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pastafossa · 1 month

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

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This couldn’t be you.

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

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

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

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or had you been the one wearing them?

Maybe…?

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

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon.

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

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

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

What you didn’t know was…

Why?

Why here?

Why these people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt was alone.

You’d left him alone.

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

So… why did you feel so very sick?

Sympathy.

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

Protect yourself.

Protect what you might one day have.

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

You were wearing one of his shirts.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Matt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you climbed inside a thread?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you saw was heartbreaking.

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

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

“Jesus,” you whispered.

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

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Emotion. It’s emotion.

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

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

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

The stones.

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

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

Still nothing.

And something inside you… cracked.

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

You’d been loved.

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world.

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with a blink—

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

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

“It’s me. I’m here.”

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

And your weakened heart… skipped.

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

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

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

And you… smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called.

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

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

You knew.

You… remembered.

“Always,” he’d said.

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

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

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt.

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

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

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

“...Remember that. if nothing else.”

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

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

Silence.

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

Red threads never lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, just let me—”

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

A soft intake of breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...D.”

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

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

“Leave me alone!”

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

Wait.

You’d… you’d called him…

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

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

…Steady.

Truth.

Could it really be you?

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

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

You loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

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

Because all that was left was him…

And you.

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newtthetranswriter · 5 months

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Christmas Conflict Clean Up

Word count: 949

Paring: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

Summary: Taking care of him after the Christmas conflict.

Warnings: Talk of blood, concussions and other injuries, stabbing

A/N: Hello everyone, I hope that if you celebrate Christmas you had a good one yesterday, and if you don’t, I hope you still had an amazing day. Anyway, I wrote this picturing it happening obviously right after the fight in the church. I also picture it happening when they are in the last year of high school, so still teen but more like 18ish. Anyway, enjoy and remember to Hydrate Or Diedrate.

It was about three in the morning when the knocking on my window finally woke me up. I was totally confused by this, like, who in their right mind is knocking on people’s windows at 3am the day after Christmas. As I went to the window, my question was answered, seeing my boyfriend standing outside, with what was very clearly a black eye and many other injuries to his handsome face. Realizing it was Takashi standing out there, I rushed to slide the window open and help him climb through the window.

“I’m sorry to wake you up so early. I just didn’t want to wake Luna and Mana with my face so beat up.” Takashi explained as he gave a weak smile sitting on my bed.

Ignoring his explanation as to why he was here, I went to work, looking for my first aid kit that I kept in my room for nights like this. Digging through my dresser drawer, I let out a quiet exclamation of victory, pulling out the box of supplies. Turning on my bedside lamp, I decide the best course of action would be to first clean up all the blood. “Sorry, but this is gonna sting.” I said, taking an antiseptic wipe to a large cut on his cheek. He flinched away from the wipe and in response I grabbed the back of his head to hold him still, not realizing that was also a bad idea.

This time he jerked forward, nearly headbutting me in the process. “Shit that hurt.” Takashi mumbled out, trying to keep his voice down.

Realizing with that kind of reaction, there had to be a wound on the back of his head, I turned his face away from me. I let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see any blood in his hair, but knowing there could still be something there, I carefully started moving his short hair out of my way. When I bumped a particular spot, he let out another quiet string of curses, signalling that I found the spit of concern. Looking closer at the spot, I could see a rather large bump that was already starting to turn purple. “Jesus, Takashi, what’d they hit you with a brick?” I asked, only slightly joking.

“Close, a metal pipe.” Was his response as he tilted his head to look back at me. I held back a gasp, as I didn’t actually think whoever he got in a fight with this time would hit him with something. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s just a bump and a bruise, nothing major.” He smirked, trying to make it sound not that bad.

I resisted the urge to smack the back of his head. “Nothing major, really, Takashi. You could have a concussion, for god’s sake. Now sit still so I can clean up the rest of your face.” I snapped as I turned him back to facing me. “And don’t flinch, or I will make sure you leave here with a concussion.” I threatened, going back to wiping off his cuts.

With that, he shut right up, knowing that if I had to I would really beat his ass for being an idiot. “What even were you idiots fighting about at Christmas?” I asked, hoping to get some answers on the citation, that lead to a bloody boyfriend knocking on my window at three o’clock.

He paused, probably trying to figure out how to explain it in a way to make it sound justified. When he finally spoke, I could tell it was the unfiltered truth. “Takemitchy believed that Hakkai was going to kill his brother and was dead set on stopping him. He was right in the sense that Hakkai was there, but Yuzuha is the one who ultimately stabbed Taiju. Don’t worry, the wound wasn’t fatal, but it turned into an all out brawl in the church with Takemitchy, Chifuyu, Hakkai, and Me against Taiju and a couple of his Black dragon guys. Honestly, the only thing that saved our asses was Mikey and Draken showing up when they did.” He explained.

I knew right away it was the truth, Hakkai was like the little brother Takashi never had, and I know he would do anything for him, even risk his life if he had too. I smiled as I wiped the last little bit of blood off his lower lip. “I’m glad everyone made it out okay then.” It’s all I could think to say. He returned the gentle smile. “Now please take a break from fighting until at least the new year, I don’t think your pretty face can take another beating so soon.” I said, earning a chuckle from him as I moved to the first aid kit back in its resting spot.

When I turned around, Takashi had kicked off his shoes and thrown his Toman jacket over my desk chair, and made himself comfortable on my bed. Before I could say anything, he beat me to it. “You said it yourself, I could have a concussion from being hit with a metal pipe. I shouldn’t be driving in this condition. Now come lay down, we both know your parents are used to me coming over all beat up and spending the night.” He said, making valid points, patting the space next to him. I quickly lied down next to him, turning off the light. Before I could drift off to sleep, I heard one last thing from the lilac haired young man. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if it’s at such shitty hours” That was the last thing I heard before letting sleep take over.

#tokyo revengers x reader #x reader #takashi mitsuya x reader #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi #tokyo revengers mitsuya #takashi mitsuya #Newt's Winter Fic Event

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yurislotusgarden · 7 months

Text

Relationship hc's

ʚїɞ Nakahara Chuuya x Gn!Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ Dazai's version

ʚїɞ word count: 1425

ʚїɞ Tw’s: None! Just pure fluff, pet names are used, reader’s gender is not specified in any way

ཐིཋྀ I love this man

ཐིཋྀ Anyway

ཐིཋྀ We all know he would be a gentleman to you <3

ཐིཋྀ Whether you live together or not, there's always a bouquet of your favorite flowers in a vase somewhere. Once they show even a small sign of dying he replaces them

ཐིཋྀ You still aren't sure how he knows about the flowers starting to wilt even when he's in another part of Japan or even another fucking country

ཐིཋྀ This man does both fancy and casual types of dates. Prefers fancy ones tho

ཐིཋྀ "Why have so much money and not use it to spoil the shit out of the love of my life?" <--- Chuuya wanting to spoil the fuck out of you all the time

ཐིཋྀ You probably live together after quite a short amount of time, like less than 8 months kind of short

ཐིཋྀ He's just so worried about your safety :(

ཐིཋྀ Both generally and because of his position as an executive

ཐིཋྀ You don't mind tho, don't lie to yourself

ཐིཋྀ Protective. Not overprotective but it's definitely up there on the scale. Kinda justified though

ཐིཋྀ Possessive mf

ཐིཋྀ Again, you don't mind as it's not to the point of being controlling and shit

ཐིཋྀ If you're in the PM, he still worries, just a little less since he knows you can take care of yourself

ཐིཋྀ If you're not an executive, you work under him for sure. Chuuya requested a change (if you weren't under him from the start) as soon as he realized this funny feeling he gets around you is love <3

ཐིཋྀ You know Dazai. No questions asked or doubt

ཐིཋྀ I saw around some time ago that someone wrote that Dazai breaks into wherever Chuuya lives. I’m sure it ain’t canon so just saying I very much hc him doing that

ཐིཋྀ You can see what I’m getting at, you probably met because of Dazai breaking into your guys' place😭

ཐིཋྀ Imagine you're cooking or something and hear someone in the house (Dazai doesn't try to hide he's there since he thinks Chuuya's home because of the light in the kitchen), thinking it's Chuuya you go to greet him before realizing it's not him but someone else-

ཐིཋྀ "Who are you and why are you here?"

ཐིཋྀ "Those should be my questions asshole!"

ཐིཋྀ "The fuck you mean?"

ཐིཋྀ "I live here? You literally broke into my house!"

ཐིཋྀ "You live here? But it's the slugs house isn't it? Did I break into the wrong place???" He knows he didn't

ཐིཋྀ "Wait 'slugs'-"

ཐིཋྀ You totally didn't realize who Dazai is because of that nickname, nope. Chuuya didn't complain about a mackerel at all no-

ཐིཋྀ That was literally yall's first convo

ཐིཋྀ Dazai standing like he should be there, and you standing there with a gun pointed at him (that you have from Chuuya because he has weapons all over the house just in case anyway. That one was in the kitchen)

ཐིཋྀ You guys proceeded to talk like you guys knew each other for years until the ginger came home and flipped the fuck out at the sight

ཐིཋྀ He thought you would have a peaceful life by not knowing the stack of bandages

ཐིཋྀ And to the gingers' chagrin, you and the brunette ended up being good friends

ཐིཋྀAs to who knows about yall depends on who you are

ཐིཋྀ If you're in the PM, most if not all will know at some point

ཐིཋྀ Mori would probably not do anything about it as long as it doesn't affect your guys' performance on missions

ཐིཋྀ If you're a civilian, the people who know about you are the people he's the closest to and Mori somehow finds out

ཐིཋྀ Kouyou adores you if you share at least some interests and you don't mind being friends with mafiosos (basically not judging them just because of their work)

ཐིཋྀ You guys drink tea together. Even if you don't like tea, she managed to find one that you like

ཐིཋྀ Even if you don't share interests, she will have nothing against you as long as you ain't hurting Chuuya

ཐིཋྀ Akutagawa siblings know for sure, you basically adopted them LMAO

ཐིཋྀ You and Gin go shopping together, sometimes tugging Ryu around against his will with yall

ཐིཋྀ I mentioned Mori, he at first didn't care if the relationship didn't change anything and Chuuya was as efficient as normally

ཐིཋྀ But Elise met you in the city by accident and decided she likes you and deemed you her friend, so Moto “asked” you to play with her from time to time

ཐིཋྀ Goodluck if you're a low-energy person

ཐིཋྀ If you're in the PM and Elise wants to Play with you, you are for sure a little bit safer around Mori

ཐིཋྀ He doesn't want to deal with her whining and throwing a tantrum if he doesn't have to, so if you not being killed will make Elise happy, he won't do it

ཐིཋྀ Going back to the topic

ཐིཋྀ Rides on his motorcycle with you holding him tightly from behind right?

ཐིཋྀ Mf rides faster than necessary just because he likes it when you squeeze his waist because you think you will fall off

ཐིཋྀ He won't let you but oh well

ཐིཋྀ Similar to Dazai, man has got a grip of steel, so good luck getting up from his lap, cuddling, or in the morning if he won't want you to. We all know he ain’t weak, not in the slightest

ཐིཋྀ Would teach you self-defense if you don't already know it. He for sure doesn’t complain at having to do that, the view he gets is quite pretty y’know? You can say the same about your view :)

ཐིཋྀ This is purely a hc of mine but he would teach you French if you will ask him!!!

ཐིཋྀ Yes I'm one of those who hc that Chuuya either generally knows French due to Kouyou teaching him and Dazai, or he has some French genetics and wanted to just learn it either way taught by Kouyou LMAO

ཐིཋྀ Hope you aren’t weak to French because he can and will flirt with you in it <3

ཐིཋྀ If you are tho, knees? Weak. Nonexistent. Goodbye.

ཐིཋྀ Mister here will use it to his advantage. He knows what he’s doing and he ain’t stopping

ཐིཋྀ If you know a language he doesn't, he will gladly learn it just to speak in it with you. Especially if you're a foreigner, he certainly will learn your native tongue at one point. But, if you know a language he doesn't just because you wanted to know it, he learns it anyway

ཐིཋྀ Another way to shit-talk people without their knowledge <33

“I'm so lucky to be dating your pretty ass”

“I don't understand, doll. Say it in a language I can understand.”

“No, I don't think so, pretty boy”

“Are you cussing me out or something?”

ཐིཋྀ ^You talking to Chuuya in your language before he knew it to confuse him

ཐིཋྀ He was indeed confused

ཐིཋྀ Speaking of hc’s, heterochromia Chuuya <3

ཐིཋྀ You love his eyes, one blue and one brown. You fluster him because of just staring at his eyes and at him generally

ཐིཋྀ He lets you play with his hair, style, and all

ཐིཋྀ It's so soft you considered stealing his hair stuff when you first run your hands through it

ཐིཋྀ He wouldn't mind, wouldn't even try to stop you. Would probably encourage it actually

ཐིཋྀ It's playing into his possessiveness

ཐིཋྀ This man has style, we know that. He also happens to have a big closet with his clothes :)

ཐིཋྀ Want a Chuuya-looking puddle on the floor? Wear. His. Clothes.

