#''try doing that obvious thing alone'' is something i've already thought of

[rkvriki]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ enhypen obliviously in love

hi.......lmfao i keep disappearing i swear i'm alive but my isnpo has been going down the drain but i got this cute lil idea also to take a break of all the smutty things i've been posting lolz... anyways hope you enjoy this one !

make sure to leave feedback and reblog! my requests are closed and my talk box is always open so lets talk!

WARNINGS ! none really i think?? this is just not my best work im sorry </3 word count: 1.9k a/n: sorry that some of them, mainly hee's, are smaller than others, my brain isn't functioning and i had a writer's block during this and if it's not goo it's bc i quite forced myself to write this bc i wanted to post sth :(

୨୧ LEE HEESEUNG ! - trying to hold your hand and failing

you and heeseung met through mutual friends in your first year of college and you became almost inseparable ever since then. in the beginning of it, you would only be together when the whole group was, but as time went by and you both started feeling more than just platonic feelings you two started hanging out alone as well. it was usual for heeseung to walk you to your apartment after classes and today was no different. you two walked side by side, the sun almost setting behind you. it was mostly quiet except for the background chatting and the small talk you two would make about something you saw. you could feel heeseung’s hand brushing against yours from time to time and you were internally cursing him out for not holding your hand already. after a few moments of silence, you heard heeseung sigh as he gained courage to hold your hand. his hand got closer to yours but- oh! a light post came between you two. needless to say heeseung was a blushing mess while you laughed at him.

୨୧ PARK JONGSEONG ! - confronting you about it

anyone had to be really blind to not notice the romantic connection there was between you and jay. it was so obvious you were both in love with each other, it was almost painful how one of the sides didn’t notice. that side being you. it’s not like you didn’t like jay romantically, because you do. a lot. but you felt like he just saw you as a best friend he tends to protect a lot. jay didn’t really show it, but he gets really frustrated when he tries to make a move on you in a subtle way, only for you to put him in the friend zone, but it’s all unintentional. every time someone tells you “jay totally likes you.” you’re quick to dismiss them because he would never see you like that. even though you’re the one saying it, it breaks you inside. until one day, you’re both in a diner, sharing fries and a milkshake and you can see jay fidgeting nervously and bouncing his leg repeatedly. “you’re restless, what’s going on?” you ask him, worried. jay sighs heavily and props his elbows on the table, staring at you with a serious expression. “look, i don’t know if i should just give up, because at this point you have to be pretending not to know.” he says “T-to know what?” he laughs at that. “that i like you, dummy.”

୨୧ SIM JAEYUN ! - tries to kiss you and fails

as childhood friends you and jake were always expected to end up dating by your fellow family members. you would always brush off any comments about you two (deep down you wish they were true) while jake just smiled like a fool while looking at you. it was no surprise when jake told his friends he liked you. it wasn’t hard to notice how he felt about you, seen the way he looks at you with glimmering eyes as he took in every word you say. he has never really tried to hide how he felt about you. he wasn’t ashamed of it and couldn’t wait for the moment you realized he liked you, because deep down he knew you felt like him too. it’s funny to him how he’s always making flirty comments and giving you kind of romantic presents and still you just thought he was playing his role as your best friend. but still, even though it was all funny and entertaining to watch, jake was tired of waiting and he decided to just directly show you how he feels. so that’s how you find yourself sitting in the park bench with him as layla plays around. jake takes a quiet deep breath as his hand comes up to brush your hair from your face, making you face him. he takes that as an opportunity to lean down. you, thinking he was gonna whisper something, turned your face to the side, making him bump his head against you. he starts laughing at you, making you confused. “you can’t really see it, can you?”

୨୧ PARK SUNGHOON ! - misunderstanding gone right ?

no one who knew you two understood how in hell you and sunghoon weren’t a couple. it was so obvious you both liked each other but still none of you seemed to do anything about it. you two were your class’s representatives so you two were almost always together and it wasn’t too hard to notice the lingering touches or stares you shared. but something the other students didn’t know was that you two had actually talked about your “feelings”. one day sunghoon almost overheard you telling your friend you liked him. “you like me?” he had asked “no! no, i don’t like you, sunghoon.” you answered trying to play it off. he nodded, his lips pursing. “good, then because i’m in love with someone else.”. it was something along those lines and you two had never talked about it again, but the tension never left. it felt heavy on you and it was painful to spend time alone with sunghoon so you settled that you were gonna tell him the truth. “remember that day you asked me if i liked you?” he hummed as he stopped in his tracks. “well, i lied. i like you, actually. i don’t want things to get awkward because you don’t feel the same but i needed to be honest.” his eyes widened as he stared at you like you were crazy. “are you kidding me? i only said i didn’t like you because you said you didn’t like me.” you gasped and pointed an accusing finger at him “why did you lie then? you said you were in love-” “hey! don’t put the blame on me now you lied too.” “well, we still can fix it right?” you said laughing making him do the same.

୨୧ KIM SUNOO ! - “PFT! who would ever like me?”

you and sunoo weren’t the closest people ever but you two spent a lot of time together since pretty much all of your friends were mutual. still, that fact didn’t stop you from developing a silly crush on him that quickly turned into something more serious the more you got to know him in the very few times the two of you were left alone after a group hangout. no one knew about it except for your best friend. you never told sunoo, not because you were afraid of rejection or him being rude because with how sweet his personality is, he would’ve rejected you in such a friendly manner it would make you think he’s reciprocating the feelings, but because no one like him would ever like you, he was way out of your league. so, confessing was definitely out of question, no matter how much your best friend would insist you would simply not do it. but in reality, it wasn’t really like that. one day you were hanging out with sunoo and your best friend at a cat cafe when suddenly in the conversation you said something along the words of “who would ever like?” and bold sunoo, was not afraid to hide his sincere feelings and answered with “i do.” he smiled while you looked up blushing furiously. your best friend laughing maniacally. “w-what?” sunoo chuckled at your reaction. “i thought i made it quite obvious that i liked you, silly.”  oh! who would’ve guessed!

୨୧ YANG JUNGWON ! - heard you liked “someone else”

you and jungwon had met each other in sophomore year of highschool and it was safe to say there was a connection instantly that was more than just a platonic one. you two quickly became attached at the hip. if jungwon said he was going somewhere it was sure that you would be here two, if you were being invited somewhere they could already expect the “can jungwon come along?” question, and vice-versa. it wasn’t strange when people came up to either you or him and asked if you were dating each other and it honestly shocked everyone when you both would always answer no to it, even your own girlfriends found your “friendship” strange. they did not find the idea of a boy-girl friendship weird or impossible to exist but they just couldn’t see your dynamic as friends so it was bound for them to question you. you heard the question so many times you decided to just tell them “fine! yes, i like him so, what?” you saw their shocked faces but they weren’t looking at you. you looked behind you seeing jungwon behind you. when you locked eyes he was quick to turn his back and walk away making you panic. a few days have gone by after that and you decided you needed to talk to him. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i didn’t want things to get ruined by this.” jungwon stared at you “who even is tha guy?” he asked making you look at him as if he had three heads. “what?” you asked “what what?” “jungwon the guy is literally you, i thought that was settled already.” jungwon stayed silent before laughing like a maniac. “if you’re here to make fun of me you can-” jungwon shut you off with a kiss, making you relaize where things went wrong.

୨୧ NISHIMURA RIKI ! - i don’t even know how to word this one

let’s settle one thing. you two knew you both liked each other. romantically. you just don’t bother on labelling it or directly showing it to each other. everyone around you found your dynamic honestly weird but to you two it was more simple than people put it to be. it all started when you were really oblivious about ni-ki’s feelings for you so he decided to hint that he liked you more than a friend. like one time you were walking to his house and he just shoot “you look cute.” but you didn’t quite hear what he said, distracted by a dog “what did you say?” he sighed “i said you look like a fruit.” “riki that does not make sense, but whatever you say.” and he started gradually getting bolder. “i can’t get this song out of my head.” you told him during class “i can’t get you out of my head.” oh! that was new information for you “thanks…?” at this point you were acting dumb for him and he couldn’t take it anymore so he got even more straightforward. during one of your daily walks you were rambling about a flower you saw on the way and he just let you talk as his hand sneakily grabbed yours, making you stop talking and falter in your steps “what?” he asked as if it was nothing “n-nothing!” he smiled as he kept walking along with you. after that day he noticed a change. a good one. and that’s when he realized you had realized so he decided to just get to the point “is it weird if i kiss you?” he asked when you were eating lunch in the school garden. you put your drink down and turned to look at him. “honestly, riki? yes. do i care? no.” so with that he grabbed your face, kissing you as he smiled against your lips.

[yuri-is-online]

Out With the Old (Heartsabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle x Yuu)

"Look I would get rid of this thing if I could afford a new sweatshirt." You drag the offensive article of clothing over your head completely missing the spark of curiosity and mischief in your companion's eye. "I've got a lot of bad memories associated with this."

"If it's that uncomfortable we can go look for a replacement instead of-"

"Oh no not like that, it's super comfy. I just don't like it because it technically belongs to my ex."

notes: they/them used for Yuu, some questionable behavior from Floyd and Jade because who else? This is meant to be crack. Second part can be found here (x)

Riddle- "THAT'S LITERALLY ILLEGAL???"

He is too focused on hyperventilating because it sounds like you just admitted to a crime in front of him to even think about offering you one of his sweaters. Trey and Cater have to break it down for him unpaid therapist style that no, you are not wearing stolen property (probably), borrowing clothes is just something people in relationships often do. He then further needs it explained that no, you are not still in a relationship and since you want to get rid of the shirt it sounds like things ended poorly. His friends want to try and suggest he should give you an article of his clothing to replace the offending one but he's so focused on getting you something that matches dress code that they decide to quit while they're ahead. Literally.

Trey- "You know you can always ask us if you need help, right?"

Vil's right about Trey's tendency to fuss and spoil people being a bit of a flaw; he's in tune enough with his emotions to know that he should not, for his own sake, give you one of his old sweatshirts without being honest about why he wants you to wear it. But he can't exactly deny his instincts when it comes to the people he cares about. You're cold and uncomfortable, what sort of guy would he be if he just left you all alone? Just please don't brush this off with a comment about how much of a big brother or mother hen he is; it is already going to be pure torture trying to look at you in his things in a Queen of Hearts honoring way. He doesn't need an added complex on top of it.

Cater- "Oh honey no."

Cater doesn't like keeping stuff his exes gave him either, but luckily for him he's never been in a position where that's literally only the stuff he had on him. Speaking of things, he buys a bunch of clothes off magicam he barley has time to take the tags off of before the trend goes stale. You guys should totally ditch what you were planning to do today and have a little fashion show in his room. It'll be cute and he can get a bunch of cammable shots! Just ignore the pop music club hoodie he refuses to take back because it looks "so much cuter on you." <3

Ace- "That's extremely lame prefect."

