#elektra fanfiction

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Masterlist

Summary:

Trapped in The Void with Wade Wilson and Logan, you meet Remy LeBeau—the man fate has bound to you as your soulmate. From the moment you lock eyes, the connection is undeniable, but you hate the idea of a soulmate. You’ve spent your life keeping people at arm’s length, fiercely protecting your independence.

Remy’s charm and your growing bond make it hard to maintain those walls, even as chaos unfolds around you.

But when you finally escape The Void, Remy doesn’t come with you. Now you’re back home, haunted by the bond you didn’t ask for. What happens when your soulmate is still out there, and you’re left alone to face the inevitable pull of fate? Warnings: Angst, Hurt, Swearing, Violence, Smut. Chapter 1: Same Old Tired, Lonely Place. Chapter 2: Just Take My Hand And I Won't Let You Go. Chapter 3: You Give Me A Reason, Something I Believe In. Chapter 4: And I'll Be With You Through Troubled Nights. Chapter 5: I'm Just Gonna Be That Someone By Your Side. Chapter 6: The Future That We Hold Is So Unclear. Chapter 7: You're All I Never Knew I Needed. Chapter 8: There's Nothing Else That I Won't Do For You. Chapter 9: God Was Never On Your Side. Chapter 10: It's Not Over Just Cause We Said Goodbye.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

moon song - m. murdock

a/n: oh boy. uh. thanks for all the love on my last fic, so i decided to give you an incredibly angsty fic. this one is for all my male readers but honestly i want everyone to read it so. as always, reblogs, feedback and comments are always appreciated! warnings: internalized homophobia, cursing, infidelity, angst, hurt/no comfort, casual homophobia (teasing not anything insane) catholic guilt and symbolism, bisexual karen page, i'm not an elektra anti, making out, alcohol to cope, reader has a lot of coming out moments word count: 3.4k summary: you hate that elektra and matt are getting married. will you convince him not to go through with it? can you? pairing: matt murdock x male!reader now playing: moon song - phoebe bridgers "and if i could give you the moon/i would give you the moon/you are sick/ and you're married/and you might be dying/but you're holding me like water in your hands"

You’re in Josie’s when they realize. It’s like any other night, Foggy to your left, Karen to your right, as you watch Matt and Elektra play pool together. You take another swig of your whiskey, and tap your fingers on the glass, desperately attempting to try and listen to what Karen and Foggy were laughing about.

Two more weeks. That’s all you have to do.

In two weeks, Matt and Elektra will be married, and that’ll be that. They’ll live forever in their New York penthouse, fighting criminals and having beautiful children. That is their fate, and you’ll give your best man speech at their wedding.

All will be well, and you can bury your feelings deep down under alcohol and other women. No one will ever know what you really think of the happy couple.

You’re happy when Matt beats her at pool and they head back over to your table, where they absolutely hang over each other.

“We’re gonna head out.” Elektra says, a slightly drunken smile on her face. Matt hums and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Meeting with the florist tomorrow.” Matt tells you all.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” You announce, and look at them. “One for the road?” Matt smiles at you, and for a moment, you think he must know.

“I’ll come grab one with you.” He turns to Elektra to ask if she wants one, but she shakes her head.

“I have to finish this one.”

So, you and Matt head over to the bar, his hand on your arm. You wonder if he knows.

“You seem distracted,” he tells you, and you figure you’re caught.

“Just working on my best man speech. It’s all up here.” You tap your forehead. You order two shots for the pair of you and take them quickly with your best friend. “Getting excited?”

“Yeah, it’s just kind of crazy. I’m nervous, is all.. And she seems to be totally fine with the whole thing.”

You bite back a bitter comment about both of their commitment issues.

“I think she’s just as nervous as you are.”

“I can hear heartbeats. Trust me, she’s not.”

“But you’re in love with her, right?”

If you weren’t so drunk, maybe you would catch his moment of hesitation.

“Yeah.”

“Then what more do you need?”

“You’d marry someone just because you’re in love with her? That’s all you need?”

Not just someone. You know who you’d marry.

“That’s all I need, Matty. You think too much. Have another shot.” He laughs at this and pats your shoulder.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Says you, I’m a bachelor, still.”

“So am I—For the next two weeks.”

“And yet,” a voice says behind you, “You’re still accounted for.” Elektra says, approaching the pair of you at the bar.

