, she had a gauze on her chin.” The owner of the inn starts off slow, as if wording her sentences carefully. “Of course, we had to clean and change it…” Verr Goldet stops there. Her eyes trails away. 

Xiao is patient most of the time, but it seemed that the lady was taking an excessive amount of time thinking about what she wanted to say, and she usually was not that way. “Verr Goldet, what’s the problem?” and her eyes turn back to Xiao. That’s the second time now that she’d gotten distracted. “I--There was no wound on her chin… but it was bruising quite badly. We had to put salve on it to ease the pain… and when asked where she got it from--”

Xiao does not mistake the slight gloss that appears in Verr Goldet’s eyes. His brows start to furrow. Verr Goldet’s lips move, explaining the rest of the story to Xiao, and she ends with a shaky “I don’t know if Y/N is okay, Xiao,” but what could she even do? From what she heard, Y/N had stayed home of her own accord. 

Xiao steps away from the inn counter and moves his gaze to the outside. 

You were going through that and he had no clue. 

“Humans like you…should not closely associate with people like me,”

“…Because you’re a yaksha? But humans can be dangerous too…”

Suddenly it all didn’t make sense. Your weekly excursions to see him and cook him a meal. Your weekly fun stories, sometimes of your sister, sometimes about the blunders you had. 

There was no hint whatsoever of you shouldering any pain or burden. There was no bad aura.

Just a really bright and compassionate smile.

All that, and the only time he’d seen a defeated look on your face was when he--

“You don’t listen to anything I say, do you? Leave. Now.”

If he’d known that the place you were going back to was unsafe, he would never have asked you to leave. And he’s rather conflicted, as why he feels that way. 

Xiao unconsciously fists his hands on both of his sides. He glances at Shuyin, disappears in black smoke and reappears in front of her in seconds. Shuyin is startled with a gasp, dropping the stuffed rabbit on the wooden floor and taking a few steps back. 

Xiao picks up the rabbit. It’s soft to the touch, and he can only imagine the type of comfort it brought to the girl. He lifts it up and inspects it. There’s nothing special about it, but it must be important to her. He hands it back to the girl as he inspects her face. There’s no trace of a wound on her anymore. But Xiao believed Verr Goldet. 

“...Shuyin, was it?” His voice is low and smooth, not the kind of voice that would appease to children, but Shuyin nods slowly and takes the rabbit back. She’s still looking at Xiao cautiously, who shoves a hand into his pocket and takes out a pink pouch, handing it to her as well. “This is your sister’s right?” Shuyin looks at it carefully, and nods again, taking it at the same time. 

“Let’s go and give it back to her. Can you point me to your house?” That got her attention rather quickly. Her head snaps up at Xiao, gleaming with hope and sadness all at the same time. “...A-Are we going to get Y/N?” Xiao is silent. He couldn’t promise anything. Deep down he knew it was better not to interfere. Your business was your business. There must have been a reason that you didn’t say anything to anyone, and Xiao wasn’t in the right place to tell you what to do. All he could do was at least check on you. “...We’re going to see how she’s doing, that’s all,” 

He offers his hand to the little girl, who takes it without hesitation. Shuyin merely blinks, and she’s suddenly in Liyue Harbor. She gasps and looks around, confirming if she really is in the real world. She could hear the familiar call of stall owners, the sound of the waves, people flitting about in and out. She was amazed at the sorcery. “How did you do that?” She looks up at him innocently, Xiao still has her hand in his. He can’t help but be secretly delighted at the wonder in the little girl’s eyes.

He gives her the tiniest of smiles “It’s a secret,” and he briefly holds up a finger to his lips, as if to tell her that she needs to keep it. She nods determinedly. “Now then… Let’s find your sister,” Shuyin looks around and recognizes the place immediately. Back then, they would walk around the harbor as a family. If Shuyin was lucky, she could get a kite or a toy. 

Those memories were a little bit of a blur to her now. She didn’t understand it first, where her mother went, until Y/N explained it to her. Still, she wasn’t as sad, because she always had Y/N, and Y/N always took care of her, no matter what. 

They walked together, her hand in the adeptus’. You could mistake the sight as a brother walking with her own sister. 

“There…” She points at a row of houses, winding stairs leading up to it. Xiao follows her finger, and once again teleports the two of them to the front door. “This one?” Xiao confirms, pointing at the door. Shuyin tilts her head, putting a finger to her lips in thought. “Uhm…” then she uses her finger to count the row of houses from the beginning. “1, 2, 3, 4… Yeah, ours is the 4th one,” she beams up at him. He had to look away for he felt a slight twinge in his chest, one that made him want to smile. 