ཐིཋྀ The ginger will literally die if he comes home to you wearing his clothes. Anything. Wear anything and you will spot a wild Chuuya puddle in its natural habitat the floor

ཐིཋྀ AND IF YOU ASK HIM IF YOU CAN WEAR HIS STUFF WHILE EMBARRASSED???

ཐིཋྀ You make him want to sob :(

ཐིཋྀ Happily of course

ཐིཋྀ Use his shower stuff like shampoo and walk around in his clothes

ཐིཋྀ It does things to him

ཐིཋྀ Both fluffy and unholy thoughts are in this man's head if you’re just wearing his stuff

“Doll, you can’t do this to me.”

“Huh?”

ཐིཋྀ You’re either genuinely confused by his words or playing with him

ཐིཋྀ It ends the same anyways :)

ཐིཋྀ “Take my card and go crazy, love.”

ཐིཋྀ ^Chuuya on any occasion

ཐིཋྀ If he could he would spend his money on you, he would but you always stop him

ཐིཋྀ Therefore that’s Chuuya on any occasion because he has an excuse for it

ཐིཋྀ Price tag? What’s that?

ཐིཋྀ It doesn’t exist in his eyes, you are worth every single penny in his wallet <3

ཐིཋྀ You guys have spa days at home

ཐིཋྀ Share skin care routines if you can

Notes, comments, reblogs and anything else is greatly appreciated

#bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #port mafia x reader

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writing-for-marvel · 1 year

Text

Every Step of the Way

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: After struggling through the entire week, Steve’s there to comfort you when you need him the most.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: severe depression is depicted, Steve and reader being naked in a shower together but nothing sexual, major hurt comfort vibes

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: this is 1000% self indulgent, I wrote this when I was in a really dark place, struggling to even just get out of bed every day and I needed Stevie there to comfort me. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

Opening your eyes seems like an effort too great for the amount of energy in your reserves.

Every breath is a heave, as if trying to gasp for air with an anvil sitting on your chest.

The backs of your eyes sting with tears at the thought of needing to get out of bed. You don’t want to face the day, don’t want to be the early bird catching the worm. You want to stay under the covers and sleep, that’s all you have the motivation to do.

Dirty dishes are stacked next to your sink, they’ve been accumulating since early in the week and you’ve just not had the energy after working and making dinner each night to actually wash them yet.

Clothes litter the floor of your bedroom, but you’ve put off going down to the laundry room for the past few days, with each new sunrise promising it’ll be tomorrow you’ll find time to do it, but that tomorrow never comes.

The bathrooms need cleaning, the floor needs vacuuming, surfaces need dusting - you put off doing them last weekend to focus on other household chores, but this weekend has come around and you’re not any more inspired to complete them.

You hear keys rattle in your front door, the sound startling you enough to finally open your eyes, but not sufficiently concerning to warrant leaving your bed. The only person who owned keys to your place was your boyfriend and though you didn’t want him to see the mess you were living in, there wasn’t anything you could do in the two seconds it would take for him to open your door.

As if instinctually he knows you’re still snuggled up in bed, you hear his heavy footsteps striding steadily towards your door.

Bracing for the furious displeasure you have been conditioned to receive from ex partners when they discovered you in a relapse, you pull the covers tighter around yourself as if to shield you from what was about to happen.

“Stevie…” Your voice is soft, vulnerable as he enters the room, but it’s not pity nor annoyance you see in his eyes, which you had been expecting, but instead they are brimming with concern.

“Hey darling.” His honey voice is slow and smooth, soothing the jittery anxiety ricocheting through your mind and chest. “Not feeling too good?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you shake your head anyway, clutching the duvet closer to your chin. Steve pulls his shirt over his head, rounds the bed and climbs in next to you.

“C’mere.” His strong arms envelop you and pull you into his strong chest, the weight of them on your back and his musky scent, which now consumes your senses, is the secure reassurance you’ve been needing all week that you’re not completely alone in this brutal world.

He doesn’t ask what’s the matter with you, doesn’t ask why you’ve barely answered his messages all week, why your home is a complete mess or why you’re laying in the dark at noon on a weekend. He doesn’t make you justify your change in behaviour, why you kept him at arm's length, doesn’t scold you for your absence as other people have done in the past. Instead, he kisses your forehead, whispers that you’re safe with him as he gently rubs his hand up and down your back.

He could have easily chastised you for withdrawing into yourself and not seeking help, could have pointed out the state your home was in, or mentioned that you smelled in need of a shower, but he does none of that. Rather, he tells you over and over again that you’re loved, ingraining the notion in your mind so that you won’t ever forget, placing kisses over every inch of your face he can reach while still holding your body close.

The sound of his beating heart lulls you to a peaceful sleep, feeling safe and treasured, and for the first time this week like you don’t have to carry the weight of expectation and hollow desolation all on your own.

* * *

When you wake, the warmth provided by your sturdy boyfriend is missing. Distress fills your chest for a moment, thinking perhaps Steve coming to soothe you to sleep was a figment of your imagination, until you hear the faint sound of movement from the main living area.

With an effort you believe rivals running an entire marathon, you push the sheets off yourself, heave yourself out of bed and trudge into your kitchen, but not before noticing that the clothes that were strewn over your bedroom floor this morning were no longer there.

Once your eyes adjust to the light you notice Steve hunched over your sink, elbows deep in soapy water doing your dishes. Part of you is thankful, you’ve been needing to do them all week and just hadn’t found the energy or motivation. But another part of you, deep in your chest, feels ashamed - you have to rely on your boyfriend, who has a hectic enough life of his own, to do something as simple as washing your dishes. How pathetic.

“Steve, I can do them.” You declare, lumbering over to the counter, feeling somewhat relieved to see there’s only half the number of dirty pots and pans as was there when you left them last night.

“It’s okay darling, I’ve already got my hands wet…”

“I don’t want you doing my dishes for me, Steven.” You don’t know why those particular words leave your mouth, because seeing the dishes you had failed to clean the last few days finally have the grime scrubbed off them alleviates some of the hefty gravity pushing you chest so tight you almost can’t breathe. But it also makes you feel incapable, worthless and weak.

You’re not sure what quality it is in your voice that indicates it, but Steve immediately removes his hands from the bubbly water, dries them quickly on the back of his pants and pulls you into his chest just as tears you didn’t realise were coming start silently streaming down your cheeks.

“Shhh, it’s okay, deep breaths for me baby.” His large hands rub soothing circles around your back as your tears dampen his shirt. You try your best to follow his instruction, slowly take deep breaths and calm the flow of untameable misery pouring out the corners of your eyes, but your throat starts constricting and each new tear running down your cheeks evokes two more.

You just want it to end. You want to be able to function like a regular human being without exhausting all of your energy reserves by simply getting out of bed.

You just want to be normal. Be someone Steve can be proud to call his girl. Not someone who struggles to do the simplest of tasks.

When Steve senses that your flood of emotions isn’t subsiding, he shuffles with you in his arms towards your bathroom, whispering that the warm water of your shower will help refresh you.

He helps lift you onto your bathroom countertop, kissing away the stray tears on your cheeks before turning on the shower. While he tests the temperature of the water with one hand, his other maintains hold on yours - even just the connection to him helps in your attempts to calm yourself down. He’s here for you, and he isn’t going anywhere.

When the temperature is just how you like it, Steve helps you strip off your clothes and directs you under the stream. You let the water wash over your face, taking some of your worries with them, as Steve steps in behind you.

You can’t tell the difference between your own teardrops and drizzle of the shower as you look up at your boyfriend, grateful for the care and tenderness he’s shown you while you’re at your lowest. No one else has stuck around when they’ve seen you like this, but in this moment you feel nothing but pure love.

You place a gentle kiss to a scar on his bare chest and Steve kisses your forehead in return - a silent message to thank him for being there for you, and him to acknowledge that though you’re unable to voice your gratitude at the present moment, he understands it’s there.

Once Steve washes your hair, knowing the steps of your routine perfectly, and the rest of your body, you step out of the shower feeling like the load you’ve been carrying for the past few weeks has been washed off your back.

Steve smiles as he pulls his own shirt over your head, kissing your nose once your head pops through the hole. Now your tears have settled, you can appreciate the affection overflowing in his baby blues, fondness you don’t believe you deserve, but cherish nonetheless.

Forgetting all about the dirty dishes in the cold, soapy sink, Steve directs you back to your bedroom, climbing in after you and pulling you once again into his strapping chest.

“Darling, you don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here for you, and I love you, you don’t ever have to face this by yourself again.” Steve speaks softly into your hairline, the intent and conviction in his voice enough to drive you to tears again.

“But it’s not like I have that much on my plate, I should be able to do simple things like housework. I just… I just can’t. I can’t explain it, my brain just doesn’t allow me to.”

Steve pulls away from you slightly so he has an angle to look at you directly in the eye. It looks like it physically pains him to see you struggling so much.

“My love, you are the strongest person I have ever met. I am so proud of you everyday that you are here with me, that you keep battling your own mind. You’re my fighter, my best girl, and I’m here to help you through this difficult patch. For better or worse. In sickness and in health, I love you.” He punctuates his declaration with a sweet kiss, reinforcing his words.

“We’re not married Stevie.” You point out, but he simply smirks at you.

“Not yet.”

Before Steve Rogers you believed love was tumultuous and torture, that it was meant to tear you in half, because you cared about the other person so ardently it left you bloodied and bruised. But Steve proved to you that wasn’t love - love isn’t supposed to feel like you’re going to war, instead it’s comfort, it’s a reassuring embrace of someone who has seen your battle scars and tells you it’s time to rest.

Love is solace.

And Steve Rogers is certainly your solace.

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haihaihaitani · 10 months

Text

Don't Be Scared ~ *Rindou Haitani*

Summary: It seems Rindou’s colleagues don’t respect you as they go out of their way to make you miserable. But you would never tell Rin this. You’re stronger than that, right?

Pairing: Rindou Haitani X G/N!Reader

Genre: Angstyish Drabble

Word Count: 686

Warning: swearing, anxiety attack, insecurities. Rindou being OOC (but I need him to be this way), hating the nickname baby (seriously I could rant about how much I hate being called this, but I think I summed it up pretty well in this)

Masterlist

A/N: I wrote this as a sort of therapy piece. Two things mentioned in this story are insecurities of mine. And sometimes I just imagine a lovely anime boy telling me he’s going to protect me. So yeah. Very self-indulgent.

A/N 2: Also my dad had piranhas. That’s why they’re here.

You were officially having the worst day ever. Currently, you were curled up in the far corner of your husband’s office, behind his couch. You were squeezed into a tight ball, shaking and crying like a child. All because you were embarrassed in front of your husband’s coworkers.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember who it was who did it and you frankly didn’t care. You could still remember what he did clearly, even though it happened over an hour ago. You don’t think you were ever going to forget.

You were on your way to your husband’s office with some important paperwork when some guy jumped out and scared you. You hated jumpscares because you always felt stupid afterwards. However, after he jumped out, you tripped over your own feet and fell on your ass.

While you were trying to fight back your heavy breathing and tears, the guy laughed and said, “Ha! Gotcha, you whore.”

You were frozen.

A whore? Is that what these people thought of you? You thought…

You shook your head. It didn’t matter what you thought anymore. What mattered is that no one here respected you. Maybe your own husband didn’t respect you like you thought. You just wanted to disappear and believe none of this ever happened. That when you close your eyes, count to three, and open them, you’d be home again.

The door to the office opened. You heard Rindou call out to you, “Baby? Are you here? Ran said he saw you run in here.”

Baby. You were right. Your own husband didn’t even respect you to see you as anything more than a child. Were you being dramatic? Sure. But you still felt justified in being a little extreme considering the humiliation you were subjected to.

“Babe?” Rindou’s voice was much closer to you now and you felt his shoulder brush against yours. You squeezed yourself into a tighter ball to get away from him. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me. Something is bothering you and I will do whatever I can to make it right.”

“No! It’s embarrassing and I just want to crawl into a hole and die!”

You weakly struggled against him when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. “Love, please. Let me help you.”

Taking a few breaths to try and calm yourself, you told him. You recounted the mortifying ordeal with the jumpscare and how he called you a whore. You then let your insecurities spill, how you were so stupid that you could handle a bloody massacre but couldn’t watch a horror movie. You mentioned that you didn’t think anyone respected you, much less like you and you wished you weren’t so dramatic, but explained that these were the thoughts and feelings you were having.

When you were done, Rindou didn’t say anything for a long time. You were about to ask him to say something when he whispered, “I’ll kill him.”

“What?”

“I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll gut him like a fish and feed him to your piranhas for making you feel this way.” He snapped, his voice cold and deadly.

You shook your head and burrowed yourself into his chest. “Don’t do that. You’ll make yourself work more for something those fish won’t eat.”

He gave a slight chuckle but pulled you in closer. “I’m glad you’re making jokes but I’m furious someone would make you doubt yourself like that. You are not a baby and you are not a whore. I love you so much, I married you. If you want, I’ll stop calling you baby. I call you whatever you want. But you have to know that I have never thought less of you and I never will. You are the love of my life and I will never, ever stop loving you, okay?”

You nodded. “Can we go home?”

Rindou kissed the top of your head. “Of course, my love. Right after I call Ran, okay? I have to order a hit.”

“Tell him to be slow and painful.”

“Anything for you.”