You both turn to her. You’re drunk enough so you don’t tense.

She hands Matt his jacket, and they link arms. Jealousy fills your mouth, and it tastes like venom.

“Elektra.” You smile and nod to her.

She says your name before adding, “Have a goodnight.”

“Goodnight.. Get home safe, Matt.” You say, smiling at them as they leave.

You turn back to the bar, where your smile falters. You take a seat, resting your head in your hands. You’re not drunk. That’s not what this is. When you look up, Josie is there and hands you another whiskey on ice and sends you this knowing wink.

Your face burns, and you nurse your drink. What did she know about your life? You only spent every Friday and sometimes Saturdays here. You sit there in your pity for a while, thinking about it all. You’ll plan a vacation for when they get home from their honeymoon. You’ll fuck someone you’ll never see again and by the time you get back home, you’ll be over it.

You’ll be the godfather to their first child; Matt will be the best man at your own wedding. You’ll live the rest of your life with this deep dark secret that no one, not even your best friend, will ever know.

Except, you forget that Karen and Foggy are in the bar too. They slide into the seats next to you and just look at you for a while.

“I might be tipsy, and I might not have super senses, but I can tell you’re looking at me. What is it?” You finally pick your head up and look at them.

“I figured it out.” Karen says.

You’re too drunk for this.

“Figured what out, Miss Page?” You ask.

“Me too,” Foggy adds. “And to think, you almost had us.”

“What?”

“The bachelor life. The one-night stands. The constant rotating door of girlfriends because you can’t have the one you actually want.” She continues.

You feel sick. How did they know?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You say, as neutrally as possible but it comes out defensive.

Then Foggy says it.

“You’re in love with Elektra.”

And you stop. They think they have you. Then, you start laughing. Like a crazy person, like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. God, it’s so dumb. You’re just that good at hiding it.

“Nice try, guys.”

“We saw the way you were looking at her while they were playing pool! That’s why you’ve been acting so weird since they got engaged.” Foggy reasons. You know what it looks like.

You took another sip.

“That’s because I’m not in love with her,” Elektra is intelligent, beautiful, and funny. Anyone would be lucky to have her, you’re sure. But you hate that she’s happy for another reason. “It’s because I’m in love with Matt.”

• • •

You’re nineteen years old. You work at a pizza place between semesters, with Matt often coming to visit you. You’re best friends, and he likes to come in, grab a slice and a diet coke, have you take your break with him, and then leave.

One day, he’s late to do this routine and an older coworker says to you, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Your face burns.

“He’s not my boyfriend, asshole! I’m not gay, I wouldn’t ever dream of it!” You had said, a story you’ve told others and yourself so many times that it doesn’t feel like a lie anymore.

Matt walks in a few minutes later.

The truth is, if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve had feelings for Matt for a long time. Ever since you met him at church one Sunday, you’ve felt this need to be closer to him, to be with him all the time.

You knew what it was then, just like you know now. And just like now, you hated yourself for it.

But it got worse over the years, in a way that you just couldn’t push down like you had done for so many other people.

You became a nurse and when Matt became Daredevil, he used this fact to his advantage. And for a long time before this, you were able to keep how you felt about him at bay. You were able to just be his best friend, and nothing more.

But he crawled into your window one night, drunk on pain and whimpered as he asked you to stitch him up. By the time you were done, he laid there half naked on your couch, and your hands were covered in his blood.

You felt guilty for wanting him while he lay there, wounded. But in another way, you felt baptized, relieved that you were allowing yourself to accept a truth that you had denied for so many years.

And it got worse from there.

After admitting to yourself that you had feelings for him, it became prevalent that there was no going back.

You stopped by the office for lunch this one time and you walked into his office to see him lounging casually at his desk, tie half undone, sleeves rolled up, and hair slightly disheveled. You scolded yourself for being so into him.

And then he got back together with Elektra.

For a while, you figured this was a good thing. A great thing, even. Matt would date Elektra and you could move on, maybe admit to yourself that you liked guys and start dating more of them.

And it worked, for a little bit. It was easier to not love him when he was around Elektra because of how obviously happy he was with her.

Then they got engaged.

You were so angry at yourself for letting it happen, so angry at yourself for not saying anything, angry at him for not noticing, angry at him for not wanting you.

So, you started to date other girls.