He isn't blind; you're cute and poor. Anyone would jump at the chance to let you steal a hoodie, besides Ace isn't insecure enough to be super jealous of someone you clearly hate. He knows you well enough to tell when you are silently wishing death on someone, it's all in the vocal tone. But damn if this new bit of information doesn't make things tricky. He already makes a big fuss about not needing to focus on dating right now, and with that iconic sweatshirt of yours technically belonging to an ex it's not like he can just slide you one of his without making it super obvious what he's doing. Looks like you're just going to have to take some extra teasing for a bit prefect, it's his preferred method of cope.

Deuce- "You've been here for how long and the Headmage hasn't given you any clothes?!?!"

Deuce is a good egg whose primary concern is almost always your well being. He tends to act before his common sense and emotions can catch up with his thought process, and that's exactly what happens here. The concept of you dating someone is just so... foreign to him. Not because he thinks your undesirable! It's just that you guys are always hanging out, you not being around makes him feel a bit funny inside, and not in a good way. He doesn't mention that to his mom when he texts her asking if she has any of his old clothes laying around, but she definitely knows what's on his mind. Why else would she have sent his old delinquent jacket?

Leona- "Well that explains why it smells like shit."

Let the record show that Leona is in fact, lying to you. Your clothes don't smell like anything other than you and maybe some of the musk floating around Ramshackle Dorm, but that doesn't stop you from pulling the fabric and taking a good sniff. To Leona, all this really suggests is that you've been over the person long enough that you don't care about keeping their scent around anymore. Sure, a tiny thought does worm it's ugly way into his inferiority complex that "oh they liked someone else" but his equally large ego immediately slams the emphasis on "liked" and starts thinking about how to get his scent on you. He doesn't really own too many jackets like the one you're wearing, but he does have some nice silk scarfs he could wrap you up in. Much classier than whatever trash you had previously been going out with.

Ruggie- "You wanna toss it my way then?"

Clothes are clothes are clothes, you don't see Ruggie acting like his uniform is still Leona's just because that's who originally bought it. If you are really bothered by the memories of your ex, he's willing to listen and make fun of them, assuming that will make you feel better, but this won't make him jealous. That emotion is reserved for when you share food with other people. He is dead serious about taking the sweatshirt if you don't want it, as far as he's concerned that shirt belongs to you, and he wouldn't mind having an excuse to blend your wardrobes a little bit. It would make you even closer to being a real member of his pack.

Jack- "You can just take mine."

Jack's strong sense of justice and firm moral code are definitely his only motivations for offering you one of his sweatshirts. Forcing a student to wear clothes they find uncomfortable and associate with negative memories just because they didn't have the foresight to pack something they did like for a school they didn't know they would be attending is beyond unfair. That's what he tells himself anyway, and it's not like he isn't upset on your behalf, but it's plain as day to anyone that he wants to prove that you can rely on him; he's not like that other person, he doesn't mind being alone together with you.

Azul- "If your finances really are in such dire straights you know I could-"

Revealing personal information in Azul's presence is asking to be offered a deal. Sure that little complaint might have been insignificant to you, but for Azul? He's having a full blown Sherlock style breakdown going on in his head trying to decide what his angle is. 1) The prefect has dated in the past and doesn't look on that experience favorably. Does this prevent them from dating again? Needs further analysis. 2) Giving articles of clothing is an acceptable form of human courtship, even if used. Or is it especially if used? 3) Can he convince you to burn this if he gets you a replacement or is that too petty? 4) More importantly does this mean you have a type? And how does he press for that information without appearing desperate?

Jade- "Oh? Well that sounds extremely annoying."

Jade Leech is first and foremost a messy bitch who lives for other people's misery. Sure, he is reasonably certain he's in love with you at this point, but that doesn't matter. You have a story that's filled with second hand embarrassment and a bone to pick besides he is nothing if not an enthusiastic audience. The thought of you wearing clothes that he owns wasn't something he would have thought of himself, merfolk don't typically wear them so dating customs that involve them are a bit foreign to him. He would much rather just bite you. Or give you some jewelry. both he wants to do both

Floyd- "PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME"

The instant you say that sweatshirt is from an ex he is taking off whatever shirt he is currently wearing and trying to tug off yours. Yes, even if it is his basketball jersey, and yes even if he just got back from practice. Isn't the scent supposed to be the point? He knows you miss him when he's gone, and he can get you something nicer out of his closet later. Just remember to tell everyone, even and especially if they don't ask, who gave it to you. Floyd's... nice? Enough? To not immediately burn your sweatshirt but it's up for debate if that's because he's actually being nice or if he just wants a trophy.

[nomazee]

Hello, congratulations on your milestone! 🎉

May I have (for the mix-and-match 😚) Dr.Ratio and the word-concept "bathtub"? 🫢

Take your time! ❤️❤️

this one was fun to write too (as per usual with ratio) i've written for dr ratio so much in the last two weeks i think i am becoming him.... Im slowly morphing into veritas ratio please save me... THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING this was lovely :3

my 1k event!

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“No way. You take bubble baths with a rubber duck?” 

Veritas freezes for no longer than a millisecond before whipping his head around to see you in the doorway of the bathroom. He’d been relaxing just moments ago, sinking into the hot water with his eyes closed, and yes there was a rubber duck in the bath with him but that was not by choice. It just happened to be there when he ran the bath, and he opens his mouth to argue but is quickly cut off by your endless rambling. 

“Anyways, I came to wash your hair. One of your assistants told me you just left in the middle of your usual work hours, and I thought, ‘wow, how odd, the Ratio I know would never do that!’ And then I thought, what better way to cheer my dear friend up than keep him company and wash his hair! It did look a little greasy today.” 

“I am not your dear friend,” he argues mockingly, but the bite in his voice falls short when you circle around the bath and set down your paraphernalia on the tiles next to you (a microfiber hair towel, shampoo, conditioner, some miscellaneous hair foams and sprays that he really does not trust you with). “You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Get out of my bathroom.” 

“This is our bathroom now, Ratio. We’re a community, you and me.” 

“It’s ‘you and I.’”

“Exactly! You and I, a community. You’re getting the hang of it now.” 

Veritas sighs, surrendering any potential of a relaxing evening to your whims. This is, unfortunately, how it usually goes, and he has yet to make a real effort to stop it. A voice in the back of his head taunts him because at his core, he has zero desire to stop it at all. 

“Come on,” you keep babbling, threading your fingers roughly through his already-damp hair. It’s not a pleasant sensation at all, and he winces and holds back a pained yelp. “It’s kind of like going to a spa, or whatever. I’m trying to pamper you. Be grateful!” 

“There’s nothing to be grateful about when you’re trying to scalp me,” he could push your hands away easily, bat you off and make you leave. Instead, though, he gives you a minute to tame your inelegant movements into something gentler. He hears the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then your hands are back on his scalp, lathering honey-scented shampoo into the layers of his hair. 

“Is this better?” you ask cheekily, tracing circles in his hair, digging your fingertips in and scratching just a little bit, hard enough to feel it but light enough that it’s still soothing. Veritas sighs through his nose, deep and heavy and sinking back into the water. There’s no mocking retorts, no quips, no sarcastic tone, just the even cycle of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. If he tries hard enough, focuses enough, he can hear yours too, but it makes his stomach twist with an uncomfortable, unnameable feeling. 

In your bundle of things that you brought, there’s an empty plastic cup, and you use it to scoop water from the tub and rinse the foam from his hair. Veritas feels wholly exposed, for obvious reasons among others, and the urge to kick you out still sits heavy in his chest. Right next to it is a warmth, though, something holding his sensibility hostage, something that finds this more comforting than it would be if he’d sat in the bath until the water went cold, all alone, without your hands washing his hair clean of oil and grime and the weight of his research. 

You break him of his reverie, but the sudden sound of your voice isn’t as intrusive as he anticipated. “You know, you should start using this oil thing for your hair, I got it from one of my coworkers,” by now, his hair is completely rid of any remaining shampoo, and your hands are rubbing a thin layer of conditioner into the ends of each strand, “and it’s supposed to help your hair grow. I think you’d look great with long hair, Veritas, don’t you agree?” 

“What, do you think about that often?” It’s supposed to be something snarky, something to shut you down before you dig too deep, but you never catch the hint—it’s your best and worst quality. 

“Maybe,” you admit, heft in your words, a density that needs to be cut open and examined. He’s good at that—good at looking and prying, but he’s the worst if he’s next to you. You’re nowhere near as thorough of a researcher as him, but he thinks (with a sense of embarrassment) that when the subject is him, you’re the most qualified person around. “Wouldn’t it be nice? With your hair all down to your shoulders, maybe. And if you really think it’s a hassle to take care of, I’ll just do it for you.” 

He’s perfectly capable of taking care of his own hair, thank you very much, but the idea of having you wash it for him, brush out the tangles in it every other day is appealing to a starving man like Veritas. He aches, and the skin at the nape of his neck itches. 

“You’re saying nonsense,” he says, and he can feel the way his brow has tightened and he instinctively goes to chew at the dead skin on his lips. “My hair is perfectly fine the way it is.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you respond, “just giving you options.” Your hands finally leave his hair, and suddenly the water in the bathtub feels frigid and icy, and Veritas represses a shiver. “Your hair is squeaky clean. Now, get out of the bathroom! It’s my turn to hang out with the rubber duck.” 

“Would you—?!” Veritas turns to glare at you, but the impish grin on your face makes him falter. You’re incorrigible. “The duck isn’t mine! And you have your own bathroom. Stop invading my space.” 

“Sigh,” you say aloud, because you’re corny and theatrics are written into every part of your personality. “Oh, grandest Ratio, I really did think we were friends, but you wound me so deeply! All this time has meant nothing to you! All this new shampoo that I bought just for you, gone to waste…��� 

“For gods’ sake,” he mutters, reaching for a set of pajamas that you’d so conveniently taken from his own dressers and brought with you while on your mission to wash his hair. “Turn around so I can get dressed and then you can use the bathroom. So annoying.” 

“Not annoying enough to kick me out, though,” you say, and you’re completely right, and Veritas will admit that one day, but certainly not today.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

[swanimagines]

MELODY OF THE NIGHT | MORPHEUS

Summary: You've been distancing yourself from Morpheus, because you know he's an Endless and can't be romantically involved with humans, but you can't bear being with him while knowing you can't have him. He comes over to your house and demands to know what's the matter. It ends unexpectedly.

It had been weeks. You had known it was forbidden for Endless to be romantically involved with mortals, but your stupid heart had still developed feelings for him. It had been too painful to endure, so you willed yourself not to visit The Dreaming anymore, and avoided Morpheus in your dreams as well - not that you actually had the power to do that, but Morpheus knew when someone didn't want him to appear so he didn't.

When your doorbell had rang, you had to admit that you hadn't expected who was on the other side of the door, even when it should have been obvious. Morpheus stood there, looking as gorgeous as always. Compared to you - messy hair, looking like you didn't sleep properly, in your t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Hi, um... sorry, I'm kind of busy here," you mumbled to him, not really even looking at him.

Morpheus sighed, clearly knowing it was a lie. "May I come in?"