He knocks on the door. It’s silent. He tries again and this time there’s a little bit of movement behind the door. It opens slowly, as if unsure, and he finally gets a glimpse of you. The relief that consumes him is all too telling. He was worried, and he hadn’t realized it up until now. 

The door then opens up fully, when you see who’s outside. “X-Xiao?!” Your eyes widen, your mouth turning slack as your eyes trail down to his hand, where he’s gently holding Shuyin’s. The gasp was swift to leave your mouth, causing a hand to cover it as you kneel down in front of her and hug her tight, tears threatening to fall. There weren’t any words spoken from you, as you just savor the moment.

Xiao was observing you. You seemed fine. The house seemed fine, in fact, from the door, it was clean and tidy. The only thing that was out of place, he noted, was a slight pink mark on your left cheek, where your cheekbone would be. He couldn’t conclude what it was, but it made him slightly agitated. 

“...Is there anyone else in the house?” Xiao gives you a pointed look, and although Shuyin would not let go of you, small arms around your neck, you look up, and recognize the look in his eyes.

He knew. 

You frown. There’s the tiniest feeling of shame in the pits of your stomach. You don’t know how to explain things, don’t know how to justify your actions. “...No, he’s not home yet,” 

“...We need to talk,” Xiao suddenly says. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but you’re taken aback by his statement as well. 

I won’t interfere.

Is what he keeps repeating in his mind, but he couldn’t stand by it. In essence he was a righteous person. He would do right by everyone and would not turn a blind eye to someone who needed his help. You didn’t ask for it. You never even mentioned it. But that was all the more reason for him to confirm your thoughts. That this is what you wanted to do. 

“...It’ll only be a moment,” he adds and extends the hand that was once holding Shuyin’s, over to you. 

You take it without hesitation, much like your sister did earlier.

Support me at ko-fi: I’ll write something for you when you tip <3

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up! If you want to be taken out from the taglist, use this form as well!)

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

Taglist: (Note, I haven’t updated the taglist, I’ll do so after this) @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @kimbapsana @leefletter @hentaje @tempehlust @rinnesy @hallohun @softlybeloved @tkooooop @ssalamanderr @ben6ett @rytszk @guilixi @reiluvbot @mondstadts-favourite-traveler @xxcrowfeatherxx @b-trld @mkazuyuh @shittyeditsofwhatiwant @ayra2452008 @simpingover @soft-like-sunshine @lnrchii @scheophi @multifandomgeeks @sacredmouche @risasblog01 @mai-m4i @foxxtrot-116 @maple-leaaf @lucy-roo @bluepinkpink @myday6-studies @thraiaiscrying @missbuwan @the-one-that-lurks @adeptitao @xibrokensunriseix @ilovemyleftboob @marblesphere @allinduetimethefirst @nortdrewww @jjsjjsjsjsjjsjjs @how-simpy @loltartaglia @minyoustar @sesetiger @Ghost1y-demon @lqvl3y @cysperia @candyqueen10 @ichigo-no-tsumi @omoriq @saving-for-xiao @trashykawasmilkbread @jjkclub @pearstears @seiiblue @midnightangelfox @korinkuu @heesocks @bobaducky @normalisthenewnorm @atasi-luna @callariri @milkypompon @fadinganchornight @coldstonecrematorium @probablybethere @qingxinteaa @hanachan_2481 @plumpkie @ghost1yd3mon @idk-imjusthere @amigenshin @spirlimpo @hadesaedes @tsim-tsim @dilucragnvindrsgf @gahisb @yunaholics @That-one-air-collecter @allinduetime @albe4ove @berryqueue @give-xiao-almond-tofu @leafcaller @ninqat @mintyayu @luvmedaily @kiyokoshii @jendytub @thegayrubberducky @chuewi @bitandbytes @alatusorrow @midnightistyping @duskdawn052 @ventislatte @fishclaymore @allinduetimethefirst @jahnvi-d @justpeaxchy @tremmblingbling @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @axerrri @rin-ruee @tohmanatic @smoochi-modest @multifandomtrashpanda @hatsunehatsu @mysticalchocolate @aruaruaru @nikkacutiepie @backinblack1967 @helloxiaoty @fancystark @flower0930 @inohsae @melleunlikely @chia-simppie @sunamew @xiao-ciao @itdluvr @naviercallisto @rmjace @yelishaa @c-a-v-e-town

[smutandfluffohmy]

Restricted Section

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin! Reader X Fred Weasley Warnings: Smut!, (French special), there’s some spanking in there, NO twincest! they share you but don’t touch each other in that way A/N: Sorry for missing last weeks ‘His Sweater’ update, I’ve been really tired lately. Maybe it’s too much coffee or too little? Also I have midterms this week nobody tell my professors this is what I’m doing. A/N 2: They’re very different when they do the old devils tango but that’s just what I thought fit their personalities don't come for me Request: Hi! I love your writing and wanted to request a Fred x reader x George (preferably smut if you’re comfortable writing it) and if you don’t want to write the reader with both of the twins you can pick. There’s just not enough Weasley twin love on tumblr. Also can the reader be Slytherin or at least house neutral? Thank you ❤️❤️

Class ended early, you and your friend Flora walked with a very gloomy Draco Malfoy that likes to annoy older students to seem more interesting than he actually is. Your other friend,Blake, was making their way very annoyed and very much covered in some sort of colorful powder.  “Whoa what happened to you?” You asked looking them up and down.