And this is how you lived for so long, dating women you didn’t like in favor of burying the immense love you felt for your best friend. Until last week, when you broke up with your girlfriend because you just couldn’t take it anymore.

There would be no telling Matt, sure, but there would be no telling anyone how in love with him you were, there would just be you, coming out and dating men that eased the longing for him.

Until that night at the bar, when Foggy and Karen catch you in this vulnerable state.

They walk you home from the bar that night, as you slip into a drunker and drunker mind. You won’t remember anything after that confession in the morning.

Karen hands you your pajamas and a glass of water. She helps you into bed and holds you as you cry.

“Will he ever know how much I love him?” You ask, drunk and in a different pain Matt was in that night you stitched him up.

Karen shushes you gently and tells you she’ll call you in the morning.

You don’t remember saying that in the morning. All you know is that you’ve made an immeasurably stupid mistake by telling them.

• • •

On Monday, you have off because you worked a 12-hour shift the night before.

Foggy sends you a text asking you to bring them dinner while they work on some cases.

You oblige, ready to push down your feelings until the next time you’re drunk.

But when you get there, you don’t see Matt. You assume he’s in another room, grabbing coffee. You hold up their dinner.

“Hey guys, I brought Chinese.” You tell them, sitting at the table after handing them the bag. You lean back in your seat, keeping your cool.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’re in love with Matt?”

You snap back up.

“I’m sorry, can you be a little more discrete, considering the man has super hearing?!”

Karen rolls her eyes.

“He’s not here. He left a little while ago to go pick up his tux.”

Your jaw clenches, jealousy sewing the hinges shut.

“I didn’t even realize you were into guys.”  Foggy says.

“That was intentional. I never really.. developed feelings for any other guys. Matt is just..” You look down at the chopsticks you’ve been twirling in your fingers. “I just see him and there’s nothing I want more than to just have him, nothing more than to just beg him to want me.”

Karen and Foggy both know the feeling.

Because it’s no secret that Matt is this alluring force of nature especially when it comes to his charisma and determination. Everyone either wants him or wants to be him, and its why Elektra is so perfect for him. They’re similar people.

And who are you? Some nurse who can’t even admit when he’s got it bad for his friend.

“You should tell him before the wedding.”

You scoff at the idea.

“And ruin our friendship? Ruin his wedding day? I’d rather see him happy and oblivious than lose him completely.”

But Karen and Foggy know you well and can see how this is starting to wear on you. You’re losing yourself grieving something that could never have been.  

“You owe it to him and to yourself.”

“I don’t. I know you guys’ care, and I appreciate it. But there isn’t anything to do. Matt and Elektra are going to get married because they love each other and that’ll be that.” You tell them. “Matt won’t ever know how I feel, and I’ve made peace with that. He wouldn’t want me and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“But how do you know—” Karen starts, but you cut her off.

“Matt’s never expressed any interest in men, and to my knowledge he’s never been with any.”

Then, Foggy says something that haunts you.

“That’s what we thought about you before Friday.”

And it rattles within you, all throughout your body and your brain.

It stays with you throughout the night, and into the next day.

You can’t get it out of your head.

Maybe you could tell him. Just tell him and add on if he doesn’t feel the same, to forget you ever said anything.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope.

You lay in bed that night and fall asleep thinking about it. About if he’ll say yes, if he’ll kiss you like you wanted him to.

You spend days with this thought, with it rattling around. One day you wake up and are greeted by your calendar and see that the wedding is the next day.

You’re sick with nausea at the thought and realize how horrible of an idea it would be to tell him.

You pretty much spend all day, sick, staring at your suit and thinking about how horrible it would be to watch Matt get married to someone who isn’t you. In the church where you met. Not even knowing how much you want him.

You contemplate your options.

You could go to Elektra, beg her to call off the wedding and let you have him.

You could fake being sick, leave the country and block his number.

You could tell Matt the truth.

You opt to call Karen.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say, this vulnerability in your voice that you wouldn’t show normally.

“Oh..” She says your name softly. “Do you love him?” She asks.

“Karen..”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. You know I do.”

“Then tell him that.”

“What if he wants nothing to do with that?”

“Then at least you know.”

And then you ask her the real question that terrifies you.

“What if he does?”

“What?”

“What if he wants me like I want him? What do I do then?”

She wants to ask you, who cares? If Matt wants you just as desperately as you want him, what matters after that? But she felt this way towards Matt Murdock once, so she knows how horrible it is. And she’s fallen in love with women she can’t have before, so she understands.