It wasn't really a question, but you still nodded. He came into your apartment and closed the door behind himself. You tapped your tea mug nervously as you stood in front of him. You didn't know what to say to him, really. You were embarrassed, angry, and frustrated all at once. Your emotions made you feel out of control, which in turn only increased your frustration and your embarrassment.

"I do not understand why you will not talk to me," Morpheus said, his voice soft. He looked hurt, or maybe just disappointed.

His words hit you like a hammer. You took a deep breath. "Because I... I just... I can't visit you anymore."

He frowned. "Why?"

"I don't want to talk about it." you replied quickly. If you told him, you knew he'd sigh and explain what could happen. He would also say he doesn't love you back.

This time, Morpheus didn't press any further, but he did look upset. He stayed silent after that for several minutes. Eventually, he spoke again. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" you exclaimed. You shook your head, trying to get some of your thoughts together. "No, it's... it's me."

Morpheus moved closer to you. "Then why..."

"Just leave me alone," you snapped. "I told you I don't want to talk about it, and I mean it."

"But-" he started, but you cut him off.

"Dream, please, stop," you pleaded. "You've already caused enough trouble by showing up here. Just go away."

"I do not understand," he whispered. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," you muttered. "And I can't let anything to happen, I can't control... just leave me alone."

Morpheus seemed truly confused now. He didn't seem angry, though, and he didn't argue. He just continued to stare at you, his expression unreadable. "You are one of the first humans I consider a friend. I need to know-"

Next thing you didn't even think about doing. Your feelings just rushed forward, spilling over and you grabbed his coat and tugged him close and pressed your lips against his.

Morpheus froze, just as you had expected and you pulled back before he had a chance to, breaking off the kiss. You stared into his eyes, panting slightly. "This is why I've been avoiding you," your voice broke mid-sentence, tears now cascading over your cheeks. "I know it's wrong, we can't be together."

"What?" Morpheus asked, bewildered.

"I love you," you admitted. It felt like the hardest sentence you ever uttered. "I can't keep it in, I just keep thinking about how I want to wake up with you, and I dream about you all the time, and I hate myself for feeling this way. I ruined our friendship the moment I developed those feelings for you, and I'm sorry, but I can't stop loving you, and I can't bear to see your disappointment in me."

Morpheus stared at you for a long moment, watching you sniffling in front of him, before you felt a hand sliding down your cheek and wiping away your tears. "Where did you hear we could not be together?" he asked, gently.

"I... I found it in a book. You had fallen in love with a woman named Nada and the Sun punished her for it."

Morpheus was quiet as he thought about that. "It is true," he then said. "But rules have changed since then. You are not allowed to rule The Dreaming with me or marry me until you are dead, but I am allowed to love you."

His words echoed in your head for a moment before you registered them, and looked up at him. "What?"

"I have loved you ever since we first met," he explained. "I cannot help it. I will never stop. Even if you stop talking to me, even if you stop visiting me, I will always love you. I needed to know if I can fix our friendship, but I did not know you feel the same way about me, and that is why you stopped visiting me."

You blinked at him, almost thinking this was a dream... or at least a daydream. But it felt too real to be one - and in dreams, you knew Morpheus would be controlling what he'd say."

"So you love me?" you asked hesitantly.

Morpheus nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do love you."

You stared at him for a few moments longer, unsure what to say, before you felt your lips growing into a wide smile. "Well, I love you too," you said, pressing another kiss on his lips, and this time, he returned it.

And on that moment, you knew it - this was going to work. Even though it was a risk to love him, you were willing to take it - because you believed he deserved your love more than anyone else in the world.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[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. 

[glassrowboat]

Cinderella. Pantalone.

Summary: You didn't mean to be stranded out on the steps to the palace with a broken shoe, but some things are more like a fairy tale than one would think. It's only a shame your prince charming is a fucking dick.

Warnings: an exuberant amount of cussing, mentions of death, and the upperclass

Word count: 2500+

The sound of shoes clacking on the pavement was the first sign you were no longer as alone as once thought. A solid click, the pristine shine of black leather, and a silver buckle that somehow shined even in the cold night air when the brightest light near you was a streetlamp at most ten feet away. The fact there wasn't a very particular someone's insignia ingrained in that black already felt like a miracle given the man's pride. He did so love to adorn himself in finery.

“Regrator.”

“Miss (y/n), a pleasure as always.” He didn't even pretend to not notice your current state, his eyes might as well be full of mirth as he gazed down at you sitting on the steps leading up to a cursed banquet you had to attend. The event was already in full swing yet here you sat outside as if the clamor of voices and music playing couldn't be heard. “I hope you have not gotten yourself into another problem.”

Teasing now, of all times, really?

It was already fully evident he knew what was going on, how could he not? A shoe in your hand a broken off heel in the other made it clear there was in fact a problem. The contraption had wronged her. “I think it's rather obvious, is it not? Or do you need a new prescription for those glasses of yours?”

He didn't even bother to give an interesting reply back as he simply laughed off the jab like it was water on a ducks back. Something that wasn't event relevant enough to be addressed. “I see now, that does appear to be a problem.”

Wow. I had no fucking clue.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance to you?” His voice was musing as ever, too gentle to be real. Just the same way he acts in the middle of a business deal.

“Oh?” You looked up at him, eyes tearing off those shiny shoes you were admittedly jealous of in this moment. Any other day you might just consider spitting on them but circumstances have changed. “Tell me trousers, for amusements sake only, what could you possibly do to help me in this hour of need? Maybe you'd do the same thing Scaramouche did as he passed me by only minutes prior, telling me to walk barefoot in the snow.”

“Oh my, it would be a mad man who would dare try.” At least he understood that compared to the puppe- “Back to calling me trousers now, miss? I thought we grew past that.”

“Maybe you did.” If only the poison on your tongue was enough to sway him enough to slip off a step and fall past the railing with a nice, satisfying kurplunk. “Well seeing as my night is perfectly ruined, how has yours been going?”

"Oh, not too bad myself I must say." Pantalone's voice was calm and smooth as usual, as if nothing really affected him much. "I've been attending to a few important matters as part of my responsibilities, but now I have some free time to spend. I suppose I may have found something to do with it now."

How annoyingly easy it was for him to lie, to show no tell at all. No pinch in the eyebrow, no change in tone, not even looking else where to avoid eye contact. Truly a professional. If it weren't for the fact you had personally seen Pantalone repeatedly having to brush off the same man with a rather boring sounding business proposal you would have truly believed him. His irritation had been clear then even as that smile remained. What a talent to have, to lie easier than he breathed.

Slowly, steadily Pantalone made his was down the stairs you sat upon until he was stood before you. A kind face to be shown as he looked down at the object of your plight. “It's a rather pretty pair of shoes. A pity one of them has been torn apart. Do you think we can find you another pair in a store nearby?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass.”

It would be a fool who agrees to be in debt to the regrator, a favor or otherwise.

One of his perfectly manicured eyebrows rose as he looked down at you, almost like he was shocked at the rejection to his offer. The amusement however was clear in his face. "Is something the matter? It would be unfortunate to stay here barefoot in the cold. Though I can't say I didn't expect that answer. You are quite the character.”

“Says you. How great a character you are that your very own name is ripped from a play.”

You weren't even honored with a reply. You never are. 

“Do you live nearby, miss?”

“Yeah. Maybe like ten minutes down that street,” you pointed to the left, finger blocking one of the many piles of snow on the street. “Then you- Close. I'm close by.”

Why the fuck was I telling him this?

“I see.” 

With the wave of a hand covered in what had to be the finest of fabrics for gloves (probably something that's been hand spun by poor widows for years as they labor over raw cotton) and glittering silver Pantalone called over an attendant. Her short frame quickly moving over like she felt the need to be as efficient as possible. As to why? Well, the answer is obvious. You don't defy a harbinger. You don't deny them. You can only hope to please the over hyped power houses of Snezhaya, especially if one of them is your boss. 

“You are far too easy to easy to read, miss (y/n).” Without so much as a glance towards this woman's way he takes something from her hand. A little bottle of sorts you can't read the label of with a red cap. That is until he moves his bejeweled fingers away to give you a chance to peek at the words printed out. “One day your pride will be the end of you.”

And I hope your end will be just as pathetic as you.

Huffing you try and ignore the savior that he's holding in his hand. Shoe glue, just what you need. “Why do you even have that?”

Not even bothering to address you Pantalone tells the attendant she's excused. The same rush as when she ran over showing as she bowed to you both. “Lord harbinger. Miss (y/n).” 

And there she goes.

“Cmon slacks, gimme something I can reply to that isn't your typical droning. Otherwise I might just start mistaking your voice for those inside.” The same chatter that might as well be ringing on your ear as it grows louder and louder throughout the night. Alcohol may loosen lips, but it also apparently makes everyone too deaf to hear properly. If either of you were to go back inside surely you'd be cringing everytime someone walks by as they think it's a great idea to address someone all the way across the great hall.

“I bore you as much as ever then.” With a chuckle Pantalone holds the bottle out before you, dangling it like bait on a string, and you were the fish he was waiting for to take a bite. Warning label flashing your vision. “I could tell you how La Signora once broke her heel and simply combusted with fury. Though that wouldn't be true, she wouldn't be caught dead wearing something cheap enough to break just like that.”

Always has to have a smart reply, doesn't he? All the while you're running low on quips as this guy proves his default setting is exhausting everyone around him. The charming man one might mistake him as with a simple glance was truly such a farce. “Thanks, but I'd rather rip the boots off of some poor, unsuspecting sod then let you do something for me.”

With a click of his tongue Pantalone pulls the bottle back away from you, the shining light of hope that it was being stolen like the donations from an alms box under the nose of a priest. “Ahh yes, the fear of owing the ninth harbinger. It is a daunting cloud to loom so heavily.”

Of course it was. He may sound and look as pretty as a picture but under those silver spectacles were eyes that could only be satisfied with the sight of mora in his palm. Those that denied him such a sight had a habit of going home to a few broken objects, being randomly beaten down out of the blue on their merry way back home, and lastly disappearing in the same way your clouds of breath blown out into the cold air of the blizzard covered nation did. There was no god to pray to that could help escape him, no matter which archons name uttered.

“How about I offer you a deal,” Pantalone asked, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk. It was as if the very mention of any sort of ‘business’ had him rearing to go. Cocky bastard.

It's just a shame you had nothing to say. Another comment would have this back and forth going until either a: you get interrupted by one of the guests, b: he decides toying with you has lost its charm (an unlikely event but still one can dream), and lastly c: you bite the bullet and make a ten minute walk home in a broken shoe through snowy and icy streets you'd surely be slipping and sliding over. A face plant or two might just be worth it though.

“No objections then. As for our deal, I shall assist this damsel in distress with fixing her shoe and in turn you tell no one of this.” As if he was already certain you'd agree in a heartbeat, probably in his minds even with stars glittering around you like a scene from a shojo manga panel, Pantalone plucked the broken shoe and heel from your hands. “I'd say you would be getting the better end of the deal here tonight. You do need to get home, don't you?”

I do, and he knows that. Prick.

 “Fine. Deal or whatever.”