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anglingforlevels · 9 months

Text

Work Safety (Paranormal Investigator Reader x Yan!Monster)

A random, short blurb of reader bullshitting their way out of being courted by a creature but in the most irresponsible way. Was still thinking about paranormal investigator reader, so just wrote this quick thing before going to bed.

CW: Yandere, monsterfuckery, reader has dubious morality, this one is pretty mild. not proofread

Minors DNI

You sat in a chair, staring expectantly at the shadows. To an outsider, it might appear that you were looking at nothing much at all, but on a closer look, they might realize the shadows were just a little too thick, a little to firm, flittering and moving.

Yes, it was the shadows, but within the shadows, resided something. Something you were very curious to learn more about. It had been leaving sticky trails of black throughout your “rented” house, and while clean-up would be left to the owners when they returned from vacation, it still was an eye-sore, but worth it to meet this thing.

And, it seemed surprisingly direct, more-so than you were used to. Having cornered you, going from it’s one-note remarks of mates, marking, and claiming you – you could easily guess its intentions. Though it was when it in raspy breaths included the worth “courting” that you really perked up.

If it’s this talkative, why not make use of it?

“Courting? Tell me about some of these courting rituals, please.” You requested.

“I can show you.” Something cold slithered up against your arms, constricting the blood flow slightly and staining your skin.

“No, no.” You rejected. Then, after giving it roughly one second of consideration: “It might cross over with human courting rituals, so it’s best if I get to know them beforehand. Unless you don’t want me courting you.”

All of a sudden, it seemed very eager to cooperate instead of jumping right into courting and mating, releasing your arms. As far as you were concerned, it had no eyes, yet you felt the way its attention clung to you.

You’d probably manage to figure something out after getting the information you wanted, if not, well, that’s what you get for gambling your life. It was undoubtedly worth the risk. That’s what you felt, though if almost anyone else was asked, they’d perhaps differ in opinion.

You were concluding the lengthy interview, not because you wanted to, but because you could tell the creature was growing dangerously impatient after the thirtieth non-mating related question about it, at first it seemed to trust your questions on its biology was relevant, but at some point, it was hard to justify why you’d be asking about its vulnerability to elements, its immune system, or how it seemed to melt into the shadows, unable to move without them.

“Well, I suppose the courting should begin. Please follow me.” You beckoned them, and while you weren’t entirely sure if they were following, the shadows did flicker and swish around – so you could only assume it was.

You led it through the town, hoping your gambit would pay off despite how little planning or thought had gone into it, or how much it relied on dumb luck and convenience.

Reaching the abandoned, old supermarket that no one ever had bothered to repurpose, you managed to get through the locked doors (by smashing a rock through the glass).

You entered and decisively found out where the power was and fished out the backup battery you had brought from a kind stranger’s car (or, stolen, as the less adventurous would put it – but it wasn’t like you had such a big battery lying around yourself).

You managed to turn the power up, the light blinding. It was so blinding that you worried if you’d need an umbrella for the creature to move to your next destination, but it seemed content to hold onto and rip into the little shadows cast by objects. So, you moved to the freezers, albeit they obviously weren’t very cold anymore.

You opened it, removing the rails (which to your luck was removable ones to which you whistled out “Lucky”) and gestured to it. “Please enter. Humans love intimacy in small, enclosed but brightly lit spaces, especially after breaking in.”

The creature obliged, its eagerness a testament to how impatient it had grown over the cause of your questioning. The freezers were enveloped by flowing gusts of darkness and with the light directly above, no natural shadows were in reach for it.

At which point you closed the freezers. “Okay, great. See you around.”

Black splatters covered the freezers’ inside as it were forced into a semi-physical form by the light, trashing around at the sudden barrier between you, rasping shrieks of protest and anger filling the air.

Sure, the battery would die out sometimes, or a fly would circle the place casting a shadow. But you’d be out of town by then, so not your problem. So, you left.

#yandere #yandere monster #bad writing #minors dni #tw monsterfucking #yandere x reader #not proofread

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bebx · 7 months

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So I'm not in the Harrow fandom but like, what would happen if he met Henry (or Eddie because I'm biased w my boys) or Jack?

Harrow is a crime show from what I can tell?

Just curious what your thoughts are.

*for my other moots and followers, this is about Henry Creel from Stranger Things, not Henry Morgan from Forever (though I love both Henry’s very dearly).

okay, a little background for my beloved Doctor Daniel Harrow (played by the one and only Ioan Gruffudd)

Doctor Harrow is the main protagonist of a series called Harrow, and he’s a talented pathologist who’s… well, highly stubborn, so he doesn’t follow the rules and always does things his own way. he can be reckless and arrogant, some people call him selfish (also a pain in the ass) but in a good way, and he’s a good person. (he’s also extremely gorgeous it’s insane.)

so basically in the show, we often see Harrow conduct an autopsy to determine the cause of each body’s death. except that sometimes (most of the times) Harrow does more than his job description says, and goes out of his way to investigate things by himself if he suspects a foul play was involved. and he’s always right and basically he’s the one who solves crimes with his stubbornness and recklessness and also his talent.

I love this show so so very much. it’s so very good, one of the best shows I’ve ever watched, and it means so much to me (and I need a season 4).

now back to your ask! I call it a sign because a crossover between Harrow and Henry Creel is actually something I’d been thinking about writing for like a couple of months now. then I got your ask and I was like ‘now this is a sign. I really have to write it into existence!’.

so here it is: a modern age AU Stranger Things where Henry and Harrow met!

anyway, I think, if we’re talking about canon Stranger Things, I think Harrow would never be okay with Henry’s actions, what he did (the massacre, which, for the sake of the plot, never happened in the crossover fic I wrote). he would never condone the abuse Henry went through, but that didn’t mean he’d think the massacre Henry committed in canon could ever be justified.

I mean… I don’t know, that didn’t mean Harrow wouldn’t understand either (understanding something =/= condoning or justifying something). because, in the series, Harrow himself also had his own dark secrets that he had to hide. so I think… Harrow would understand why young Henry felt the need to kill his parents. but adult Henry who murdered those kids in canon? yeah, I think that would be another story.

from how I see it, if Harrow could, he would have done anything and everything to stop adult Henry from hurting innocent people. that meant either he or Henry would end up dead, because Henry would have to kill him first if he wanted to go ahead and hurt those innocent people.

however, Harrow also had the tendency to do anything and everything to protect the people that he loved. so I think it would depend on who Henry was to Harrow. if Henry wasn’t a friend, then I think Harrow would stop at nothing until he stopped Henry (and yes, that meant either Henry killed him or he killed Henry). but if they were friends, then I think that would be where things got complicated. because while, in canon, Harrow used to break laws to protect people he cared about, what adult Henry did was still something I really don’t think Harrow could ever accept or condone. so, even if they were friends, I think Harrow would still do anything in his power to stop Henry. he would hope he could stop him by putting him behind bars so that Henry was at least alive and so that Harrow could try to help him walk the right path, but if his hands were tied and if stopping Henry meant killing Henry, I think Harrow would probably go with it still, only because he didn’t have any other choice. and then he’d probably blame himself, thinking maybe if he’d done something differently he could have saved Henry. but basically Harrow would end up with yet another lifelong trauma.

(good thing is that the angst isn’t this severe in that crossover fic I wrote, so don’t worry, they’re both okay there!)

moving on to Eddie Munson. if Harrow met Eddie, oh I think that would be interesting and nope, it wouldn’t be anywhere as angsty as his meeting with Henry, that was for sure.

I think Harrow would see Eddie as a son, and Eddie would see Harrow as a father figure of sorts, a role model even.

in the show, Harrow did (almost) have a troubled son whom he looked after. I think if he met Eddie and if Eddie had a rough childhood, was somewhat troubled, then Harrow would step in and look after him.

As for Jack Sparrow, I think these two would probably find each other annoying at first. But after some rum, I believe they would be some sorts of a chaotic duo who caused shenanigans together.

Harrow and Jack are actually alike in several ways in my opinion: both are stubborn, reckless and Harrow sure can be mischievous.

so yes, him and Jack together would be hella fun.

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thesovereignsring-if · 8 months

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Hi power fantasy anon, I deleted the ask because I have better things to do, but, eh, I’m waiting for my food to cook so I might as well answer you for the last time. (Seriously this time) I know you probably still follow me so i think don’t it’ll be much of a problem, except for the fact that I know don’t know why you’re still here. This game is clearly not for you considering how upset you get about it. Anyway, I’ll reiterate it one last time, since you can’t seem to get it.

A power fantasy is wish fulfillment, empowerment and feelings of accomplishment, in all shapes and forms. It’s feeling you have worth, it’s feeling like you did something good or right. It feeling like your useful. It’s all the things that send the happy feelings to your brain. Being “competent” and “useful” can also falls into that category.

I continue to say ‘this story is not a power fantasy ‘to keep audience expectations on the low. The narrative is oppressive, it’s made to be that way. The MC has the potential to have an inferiority complex for a gazillion reasons because I keep the narrative disempowering and oppressive as it is. And I plan to keep it that way.

But honestly, I wrote the MC to feel like a perfectly normal person, privileged? Yes. Emotionally damaged? Yes. But they’ve been written to be perfectly competent to handle most situations. They can be snarky against Eirik during his assault and can protect themselves against the demons in the Wastes. That’s good enough for me.

But I’m done with trying justify my story to you. I’ve said all that I’ve said and I will stand by it. You’re obsessing about a story that’s barely left the dock. Everything playable so far has been nothing but MC suffering trauma through circumstances beyond their control and the people around them trying to heal them. If you’re expecting more from something in the first 5% of the story, you might want to enrich yourself on the typical progression of a story. It feels like you fall into the 1% that can’t seem to understand this.

This will be the last time I empower your rants. I will be deleting the rest of your asks from this point on. I will not change my story to fit your worldview of what the kind of MC my MC should be. I’m pleased with my MC, from the crybaby, the stoic, the snarky and the hothead. You might see them as useless and a pathetic doormat, but I think otherwise. I love them just the way they are.

Goodbye!

#so this is what it feels like to have a professional hater on board

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ro-is-struggling · 2 years

Text

Jealousy || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: An undercover mission in Madripoor of all places leads to rivalry, jealousy and unexpected confessions of love.

Warnings: takes place on the events of episode 3 of tfatws, mutual pining, jealousy, Zemo being a little shit, brief mention of reader’s backstory (she worked for a thief and smuggler named Fiona before joining the avengers), reader fake-flirts with Zemo, Bucky and the reader fight and it ends in light smut (just some kisses and over the clothes stuff), fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 6700+

Notes: this is based on a dream I had so I’m sorry if something doesn’t make sense, I wrote it in like 4 hours because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Also I don’t usually write smut so I’m sorry if the little kiss scene at the end sucks

i love this gif so much omg

"Absolutely not. No. This is a bad idea." You exclaimed, worried as soon as you heard Zemo's plan to get information about the person responsible for the recreation of the super soldier serum. You weren't happy about having to work with him, but when Bucky insisted it was the only option you had left, you accepted it, trusting your friend's judgment. But this was something you couldn't accept. Zemo insisted that Bucky pose as the Winter Soldier for the mission ahead of you and you thought it was a terrible idea. It had taken him a lot of time and effort to get rid of his alter ego created by Hydra and it wasn't fair to ask him to play that role again. You didn't care if it was for a couple of hours, you didn't think it was a good idea to let Bucky step back into the shoes of the Winter Soldier.

"It's the only way." Zemo tried to reason with you. "We need leverage if we want to get something from Selby."

"I can do it." Bucky spoke, making you take your intense murderous gaze off Zemo to rest your eyes on him. "He's right, doll. We need to do this. We have no choice."

"Bullshit, there's always another option." You grumbled, hoping your words would bring Bucky to his senses. "Sam, back me up here."

"She's right, Buck. We can't ask you to do this." Sam intervened, understanding the complexity of the situation. Zemo was asking him to relive his nightmares, his deepest traumas as if that was nothing. It wasn't fair and he was willing to find another way to get information if they needed it. He would never ask Bucky to do something like that for a mission.

However, he insisted that he would be okay. He assured you that he could handle it for a couple of hours and that he wouldn't be telling you that if it wasn't true. You snorted at his words, knowing full well that wasn't true. Bucky didn't always talk about what was going on with him, let alone about the things that had to do with that period of his life. Even Steve used to have trouble getting him to talk about his feelings and he was his best friend and the person he trusted the most in the whole world.

"Fine, then I'm coming with you." You said crossing your arms in a defiant pose.

"What? No, doll. It's too dangerous." Bucky was probably right, you were not a trained agent with years of experience in that kind of mission. You had joined the Avengers relatively recently, and you had spent most of that time in Wakanda with Bucky, caring for him and supporting him in the process of healing his mind. But that's why you refused to leave him alone. You had been with him in his worst moments and you weren't going to leave him now.

"I'll be fine." You shrugged. Bucky narrowed his eyes at you. He knew what you were doing and he didn't like it one bit. You were using his very logic against him in an attempt to get your way, but he wouldn't let you. At least not without giving you a fight.

"We don't have time to create a cover for you."

"You don't have to. I already have a reputation around here thanks to my… past activities." You weren't lying and Bucky knew it, defeat written all over his face. He tensed his jaw, pursing his lips into a thin line as he struggled to find an excuse to justify his stance. You gave him a smile, feigning innocence and he rolled his eyes.