“Then let yourself be happy.” Is her answer.

• • •

The day of the wedding comes.

You think you might be more nervous than either of them.

You sit with Foggy and Matt in the basement of the church, sipping a whiskey. Matt has his scotch, and Foggy has his rum. The lot of you have rather distinguished tastes.

Matt looks so fucking good. Your heart races. Foggy sees your nervous look and finishes his drink, clearing his throat.

“I’m gonna go check in with Marci and see how everything’s going so far. We have to be up there in ten.” He reminds you. He turns and leaves.

You’re with Matt, alone in your feelings. He’s fixing his cuffs and tilts his head towards you.

“Why is your heart racing?” He grins. “I’m the one getting married.” You say nothing. You take another sip of your drink.

“You’re reading it all wrong.” You tell him. And that isn’t a lie. You’re on the verge of saying it.

“Whatever,” He chuckles. “Help me with my bowtie, please?” He hands you the untied bowtie and you take it. You take it and step towards him.

Your hands are shaking as you wrap the bowtie around his neck and tie it, with this gentleness reserved for only those who truly know you. You can feel his breath against your skin. It’s enough to make you lose your mind. Your fingers fumble with his bowtie, and when you’re done, you straighten it out a bit. He looks really good. He’s yet to close his suit jacket and put on his glasses, but he will soon.

“Matt..” You say softly. “You know I feel about you, right?”

He pauses.

“You’re my best friend.” He hums. “Of course, I do.”

Your hands rest on his shoulders. Your fingers twitch.

“No, It’s more than that.” You tell him. “I love yo—” You’re unable to finish your confession.

Because Matt is kissing you, his hands on your sides, and pushing you against the church basement wall. You melt into the kiss, your hands going up to cup his chin. You feel this swell inside of you, like your prayers have been answered.

Kissing this man you love; you’ve never felt closer to God.

He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips and pressing his body against yours, ruining your perfectly unwrinkled suit.

He kisses you for a few moments more.

Then, he pulls away, but you bring him back for another one by his collar, and he happily obliges. Your hand goes up to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. Then, he pulls away again.

“That was…”

He stands breathless before you.

“I know.” He finishes.

“What happens now?”

He has this confused look on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do we do next?” To you, it’s so obvious. He should go find Elektra, call everything off, figure out what it would look like to be in a relationship with you. He should say I love you back.

“I’m going to go upstairs and get married.” He says, like it should be the obvious answer.

“What? But you just—”

“I know what I did, but… I can’t…”

“You can’t? You just did.” You defend.

He grabs his glasses where he set them on the coffee table earlier.

“I’m sorry, but we just.. We can’t.”

“No! Not we, there is no we, right now, You can’t! I have been waiting for that for years and you kiss me like that, and you decide you can’t?” You spit out.

He nods.

“You’re right.” For a moment, you live in a world where you’ve convinced him. “There is no we.” He says and turns to the door to leave. You follow him, and before he can open the door, you’re grabbing him, turning him around. Your lips are against his as if to beg him to change his mind. He lets you think you’ve convinced him.

When he pulls away from the kiss, you whisper it out.

“I love you.” You say. “Please, don’t…”

He wants you to ask him not to get married. You won’t. He’d say no anyways.

He steps away from you, buttons up his suit jacket, fixes his bowtie and puts on his glasses.

“Come on, we have to go.” He tells you. He turns and steps out, grabbing his cane on the way.

He leaves you longing for more.

He might not ever give it to you, you realize.

The ceremony is beautiful, and these two will be happy together. It kills you. You watch your best friend get married after kissing him, and something in you is breaking all the while. You were wrong.  You should have told him earlier, you should have gotten over your fears, you should have kissed him so long ago.

You book a flight to the Bahamas for two weeks and take off work or as much time as you can. You just can’t watch the happy newlyweds. It’ll break you even more than it already is.

But at least you and Matt are still friends, right? That’s what this was all about? Keeping him in your life, even if it meant not having him in the way you wanted? You’re willing to give up your happiness if it means he’ll stay in your life.

You’re frustrated, too, especially because the kiss did nothing to deter your attraction, it just makes you want him in such a way that makes you sick.

You’re in love with Matt Murdock and he knows it.

It’s a shame his wife doesn’t.