The fact he didn't immediately pull out a five page contract on the spot was disappointing. Unlikely, but the thought alone would be enough to cause you to laugh if it was anyone else's presence you were in. Instead you sat back on those concrete stairs, watching as the regrator of all people slipped off his rings and placed them to the side. Doesn't want his precious getting dirty then, huh?

“So what's the real reason you have that stuff on you?”

“You truly do believe every word that slips past my lips is a lie,” He stated. Stated, not questioned. “I have found myself working in collaboration with a cobbler recently and I was given this as a free sample of sorts. You were simply lucky with the timing is all.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked down at him, his gloved hand holding that stupid little bottle in hand as he seems to run over the nails that were supposed to keep the outsole together with ease. He seemed so calm doing this but it could all just be another facade, another act. Only he, himself, and Pantalone knew what was truly going on in that pretty head of his. “I wouldn't call breaking my shoe luck.”

“Perhaps not.” 

“I never asked, just how did that attendant magically have that on hand with a wave of your- well hand.” That could of been worded a bit better. Cmon self, you're slacking here.

“Oh that? I heard of your little plight when I was inside. A noble lady with a mole over her lip, the left side, mentioned a poor miss (y/n) having tripped over her own two feet like a buffoon who then,” without missing a beat as he spoke Pantalone kneeled before you, “ran off as if a headless chicken.” 

“Lovely imagery, slacks. Thank you for that.”

“I am merely repeating what I have heard for you. I wouldn't want you to go unaware of what your fellow ladies have been gossiping about this night.”

And in doing so you purposefully worded it in a way that had the intent to embarrass me. I'm not blind nor deaf but somehow he surely thinks I am both.

“Now then.” Easily he pulled you from your thoughts. Daydreaming cast aside and asunder as his hand wrapped around your ankle. The instant jolt from the movement you were spurred into meaning little as his grip tightened, not even allowing an inch of freedom. “Give the heel some time before you start walking on it, we don't need to disturb the banquet with your dramatics again.”

A part of you wanted to believe Pantalone's hand didn't feel warm because they're just as cold and dead as his heart, but the gloves he dawned and the thermal stockings you used religiously in this winter inferno were enough to say you were just being hopeful. It was better to focus on that little fact than how he was sliding that stiletto on for you. The fact he wasn't looking at your eyes could either be a blessing or make this all worse. In the very least it gave you a chance to figure out that blaming the color burning your cheeks a rosy hue on the low temperatures could be a solid enough lie he wouldn't openly question your bull. 

“Now if you'll excuse me,” Pantalone said, calling your attention back up to his face and not the hand that had just let go of you. “It's about time I head back inside.”

Somehow there wasn't even a speck of dust on his knees as Pantalone stands back up, his perfect little demeanor the same as always without even a wrinkle to be had. Untouchable. Far off from everyone else around him. “I'm sure the Tsarita's little socialite has been missed.”

With a small laugh and a “precisely,” Pantalone steps around you, those same perfect condition having shoes of his hitting the steps with a satisfying click as he walked away. At least this time you weren't gazing upon them with envy. “Remember now miss, no going around gossiping about this.”

As if I'd ever.

“The less your name falls from my lips the better. You do so tend to leave a narly aftertaste. Plus, I have no intention of owing you anything.”

With one last flick of his gaze, one last shine of those spectacles under the streetlamp he looks at you. How unreadable that mask could be when he truly wished it. Maybe it's true what they say, once you wear a mask too long it becomes your face. 

“Have a good night then.”

And with that, he left. The night air your only company.

Good riddance.

—-------

Except now your looking down at a pink box that had been delivered to your house this morning, only a day having gone by since that unlucky encounter with the regrator yet he chose to rub this all in your face. A stink bug of a man, truly. Only there to be a pest that's always somehow present yet you shouldn't bother to do away with. After all, there would be consequences. 

So like any bug he crawled through the cracks of what is supposed to be your home. All with the ease of one delivery man and a letter with the most beautiful handwriting you had ever seen (and annoyingly written in what had to be scented ink). “I believe this means you now owe me a favor.” Signed Pantalone.

How you wanted to spit on the brand new pair of heels before you.

What a dick.

[brwnerinq-89]

uncomfortable topics below, nsfw and sa mentions. again

Hello. I tried to log off for several weeks, but the pressure is INSANE, I felt like I needed to say something else regarding the whole situation. I repeat, I am not trying to justify my actions or excuse them, but explain whatever what was going on through my mind at the point I made these drawings, as this is what people mostly confused about (and they have their every right to be..)

First things first: I NEVER fetishized, nor romanized, nor portrayed SA as some kind of preppy h0rny ns/fw, it NEVER WAS A KINK. There are several people (???) defending me by saying like, "artists can have problematic kinks, it's just an image", BUT HELL NO. Heck NO NO NO EW. GET AWAY. It's not just an image, it never was just an image to ME. Literally the reason I made them is because I felt like a total crap from time to time and I had to DUMP my emotional distress somewhere, IT'S MY FEELINGS, MY VENT, and because I'm hypers3xual* due to SA trauma since my very young age(and at the time of writing this I'm STILL a minor), every single of my thoughts whether it's negative or not just slowly drives into suggestive stuff, ESPECIALLY if it's about characters I heavily associate myself with (B1ve). When I put them through the same situations I've once been it makes, I don't know, it makes me feel like I'm not alone? Like I understand them better? Like my heartache has been shared? If I could not put this into words and straight up put my raw thoughts on the table, I'd do this.

Do I suffer from it? YES. Does it justify my actions targeted on NOT my original characters? NO. Will I seek proffesional help? YES, THANK YOU. I'm already taking my meds that make these intrusive thoughts go away, my therapist helps me to lock down my memories and I feel cleaner than ever, this is also the reason why I can now dive deeper into this topic while also rearranging my motives piece by piece. I will never be ever returning to this way of coping anymore.

Violent art I made isn't even related to a story or hc's I made up at the time of them, it was just SOMETHING I made, felt rotten to the core, and then demolished it immediately before my eyes. It was private for a reason, It never was supposed to see the light of day, but now I see people casually saying "Oh, it's that person who draws Biv3 getting nhghnhm by MR!" and it genuinely shatters my heart. I never wanted to get known for this, I never wanted to get known for being problematic, a freak, a 🍇 supporter(???) I had a story to tell that OH MY GOD did not contain any of the violent or dark shit going on. Because it NEVER was supposed to contain one.

If I have to apologize to someone, it has to be Regretevator staff who these characters belong to for obvious reasons, and those people who randomly encountered document and felt like gagging their eyes out. Yes, same here, it's fair.

Like I said before, I'm gonna be taking a break before posting something ever again, if I ever do. I'm also taking my whole responsibility for this whole situation. Thank you for reading this if you did, and farewell. It was a very unique experience for me to have.

[lalixlizzie]

Sky full of stars

_______________________________________________

Regina Mills x fem!Reader

A/N: This is the first time I write something like this, sorry if you don't understand something, English is not my first language but I try to write the best I can.

Warnings: None.

_______________________________________________

It was a starry night, the moon was shining brighter than usual, everyone was having fun at Granny's. It had become very common for you and them to meet almost every day in that cafeteria.

They are celebrating that they prevented another curse from being carried out in Storybrooke, to be honest you think everyone is already tired of how repetitive this situation is. You think everyone needs a break.

Everyone is having a good time, but there's someone you can't get out of your head. Regina was the only person who didn't seem to enjoy the night.

She was sitting alone at one of the tables in the place looking out the window. You didn't like that, she should be happy and celebrating, not sad looking out the window waiting for it to be time to leave. You took a deep breath and went straight towards her.

“Hey.” You said as you reached her table. Mills looked up and her eyes connected with yours.

Those beautiful almond eyes were now looking at you. Oh god, you could faint right now. You never had the chance to tell Regina how you feel about her, whenever you wanted to try, things happened that prevented you from doing so.

“Hey...” She looks at you confused and then looks at the others. “ I thought you were celebrating with Emma and the Charmings ”

“It's tiring, they smile all the time, it seems like something is happening to them. ” You joke, to which Regina laughs. You never get tired of hearing her laugh. “Can i sit?”

The mayor nodded and with her arm indicated the place where you could sit. As you do so, she looks at you with a smile.

“ Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face? ” You began to touch your face to get rid of what made the brunette smile.

“No...” Mills moved closer to you to stop your hands, moving them away from your face as she intertwined her fingers with yours.

You started to get nervous, but you couldn't show it. What happens if she realizes that you like her? Will she talk to you again? You did not know. But after asking a thousand questions in your head, there was something that made you return to the conversation.

“Henry told me he had a lot of fun with you the other day. ”

“Oh, I just took him to the arcade and then we went for ice cream. It wasn't a big deal.”

“It's not what you did, but what he told me you told him”

You said a lot of things to that kid, you don't really remember the things you guys talk so much about. Emma almost always asks you to take care of him for a while while she finishes paperwork at the police station.

And that was a problem, many things went through your mind again. What could Henry have said to his mother?

You had no problem letting Emma know, since you have been friends for years and always tell each other things, no matter how stupid they are. And Henry liked to be part of your conversations, so you always included him.

But Regina... She wasn't the same as Emma.You don't know if she would take things well or badly.

“And... what did he tell you? ” You said as best you could, you weren't going to show that you were nervous.

“He told me something funny, that you like me.”

You swore you were going to kill that kid. Your cheeks began to burn, you were embarrassed, surely the former Evil Queen could see it.

“Everyone likes you, Regina. You are charming and a very good person. ” You tried to make an excuse so she wouldn't see the obvious.

She started shaking her head. “Not in a friend way. He said you were in love with me.”

“Oh...” These moments are the ones you wish the earth would swallow you and disappear. You never thought you'd feel this way. “I'm so sorry, I don't know how he could say that to you, I've never said that. I'm really sorry if you felt uncomfortable, I didn't mean...”

You couldn't finish your excuse because you felt the softness of Mills's lips on yours. You felt a million butterflies in your stomach. You couldn't believe what was happening. Did she silence you with a kiss? Like in the movies? Oh God.

After a few seconds, Regina separated her lips from yours and you just stared at each other, no one spoke for minutes. You could only concentrate on the moon reflected in the brunette's beautiful eyes.

“Does this... Does this mean anything to you?” You asked, afraid that the answer would be "no."

“Of course yes, I also have feelings for you. I thought Henry told you.”

“He didn't.” You said quickly.

“Well, now you know it.” She came a little closer to you, and gently and delicately placed her hands on your cheeks, and then kissed you.

[shayyprasad]

faults | peter parker

summary: peter's a nice guy, you liked him. key word being liked.

warning: non-con, slut-shaming (no nsfw/smut)

pairing: dark!peter x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k+ words (i've never done dark!peter before, just playing around with the idea)

check out my masterlist!

this can technically be read as either a 2nd part to this, or a stand-alone!

if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

(first person)

loud music drummed in my ears as narrowly avoided people. if i'm being honest, i'm not quite sure why i agreed to this in the first place.

aliyah, my best friend of seven years, was dead-set on planning a party for me. what type of person would i be to let her down like that? so naturally, i agreed, right?

only now was i regretting this.

the thing is, when she said "party", i thought she meant a couple people. maybe some school friends. i thought that spencer, this guy i just recently started going out with would be there too, but he's just ghosted me. like completely.

i haven't heard from him or anything, sucks, kinda.