"Really?" Zemo asked with surprise and you nodded.

"I used to work with Fiona." The mention of the woman's name was all Zemo needed to understand what you meant. Fiona was a well-known dealer of valuable artifacts who excelled at working for whoever paid her the most. She had raised you, treating you as if you were her own daughter, and had trained you—along with other kids your age—to steal for her. You had lived under her care and protection until you had crossed paths with Steve on a mission. He had made you reflect and realize that Fiona was just using you and that you deserved something much better. Shortly after that you joined the Avengers and got to know what a family really was.

"So it's settled then.” Zemo spoke again, interrupting the silent fight you were having with Bucky through simple glances. “We all have a part to play so I'll suggest we get to work."

Everyone spent the next few hours going over the plan and getting into character. Sam had the most work to do out of everyone, having to learn as much as he could about the Smiling Tiger in just a couple of hours in order to present a convincing characterization. Zemo and you didn't have to do much due to the fact that you wouldn't be taking on anyone else's personality. And Bucky chose to seclude himself from everyone, sitting in a corner, quietly observing the scene. It was part of his characterization process, mimicking the movement patterns of his hated alter ego.

When your eyes fell upon his figure you were momentarily startled, noticing how much he resembled the Winter Soldier. His body stood rigid, his posture straight and the muscles of his face contoured into a slight frown. But when you looked into his eyes you realized it was Bucky. His beautiful blue orbs showed emotion, something the Winter Soldier's gaze lacked. It hurt you to see him in that state. You wanted to go up to him and hug him, spread kisses all over his face until he had no choice but to smile, but you stopped yourself. He had gotten himself into that mess and now it was too late to back out. Besides, if you listened to what your heart wanted all you would do was expose your feelings for Bucky, and you weren't ready for that yet.

As the sun began to set everyone started to get dressed, changing out of your dirty combat clothes into attire appropriate for the occasion. Sam complained the whole time, mentioning that he looked like a pimp. You laughed at him until Zemo approached you with clothes he thought were appropriate for you. All amusement disappeared from your face as you refused to wear such a short and tight outfit, arguing that you didn't have to keep up appearances because you would be going as yourself. Then he revealed to you the little detail he had been planning from the moment you said you would join them. Zemo wanted you to pretend to be his date.

"That is ridiculous!" You laughed in his face. "No way! I'm not going to be around you for longer than necessary."

"Well, I think it's the perfect cover and it explains the rumors of you leaving Fiona to work with the Avengers." The laughter died in your throat when you heard those words. You didn't know the rumors had spread so far. Did Fiona have been badmouthing you in front of her clients?

"How exactly does that explain anything?"

"Simple, my darling. You left Fiona for me and all this time you've been working as a double agent just to help me get my hands on the Winter Soldier." You looked at Zemo for a few seconds, refusing to admit that his plan made sense. There was no way you would agree to pretend you were dating. You'd rather risk being discovered first.

"That's ridiculous. No one is going to care about me."

"Selby is a very paranoid person. That's why it's so important that we all play our roles to perfection." You rolled your eyes, grumbling in frustration. You knew Zemo was doing it on purpose. He wanted to annoy you, he enjoyed annoying others. He was an expert in the art of manipulation and you were convinced there was nothing he loved more than getting under people's skin. He did it with Bucky all the time and now he was trying it with you.

You hated him and were ready to tell him to go to hell if it wasn't for Bucky's voice interrupting you.

"Well, you said you wanted to come so…" You looked at him with narrowed eyes. What was that supposed to mean? Was he implying that you weren't ready for a mission like that? Because if that was the case you were happy to prove him wrong.

"Fine." You accepted reluctantly, taking the hideous outfit Zemo had offered you before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

You didn't know what had gotten into you. You didn't use to be a competitive person, but now all you could think about was proving to everyone how capable you were. Especially Bucky. Sure, maybe you weren't a Shield agent with years of experience like Natasha nor did you have incredible powers like Wanda, but you were still capable of participating in missions. You knew how to maintain a character to get what you wanted, Fiona had molded you to be the perfect thief. This wasn't your first risky mission and it wouldn't be your last either.

You didn't quite understand why Bucky's words had affected you so much, but you felt a strange need to prove your worth to him. Maybe it was because you wanted to impress him. Or maybe you wanted to show him that you belonged in that world as much as he did. A little voice in the back of your mind told you that you were looking to make him jealous, but you shut it up immediately, burying it deep inside you. No, that was ridiculous. You were there to do your job and show Bucky that he wasn't the only one who could take risks without a second thought, and that if he didn't like it when you did it then he should stop doing it himself.

You spent the trip to the bar sitting in the back seat of the car, squeezed between Sam and Bucky while Zemo rode in the front. You were uncomfortable, not because of the small space in the car—seriously, how did Bucky manage to be so big?—, but because of the outfit you were wearing. The black dress Zemo had given you was much tighter and more revealing than your normal clothes, and the high heels, though pretty, hurt your feet. You fiddled nervously with the seam of the dress, stretching the fabric in an effort to make it cover more than half of your thighs.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Bucky's voice whispering in your ear startled you. He had spent the entire drive in silence, watching the streets of Madripoor through the tinted windows of the car, so you didn't expect to hear him speak.

"Are you?" You glanced up looking at him through your lashes and arching an eyebrow defiantly. You wanted to prove a point and you wouldn't stop until you did.

Bucky clenched his jaw, holding back the urgent need to cover you with his jacket and take you to a safe place. He knew you were uncomfortable, he could read it in your face and body language. He knew you too well and was able to read past your defiant and confident attitude. But you didn't want to give in, so he remained silent. His eyes scanned your figure one last time, lingering a little longer than necessary on your exposed thighs, before returning his gaze to the car window.

When you reached your destination, Zemo immediately put his arms around your figure, drawing you to him. Bucky found it hard to maintain a neutral expression when all he wanted to do was take you in his arms and snap Zemo's fingers for daring to touch you. He managed to restrain himself, clenching his fists at the side of his body in anger. The bar was packed with people, hundreds of eyes settling on you as soon as you entered the establishment. He had to try hard to maintain his character no matter how much he hated being in that position.

There was a tension in the air as you made your way to the bar to order drinks. You could hear the whispers, people surprised to see Zemo, others wondering if that tall, strong man was truly the infamous Winter Soldier and a couple mentioning Fiona's name in the distance. You hated it. You hated being associated with her after all you had done to change your life. But you kept your cool, walking hand in hand with Zemo feigning happiness.

It's for the mission.

You settled in at the bar, waiting to be served. You scanned the room for potential threats and escape routes in case things went wrong. When your eyes fell on Bucky you noticed he was doing the same. His expression was rigid, but you could still see some of your Bucky in him. You were sure that to the rest of the people there was no difference, but you were able to notice it. Maybe it was because you had already seen the Winter Soldier a couple of times, the coldness in his eyes and the firmness in his stance something that was not easily forgotten. Or maybe it was because you spent more time than necessary admiring Bucky in secret, to the point where you were able to recognize his mood changes with a simple glance. Whatever it was, you were slightly relieved to see the humanity in his eyes, though not enough to completely erase your concern. You knew it couldn't be good for his mental health to get back into the Winter Soldier's mindset. You just hoped it would at least be worth it.

"Hello gentlemen. Miss." The man behind the bar greeted them with a slight nod. "Wasn't expecting you, Smiling Tiger."

"His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby." Zemo was quick to say, taking control of the conversation.

"The usual?" The man asked Sam and he nodded without giving it much thought. That was until the bartender took a snake from a jar, cutting the animal to take who knows what from inside it and add it to the drink.

"Ah Smiling Tiger, your favorite!" Zemo exclaimed, amused by the situation. A silence fell between you as you watched Sam horrified by the drink that had been placed in front of him. He looked at you for a moment and you tried to give him an encouraging smile.

"I love these!" Sam said in an attempt to hide the horror in his expression and convince himself that the drink wasn't so bad. After hesitating for a moment, buying himself time to mentally prepare, Sam drank his shot in one big gulp. You felt proud of him, if it were you in his place you weren't sure you could do that without throwing up.

After that scene you decided not to drink anything, so you turned your back to the bar and concentrated your gaze on the crowd of people. There was still a certain tension in the air and there were a couple of people who kept their eyes on you, but overall things were back to normal. People drinking and dancing on the dance floor, swaying their hips to the music without paying attention to their surroundings.

That was except for one man who didn't seem to be able to turn his gaze away from you. His eyes were fixed on Zemo, occasionally straying to the others, but always coming back to him. You wondered what he wanted, though you didn't need any specific details to know that he was trouble. You wanted to warn the others, but it was a difficult task when that man wouldn't take his eyes off you. You didn't want to be too obvious for fear that it would escalate the situation somehow, so you opted to stick to your role.

Wrapping your arms around your supposed boyfriend, you positioned yourself in front of Zemo, settling your body between his and the bar. His hands traveled to your hips immediately, pressing you against him. He gave you a charming smile and you had to fight every fiber in your being not to roll your eyes. You pulled your face closer towards his, your breaths mingling and noses almost brushing. To anyone else it looked like you were about to kiss. You could have sworn you noticed a hint of surprise in Zemo's eyes at your sudden boldness, convinced you were going to kiss him.

But that was not your goal. At the last moment you turned your face to the side and with a mischievous smile whispered in his ear. "There's a guy staring at us." Your hands ran up his chest until you found a place on his neck. Your fingers fiddled with the ends of Zemo's hair, trying to keep up appearances so no one would get suspicious.“I think he wants trouble.” Your lips brushed his earlobe as you spoke and you felt him shiver. You pulled away with a triumphant smile, returning your attention to his face.

“And you want to put up a show for him, my darling?” Zemo spoke in a playful tone with an arrogant smile planted on his face.

"I'm just warning you because I don't want this mission to go to shit." You murmured against his lips, your grip on his hair tightening menacingly. "He could kill you for all I care, but we still need you so I'd rather you stay alive for a couple more hours." Despite the coldness of your words, Zemo's smile only widened. You wanted to slap him to wipe that arrogant expression off his face, but you restrained yourself because you saw that someone was approaching out of the corner of your eye. "He's coming." You warned before releasing Zemo and returning to your position next to him, between his body and Sam.

Your eyes searched Bucky for a brief moment, embarrassed that you had to do that little number in front of him. His gaze was fixed somewhere on the horizon. He was tense, you could tell by his stiff expression and the position of his shoulders, although you didn't know if it was due to the situation in general or to what you had just done. You hoped it wasn't because of the latter, you didn't want him to get mad at you for fake-flirting with Zemo. Though the way he avoided your gaze told you otherwise.

"I got word from on high, you ain't welcome here." The voice of that mysterious man brought you out of your thoughts.

"I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists he can either come talk to me," said Zemo gesturing towards Bucky in an implied threat. "Or bring Selby for a chat." The man walked away after keeping his gaze on Zemo for a few seconds longer than necessary. You let out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding, relieved that the situation hadn't escalated. For a moment you really thought things wouldn't end in violence, at least not this early in the mission. But then another man approached you and this time Zemo ordered the Winter Soldier to attack him.

You bit your tongue to keep from letting out a startled yelp as you watched Bucky deliver the first blows. He was acting in a way you hadn't seen him act in a long time, using his metal arm on his opponent to generate more damage. You knew he was acting, using a couple of key moves to fool everyone in the bar, but it still hurt to watch. Your stomach sank as you watched him fight multiple people at once, seemingly indifferent to the damage he might be causing them. In the frenzy of the fight you couldn't see Bucky's eyes, you couldn't notice in them his special characteristic glow that attracted you so much, so you had no way of distinguishing him from the Winter Soldier.

It saddened you because you knew Bucky would feel bad when all this was over. You were sure that with every blow he delivered he was reliving something from his past, memories that would haunt his thoughts for a long time. It broke your heart to think about it. All you wanted to do was run to him and force him to stop, wrap him in your arms and not let go until the bad moment was over, but you restrained yourself.

"Didn't take much for him to fall back into form." Zemo said while watching the fight. You and Sam gave him murderous looks, silently blaming him for the situation your friend was in.

When Bucky grabbed his opponent by the throat, dragging him to the bar to strangle him, everyone in the bar pulled out their guns, ready to shoot you. Sam grabbed Bucky by the arm in an attempt to stop him, but Zemo interrupted him. "Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us." He whispered before ordering Bucky to release the man.

"Selby will see you now."

Things went off the rails so quickly that you barely had time to react. Not that they were very on track to begin with, but they weren't too bad. Selby believed your stupid story about infiltrating the Avengers in order to get to the Winter Soldier and gave you some interesting details when you offered to hand him over in exchange for information. You hated referring to Bucky as if he were an object, a weapon you just had to aim to hurt your enemies, but you put up with it because Selby gave you a new piece of the puzzle. However, before you could finish negotiating with her, Sam's cell phone started ringing and everything went downhill from there.