Blake shook their robes as powder of all different colors fell of their robes “Got caught in one of Weasleys pranks.” they said, hitting at the Slytherin tie that will never be solely green and silver again.

“Fred and George?” Flora asked wiping some of the powder that got on her own robes.

“Yea.” Blake said absentmindedly, before looking up at your face before scoffing. “Stop drooling!” Blake said clapping their powdered covered hands at you making the front of your sweater covered with bits of blue and yellow.

“Oh what I wouldn’t do to be between them.” You laughed.

Blake laughed and shoved you a bit  “You’re disgusting.”

“To keep warm!” You laughed and attempted to defend yourself, your friends were more than aware on your crush on certain Weasleys but Draco Malfoy wasn't your friend.

Draco scoffed walking in front of the three of you “Blake’s right you’re disgusting to be talking like that especially about a Weasley.”

You laughed again but this time at Draco and his air of importance “I think they’re fit. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t eat them up if you got the chance.”

Flora laughed pretending to be disgusted “Lalala can’t hear you.”

“You’re a disgrace to Slytherin.” Draco said wagging a disapproving finger at you.

“Shouldn't you be off snogging Parkinson?” the three of you laughed shoving past him, leaving him to stay stunned in the middle of the hallway.

Being a prefect was great, rewarding, yada yada yada all that people thought being a prefect was, was in fact tru. It was also a great pain in the ass, especially on the days when you got to patrol around the school looking for any wondering housemates before any of the other prefects could.

The library was your last stop before you called it a night and went off to bed. Two tall figures came out of the dark, the only source of light was your wand.

“Merlin! what are you two doing here?”You said after you composed yourself after getting scared half to death. “This could easily be 50 points from Gryffindor so I suggest you tell me why you two are in the library in the dead of night.” You said scolding George and Fred who were in front of you leaning against book cases with their ever present smiles on their faces.

“We need your help with something” Fred said hooking his finger on the top of your tie, tugging it loose. Your face was burning and the words you wanted to say weren’t reaching your mouth. Instead you swatted his hand away trying your best to keep your wits.

“We’d really owe you one.” George said taking a step towards you.

Straightening yourself up you looked up at the two of them, having not a bloody clue what they were going on about “I have half a mind to tell Flich.”

“I don’t think you’d want Flich to join us for what we had in mind.” George said picking off something from the front of your robes.

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders back at a failed attempted to be seen as taller, a tad bit more intimidating “And what exactly did you have in mind?” You asked.

Fred smiled leaning down to tug at your tie once more “You tell us we over heard you.” he said.

Grabbing your tie away from him your face grew red, knowing exactly what he was referring to “I don’t kn-” you lied

“In the halls.” Fred said squinting his eyes at you trying to see when it will all click for you.

“You should really talk about things like that somewhere private.” George said trailing his hand down your arm.

“I-I’m sorry.” You said. and it was all you could say, there was obviously no point in denying it now.

“So are you interested?” Fred said. It took a moment to register exactly what he was saying but by the hook on your robes and Georges hand hovering over your arm. You reckoned that it would at least be a good time, you nodded in agreement “Use your words love.”

“Yes. Yes I want to do it.” You nodded. But what were you agreeing to? A messy snog behind the Herbology books? or something more?

Fred laughed cupping your face to look up at him “Shivering? Naughty.” which made you shiver under his touch even more.

George leaned in for a kiss, that you returned. His lips against yours, slowly biting at your bottom lip a bit. “That’s ten points from Slytherin.” He said.

Fred played with the loops of your pants waiting for a sign that you wanted to keep going. Un-buttoning your pants he took it as a sign to keep going, as he pulled down your pants “Another ten here.” he said, the cold air hitting your now bare thighs.

George played with the waistband of your underwear, as he ran his finger across the fabric. “Another fifteen there” he said smiling into the kiss

“What if someone walks in.” You said. Looking up at them despite always being aware of how tall the twins are you never had them tower over you this closely.

“The more the merrier.” Fred laughed before you slapped him on the arm. “Ouch” He said still grinning as he pretended to rub at his arm.

“Don’t worry we’ll take care of it.” George said waving away all of your concerns.