...peter. he'd was coming, too.

i wasn't sure what was going on between us. it was subtle flirting, and i thought it was platonic. don't get me wrong, i really did like him at first, but now i'm not sure.

yeah, he's hot. but also not my type. granted, i don't really have a type, though i do think we'd be better off as friends. also, he wasn't the same as he used to be. and i know something's changed, even if i can't pinpoint what it is.

but lately, i'm not sure if we're on the same page about that. everyone thinks we're dating, because apparently you can't be just friends with a guy.

i'm genuinely unsure how to break that to him.

we did try one date, if you could even call it that. peter took me to the movies, but he never quite clarified what it was.

technically, i was a minor at that time, so maybe it was a friendly thing.

it didn't matter though, i told him that i wasn't interested in him. also... spencer, right?

spencer was a guy i'd been talking to, and i won't lie, he's pretty cute. 

i don't know. i try not to think about it because it makes my brain hurt. so, uh, yeah. that's that.

lost in my ever loving train of thoughts, i wasn't watching where i was going, and i ran into someone.

not just someone.

peter, of all people. the one guy i was trying to avoid.

lovely. absolutely lovely.

"heyyy, birthday girl! how's the party?"

"uh. yeah, it's... awesome," i winced.

"not your scene? okay, but, like, bright side?" he paused, as if he were waiting for me to say something, but when i didn't, he continued. "you're a legal adult! not a minor anymore, right?"

he had this unusual twinkle in his eye, like there was more to unpack. peter pulled me close to him, chugging wherever it was in the red solo cup he had in his hand.

pete's hand... was lower than comfortable, but i figured it was best not to say anything.

it was obvious he was totally out of it, and i inhaled sharply at the sharp stench of alcohol.

"wanna get out of here?" he asked, gripping me harder.

"um..." i wasn't sure what he was implying, because he literally could. not. take me anywhere.

"c'mon."

"wait, i—"

too late. i was already being dragged out the door. pete brought me out in front of his car... well, his old truck.

"no, no, no. you're way too drunk to drive, peter. you aren't taking me anywhere."

he groaned, rolling his eyes. "buzzkill."

i inhaled sharply, stopping myself from getting upset. he wouldn't normally do something like this... right?

"all right, fine, fine," he slurred. "h-how about... ooh! let's go to my place!"

i hesitated, unsure of how comfortable i felt with that. especially since he'd been so weird, with all the touching. i knew that he didn't live in a dorm and—

wait, what?

no, no. peter and i were friends, and i could trust him, right? it could have been the alcohol that was making the edges of my brain turn fuzzy, but i finally agreed.

"um, okay."

"mm. it's like..." pete hiccuped, and mentally facepalmed. "somewhere here."

"you're lucky i know the way, dummy." i said, smacking his head. he did nothing but grin back at me.

we walked in silence, or i did really, while he babbled on about the most random things. i didn't mind it, considering he was drunk.

it was chilly outside, and the cold air nipped at my skin, making me shiver. peter must have noticed this, because he swung a hand over my shoulders, lazily pulling me close.

i thought it best not to say anything, and also, he was warm. so, i guess i wasn't complaining all that much.

eventually, we got to his place. he fumbled with the keys, trying to shove it into the lock. unsuccessfully, might i add.

getting tired, i took them from him, unlocking the door.

"there we go." i pushed him inside, shutting the door behind me. "how about we get you come water?" peter didn't argue as i pulled open a cabinet, grabbing a cup. i filled it up with water for him and handed it over.

"drink it. all of it."

"yes, mom."

it seemed like that helped him sober up slightly, and i flopped down on the couch. that party had exhausted me altogether. peter was quiet as he sat down next to me, rubbing his eyes.

he looked over at me, but i kept my eyes fixed at the tv in front. i was flipping though channels, trying to find something good.

"look at me," he whispered.

i sucked in a breath, turning my head to do so, "yeah?"

and then, that's when it happened. so quickly and roughly, i didn't even register it. because one second we were face to face, and the next, he was grabbing my face, kissing me.

instantly, i pulled away, looking at him in horror. "what the fuck, peter? you can't— you can't do that!"

"do what?" he stared dumbly.

i just blinked at him, confused. "i..."

he kissed me, without consent. that wasn't okay, right? peter just looked at me, raising an eyebrow. was this because he was drunk?

"well, i- you just kissed me?"

"so? i thought you were chill. besides, you were basically asking for this."

what did he mean? asking for it? i wasn't asking for anything. i didn't even like him like that, and i thought he knew that. well, i mean, i was pretty sure. kind of. 

"b-but i wasn't." i was trying to make my voice more firm, but it probably (most likely) sounded very pathetic. clearing my throat, i tried again, "peter, i don't like you that way. as a friend, of course, but not... not more than that. this one time it's okay, since i guess it's also on me for not making that clear."

"don't like me that way? are you serious?"

"well-"

"you come around, to my house, dressed in that, and you expect me to think we're just friends? i did you the favor of waiting until you were 'of legal age' and all that crap, so what the fuck are you on about?"

"pe-"

"you've literally been sleazing around like a slut, practically begging for attention."

no, he was reading this wrong. i met him at the cafe i worked at, and we hit it off. as friends. besides, he was older than me. well, not by much, but still. and what did he mean by "slut"? it was my birthday party! that i didn't even want to be at! peter was the one who invited me here, right?

"and, on top of that, you've been leading me on. now that's fucked up."

"leading-? yes, okay, maybe a little. and- and i'm really sorry about that, but-" i backed up into the couch, trying to move away from him.

"i love you, y/n/n. and," he scoffed, "and i can treat you way better then any of these other guys."

love? he loves me? how- we've only known each other for a couple months. 

i thought, if anything, this was platonic flirting. was this really my fault?

"i think i should go, peter, we can talk later." i was uncomfortable now. no, past that.

i was scared. 

peter was scaring me.

"i'm not into you, and i'm-"

"seeing that other guy?" he finished. "what was his name, again? spencer? ever wonder what happened to him?" there was a dangerous look in his eye, and that's all it took for me to understand.

"oh my god, what did you do?"

"what i needed to," peter pinned my hands above the wall, "i was gonna wait, and do this the nice way, but you've left me with no choice."

"no, please, peter," i choked out, tears streaming down my face. 

"this is your fault, y/n."

and it must have been. i hurt him, so this was only fair. 

right?

taglist!

@whatsupstark

[qiwoomi]

ii. unexpected gesture

warnings: trauma, death, mentions of blood

series masterlist main masterlist prev next

You don't even want to recall how you end up having a dinner in a fancy restaurant with your husband in the first place.

Or rather, it is actually the first time that you both eat dinner together.

Only the clinking sound of your cutlery could be heard, making the silence between you both all the more obvious. Gods above, it's as if the universe itself turned its back towards you.

The silence drags on, until both of you finally finished your meals. Alhaitham looks up from his plate, grabbing a tissue as he wipes his mouth. You do the same, anticipating if you should say anything.

"I... want you to postpone the divorce." The man before you uttered, finally filling the uncomfortable silence. His gaze focused on you, searching for your eyes. You internally shrink under his eyes, his sudden suggestion to eat dinner with you is already enough to make you feel out of place, and now he is trying to make an eye contact with you.

The statement alone left you taken aback. "...Why?" You finally replied. There is so much you want to say, but you could only dream of mustering up the courage to say it to him. After all, he's quite unpredictable. What if you said something stupid? He would probably internally mock you, thus it's better for you to keep it to yourself. It's why you never try talking to him first.

It's laughable really. Maybe, even the moon and stars above would be entertained. What a loser. It's humiliating to think that you would end up in a loveless marriage when you've always been a hopeless romantic.

What's even more embarrassing is that the exchange of conversation between both of you is comparable to a regular discussion between business partners.

However, what Alhaitham says next is what fully caught your attention. "To be honest, I've never thought of our marriage as something out of convenience. It's no wonder that you would think that of course, since our situation itself is quiet... eh." It's the first time that he talks a lot. Usually, it would be either just a short request, question or reply. Nothing more than that.

"Like I stated. It's neither you nor is it my fault that we end up like this... So if you are planning to apologise, you shouldn't." You finally look at him in the eye. His mouth forming into a thin line, his brows furrowing. It's evident that he's already coming up of a reply.

"I want you to give me some space to think," Alhaitham folded his arms, his face morphing into his usual poker face. "it is to make sure that I don't make rushed decision. Moreover, I have yet to manage your alimony."

To make sure that he doesn't make rushed decision? It's not like he's the one who wants a divorce. Your relationship was fake anyway, what decision is there to make?

As if reading your thought, Alhaitham adds, "By the way, I'm not trying to invalidate your feelings in any way. I just... nevermind. Just give me 6 months."

Now that you think about it, you also do have to prepare for some things before the divorce. You still hadn't thought of which place you're going to stay at and etc.

Though a logical part of your brain wondered why would he need about 6 months to make up his mind. It's not like he's the one who requested for a divorce anyway.

You still agreed however. He might just want to exaggerate the time. Knowing him, he probably didn't take that much time to make up his mind... Alhaitham is known for his cleverness, he's the type to make a final decision immediately after hearing about them. Though, this is a different case.

As if last night's scenario isn't enough to leave you internally gag, you find yourself waking up to breakfast that is already prepared on the dining table.

A sticky note was then found beside the plate. 'I made you breakfast. — A.' You read.

You set yourself down, placing the glass of coffee as you start munching on the food. It makes you feel somewhat guilty for eating something that he make. After all, both of you mostly eat individually. Except when there's a special occasion of course.

Finishing the food, you immediately clean them up as usual.

Unexpectedly, you finished your class earlier than you thought. Your lecturer had business to do, so the class had to end at 3PM.

Your friends invited you to go out with them, but you refused. You want to head home and rest.

Stepping your foot inside the apartment, you went straight to your room. Immediately going for a warm shower. After that, you cooked some meal, and eat it inside your room while facing your laptop, which contains drafts for your assignments.

After finishing your meal, you clean them up and put it back to it's usual place, while also tidying up the living room for a bit. You continue where you left your assignment, typing away on your laptop now in a prone position on your bed.

Without your will, you inevitably pass out from exhaustion.

"You will lose everyone Y/n. Everyone will turn their backs from you. Just like me. " A voice echoed in the unknown room.

"You... Who are you?" You questioned. The woman in front of you has her face blurred, her body hidden from the mist. She's far from you, but her voice is loud enough for you to hear.

The figure only drew closer, your eyes widen at the sight of bloods dripping from her dress. As she draws closer and closer, you instinctively step back from her, as her face finally shows what you didn't expect. "Silly little girl, can't even remember her mother..." She then laughed maniacally. Her face was distorted, as your breathing becomes out of control.

"NO! Stay away from me! I don't know you!"

"You can deny it if you want but every time you remember about what happened, you'll always think about me. I'll always haunt your mind."