She discovered that Sam was an imposter, but before she could hurt him, she was shot dead. You escaped the scene before being found and blamed for her fate, but it wasn't enough. From one second to the next you found yourselves running through the streets of Madripoor, escaping the hail of bullets aimed at you. In the midst of the chaos, a bullet grazed your leg causing you to stumble and fall. Luckily for you, it hadn't hit any major arteries, although there was more blood coming out of the wound than you would have liked. Bucky rushed to your rescue, taking the weapon from your attacker and knocking him unconscious with a single blow. He then helped you up and you took the opportunity to get rid of the high heels that were hurting your feet before standing up. They were probably worth a lot of money, but that was the least of your worries at that moment. Your life depended on your ability to run and move freely, so you didn't hesitate for a second to leave them forgotten in the middle of the street.

'Good luck to whoever finds them.' You thought as you walked away leaning on Bucky so you wouldn't fall.

Sharon saved your life at that moment, appearing suddenly in the dark street where you were seeking cover. It took some convincing to get her to help you, seeing as you were working with Zemo, but in the end she agreed. She took you to her house—a mansion filled with stolen art—, where you could rest and process the information you had obtained. While everyone was talking, you collapsed on the couch pressing a cloth over your wound to stop the bleeding. Sharon left you a first aid kit on the coffee table before disappearing behind the doors to get everything ready for her clients. The others followed her, except for Bucky who stayed with you to help you.

Sitting on the opposite end of the couch, he removed your hands from your leg and stretched it across his lap so he could examine the wound more closely. As soon as his fingers made contact with your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. You watched him work in silence, admiring his face in the warm light of the room. His hands brushed your leg gently, cleaning and disinfecting the wound before stitching it. His metal hand was a little cold, but you didn't care. All you could think about was how much you loved feeling him so close. For a moment all the pain disappeared from your body as you relished in the warmth his touch awakened on your skin.

However, even though his touch was gentle you couldn't help but notice the frown that graced his face. It was as if his hands and his expression were demonstrating two completely different emotions, as if they were not part of the same person. You bit your lower lip nervously as you wondered what thoughts were running through his mind. You had an idea of what he might be thinking, so you tried to strike up a conversation in hopes that he would open up to you as he had done many times in the past.

"Are you okay?" Your soft voice broke the silence of the room. Bucky looked up from the bandages he was placing on your leg to look at you for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, I'm alright." He assured you even though his voice and expression told you otherwise. Bucky sounded... cold, distant, and for a moment you wondered if you had anything to do with it.

"Are you sure?" You insisted and he nodded again, lowering his gaze to continue his work. You remained silent for a few seconds, until the silence seemed unbearable. "Are you mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad at you, doll." Bucky said, closing the first aid kit as he finished bandaging your leg. "I'm just frustrated."

"Frustrated?" You repeated with confusion. That was something you didn't expect to hear him say. Why would he be frustrated? Was it because of the mission and having to work with Zemo? Or was it because Selby had died before she could give them any more information?

"I told you it was dangerous. You shouldn't have come with us." He said in a firm tone, confusing you even more.

"I wasn't going to leave you guys alone. We're a team."

"You could have died, Y/N!" His voice was serious and in his eyes you were able to sense genuine concern. "I shouldn't have let you come."

"Excuse me?" You spoke in a surprised tone, watching Bucky with raised eyebrows. "Let's get one thing straight, you don't let me do anything. I'm a big girl and I can make my own choices." The mood in the room changed completely, the tension getting increasingly heavier in the air. You were glad to know that he cared about you, but he was in no position to dictate your actions. You were free to decide how and when to risk your life if that was what you wanted to do, just as he repeatedly did. If you didn't have a say in his decisions then why should he have a say in yours?

"If that bullet curved a few more inches you could have bled out in the streets."

"You could have died too! They were shooting at you too, you know."

"I can take it." Bucky shrugged it off and you rolled your eyes. You were tired of him doing that.

"Well, so can I. I'm perfectly fine, see." You jumped up from the couch, but immediately regretted it when a twinge of pain assaulted your wound. You tried hard not to show it, though you were pretty sure Bucky was able to notice your discomfort anyway. "You have to understand that you are not the only one that can risk his life without even thinking about the consequences."

"You're unbelievable!" He exclaimed, shaking his head.

"I'm unbelievable? What about you?"

"You risked your life just to prove a point?"

"No, I risked my life because my friends were risking theirs." It was a half-truth. A part of you had decided to go because there was no way you were going to leave them alone with Zemo in a bar in Madripoor. But another part of you had done it for Bucky, to show him that you were capable of going on missions, but more importantly, to make him understand how frustrating it was for you when he took risks without even thinking about the consequences. Although you weren't going to admit that last part. "You know what? I'm too tired for this shit. I'm not gonna keep arguing with you about it."

You began to walk toward the door with some difficulty. You intended to leave him alone, to stay away from him until you both calmed down and could talk like civilized people. But Bucky opened his mouth again, blurting out a comment you couldn't ignore.

"That's right, run off to your new boyfriend. He's probably waiting for you downstairs." You stopped dead in your tracks when you heard him say that. So that's what his bad mood was about. He was all grumpy and bitter because he was upset about Zemo. Unbelievable!

"You know what? Maybe I will!" You exclaimed in exasperation, turning to look at him. Bucky had his arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing deliciously. You wanted to slap him because it wasn't fair that he looked so good while you were fighting. "At least Zemo doesn't act like a complete asshole."

You turned and continued on your way, reaching the door and taking the handle in your hands. You barely managed to separate the wood from the frame a couple inches before it closed again with a loud thud. You flinched in surprise and when you looked up you discovered Bucky's metal hand resting on the door just above your head. How had he reached you so quickly and so silently, you didn't know. All you knew was that he had done it and didn't seem to want to move.

You pulled on the doorknob once more, but the door didn't budge under the pressure Bucky was exerting on the wood. So you turned to look at him one more time and if you weren't so upset you were sure the air would have caught in your throat at the closeness. "Bucky, let me go." You protested, but before you could say anything else the super soldier's lips crashed against yours.

There was nothing soft or gentle about the kiss. Bucky's lips moved desperately against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth curiously. His right hand cupped your face while his metal one wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. It took you a few seconds to comprehend what was happening, but when you did you kissed him back with the same fervor, losing yourself in the warmth of his body. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging lightly on the dark locks in a desperate attempt to pull his face even closer to yours to deepen the kiss. Bucky let out a soft growl and you felt your pulse quicken. Holy shit, he was hot.

"You were killing me in there, doll." Bucky muttered, pulling away from you to catch his breath. His voice was deeper than normal and you loved it, every word that came out of his mouth went straight to your core. "Letting him touch you and pull you close, acting like you were his." His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of wet kisses across your skin. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access, closing your eyes as you lost yourself in the heat his touch aroused inside you. You were completely at his mercy, letting him mark you as his.

"Bucky…" you moaned his name as he sucked a mark on the sensitive area just below your ear. "Please." You didn't even know what you were begging for. Your brain had stopped working, overwhelmed by the attack of Bucky's lips on your skin. He was all you could think about, all you could smell and feel. His scent assaulted your nostrils and the heat of his body enveloped you completely. But somehow that wasn't enough. You wanted more, so much more. And so did he.

“What?” Bucky spoke against your lips, your quickened, choppy breath mingling with his. You looked up at him through your lashes and in his eyes you noticed something you had never seen in them before. He was looking at you with desire, his pupils slightly dilated as he admired your face in the dim light of the room. “You wanna go with him, huh? Is that it, doll?”

He was teasing you. He knew there was nothing you wanted more than to feel his lips on yours again, he could read it in your eyes, feel it in the way your hands clung to his shoulders, desperately trying to pull him closer to you. But he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear you say that you wanted him and no one else, that his hands were the only ones you wanted on your body and that his lips were the only ones allowed to kiss you. He wanted confirmation that he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

So you gave him what he wanted.

“I want you, Bucky. It’s always been you.”

Your brain was short-circuiting so you couldn't put into words everything you really felt for Bucky. There was so much more you wanted to tell him, but you didn't have the ability to do so now when your legs were shaking, threatening to drop you to the ground if Bucky's metal arm wasn't holding you up by his grip on your waist.

However, your little confession seemed to be enough for him as he brought his lips back to join yours. You let out a desperate moan at the contact, reveling in the softness of his lips. When Bucky rested his hands on the back of your thighs, you jumped without a second thought. The pain of your injury was forgotten as you locked your legs around his hips, clinging to his broad shoulders for support. His lips never left yours as he used his big, muscular body to trap you against the door, your tongues intertwining in a sinful dance.

You could feel him. All of him. His chest pressed against yours, the muscles of his back flexing with every little movement, his hands pressing you against the outline of his growing erection. You got drunk on him as you kissed, trying to memorize every detail of his body and the way it felt to be trapped in his arms. You wanted more. You needed more. Your center throbbed with desperation so you moved your hips in search of some friction. Bucky's chest vibrated with a low moan, his hands gripping your ass tighter before pulling away from the door.

He walked with you in his arms until he reached the couch, where he carefully dropped down without taking his lips off yours. You straddled his lap with one leg on either side of his thighs, his hands gripping your waist. The new angle allowed you to feel him in a different way. Your short dress had ridden up even higher, exposing your covered center. Bucky settled back on the couch and you let out a slight moan at the subtle brush of his pelvis against yours. Your skin was on fire and so was his. You let your hands travel down his body under his shirt, trailing your fingers over every inch of skin you were able to reach until Bucky had enough and decided to remove his shirt.

When his chest was exposed you trailed your wet kisses down his neck, sucking and biting his skin as a way of marking your territory, just as he had done with you seconds before. Bucky tightened his grip on your waist as he pulled his head back to give you more room to continue your assault on his body. He was enjoying being claimed as yours more than he would like to admit, letting out a series of incoherent moans each time you sucked on his sensitive parts.

In the heat of the moment, your fingers brushed over the scars on his left shoulder and a couple of seconds later your lips made contact with the area, spreading kisses all over his skin. You started at his left collarbone, moving slowly towards his shoulder until your lips made contact with the metal, and then you moved back up. These kisses were different from the rest. They were not wet and desperate, but slow and full of love. They were a silent way of showing him how deep your feelings for him were. A way to tell him you wanted more than a one night stand with him without having to use words.

Bucky opened his eyes as he noticed the change in the mood. And when he saw you there, showing love to one of the parts of his body he hated the most, his heart squeezed in his chest. A wave of heat washed over him, but it wasn't lust or jealousy as he had previously felt. This time it was love. Love that coursed through his whole body, filling him with that euphoric feeling he didn't think he would ever be able to feel again after all he had been through.

And then he knew he could no longer deny what he felt.

Bucky pulled you off his chest, lifting your face so he could look into your eyes. His flesh hand caressed your cheek, delighting in the way you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. He slid his fingers delicately across your skin until he reached your chin. When you opened your eyes again you found his intense gaze locked on your lips. His thumb gently caressed your lower lip before his eyes focused on yours again.

"I love you." It was barely a whisper, as if he was afraid to say those words out loud. But you heard it and your heart burst with joy at the confirmation that your feelings were reciprocated.

You took his hand between yours, bringing it to your lips to place a delicate kiss on the back of it, a subtle way to calm his nerves. His eyes followed your every move, admiring your face as he waited for a response. "I love you too." You whispered before joining your lips again, only this time it was in a slow kiss charged with love and affection.

It was the kind of kiss you always imagined sharing with him, your lips moving together in perfect harmony as you allowed yourself just to feel. Feel the love you had fought so hard to suppress. Feel the intimacy of the moment and the sheer bliss that came over you at the proximity. Feel how well your lips seemed to fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle, and how right it was. Feel the true extent of your connection.

"Ah finally! Seems like everything worked out according to plan." Zemo's voice forced you to separate. According to plan? "I'm glad, I was getting tired of the sexual tension in the air whenever you to where in the same room. I would love to leave you alone to… continue this, but Sam is looking for you."

Without another word, Zemo disappeared behind the door leaving you looking at each other in confusion. So that had been his plan all along, huh? You couldn't say you were mad at him. Yes, maybe the manipulation and mind games were annoying, but at least this time they had worked in your favor.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x yn #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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tomhollandisabae · 2 years

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Loved the ones you wrote about Lewis. Can you do something angsty. Like they have a huge fight cause he's jealous and even break up, but eventually get back together. Thank youuuu

thank u so much for ur request luvv!!❤️

the met - lewis hamilton x reader

masterlist

summary; following your night out at the met gala with lewis, you return home and a huge fight breaks out, leading to many regrets

warnings; heavy angst, panic attack, mentions of death, jealousy, mature language, fluff at the end

words; 1.2k

a/n; please send me ur requests!!❣️

You and Lewis had finally decided to attend the Met Gala together this year for the first time as an official couple. However, if only you knew how things would eventually turn out, you’d never to do that.

You'd hoped for a nice evening, getting to know new people, socializing and in general having the time of your life with your boyfriend. Nonetheless, as a result of you being a well-known actress- and one of the most beautiful out there- you tended to attract too much attention on you.

So, when one of your co-stars from your new movie started acting a little friendlier with you, Lewis saw red. You noticed how quickly his behaviour changed, from being out going and relaxed – to being moody and restraint. You thought that he was acting childish, so you decide against paying him any mind, but that infuriated him even more, resulting in you being more than annoyed because of him.

Undoubtedly, it was expected once you walked in your house, that he’d start throwing fits at you.

“Lewis, seriously relax” you rolled your eyes as you made your way to your bedroom to change.