Your hands were shaking placing them on Georges chest leaning in for a kiss, he placed his hands on the sides of your face. Stroking your face gently with his thumb, Fred reached over unbuttoning your shirt. His hands were cold, his fingers traced your chest pushing your shirt to the side he bit the soft skin of the nape of your neck.

George stopped and used his index finger to make you look up at him“Are you okay?” He said looking into your eyes for any hint of unease  “We can stop whenever you want to.”

Shaking your head you answered him “No. Please don't stop.” you said placing your hand over his.

“See they’re a good little prefect.” Fred said his hard dick pressed against your thigh, making you melt into him further.

Shaky hands you reached behind you, your hand slithering down Fred’s shaft. “Cat got your tongue Fred?” You said smiling smug at how the tables changed.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George.”

Everything moved too quickly and before you knew it you were on your hands and knees on the cold wooden floor.Fred got behind you nudging your knees apart. Fred positioned himself behind you, your heart thumped against your chest.

You fingers flexed, a shudder going through your body as Freds tip teased you. In frustration you leaned backwards making Fred suck in air and a string of curses, wincing you sunk deeper. He placed his hands on your back trying to keep you in place .

George was hesitant to go through with it. “George please.” You muttered out, your voice low and filled with lust. You asking was all that took for George to shuffle forward. His dick missing your mouth and the tip and shaft slapping you on the face.

George tried once more and this time he enters it slowly in your mouth. You slobbered on George’s dick, being trusted further by Fred making your eyes sting with tears. George cupped your cheek with his hand, wiping away a tear that was rolling down your cheek.

You wanted to know what George tasted like but all you could taste was his shaft that was pressed against your tongue.Your drool was dripping down your chin and hitting the floor.

Fred pushes himself in further, you could feel every inch of of him inside of you.Moans and pleas got stuck in your throat, the vibrations making George shudder.

You pressed your hands and knees against the hard floor trying your best to keep steady. To stay upright. Worried that your shaky hands and legs will give out from under you.

Fred pushed himself out, his hands gripped your hips tightly before pushing himself back in. Your eyes rolled back wanting to touch them but instead you were left with them touching you and being unable to do the same.

The libraries overwhelming smell of old books was something you never got used to even after all the years you spent at Hogwarts. But now all you could smell was George and Fred.

George's hands were placed on your head holding your hair back. Maybe it was out of the kindness of his heart or maybe he was just trying to keep himself steady.Fred’s palms rested on your sides, his fingers digging into your hips.

Moving your head up and down softly sucking on his dick but not giving him enough to get off, his fingers gripping handfuls of your hair. Your moans and whimpers got stuck in your throat, Fred’s hand slapping your ass then grabbing handfuls of it. Leaving a pulsating sensation that would disappear in seconds.

“Shit.” Was all Fred said before he cummed inside of you, sighing and collapsing against a book case in a mess of sweat and pants. His ginger hair pressed against his forehead, his body coated in a glistening layer of sweat.

You tugged your legs under you, feeling the cum travel down your leg.You grabbed George’s shaft pumping up and down, George let out a moan throwing his head back. A string of incoherent curses left his mouth, tugging at your hair in between fistfuls.Your hand moved up and down, your thumb swiping across the head before taking him in your mouth again.

Your legs were going numb underneath you, and your eyes stung as tears rolled down your face.George shuddered around your touch letting out a deep throaty moan, cumming inside your mouth. Strings of cum ran down your chin before swallowing, finally able to sit between the twins you were trying to steady their breathing.

“You okay?” George asks holding you up right before you could collapse in front of them.

Fred laughed “Don’t go dying on us.” he said pinching your cheek lovingly.

Getting to bed was a haze. You started to think that last night was all a pleasant dream but the marks and soreness begged to differ.

You didn’t want to get out of bed, you didn’t want to wake up and you definitely didn’t want to have to walk around a ridiculously large school when you walked weird just getting out of bed.

Your friends that were already sitting at the Slytherin table waved you over “Come sit! I heard from Lavender Brown that a 5th year Ravenclaw told her that Melvin Catterrick said he thinks he overheard Draco has a crush on someone. You’ll never bloody guess who! ” Flora said excitedly and hurriedly beckoning you to sit down.

“Can you just tell me standing here?” You asked tugging at the hem of your sweater making sure to keep your hickeys hidden.

Dalton said shaking their head “No common we’re all going to guess!”

“I can't.”

“Why not?” Your friend asked as the rest of them looked up confused at you.

“I-I have a headache. Feels like my heads splitting right down the middle.” You said in fake pain grabbing your head.

“and a sore ass, red handprints on my ass, a sore throat and hickeys that will have me wearing scarves for a while.” You thought to yourself, trying your best to ignore Fred and George.