You covered your ears at this, shutting your eyes. "Please, leave me alone. I don't want to see you. Go away!"

"You know Y/n," She calls your name in a sing-song voice, "I've always wished you were dead. If only you were the one to die, years ago..."

Images of the incident years ago flashes through your mind, as you hyperventilate. The woman then walk towards you, her pace now increasing. It's as if she's chasing you.

"GO AWAY FROM ME!"

"Y/n! Hey, wake up!" Your body was shaken up. You quickly opened your eyes, only to see Alhaitham next to your bed. You don't even realise that your eyes are dripping with tears, your cheeks stained.

You are still recollecting what happened, but your body instantly reacted against your consent. As it reaches to hug the man beside you.

The man flinched, before resorting to pat your back.

taglist: @odevote118 @levisbebe @hitomi-inaru @no3hg3nshin

author's note: the first few chapters are a bit boring but it gradually gets better i swear 🤫 also taglist is open if u guys want

© @qiwoomi

est. 020323

do not copy, translate and repost my work.

[imtrashraccoon]

Headcanons!

Nightmare & his gang's reactions to being (affectionately) called a "bad boy".

I decided to do this rather than actually write something. @owl-bones ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Axe

"uh... that's not a good thing, right?"

Poor guy is confused. He's already hyper aware of how much he's changed from the harmless comedian to a hulking monstrosity and he's constantly questioning why anyone would want to be friends with, let alone date, him. He still thinks it's a bit of a weird thing to call him once you explain, although he's flattered that you like how tough he looks. He doesn't really get it though? He's just being himself.

Killer

"you know it, cutie~"

Congrats! You just boosted his already very high ego. He already likes to wear stereotypical bad boy clothes so he's all too pleased to wear his new title as well. He's gonna be extra obnoxious about it for a little while but if you're this close with him already, you must have the patience of a saint. Don't be too surprised if he steals a motorcycle from some poor guy and tries to convince you to go for a ride. He doesn't have a license though...nor has he ever actually driven one.

Dust

"...? i thought that was obvious..."

He's a little confused but he's got the spirit. While he doesn't care as much about his appearance as Killer, Dust still has some fashion sense. He likes caps and has at least half a dozen already. Since he's the brooding type, nothing will really change but he's secretly pleased that you like his style. He might start showing off a bit, just to see your reaction, but ultimately will still want cuddles at the end of the day.

Nightmare

He gives you an odd look before patting your head in a slightly patronizing way. "I'm a villian, dear~"

He is actually rather amused by your comment but believes it isn't very accurate. He does his fair bit of brooding but that's about where the comparisons end since he has a variety of hobbies that tend to clash with the stereotype. He also dresses rather fancy and wouldn't even consider wearing anything like that. Probably... He might humour you if you're really close with him, but you'll owe him big time.

Baggs

He laughs. "oh, darling! if you only knew everything i've done, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. ...what?"

He'll insist he knew exactly what you meant and then question what you thought he meant. Good luck getting him to elaborate on whatever his statement implied though. You're a special person and he'd really rather not risk your opinion of him changing if you did find out. He's quite good at distracting you too, even without using his powers to modify your memory...

Bonus!

Cross

"huh? ...uh, thanks?"

It took him a second to realize you were actually trying to compliment him and now he's rather flustered at the thought. Isn't he a bit too uptight for that? He's a soldier, not some punk. But, the idea that you see this other side to him is kind of nice. Be prepared for questions about it and he might try to show off for you too. Despite not being sure of himself, he somehow succeeds and looks effortlessly cool at the same time.

Error

"N-no?? I'm literally j-just being myself??"

He is very, very confused. What even is a "bad boy"? He's not even doing anything wrong and is just purging the useless worlds like he's always done. You beg to differ, which actually starts to frustrate him. His clothes are comfy and he made them himself, there's no way he'll change, even if you beg him. You might have a sulky sack of bones on your hands for a while. Good thing he's easily bribed with chocolate and binge watching the latest installments of his favourite show universe.

[thesparklingwriter]

words of comfort

" You’re not alone in this world anymore, so please just stop acting like you are.”

word count: 0.8k

original ask

tags: hurt/comfort, kaeya is working too hard and reader says 'no more of that', there's a mild innuendo at the end but i couldn't help it it was the kind of opportunity that i know kaeya wouldn't pass up but I've been so conflicted as to leave in or not because i feel like its too soon but kaeya's also the type of guy to not dwell on things too much after it's solved but i still feel like it might be too soon but we all know he wouldn't pass on an opportunity like that and i'm just going to let you read it

taglist | masterlist

Perhaps Kaeya underestimates how much you notice. He thinks he’s done a fantastic job of hiding how exhausted he is from you, from everyone. He’s been putting a little extra effort into his work, so desperate to prove to himself that he could work harder, that he could take things seriously, he could be better for you. You’d never asked that of him, and he knew you wouldn’t, but something in him made him think you deserved better. And he couldn’t stand the thought of ‘better’ being someone else, so he buried his worries and concerns into his job in hopes he could work them away.

When he finally gets home, he’s convinced that you’re fast asleep already—a fact that doesn’t fill him with excitement. Rather, it increases the feelings of inadequacy he’s been feeling recently. He slumps onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face and pulling off his eyepatch. 

“Kae?” He hears you coming down the stairs and sits up with a fake casual air.

“Hey, sunshine.” he grins. “How was your day?” 

“It was alright,” you say quietly, reaching to turn a nearby lamp on. He must have been so exhausted when he got in that he didn’t even have the energy to put the lights on. “Yours?”

“Same as usual,” he says, pulling you onto his lap. Being close to you makess him feel like he’s floating in the clouds. You protest slightly, but he ignores you, his hands gently massaging you. “How come you aren’t asleep?” 

You look at him properly then, in the warm light of the lamp, and you curse yourself for not putting a stop to his working sooner. Of course, you noticed he was tired, and coming home later, and you tried your best to comfort him the best way you could without making it too obvious. Sometimes it was staying up late for him, or sneaking into headquarters during the day to bring him lunch or just distracting him a little to force him to have a break, but your efforts clearly haven’t been working, and you’ve left it way too long.

“Kaeya,” you say quietly. “Tell me the truth. Same as usual?”

Kaeya maintains his aloof composure, and if you didn't know him as well as you do, you might have missed the slight twitch in his right eye. “Why the sudden interrogation, hmm?”

“You come home late, you’re so exhausted that you don’t even take your jacket off or turn the light on, and you don’t even make it to bed some nights. I’ve tried to make things more comfortable for you without saying anything for your sake, but it’s not working.” Tears bunch in your eyes as you speak, and Kaeya feels the guilt mounting up again. More than anything, he wanted you to be happy. He didn’t want to bring this to you and he thought he was hiding it well enough.

“Sunshine–”

“No. I’m not going to sit and let you waste away. I care about you so much it hurts. Watching this happen to you hurts. You’re not alone in this world anymore, so please just stop acting like you are.” The tears really start coming then, and you can’t speak anymore. Kaeya quietly pulls you to his chest, gently rubbing circles into your back.

It was never his intention to hurt you this much. To be honest, this was what he was trying to avoid the whole time. You made the long days and short nights bearable, with the smile you gave him every morning, and the patience you had for him. You were healing him in places he didn’t realise he was broken, and somewhere along the line, he had taken that for granted and allowed insecurity to replace the peace he should have felt.

“Kaeya, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. You deserve peace, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to sleep at a godly hour.” You pull away to look at him properly, gently wiping stray tears from his face. “Am I that unapproachable?”

“No,” Kaeya replies. “No, you’re not. I just assumed you had better things to worry about.”

“‘Better things to worry about’? The only thing I worry about is you when you throw yourself into work like you’re trying to run away from something. I’m scared for you sometimes, Kae.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,”  he replies carefully. “My intention was never to hurt or scare you. I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You are not a burden. You will never be a burden to me. You never have been. Okay?”

Kaeya nods. You cup his face in your hands, gently planting a kiss on his forehead and suddenly all his worries and insecurities melt away. If he had known that all it took to calm his thoughts would be a few words from you, he would have gone down that avenue first. It would have been significantly less work for him.

“You’re taking a day off tomorrow,” you say quietly. “And we’re getting you out of that stuffy jacket and going to sleep.”

Kaeya smiles softly. “Just my jacket?” He smirks, and you laugh, taking his hand and standing up.

“We’ll see.”

author's note: hello kaeya nation it has been a hot minute ToT

nonnie i cannot apologise enough for my inadequacy in getting back to you on time i don't even know if you're still around, idk if you survived the shadowban of 2023 but i hope you get to see this

taglist: @tartigglez @aixaingela @atlaincorrect

[lavenderlegends]

can you fall in love after a single kiss?

ship: stiles/derek prompt: crisp air characters: erica, scott, isaac, danny, jackson, allison mention, boyd mention cw: drinking tags: college au, fluff word count: 2.6k ao3 ♞♚♞♚

"Ahhhh," Stiles says, as he steps out into the crisp fall air. He looks over at Erica. "Do you feel that?"

"Hm?" she says, looking up from her phone. "What's that?"

"The air! Fall has begun!" Stiles exclaims. He nudges her. "C'mon, why aren't you enjoying this?"

"Because," Erica says, looking back down at her phone as they walk down the path towards the parking lot. "I've got a lot going on at the moment."

"Mhm, it's that guy, isn't it?" Stiles asks, trying to peek at her screen. She hides it from him with a pointed expression.

"None of your business," she answers.

"Ugh. Well, will I at least see you at Danny's party?" Stiles shoves his hand into his pocket, searching for his Jeep keys. Erica doesn't answer by the time he's pulled out the bi flag lanyard, so he pouts. "Ericaaaa, midterms are over. We have to celebrate. Please tell me you're coming to Danny's party."

"What?" she asks, looking up at him. "Oh. Danny's party. Yes. I'll be there."

"Will he be there?" Stiles asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Erica's face flushes in a way he's never seen before. She shrugs. "Maybe."

"I can't wait to meet the mystery man, then."

"He's not a mystery man. He's just a guy I met at the library." Erica bites her bottom lip when they reach his Jeep and are about to say goodbye. He doesn't rush to open the door.

"What is it?"

"I think... oh my god, I can't believe I'm even thinking this, let alone saying this... but..."

"Spit it out already," Stiles says, shaking with impatience. He should've taken his Adderall today, but definitely forgot. He likes to pretend he does better studying without it, but his most recent midterm would prove otherwise.

Erica ducks her head. "I think he's, like, the one."

"What," Stiles blurts. He doesn't mean to, really, but he's never ever heard Erica talk like this and they've been best friends since kindergarten. Stiles waits until she lifts her head up again before he asks, "Are you possessed?"

She shakes her head.

Stiles blinks. "Holy shit, Erica! That's huge. I never thought you'd settle down for a boyfriend, let alone the one."

Erica lets out a soft laugh. "Yeah, me neither. I don't know what it is about him, Stiles, but he gets me."

"Does he...?"