“Relax? You just fucking asked me to relax? No y/n, I won’t relax because you know why huh?” he looked at you while pointing his finger towards you “because today you acted like a total brat, knowing already that whatever you were doing was bothering me, you decided against changing your behaviour and continued on flirting with that asshole.”

At that point you’ve had enough.

“I acted like a fucking brat? Me? You're unbelievable Lewis. You have no right to tell me how to behave. I was being friendly towards him, we were playing in a goddamn movie together for six whole months, did you ever think that if I really wanted him like that, I wouldn’t already have done something back then, when I was alone with him?” you yelled at him.

“I don’t know that...” his posture stiffened.

“Excuse me?” you asked shocked.

“I don’t know that nothing happened between you two while I wasn’t around. As you said, it was easier back then and considering the way you both were acting tonight, I don't exactly doubt that.” he told you and you felt your heart breaking into millions of pieces.

“You really think that low of me? You really think that I would do something like that to you? Even after the millions of times I've told you how much I love you?” you said while biting your lower lip as tears started rolling down on your cheeks.

“y/n...” his face took a sad expression.

“no” you lifted your hand stopping him “I don’t wanna hear anything. What you said is really serious Lewis, because now I know that you don’t trust me.” you tried to wipe your tears, but new where constantly falling down.

“Baby I'm sor--” you cut him off.

“No Lewis, you don’t get to offend me like that and then say you’re sorry. Fuck your sorry! I need some time off” you finally said while sniffling your nose.

“What?” Lewis exclaimed in a whisper.

“I need space Lewis, I'll go to y/f/n’s tonight.” you told him and went to your bathroom to change.

“y/n, please, don’t leave. I’m really sorry. Jealousy took over me and I know that doesn’t justify what I said to you, but it was in the heat of the moment, none of that meant anything. I didn’t mean anything I said baby. Please baby, don’t go.” you heard him silently crying on the other side of the door.

Your heart was breaking even more at the sound of his sobs, but you couldn’t let him manipulate you. You couldn’t make him feel as if he had the upper hand. As you exited the bathroom, you paid no attention to him and grabbed your things, trying to make your way to the garage, while Lewis was hot on your heels.

“y/n please” was the last thing you heard him saying as you started your car engine and left.

One week had gone by and you were missing Lewis more than anything else. He hadn’t stopped calling you or texting you. He even turned up to your friend’s house, so you decided to go and stay at a hotel instead. You knew that he was worried about you, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him, until...

You eventually needed to go back to your shared home to grab some of your things. So, you picked a time that you knew he would be gone, more likely during his morning ran, to go and pick up your things.

However, you were wrong.

Once you entered your house, you so Lewis sleeping on the couch with plenty of heavy- alcohol bottles scattered all over the place. What made your blood run cold in your veins, though, was that you noticed Lewis’ bear chest not moving.

Immediately, tears started rolling down on your cheeks and you dropped your keys on the floor as you run up to him, kneeling besides him.

“Lewis” you exclaimed his name between sobs as you grabbed both his cheeks, feeling how cold his face was.

The worst thoughts made their way into your mind and you started sobbing uncontrollably while on the same hand, you couldn’t stop muttering out his name.

“Plea...” your voice got caught in your throat as you begun having a panic attack.

Lewis was not responding to you; his whole body was cold and you couldn’t feel his pulse as your hands were trembling way too much. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and your vision couldn’t stay focused.

In your despair, however, you didn’t notice the two strong arms that wrapped themselves around your body as you were kneeled on the floor.

“y/n...” you heard someone say, but your ears were buzzing too much.

“Baby... breath, please” you heard his angelic voice in your ear as a soft kiss was placed on top of your head.

“Lew... Lew” you cried out.

“it’s me baby, shh, I'm here, everything’s going to be okay” he tightened his grip around you.

“you’re not... dead” you said between sobs.

“What?” he exclaimed shocked “of course not baby.” he placed one of his palms on your cheek lifting slowly your head.

“you’re so cold” you said.

“I slept with the window open baby.” he smiled down at you as he pointed towards the open window.

“Really?” you asked in a weak voice.

“Really baby. I'm sorry if I scared you, but I'm alive, I promise” he chuckled lightly.

“Fuck you Lewis” you exclaimed in a high-pitched voice and jumped on top of him as you started hitting his chest.

“Hey hey” you heard him laughing resulting in you starting to laugh too.

“you’re an asshole Lewis” you said as you leaned down, your face inches away from his.

“I know” he bit on his bottom lip.

“But I love you so much” you whispered.

“I love you too baby... please forgive me” he pleaded.

“of course” you breathed out with a smile and grabbed both his cheeks with your hands, finally connecting your lips with his.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x you #driver x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton fanfic

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 months

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Hi. :D

Regarding the ending, it seems like the fandom divided about Marinette's decision to hide the truth from Adrien. I've seen group of people believing the lie is the result of her being manipulated by Gabriel, there's other who said that it's in character for Marinette to control information and compare it to what she did in Bubbler episode and there's also people who believe that the lie is a result of the wish that make Marinette's memory become blurry hence why she believed that Gabriel and Monarque are two different people.

What about you? What do you think about Marinette decision? What could be reasoning?

Thank you and I'm sorry for grammar error. ;;

My personal opinion is that it's all the result of bad writing, making it impossible to guess Marinette's motivation. If/when her motivation is revealed, I'm guessing it's going to make about as much sense as Alya knowing who Ladybug is and still believing Lila. To show you what I mean, I'll just go through the arguments you bring up one-by-one and explain why they don't hold much water.

Gabriel Manipulating Marinette

For this point to make sense, Gabriel needed to actually manipulate Marinette, but that's not what we see. He makes a dying request of her, but nothing in the fight or the season backs up her caring about that request. The lead up to the wish is largely Bugnoir and Monarch in a verbal sparing match that looks something like this:

Bug Noire: You'd know this if you ever took an interest in him. But in reality, Adrien means NOTHING to you anymore! You've locked him in your house — LOCKED him in your Alliance rings! Locked him into a life that allows you to hide behind him in order to justify YOUR madness! Lucky Charm!! (summons a tube of glue) Monarch: All I want is for him to be happy

Oh yeah, she's being so manipulated here! Gabriel is totally changing her mind about everything! That's why the fight literally ends with Gabriel changing his mind and making a different wish than originally intended! That's how manipulation works, right?

If the message of this fight was supposed to be that Gabriel manipulated Marinette and not the other way around, then it would need to look something like this comic where he guilts her into keeping his secrets. It would need look like this because Gabriel and Marinette have nothing close to a positive relationship. They hate each other. They also know next to nothing about each other, which is why the fight's dialogue is nothing but exposition and squabbling over who knows Adrien better as Adrien is literally their only connection.

This is why the only manipulation that would work on Marinette is guilt tripping her about the reveal hurting Adrien because Marinette doesn't give two shits about Gabriel. But Gabriel doesn't do that. He just politely asks her to not tell Adrien:

Gabriel: (turns around to Marinette) Marinette, make sure that Adrien never knows about the villain that I was, (puts down the twin rings on the ground) but instead, that he remembers the times I tried to be a good father. (turns back to Gimmi)

This is not manipulation. He's not messing with her emotions. He doesn't say anything like, "telling Adrien will hurt him immensely Marinette. If you love him, you'll let him remember me as a loving father." He just makes a request of a young woman who hates him and hopes for the best.

If Marinette loved Gabriel and was heartbroken that he was her enemy, then his dying wish could be argued to be a form of manipulation because he knows how much she cares for him and how much his actions hurt her and how much she doesn't want to remember him as a villain, but that's not what the writers wrote. Instead, they gave us things like the pancake scenes and Gabriel trying to break Adrienette up with magic.

Marinette likes Controlling Information

I've talked about the scarf thing and Marinette's general tendency toward secret keeping before. My general thoughts are that there is no point in the show where Marinette is shown to like keeping secrets or controlling information. She only ever keeps secrets that arguably should be kept. The show has also never put her in a situation where she has an ongoing lie that actively hurts someone.

You may be thinking about the scarf thing as a counter argument, but for that to be an indication of how she handles ongoing lies, it would need to be an ongoing lie in the actual narrative and not just the fandom. As is, the scarf appeared in one episode and was then forgotten by the show. The scarf lie was also a split-second decision made without any knowledge of why the lie even happened.

If Adrien wore the scarf all the time and talked about how much it meant to him that his father had gotten him such a wonderful gift, then I'd agree with you that the scarf sets Marinette up as the type of person who might keep the senti thing a secret. But that's not what the show actually does. She's never confronted with this lie again. At this point, it would honestly be weird for her to bring it up.

I'm sure someone is reading this and thinking about the Chat Blanc thing, but the narrative treats that episode in such a confusing way that I don't even know how to approach it. A lot of people thought that it was the thing driving the season four conflict, but that doesn't actually seem to be the case because revealing it wasn't part of resolving the season four conflict. Marinette also doesn't seem to have any trauma around Chat Blanc. Instead - somehow - Adrien does even though he doesn't know it happened and I just... what?

At the very least, I think that we can all acknowledge that telling your partner that he ended the world in an alternate timeline that will now never exist and whose cause you do not know has, at best, questionable benefits. The only reason I wanted Marinette to tell him was because I thought that it was affecting her and because, in certain circumstances, telling him could have lead to Gabriel's defeat and I like poetic justice.

But if Chat Blanc isn't affecting Marinette, then telling Chat Noir is kinda pointless since there's nothing that he can do about it as far as she knows. It could even be arguably seen as cruel. I don't think that Marinette needs to tell her partner every awful thing that he does when the akuma of the day controls him because none of it is his fault and he can't change the past. Telling him just feels like guilt tripping. Given canon's wacky writing, a Chat Blanc reveal is just that on a larger scale.

I honestly can't think of anything else we could call an ongoing lie outside of the secret identities and general miraculous stuff. The senti thing is Marinette's first real harmful ongoing lie and it's one that she actively planned, too, since she would have had time to gather her thoughts before she sees Adrien. I truly don't think that it fits her character, especially since Adrien isn't shown to be in mourning.

I'm not saying that this would be an easy thing to tell him, I'm just saying that it really doesn't fit her character to choose to lie. Even if you disagree with my above arguments and say that the scarf and Chat Blanc were setups for this, canon itself has given Marinette an arc about being less controlling.

In season five we have the stuff with Lila where the whole "high road" thing was proven to be a bad call. And, Chat Blanc or not, season four ended with her saying this:

Ladybug: Why don't you just give up on me? I've lost ALL the Miraculous! I'm the worst Guardian EVER! I wanted to control everything, I didn't listen to you, I lied to you, I kept you at a distance! Every time you offered me a helping hand, I never took it! I really made a mess of EVERYTHING! (continues sobbing)

So what was the point of that if she still "tries to control everything"? (Even though I'd argue that she didn't. A lot of this rant isn't actually backed up by what we see happening in season four, but it's still the lesson that the writers chose to have her openly state she learned.)

In summary, Marinette has never been big on lying unless she has to and she's supposedly had an arc about not being controlling, so either this isn't it or she's learned nothing and season four was an even bigger waste of time than I already thought it was.

The Wish Did It

This is arguably the most plausible scenario, but if we go this route, then it's still bad writing because the wish rewrites the universe so there's no way to discover "the truth" because it isn't the truth anymore. Whatever Gabriel changed is now reality and the only way to make that not so is to retcon how the wish works. And if they're reconning that, well, how can you trust anything the show tells you about the lore?

The reason why consistent world building and characterization are so important is because it's the foundation on which stories are built. The puzzle pieces that fit together to create the cohesive whole. If your puzzle pieces don't fit together, then you are telling a story that the audience cannot logically follow and that is generally considered to be objectively bad storytelling unless you're writing literary nonsense like Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. (Yes that's an actual genre.)

In Summary

Like I said at the top, this all just feels like bad writing to me. It's not the natural next chapter in the story. It actively goes against past characterization and supposed character arcs, but that's hardly shocking. Throughout the show, we've seen the writers do whatever the hell they want to make a plot work, ignoring their own lore in the process. I don't expect that to change and neither should you.

The Alya and Lila thing is my go-to example because it's the most glaring indication of what you should expect to see in this show. If a reporter who actively reported that Lila is Ladybug's best friend will not be swayed by learning that Ladybug is someone who actively hates Lila, then it is pointless to try to make sense of the writing. Trying to logically guess where it's going next or what a character is going to do is an exercise in madness because that's not how Miraculous works.

It's why I haven't weighed in on what the wish will mean for season six. The wish will mean whatever the hell the writers decide it means no matter what the previous five seasons contained. It's also why this blog largely focuses on discussing canon's existing flaws and ways that you could potentially fix them. That's the stuff I really enjoy and find value in. Theory crafting only works for media that is logically solid and consistent. Asks like yours are still welcome! Just know that they're going to bring out my most cynical, judgemental side.

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt #marinette deserves better

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invested-in-your-future · 4 months

Note

I saw your post about if RWBY was written someone decently:

“We would have absolutely gotten a fallout from Jaune just...forging his entry into the academy and then harassing a girl for two volumes.”

I know I am going to get some hate but honestly I wanted Jaune to learn from his actions. I never did like how even at his worst he gets rewarded for his bad behavior:

-he came to a school without aura and no one scolded him for being reckless

-he is sleeping and being lazy with his training (this was your dream why aren’t you taking this seriously?)