[courtforshort15]

Not the Same

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GNReader

Word Count: 2900ish

Summary: You don't like her, this woman who enters his life just as suddenly, just as savagely as she leaves it. You know Matt is deserving of so much more than she gives him, and it breaks your heart.

Warnings: none really. Slight angst with a happy ending.

Masterlist

You don't like her.

In fact, you hate her.

You know hate is a strong word; one reserved for the most vile of people, the ones who hurt and maim and destroy innocent, unsuspecting lives. Ones who take take take, without giving anything in return.

But honestly, hate is exactly what you feel for her, and it takes years for the feeling to go away.

It takes years for the curse she leaves behind to slowly begin healing. She is a glacier; cold and stubborn and incapable of sustaining life in the cracks and crevices between sheets of ice. Years go by before things unfreeze, though the process is slow even then.

It's not the fact that she makes Matt happy, or the fact that Matt is so clearly in love with her, as much as it pains you to admit, loathing the way it's her and not you tucked into his side and under his arm. It's the fact that she hones in on every one of his vulnerabilities, every one of his insecurities, and exploits them. You struggle watching the two of them together, aching with the thought that Matt deserves love and happiness and good things.

Because Elektra, despite her designer clothes and polished accent and sharp, all-knowing smile, isn't a good thing.

You don't hate her in the beginning. You certainly aren't a fan, but given that you've never seen Matt smile so much, you force yourself to at least give her a half-hearted chance. You give her several chances, if you're being honest. Several chances to prove she's not as awful as she seems to be at first sight, several chances to prove how much she loves him, several chances to be a positive thing in his life.

But she's doesn't take those chances, doesn't even acknowledge them, and you hate her for it.

You find yourself wishing, praying for her to be better than she is. You need her to be better than she is. At least then Matt would be with someone who almost deserves him, someone who is almost as good as him. Loving this man from afar rips your heart to shreds, nothing but blood and scraps of muscle held loosely in your hand, but at least you would be able to rest easier if you knew that someone was taking care of and loving him the way that he needs.

Instead, you are left with the knowledge that she is not worthy of him, and you hate her for taking this man's heart, knowing he could have the world if he asked for it. You don't know Elektra well, but you've observed her enough that you know she would never be willing to give it to him.

But you would. 

You’d give him every damn corner of the universe, every strategically arranged atom that could make up anything he could ever want, and you’d kneel at his feet while placing it into his gentle hands.

She is selfish, and she yanks him along for this ride of hers, uncaring of any sort of trouble she could lead him into as she amuses herself. He follows her so willingly, to your ever-present misery, ready to do her bidding for whatever she needs. He hardly lets her lift a finger, carrying all the weight of the relationship on his shoulders, even while he refuses to acknowledge how she so clearly dances ahead of him, as if she’s already aware that she’s going to leave him behind.

You watch in confusion as Matt changes almost immediately, almost overnight, and he doesn't change for the better. The man sitting next to you in class is someone you don’t recognize, someone who is distant and so wrapped up in this woman that he becomes unaware of everyone else who considers him one of their own. He’s a far cry from the man who holds your hand through panic attacks or shares his french fries with you after you swear you aren’t hungry.

Matt has always been effortlessly charming, wide smile beautiful and enticing, dark eyes lit up in humor when you make a stipid comment or when you trip over your own two feet. But now he has shifted into something aloof and disinterested, and the flicker of annoyance that crosses over his face when you ask if he wants to grab coffee between classes absolutely cuts you to the bone.

The people in his life are so suddenly forced to go on without him, absolutely reeling with the realization that Matt could just drop them so easily, so unconcernedly.

(“Don’t push us out. That’s not fair.”

“But she loves me.”

“We love you, too, Matt.”

“It’s not the same.”)

It…kills you. It’s like you’re a used toy placed in a box and shoved away, something meant to provide vague memories years down the line.

You've been in relationships before, so you understand the giddiness of new love. You understand how exciting and how breathtaking and how wonderful it is to find someone who might fit into your life so perfectly. You understand how focus shifts to this new person as you devote yourself to learning as much about them as possible, focusing in awe and wonder as you soak up every single cell that makes up this person you’ve fallen in love with.

But this isn't that.

Years of friendship has given you insight to the inner workings of one Matthew Murdock, so you can see that he is completely, all caution to the wind, in love with her. And you can grudgingly admit that you see slivers of affection on Elektra's face when she looks at him. But it's more than that.