"Know I'm trans? Yeah," Erica says, nodding. "I know. It's strange, isn't it? I don't think I've ever been on a second date before."

"But this guy?"

"This guy," Erica confirms, a shy smile crossing her lips. "This guy is something else. Listen, I'm going to go shopping before Danny's party. I want to look good. I'll catch up with you later?"

"Sounds good."

"And if you tell anyone what I said--"

He laughs. "As if anyone would believe me."

"True." Erica grins, and bounces away with a skip in her step. Stiles stares after her.

This party is going to be one to remember.

Erica's in love. It's obvious. She just met the guy a week ago, but some things are undeniable.

He smiles to himself as he gets into his Jeep. Maybe, just maybe, the one for him is at the party tonight too.

♞♚♞♚

Stiles shows up a little late, but he meant to be on time. He even set like six alarms to stop his ADHD from getting in the way, but alas, it was pointless. He just hopes Danny isn't mad.

"There you are!" Danny's voice comes when Stiles enters the kitchen.

"Hey, sorry." Stiles hands him a bag of ice. "I know, I know. Super late. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Derek also brought ice."

Stiles jerks his head back. "You asked Derek to bring you ice too?"

"I did," Danny says. "Figured you'd be late. I've known you since high school, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "I just can't believe you asked Mr. Grumpy Pants to bring ice. It's like asking a bear to step out of their cave while they're hibernating."

"Ha, ha," a sarcastic, dry tone comes from behind him.

Stiles jumps and whips around to see Derek freaking Hale standing behind him. He groans. "Are you everywhere? I swear, you have the hearing of a bat."

Derek tilts his head. "You shouldn't be that surprised to see me. I am Danny's roommate."

"Mhm," Stiles says. "Don't remind me."

Stiles and Derek haven't gotten along since first semester of first year. The guy has been nothing but rude and grumpy to Stiles. His theory is that Derek's in love with Danny, especially because his attitude just got worse after he learned that Stiles and Danny used to hook up in high school.

But Danny's been dating Jackson pretty much since they started college, so Stiles doesn't get why Derek's not over him yet.

"Alright, I'm off to find Scott and Isaac!" Stiles announces, before muttering, "'Cause I can't stand to be around you anymore."

Derek snorts. "Like I want to be around you either."

"Can't we be nice for one night?" Danny pleads, but Stiles just tosses his hand in the air and walks towards the living room.

Erica's talking to a very handsome guy in the corner, and she's twirling her hair. He freezes, watching them. He's never seen her twirl her hair before. Ever. But there she is, giggling, and looking up at this guy with the biggest heart-eyes he's ever seen.

"Oh my god, I can't believe it," Isaac says, suddenly appearing at Stiles' side. Scott joins him on the other side. "I've never seen Boyd talk so much to a girl before."

"Yeah, it's a bit weird," Scott says. "Erica's like... usually on the prowl by now."

"Jesus," Stiles mutters. "You make her sound like a cougar."

"Well, you know what I mean. She eats boys up and spits them out. It's her thing," Scott says. "I've never seen her so... infatuated before."

"That's a great word for it, honey," Isaac says, grinning. He shares a look with Scott, and Stiles groans. "What?"

"You two are also disgustingly in love," Stiles mutters. "Everyone seems to be these days!"

"Calm down," Scott says, but he's still got a moony look towards Isaac on his face. "You'll find the right person soon."

"Uh-huh." Stiles sighs. "I'm going to find Lydia. You two are making me nauseated."

He doesn't wait for them to protest, but heads out to the balcony. He smiles when he finds Lydia alone. She takes a long sip of her drink before looking at him.

"Nice night out, huh?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah." Lydia sighs. "I wish Ally was here tonight."

"Why isn't she?" Stiles asks, glancing back through the windows as if he might magically spot her.

"She went home to visit her parents."

"Are you two...?"

"Yeah," Lydia admits. "We're keeping it on the downlow for now. I mean, her breakup with Kira is still pretty fresh. But..."

"Damn." Stiles rubs his face. "Everyone seems to be in a relationship these days."

Lydia pats his shoulder. "I'm sorry, darling. You'll find someone. I just know it."

"Yeah. That's what they keep telling me." Stiles sighs.

Lydia finishes her drink and then says, "I'm going back inside. You coming?"

"I think I'll stay out here for now." Stiles doesn't care if he shivers. Nothing is going to make him go back inside now.

Erica has Boyd. Danny's with Jackson. Scott and Isaac have been dating for almost a year. Now Lydia and Allison? When is it going to be his turn?

Stiles stretches his neck before leaning over the edge of the balcony. He's looking into a parking lot, and it's not very exciting, but he can sort of see the city lights from here, and that's nice. He guesses.

He's not drunk enough for this.

Maybe he should ditch the party, curl up, and watch Disney Plus. Anything would be better than this. Being alone. Again. As always.

"Room for one more out here?"

Stiles freezes at the sound of Derek's voice before turning. "What do you want?"

"Thought maybe we could talk." Derek shuts the door gently behind him. "What do you say?"

"Whatever," Stiles mutters.

"What's your problem with me?" Derek asks, as if he doesn't already know. Stiles glances at him again but can't stare too long because his heart has started to pound.

He's never actually been alone with Derek before.

"Like you don't know," Stiles mutters.

"I don't," Derek says, flatly.

"You've been nothing but rude to me, and you only got ruder once you learned about my history with Danny."

Derek blinks. "What are you talking about?"

"Sure. Play dumb." Stiles rolls his eyes. He turns to face Derek now, surprised at how close they are together. It's not a huge balcony, but it's not that small either.

Derek looks down at Stiles, just slightly, and asks, "Talk to me like I'm dumb."

"Fine." Stiles lifts his head and bites his lip. Derek's eyes are unwavering on his. "You are the rudest person I have ever met. You totally changed your vibe around me after the news about Danny and I came out. You were stiffer, and not in like, a fun way. You wouldn't look me in the eyes. You just... grunted. A lot. Danny was my first. I was his first. It was all very sweet, but just because you're in love with Danny, doesn't mean you have like... claim on him. He's his own person. And he chose Jackson. So, I don't get why you're such an asshole to me."

Stiles is shaking now, but he doesn't care.

The crisp fall air has turned cold.

And then...

Derek kisses him.

Stiles would jerk back if he had the ability to think. But Derek's lips are hot against his, and suddenly, Stiles is grabbing onto Derek's sweater, and holding him there.

He'd be lying if he said this hadn't popped into his mind before. But he never thought... never in a million years imagined... never...

Derek pulls away, but not far.

His voice is soft but gruff when he says, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Then he turns on his heels and walks back into the party. As if he hadn't just given Stiles the best kiss of his life.

"What the fuck?" Stiles whispers, bringing his shaking fingers up to his lips.

He doesn't know what to make of that, so he stays out on the balcony until it's too cold, and then when he goes back into the party, Derek's already gone.

♞♚♞♚

He can't stop thinking about it. He might actually understand Erica's obsession with her phone and Boyd now. Stiles waits. He waits for some sort of flicker of hope that maybe Derek kissing him was real. That maybe it wasn't a fluke.

But no notifications ever come. No Instagram follow. No accidental Tweet like. Not even a Facebook friend request.

Stiles hates it.

♞♚♞♚

"Hey darling, I'm sorry, but I have to bail on our shopping trip today," Lydia tells him on the phone a few days later. "Allison had a rough time at home, and came back to campus early. I'm going to go over to hers, is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Stiles says, absentmindedly.

"Okay, thank you!" Lydia sends kisses through the phone and hangs up.

It takes him a minute to realize they've said goodbye and she's gone.

He's busy staring at Danny's messages in Whatsapp and debating on what to say.

Nothing sounds right.

hey your dumb roommate kissed me

hey can you fall in love after a single kiss

hey I was wondering if I could come over?

The last one, he sends.

Danny gives him a thumbs-up and Stiles makes his way over. He hesitates at the door, but it swings open and Jackson stands there.

"Jesus!" Jackson says. "You almost gave me a heart attack, Stilinski. What are you doing here?"

"Uhhh."

"We're going to hang out and play some video games!" Danny's voice comes from somewhere in the apartment.

"That," Stiles says.

"Alright," Jackson replies, shaking his head. "Just, like, knock next time." He pauses to call back to Danny. "Love you!"

"Love you too!" Danny shouts.

Jackson heads out and leaves the door open for Stiles. He slowly inches his way into the apartment and shuts the door behind him.

"Is, uh, Derek here?" Stiles asks.

"Huh?" Danny says, coming into the living room. He wears a bright smile. "No, no. He hasn't been around all week. Studying for some big test he has next week, I guess. The apartment's all ours."

"Where's Jackson going?"

"Oh, his dad's in town, so they're having dinner."

Danny gives Stiles a quick hug. "C'mon, let's play."

"Sure."

It's reasonable of Danny to assume Stiles wants to play a video game, but all he wants to do right now is ask about Derek. He shoves his questions deep down though.

At least, until he can't hold it in any longer. They're three hours deep into the newest game Danny bought and Stiles blurts, "Why would Derek kiss me?"

Danny freezes, pauses the game, and turns to look at Stiles. "He did what now?"

"He kissed me. At your party. On that balcony. Last week." Stiles breathes. He's finally told someone else and it feels good. "Why... why would he do that?"

"I... I honestly don't know," Danny says, slowly. His eyebrows come together. "Although, now that I think about it, he does ask about you sometimes."

"He does?" Stiles asks, hating how hopeful he sounds.

"Yeah. Like he asked if I had heard from you after the party," Danny explains. "I thought it was a little weird, but... Derek's kind of weird, y'know? Keeps to himself a lot."

"Right." Stiles bites his lip. "Okay, you know what, let's not talk about it anymore. Pretend it never happened."

Because that's what Derek's doing.

"Sure thing," Danny says, and hits play on the game. Stiles is almost instantly killed.

♞♚♞♚

Stiles is walking to class with Erica through the courtyard when he finally sees Derek for the first time since the party.

"Hey, I'm not feeling well suddenly." Stiles puts a hand over his stomach. "Dairy issues."

Erica scrunches her nose. "Gross, Stiles. You really don't need to tell me that every time. And also, stop eating dairy!"

Normally, he'd laugh, but he's too tense. "Catch you back at home?"

"Sure. Feel better," Erica says, kissing him on the cheek.

Stiles waits until she's in the building and out of sight before he crosses the courtyard. His heart pounds so loud he can hear it. He's losing his nerve the closer he gets, but he doesn't stop.

"You kissed me."

Derek swings his head up from his textbook. He meets Stiles' eyes and calmly says, "Yes."

"Why?" Stiles asks, slipping into the picnic table bench. "Because I've been thinking and thinking and nothing makes sense except--"

"I have a crush on you." Derek says it so clear-as-day, it almost shakes Stiles' core.

"But why?"

Derek swallows before answering. He keeps his voice low. "Because you are so unafraid to be yourself. Because you clearly care about our mutual friends. Because you show up with ice even when you're an hour late. Because you're loud and obnoxious and funny and a smart ass. Because you don't care that my parents are rich and my dad's the dean of our school. You treat me the exact same way. You don't tiptoe around me or ask me for favours or try to get in good with me to get in with my dad."