-the worse one to me personally (Pyrrha offering training he desperately needs he refuses out of pride…despite knowing he is doing awful)

I hated the bully arc because it was only there to make jaune look good. (Doesn’t help the writers admitting that it was self insert moment.)

Jaune should have faced consequences for being this irresponsible.

Honestly, it's just a mess.

First of all, I have to preface this by saying that there's nothing necessarily wrong with writing Jaune as lazy or not taking his position seriously - as long as writing acknowledges that and uses it to develop him.

Making Jaune as misguided into believing being a Huntsman would make him respected and adored while struggling to put in actual work necessary could be interesting.

The behavior that is in show would fit perfectly the idea of someone who just thought he'd enter into this prestigious academy and get treated like a hero or "The protagonist" - of course someone like that would instantly attempt to hit on the most popular and famous girl at school and of course someone like that would find it difficult to get into his brain that she isn't interested.

Writing Jaune as this person enamored with toxic stereotypes of masculinity and the idea that others owe something to him for his position is interesting. As is the idea of someone like that slowly getting over the toxicity inherent in his behavior and growing into someone more genuine, someone not bound by awful complexes and generic macho fantasies.

Showing how Jaune has to learn to be comfortable with himself and how the whole "knight in shining armor" stereotype of masculinity is not necessary - that would be a riveting character arc.

It would justify all the clashes with Cardin because both represent the polar opposite issues with toxic masculinity overall.

It would even make him a fitting member of JNPR by making his characterization part of the team's theme of challenging gender stereotypes and roles!

The issue is that the writers don't see any of those as an issue - in the minds of Miles and Kerry and the like - Jaune is just this guy "way in over his head" who is just "trying his best".

And what's worse, the writers take the absolute worst possible message from the critique that surrounds Jaune - they somehow believe that the key to making Jaune more likable and to sell him better to the audiences is to make him more "manly", "stronger", "responsible" - all the while walking straight(heh) into the worst toxic stereotypes that people were complaining about in the first place.

They don't attempt to challenge the toxicity and the annoying character traits because they don't see them. Instead they attempt to make him likable and "cool".

So Jaune gets to step over a trail of women who died for his characterization while lamenting how "he never asked for this" and getting a banana haircut that's "more manly". And to prove the likes of Weiss of how achshually he's totally nice and cool guy and she was oh so wrong for daring to not be interested.

I wrote before that the show has Jaune deal with completely different issues than his character actually has, essentially in parts stuffing Ruby's character arc bits onto his character rather than the main protagonist.

It's not only infuriating because of how much the result of his characterization poisons the already shaky show and steals the protagonists' screen time and development, but also downright sad to see the potential of a compelling story arc robbed.

#rwby #rwde #jaune arc

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sokkastyles · 3 months

Text

ATLA LA Ep 6 Thoughts:

I feel like Iroh is more defensive of Zuko than he should be. In the original, Iroh does explain Zuko's side to Jee, but I don't like the implication that Zuko understands sacrifice MORE. OG Iroh never felt like he was justifying Zuko's actions.

I do like the parallel with Zuko disrespecting a superior officer, which is got him banished in the first place, and Zuko disrespecting Zhao, while Zhao uses his past as a earning, and Zuko bullying his crew in the same way he was/is bullied. All because he thought war would be honorable.

Liked the fire sages and Roku but Aang going there to ask Roku for help in saving Katara and Sokka feels strange when he's supposed to be talking to Roku about the actual plot.

Aang: you can't always have been like this. *cue flashback*

BLUE SPIRIT BLUE SPIRIT

I can totally believe Zuko keeps exhaustive notes on everything Avatar related, but of course he never wrote about what happened to him.

The problem with Aang and Zuko having a prolonged conversation here is that it saps the tension out of their relationship.

"Compassion is a sign of weakness" / "I didn't mean to hurt you." The ways we hurt people when we've been hurt.

People talk too much in this show about what they're doing / going to do.

I get the feeling they were trying to make Iroh seem more proactive here, but it kinda has the opposite effect because instead of being paralyzed by shock/horror/guilt, he just like, makes one protest and then steps aside on cue.

"He's your son." "We'll see." It's a test.

It's a test but it's still not one Zuko can pass. Ozai accuses Zuko of holding back but the literal moment Zuko matches his ruthlessness, Ozai gets his excuse to hurt him.

And listen, I've seen some discourse about Zuko fighting back. But one, Zuko is not a skinny little kid here. I do wish they had cast a child actor but at the same time, Liu is so good that I can forgive that. So we have to accept a Zuko who is a little older and does not look as visibly like a child. Two, it doesn't matter whether Zuko fought back, nothing Ozai does to him is justified, but Ozai was absolutely looking for an excuse. The only thing that changes here is the excuse itself. The end result is the same, that Ozai deliberately hurt his son.

Azula's look of fascination is pretty perfect.

Aang's actor is good here. This is the scene between Aang and Zuko in the OG. Not sure why it was necessary for Zuko and Aang to have that talk before if they were also going to keep this scene. Again, this show has a problem with the pacing because characters keep stopping to give unnecessary exposition. I know we all want more Aang and Zuko but it doesn't quite work.

I still don't think Ozai's justification works.

The idea of Zuko's crew being the 41st is compelling. The idea that Ozai punished Zuko for having compassion by making him responsible for the people he refused to dehumanize, perhaps in the hope that he would eventually come to hate them. And it seemed like it was on its way to working. What I hate is the way the show frames things here by making it seem like it's the crew's responsibility to understand Zuko, and then suddenly they all worship him. The original showed us that Zuko still had compassion, and that was what earned the crew's respect, more than Iroh's story. It's also weird to have this happen after Zhao commandeers the crew, because Jee was right, that he, especially, knows the penalty for not following orders, and knowing Zuko's story only emphasizes how little autonomy the 41st actually have when up against someone like Zhao.

#atla live action

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scarletwinterxx · 11 months

Text

take a chance with me - mark lee imagine

hi🥺😊 it's been a while since i wrote something this long, I wanted to take my time and do my best. I hope you like it.🤍

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

song inspo: take a chance with me by niki

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"You got the Bruno Mars tickets?"

Mark looks up to see you looking a bit disheveled, still panting from running he assumes.

She still looks cute. Says his internal monologue but he quickly shuts that down, putting this tough shell back on in front of you instead.

"Yeah why?" he asks nonchalantly

You hold 1 finger up, signalling for him to wait while you catch your breath.

"Who are you going with?"

"Dery, supposedly but he got tickets too so now I'm not sure" he answers, his attention back on his laptop screen. There are so many things he should be doing right now to the point that he feels like the 24 hours of his day isn't enough and yet he can't seem to shoo you away.

He'll spare you a minute, an hour, or how long you ask him but you don't know that. And he won't say that out loud now that the two of you have broken up. His clock stops when he's with you.

Mark wants to scold himself for always giving into you, but he can't help it. It's you.

"Take me" you say straightforward, no sense of hesitation.

This made Mark look up at you again, raising a brow as he asks you "Now why would I do that?"

"Because we're friends?" throwing a question back at him

"God don't say that, it's weird" he mumbles, acting as if he was shaking of chills as you say the word friends

"You're the one who said we should be friends, this is me being a friend"

"This is you trying to piggyback on me to watch Bruno Mars"

"See, you still know me so well. Now why did we even break up?" you joke, but it wasn't well received on the other end so you cleared your throat "Right sorry, sore topic" you mumble

"I'll think about it" Mark tells you before his gaze returns on his screen

You smile down at him even though he's not looking at you. "In your book, that's a yes. Call me, bye" you tell him before walking away.

After that encounter with you, Mark of course couldn't keep his mouth shut and told his friend about it. He can already hear Hendery scolding him for being a 'simp'.

"Tell me you didn't say yes that fast" Hendery asks his bestfriend but he already knows the answer

"Mark, dude I thought we're working on the whole 'I'm moving on for real this time' era of yours"

"I am, I am over it. She's just going with me because I have extra tickets, which by the way was supposed to be yours. I paid a good amount for those" he scowls at the other boy

"And you didn't even think twice about giving it away to her, we could've sold that or something. Just say you're still whipped and go. What's the point of me lecturing you everytime about your failed love live if you're never gonna listen"

"I can't fail my love life if I don't have a love life" the Leo man justifies

"Okay you got a point there, so here's my proposal. We should find you a new girl so you can finally finally stop being such a simp"

Mark swears he trusts Hendery with his life, but also a big part of him doubts his Libra bestfriend even when he's staying still and doing nothing.

"I'm not a simp" Mark grumbles like a child. He can hear Hendery snicker from beside him,

"Sorry what was that? I can't hear bullshit. Get back to me when you finally mean it"

He really hoped Hendery was kidding when he said he'll find him someone, he had so many reason why this isn't a good time to date but he can't stop him once he sets his mind on something. Especially if it meant it'll give Mark a headache, which in that case is Hendery's forte.

But if there's someone topping that list, the number one person to make Mark's temporal pulse go thumping hard. It would be you. And you know exactly know to get on his last nerve whether he likes it or not.

"I can't believe you got floor tickets, and Dery passed this up?" you say from beside him as you look around the venue. It's the day of the concert and just like you said, you showed up in front of his doorstep 10 hours earlier with the most excited look on your face.

"He's somewhere over there, said he prefers it so yea" he answers, looking at his watch to check the time. His nonchalance making you look over at your ex-boyfriend slash friend.

"Why are you grumpy? Does it really bother you I'm here? I can pay for the tickets" you tell him.

Mark looks over at you, noting your serious expression. He didn't want to ruin tonight for you, for the both of you so he shakes his head.

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. I invited you"

"I invited myself, I'll send you the payment after the show" you tell him then look away.

Great, now you're in a bad mood and he has to figure out how to fix it. He lets out a sigh, looking away from you. The ticket is not really the issue tonight, neither you being here tonight. It's his mind being at war again, asking him questions he have long buried in the depths of his consciousness.

It's like you press the reset button in him every time. He hates it but he can't walk away from you either. So as a result, he sometimes acts too harsh towards you.

Mark thinks of something to break the tension,

"Hey, remember when I said I wanted to watch Bruno Mars with you" Mark tells you, slightly leaning towards you to whisper by your ear

You do remember. Back when you were still dating he did say he wanted to go attend concerts with you, when he learned yours and his favorite artist was the same he got so excited and put it on his bucket list to watch Bruno Mars with you.

"Huh?" you mumbled, pretending like you were having a hard time recalling that memory but really it's still fresh like it happened just yesterday

"My bucket list, said I wanted to watch Bruno with you. Guess I can check it off from that now" he smiles

"Does it still count even when we're not dating anymore?" you can't help but ask, you expected him to react violently like he always does when you bring it up but instead he just smiles at you again

"It counts as long as it's with you" he answers then he looks away. Not catching the way your gaze stayed on him for a few more moments, in those moments you wondered what if that wasn't the case.

What if you never broke up. What if he was still yours.

A lot of what ifs you'll never know the answer to.

Instead of linger on that, you just look away from him. Ignoring the dull ache in your heart.

That night turned out for the better, probably a night you'll never forget. You had so much fun, singing and jumping along your favorite songs. There were times when you looked beside you to see Mark doing the same. Seeing the biggest smile on his face as he holds his phone up to capture the moment.

Instead of saying anything, you just watch him with a smile. Missing seeing him this happy and carefree.

After the show, Mark offered to drive you home. You were too tired to say no so you just sat on his passenger seat as he drives down the familiar street. He didn't need to check his GPS to know, he know these roads like it's the way to his own home.

In a way it used to be like that, you used to be his home.

He didn't say much when he dropped you off, watching you enter your building and only driving away when he's sure you safe inside.

"Mark, my friend"

"No" Mark cuts off Hendery before he could even say anything but of course his bestfriend didn't take any offence nor thought about listening to him, he continued when Mark didn't say anything else

"As I was saying, remember when I said I'll find you someone. Well I kinda did, a bunch of us is going hiking this weekend and this girl Arin is coming. Heard she's had a thing for you for a while now"

"How can she have a thing for me when she doesn't know me?" he mumbles, already getting grumpy with the idea of going out

"I can't explain the way of the universe to you my friend, she just does. Don't make me say you're one handsome man because I won't" Hendery says

"You just did though"

"So you're coming right?" Hendery asks with a devilosh smile like he's already plotting something

"Do I have a choice?"

"Hey don't look at me like that, it was your choice coming here" Haechan tells you as you let him drag you trough the woods at 5am in the morning

"You told me we were going to get coffee at this place with killer view. I'm about to be the killer here and you're in my view" you tell him, sending glares his way but this doesn't deter your friend.

"We are getting coffee, after we go hiking. Hey! No hitting!"

As the two of you bicker some more you don't notice the other people joining you for today's hike arrive.

From across the lot, Mark spots you and Haechan. Just as he looks over, he sees Haechan bend down to whisper something to you and you hitting him lightly making the guy laugh.

It’s been a while since he last saw you, after the concert you really didn't reach out that much. Not that he expected you to, the last text you sent him was a short thank you for taking you to the concert.

You weren't avoiding him, it's been a while since you went out with a big group of friends since you and Mark did share a lot of mutual friends. You didn't want to make it awkward for everyone, so instead you mostly declined the invites when you know he might come too.