Stiles blinks. He's positive that at some point Danny told him about Derek's parents, but he didn't realize that people... did that to Derek because of them. He swallows.

"I... I see."

"Does that answer your question?" Derek asks.

"Yes. But I have one more."

Derek simply stares at him.

Stiles musters up all his courage and says, "Can we do it again?"

♞♚♞♚

[e-claire]

Misophonia sucks so fucking hard and no one anywhere ever wants to talk about it. Literally the only people I've ever had listen to me about my Misophonia are other people with Misophonia. So fuck it, Misophonia Awareness Post or something, I want to vent.

Allow me to describe what it is first for all the lucky people who aren't fucked over. Misophonia is likely an Audio-Processing Disorder (Potentially some form of Synesthesia) in which certain sounds trigger a fight or flight reaction. Trigger sounds can vary and sometimes after long term exposure it can create a reaction to the visuals associated with those sounds. It is possibly genetic, there is no known cause, there is no known treatment, there is only suffering and ways of generally kind of reducing that suffering. When I hear people chewing I am filled with a rage that can only be described as "Bordering on a primal desire to Kill." and there's nothing I can do about that. A family member or friend takes a bite of something crunchy and I have to sit there and exist with thoughts of pounding their fucking skull into paste with my bare god damn hands and then afterwards I have to go back to "being normal". I have to just pretend that didn't happen, I can't do anything with those emotions, I can't put them anywhere, I can't talk about them with anyone or gain any understanding or sympathy from others for having them.

When I see someone chewing food anymore it's borderline impossible for me to remain in the room with them for any more than a few seconds because the mere sight of them chewing makes me physically ill and inspires in me a sense of deep disgust and panic that I could never ever hope to describe.

I tell people about what it's like and I get one of four reactions :

"Oh I think I have that too" With a weird amount of curious excitement at the concept of having a fun new quirky thing to mention in conversations. This means that they don't have it, and they'll then proceed to list off a couple different things that literally no human being likes to hear and how much that thing "annoys them". This makes me want to kill myself.

"Wow, Yikes." Through a grimace. This means I was too open about how it makes me feel and they now think i'm a either a freak, liability, time bomb, or over-dramatic, and will do everything they can to avoid the subject in the future so that I can't make them uncomfortable. This makes me want to kill them AND myself.

Immediately eats something really loudly to set me off as a "joke". This means that they're an obnoxious piece of shit that I have to try my absolute hardest not to beat to death with my bare hands. This makes me want to kill them, if that wasn't already obvious.

"Oh. So that's what this is called." This means they have it, and we can both engage in a brief period of mutual trauma sharing that helps us know we're not alone, and that our curse is unfortunately shared with others. This makes us both somewhat melancholy, and kinda ruins the vibes until something fun happens.

And then we get into the "How do you make the pain stop", and good news! You can't. There is no way to make it stop. But you can make it hurt less with ✨Spending Unbearable Amounts of Cash✨

You can buy a billion different types of earplugs that will all do great at muting the world but always leave you incredibly unaware of the world around you and leave you fucked in-terms of listening to media.

You can buy normal headphones that will kind of work but never mute the world around you anywhere near enough and vaguely frustrate you constantly, but hey at least you're a bit more accessible! Try combining these with a combination of rain and static noise playing at all times in the background for an extra layer of silence :)

You can buy ANC headphones that cost infinitely too much money and are almost always built to break so that they can farm cash from you in repairs, but the ANC is so useful despite not working perfectly that you can't really exist without it so you're gonna spend 200+ dollars every couple years because you don't have a choice, and spend every single day 24/7 wearing hot heavy over-ear headphones! Use the Rain and Static Noise combo with this as well for the best ANC effect.

And inevitably, all of these options will give you hearing problems, potentially make you aware of new trigger sounds, and always leave you a step behind everyone else when a conversation happens. Pro-Tip : For when the sounds are really intrusive and you're on the verge of a breakdown, Combine ANC with Ear Plugs and the R&SN background audio to basically kill noise in it's entirety for a little while :)

AND NOW WE GET TO THE PART WHERE I SAY WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU NORMIES DO TO MAKE OUR SUFFERING LESS FUCKING CONSTANT.

Listen to us. Don't ostracize us for experiencing emotions we can't control and don't mean or want to act on. If you can, try your best to do the trigger noises quietly, and try your best not to do the trigger visuals in-front of us. We know it's not something you can control entirely, but if you can make the effort to make our lives suck less, we'll really fucking appreciate it.

And if you try to get back at us during a fight by eating something really crunchy to abuse our disorder for your benefit, I swear to god I will hunt you down personally and subject you to the most violent and painful torture I can manage before killing you and hiding your body somewhere no one will ever find it so that your loved ones never have the closure of knowing if you died or if you're still somewhere out there. Thanks for reading even though I know you didn't because the length of this post is frankly unhinged and i'll probably only get like 2 likes at best.

[lovemyromance]

Stops this madness!!

Like yes, I know every side of the fandom is guilty of twisting things in their favor but come on. COME ON.

There are theories and then there are people doing the splits, breaking their arm trying to make these egregious extrapolations and reaches.

I have personally, never denied the fact that Elucien were mates. In fact, I didn't even question that fact despite the Elriel theories swimming around - until HOFAS came out and we got confirmation the cauldron was wrong

Yes, their bond seemed so different than Feysand and Nessian, but I did not really say anything about it until I got canon confirmation that the Cauldron had been tampered with.

I did not twist canon text. I did not theorize beyond what is already there on the page.

So I hope you can see why, I am incredibly annoyed every time I see Eluciens trying to shit on every Elriel moment and twisting it to have some alternative crazy reasoning.

I'm not going to call anyone out because I don't usually go fighting on anti-posts (even though their blatant disregard for canon makes my eye twitch). But why did I see an anti post saying

"Oh, Azriel only went to go save Elain from Hybern's camp as a challenge from Nesta, because she said "then you will die". He was just trying to prove her wrong."

Like what? You are honestly telling me, someone read that scene, saw how Azriel defied all warnings and orders and said "I'm getting her back" when he is not her mate, not her sister, barely even her friend at this point, getting his wings shredded to save her, swaying on his feet from pain and blood loss but still not letting her go and demanding to get the chains off her -

You read that scene-the multiple chapters to cover it - and thought "Oh, he only did that to prove Nesta wrong?"

REALLY?

Why would he even want to prove Nesta wrong? Why would that even be a thing? Why would it be something he would risk his life for? Can you please explain? Is he suddenly beefing with Nesta in the middle of a war?

Sometimes... the most obvious answer is the right one. Sometimes when an author writes something, she means it.

Like half the headcannons and theories antis post are fine whatever, but why do they have to shit on beautiful Elriel moments? Your ship should be able to float on its own, and if it doesn't maybe that's a sign 🙄

Sorry Elucien doesn't have any positive interactions together. Sorry Gwynriel barely even interacts on the page, let alone romantically.

Be happy with your ship. And if headcannons and theories is all you have, then be happy with that because you chose to ignore canon and ship whatever. Don't go around trashing actual canon text and purposefully misconstruing it to make yourself feel better.

God I'm tired of this and I've literally only been engaging in this fandom for like a month. I can't imagine what people who've been here since 2016 have had to go through, y'all stronger than me for sure 😅

[sporesgalaxy]

updated a little flashback Vladlence script thing that I started writing in like 2020. some of you may remember this comic

Smile :)

•••

[The year is 1990-something-- before Vlad betrayed and temporally displaced Silence that one time. Vlad and Silence (in human disguise) are at some kind of businesspeople shindig. They've stepped outside for some air and are basically alone. Vlad has a glass of wine.]

S: Lord. I'd forgotten how tedious these are.

V: They're really not worth it unless you can drink. It was so much worse when my parents would drag me to these as a child.

S: Hm. I didn't mind my father's business functions, but my ex-husband's were insufferable.

V: [chokes on wine] "Ex-husband?"

S: Well... "Ex" in that my untimely departure left him a widower, yes.

V: ...is he a--

S: [rolling eyes] NO, he is not a ghost.

V: Still! How have you not mentioned him once?

S: [shrugs] It didn't come up.

V: That isn't fair! I've spilled my guts to you for your research. You HAVE to tell me something!

S: You're being ridiculous.

V: ...That's it. I've decided.

S: Decided what?

V: The favor you owe me for bringing you along as my plus-one tonight!

S: Oh, please! All I've learned this evening is that you're still capable of being intoxicated by normal amounts of human alcohol.

S: Now, you've learned that I had a husband once, a very long time ago. I'd say we're already even.

V: [pouts]

S: Why does it even matter to you?

V: .........if I say, will you tell me more about your human life?

S: I--! Oh, fine. Whatever. Yes.

V: Because marriage is--! It's--! Marriage is everything! It changes your whole life! You finally have someone to always be there for you, in sickness and in health and all that.

V: How could you just...[mimes swatting something out of the air with his free hand] move on, after that? It makes no sense!

S: [tuts, rolls her eyes] You're insufferably romantic, you know that?

S: Marriage is not "everything." My marriage had everything to do with finances, and precious little to do with anything else.

V: ...Oh.

S: That's less common these days, I'll admit, but forgive me if I still feel you're overselling it.

V: ...Well...Still, he was there, right? At least you had someone.

S: [annoyed] Sure. Can we talk about something else now?

V: Did you have a family? [leans against the balcony, resting his chin on a hand, smiling expectantly]

S: [frowning] ...Not the change of subject I was hoping for.

V: [just keeps looking expectantly]

S: [sighs heavily] [trying to be annoying on purpose] Well, I had a mother and father, two siblings-- both of which died in infancy-- and on my mother's side, my cousins--

V: [impatiently] I meant with your husband!

S: [twitches] ...No. It was just he and I, and then I died.

V: Oh.

S: [snarky & bitter] ...Then, he remarried a nice young lady who got to keep all of our money. They, I believe, had several children together.

[Silence is quiet in a sort of uncomfortable angry way. Vlad, oblivious, gets lost in his own thoughts.]

both: .......

V: [CLEARLY thinking about Maddie. a bit dreamily] ...do you ever wish that you could do it all over?

[Vlad is looking at the sky, and doesnt see the judgemental, incredulous look Silence immediately shoots him]

V: That you had more time to make it work?

S: [humorless laugh] HAH! No!

V: [snapped out of his reminiscing, looks at her, surprised] No?

S: [like its an uninteresting, obvious fact] My life didn't have anything worth going back to.

V: [disgust directed at the percieved failure of the faceless husband figure] He was that bad?

S: [waves dismissively] No, no. Our marriage wasn't bad. It just wasn't--

S: ......well, it wasn't much of anything, I suppose.

V: [furrows eyebrows] Hm.

S: [after a short pause] I much prefer this.

V: [for some reason, his heart skips a beat] This?

S: [a bit frantically] My research! In the Ghost Realm. The achievement, the influence, you know. Much more fulfilling.

V: [nods, a bit spacey because of a weird inexplicable feeling he's having] Ah. I see.