And Mark, well he’s been keeping his distance from you too. It's always you who talks to him first, always letting you make the first step.

He knew you were close to Haechan. If he’s being honest there were enough times he felt jealous even. He pushes that thought away as fast as it came. He didn't know you were coming this weekend, a detail Hendery failed to mention.

"Hey don't freak out, but your ex is here" Haechan tells you

Whipping your head around then back at him, waiting for him to say it was a joke

"No he isn't"

"Yep, he's over there. Wait don't look"

Too late you're already looking. And there he was indeed. Luckily Mark was too busy unloading stuff from the car to notice you looking over at him

“If only your gaze could make him notice you, he’d probably be here already having an actual conversation with you” Haechan whispers to you

“You know not every thought that pops into your head should be said outloud, you can just shut it” you answer, taking your gaze off from the guy from across the lot.

“It wouldn’t be too bad to admit you miss him, when it’s this obvious”

“Again, thoughts to your self. I don’t need you whispering in my ear like a little devil” this time it earned him a hit on the shoulder. From across the lot, Mark’s eyes glaze towards the direction where you were standing with your friend.

“He’s looking over here, by the way” Haechan tells you when his eyes met with Mark’s, the other guy quickly averting his gaze somewhere else.

“Shut up”

"He was, and I'm pretty sure he had the look of murder on his face when he saw me leaning a little to close to you"

"I have the look of murder whenever I look at you, now can I get a drink in peace without you breathing down my neck" you grumbled, rethinking all the choices you made which led you here. You should've been anywhere but here.

Anywhere except where Mark is. You thought.

"He's coming, act cool. Hey guys!"

You glare at Haechan one last time before looking to see Hendery, Mark, Yoo Jimin, Arin and Yeonjun.

"You guys got here early?" Hendery asks

"No, we just got here too. Ready to go?"

Everyone said yes then you were off.

You try to focus on not tripping and not think about Mark, which you kind of succeeded. The group made small talk among each other, of course with Haechan and Hendery there aren't any dead air.

When you got to the trickier part of the hike, the trail was steep and kinda hard to climb up. Some of the boys offered to go up first to assist while the others stay behind to make sure no one get's left behind.

Hendery and Haechan took the lead while Mark and Yeonjun stayed behind. You were standing behind Jimin and infront of Yeonjun, taking careful steps.

"Haechan Lee, when we get to the top I'm going to push you off" you tell your friend who was laughing from somewhere infront

"I thought this was easy, not gonna lie I'm gonna pass out soon" Jimin says

"Same" you mumble, resting your hand on your knee to catch your breath

"Hey you okay? Need help with your bag?" Yeonjun asks you, Mark who is standing at the very back listens to the conversation.

"No, it's okay" you politely decline

"You sure?" nodding at him, "Jimin, do you need help with yours?" Yeonjun asks the girl to which she answers with a loud yes and quickly passing her bag to him.

You let Yeonjun walk infront of you, leaving you and Mark at the very back of the line. Mark takes a water bottle from his bag, opens it before passing it over to you. You didn't even think twice about grabbing it, not really paying attention to who's beside you. Kind of forgetting if for a moment before you stood straight again to meet Mark's eyes looking at you.

"Uh thanks" you say holding up the bottle of water

"No problem, need help with your bag?" he asks, he did hear you already say no to Yeonjun but he can't help bu ask

"It's fine, you're already carrying yours" you tell him, shooting him a quick smile before resuming your walk. But before you can take another step, you felt him grab your wrist to pull you back.

"Wha-" then he was pulling one strap of your backpack then the other before putting it on him. Now he's carrying his backpack and yours.

"Mark, come on I can carry that" you try to get it back but he blocks your hands with his arm. Gently pushing you infront of him.

"I'll give it back when you don't look like you're about to pass out, now go. We're falling behind" he tells you, and when he gets this serious you have no choice but to follow him.

For the rest of the hike, you and Mark walk in silence. Passing the water bottle back to him every once and a while, not even noticing you're practically sharing it with him. And when there was a branch too big on your way, you felt his hands on your waist. Guiding you from behind.

"Careful" he mumbles

Too stunned to say anything, you make your way over. Haechan was there waiting for you. He helps you up with this sly smirk on his face, you send a glare to him. Already reading his mind and what's he's about to ask you later.

"And we're here! Look at that view" Hendery announces.

For a moment, all seven of you just admire the view.

"Okay, tell me I did good" Haechan bumps your shoulder, you roll your eyes

"Fine, this was worth all of that" you mumble while the guy beside you throw his fist in the air like he just won a very important arguement.

All of you find spots to sit and get comfortable while eating the snacks you brought and drink the coffee brought by Arin apparently.

"I'm working at the cafe near campus so I kinda picked up a few tricks here and there, taste it. Hope it tastes okay" she tells the group.

Passing the thermos around, you take a cup and wait for your turn. Haechan pours some on your cup for you, and even got you your favorite pastry which honestly might be the highlight of your week.

Meanwhile, Mark was not so subtly watching from the side as you smile at the other guy. Even saw you bump your head on Haechan's shoulder affectionately, probably since you can't give him high five with your hands fill. It's something he knows you do when you get all happy and excited. The coffee tasted okay but something else left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"We should go here again, it's nice to just be out of the city" Yeonjun says

"True, I was dying back there but I'd do it again for this" Jimin says with a smile, all of you looking out the view. Watching as the sun slowly ascend up the sky.

The seven of you spent a few more hours there, just talking and sharing stories then it was time to go. The hike back was much easier and faster since you kinda know where to go.

Saying goodbye to the group when you got back to the parking lot. You help Haechan put your bags in the trunk.

"Hey uhm I was wondering if you want to grab coffee sometime" you're not sure who was speaking so you look behind you only to see Arin standing beside Mark.

For a moment, Mark meets your eyes but you quickly looked away and made your way inside Haechan's car. You'd rather not hear the rest of that conversation, saving your self from the misery.

Haechan looks over at you with confusion, then behind him to see what you saw. And when he saw Mark looking where you were, he understood. He closed the trunk making Arin and Mark look at him, "We'll go now, see you around guys" he shoots them a smile and a wave before jogging over the driver's side.

"You good?" he asks you when he got in the car

"I think so"

"I'm not gonna make fun of you if you say no" he tells you which kind of did make you laugh.

"Just tired, and you still owe me coffee"

"Fine, I'll get you some. Only because you're sulking right now"

You wanted to say he was wrong and that you weren't sulking but that would be not true.

Not sure either why you suddenly feel so down. You and Mark have broken up for over a year and in no place to feel jealous if he decides to date again. And at the end of the day it was yo who broke up him.

Deciding to treat yourself, you walked around the neighborhood to buy some snacks and your favorite ice cream.

Mark just drove Arin home after going out to grab dinner together, they had a good talk. He's not as naïve as Hendery thinks, he can definitely see why he said Arin might like him. But Mark of course being the gentleman that he is, let her down in the most gentle way he could.

"It's just, I'm not really looking for a relationship right now" he tells her

"I understand that, I can wait" she smiles at him, a look of determination on her face. "I've been meaning to say hi to you and introduce myself to you for a while now. And now that I have met you, I really can't promise I that I can stop liking you"

He chuckles at that, "Thanks, I guess. It's for you to decide, all I'm saying is that I might not reciprocate your feelings for me. Sorry"

"What are you sorry for? We still have time, you can atleast give that to me right" Arin asks

In his mind he already said no. He just smiles though.

After he got home, he still couldn't sleep because for some reason he can't keep you off his mind.

Thinking what if it was you in his place, did you ever have someone ask you out. Is there someone else now. Was it Haechan? Yeonjun?

Too lost in his thoughts, he spots a convenient store nearby and decided to buy an ice cream. Just when he step out of the store, he spots someone sitting outside by the benches.

He'd recognize that jacket anywhere because he was the one who bought it. You've always had a love for all things cozy and fluffy. The teddy bear like jacket was a gift from him last Christmas, he can still remember the smile you had on when he gave it to you.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks you, catching you by surprise. He then takes the seat across from you

"Had a bad day, thought the ice cream would make me feel better. You, why are you here?" you ask back, not expecting to meet him here of all places

"Had a lot to think about, thought the ice cream would help" he answers, "Want to talk about it?" Mark asks before he could even think about it. Normally he would stop himself from prying into your business, respecting the boundaries the two of you have now.

Shaking your head in reply, he understood you won't say anything after that

"I can't tell you because it won't be fair" you mumbled

"Why won't it be fair?"

"Because you're my ex" you tell him, it flew right out of your mouth before you stop and think about it. Looking up at Mark to see him looking at you already,

"Don't worry about it, don't worry about me I'll be fine" you mumble with a small smile. Trying to make it better somehow.

"Why do you do that?" he asks

"What?"

"Run. You always run away from me when I get even a step too close. Even when we were together, you always to that. You always had this wall around you that even I couldn't go around, did you not trust me?" for such an intense gaze, he asked that question so calmly. Like his eyes were saying one thing and his lips were saying another.

"I don't trust myself. Every time something good happens to me, I always ruin it. Every time I think I'm the happiest, I get this overwhelming fear that something will take it away from me. I'm messed up, I know that and you're the last person I want to dump all that mess on" you answer.

For the first time since the break up you finally talk about it. Flashbacks of that night replaying in your head. Remembering how he asked you why multiple times and not being able to give him the answer

"Do you think it could've worked if only I held on to you tighter or would you have hated if I did?" he asks

"Probably, but we won't know. I'd rather keep our memories in a good way than regret it"

"Do you hate me?

He waits.

One second.

Two seconds.

His clock stops once again because of you.

Then he hears you speak,

"Never"

You smile at him warmly, just like you used to. "I know it's hard to understand and accept what I did. I didn't want to drag you down with me, I have bad days and even worse days. Back then it felt like you were the only good thing in my life, I was scared that one day I wasn't going to have that"

"So you walked away before anything bad happens?" he continues for you, "I get that, when things get to much the first thing you can think of is to run. It's natural to have a fight or flight response"

"Don't get to academic with me" you mumble, making the guy across from you chuckle before turning serious again

"No really, boyfriend or not you can still talk to me. If it gets too much, you don't have to run all the time. I'll stay right here, I won't go anywhere so when you need someone you can come to me. Run to me, instead than run away from me"

Mark has always had a way with words, this time instead of running away again you listen to him. Sharing a smile.

"I'll walk you home"

"What time is your last class?" Mark asks you over the phone, after that talk you had the two of you have been hanging out more. Taking his promise of being your friend seriously. Now, there isn't a day when you don't talk to each other.

"My last class is over, I'm here at the library. Why?"

"Do you have an umbrella?"

"Why would I need-" just then a loud thunder resonates outside, feeling the rumble of it from inside the library. You then remember the umbrella you left in your room this morning thinking you weren't going to need it.

"I'm outside" he says then hangs up. Quickly you fix your things and made your way outside the library and sure enough Mark's there waiting for you.

It's only a matter of time before the butterflies in your stomach takes over, and this warm feeling in your chest burst out but for now you choose to ignore it. Choosing not to risk this second chance with him.

"What are you doing here?" you ask him even though you've been waiting to see him the whole day.

"What do you think, I'm walking you home" he tells you like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You have one umbrella, we're not gonna fit there"

"We'll make due, now come on. I'll make us rament later" he says as he pulls your bag from your grasp and sling it on his shoulder. He then takes his hand that wasn't holding the umbrella to hold yours, tugging you right beside him as the two of you make your way outside.

The two of you underestimated the rain and the size of his umbrella because by the time you arrive at your apartment, only the top of your heads weren't wet by the rain.

Quickly opening the door to get inside, you kick your shoes off and turn the lights on

"I think I have some clothes for you, wait here I'll get you towels" you tell him

But before you could walk away from him, you feel his grasp on your wrist holding you back.

"Do you need something?" you ask him

"I- I just feel like if I don't take this chance right now then I would end up regretting it again, just like when I let you go the first time"

"Mark"

"No, you were right, I won't blame you for our past. I can't be angry at you for choosing yourself. We both needed that to grow and learn and discover ourselves. This right now feels like our second chance, I'm not about to risk it and hope for another one to come by. For once, I'm going to take this chance with you. That is if you'll have me"

Maybe he doesn't know just how much he drives you crazy, just how much you'd risk to have another chance with him. It dawned on you just now how it didn't matter what's at stake if you try again with him because what matters the most is him.

Then suddenly you leap right in his arms, not expecting this Mark stumbles a few steps back. But he catches you, holding you close to him like he was afraid you might float away from him.

"I'd take that as a yes"

You lean back enough to meet his eyes, "See, you still know me best. Why don't we get back together" you tease him.

"I asked first" he pouts at you.

Your adorable Mark pouts at you. How can you ever say no to him if he's this cute and adorable. He knows exactly how to use it against you.

"What if it gets too much, if I get too much?" you ask

"You're never too much to me, nothing I can't handle. I love you, all of you. I'll stay here and tell you everyday until you get tired of me"

You giggle at his words, burying your head on his shoulder. You feel him kiss the top of your head before putting you down on your feet.

It's always scary taking chances, but to you and Mark it's scarier to let it pass again. This time you know you don't need to bet anything because you're sure he's there to stay with you.

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