It's obsession.

Matt spends all of his time with her now, every spare moment, and she acts if she is the sole gate-keeper of his time. She is vicious, territorial, and uneasy to work with, demanding that every little second he has to be spent in her presence. He starts missing classes, starts skipping your weekly study dates, stops showing up at his part-time job at the disabilities resource center.

If it was just those things that had changed, you'd probably just call him out on his shit, knowing how much school has always meant to him and not wanting to see him quit. But ultimately you know it's his choice, and if he wants to ruin his grades and chances of success, that's on him.

And if it was just his friendship with you that was affected, you might have let it go. He’s still your friend, even if it doesn’t feel like right now, and you’re acutely aware of the fact that you'd forgive this man for anything and everything. It might break your heart in the process, but you know that you'll spend the rest of your life trying to make him happy, even if it's from the sidelines as he loves and promises himself to someone else.

You somehow manage to scramble your broken pieces into your clumsy hands from where they currently sit at his doorstep, desparate to get to a place where your hatred for this woman does not batter against all the corners in your mind. And even as you mourn for the man that had once been so kind and soft with you, your heart breaks further, sadly aware that he's hurting Foggy, too, and that it's not something you can easily push aside.

Foggy is the kindest person you've ever met. Made of glee and dad jokes and sunshine in a bottle, and he definitely doesn't deserve the way he's being treated. Your fingers twitch at your sides, wanting nothing more than to hit him with one of his heavy textbooks and tell him to snap out of it, and you're absolutely positive that Foggy would be second in line.

You hate Elektra. Not because Matt loves her, but because she's pushed aside everyone else Matt loves...and he's let her.

When she abruptly leaves, cutting herself so completely out of Matt's life with rusty shears meant to hurt and maim and destroy, it's you and Foggy who help put him back together. Even with as much pain as he's caused, as many tears you’ve shed, you fight tooth and nail for him in his depression, even while he fails to fight for himself.

(“She left me.”

“We’re still here, Matt.”

“It’s not the same.”)

It's years before you learn how Elektra had managed to get her claws into him so deeply, cutting down to the bone and staying there, regardless of any pain it may have caused him on their way down underneath his skin. She had loved him in her own way, not because of all the good she was able to see in him, but because she had seen and welcomed and matched the darkness in him.

Matt is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he reveals to you one day. And even while you seethe and scream and cry at him, you get it now. He is a man that you know has so much light in him, the kind of light that is white and blinding and warm, yet he sees himself as a man doomed to only live in a world as black as the nothingness that is his lack of sight.

He doesn't need to tell you in order for you to understand the appeal of Elektra and the way she had captivated him, though now he admits that he hadn’t been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, but rather like a stray cat to a wealthy home. He doesn't need to tell you how desperate he'd been for someone to see the darker side of him, how desperate he'd been for someone to see that side of him and love him for it.

At some point he begins to understand how toxic she was for him, how manipulative, and you’re there by his side as the realization finally sets in, the trauma of it burning him so harshly it causes blisters and leaves behind missing patches of skin and muscle. You do your best to hold him together through it, because as awful as the scar she's left behind is, a piece of him mourns her when she's laid to rest for the first time, and then the second.

The true horror of the situation comes from the fact that you know there’s a tiny part of him that wishes he had been laid to rest, too. You know there’s a tiny part of him that will always be buried with the dust and rock and ash that lays underneath the new building on 44th and 11th.

It takes time for him to heal. Years and years of abandonment trauma is difficult to break down, difficult to break through, and you make sure you prove day in and day out that you're not going anywhere, despite how much he may throw at you, despite how much he tries to test you and shove you away with hands bloodied by the gashes gaping open in his heart. But all of his efforts to keep you away are futile, because staying by his side is still the easiest thing you've ever done.

(“Aren’t you tired of having to pick me up off the ground, over and over and over?”

“That’s what friends are for, Matt. To help when needed.”

“Yeah, when someone is having a rough time at their job, or fighting with a partner. Not cleaning up after a vigilante who can’t get their shit together. It’s not the same.”)

You help guide him into a new chapter in his life, though sometimes he remains frozen in the one behind him, feet glued to the ground even while he tries to force them forward. Gradually, though, he begins to spend less and less time focused on the past, more on the present, and eventually, more on the future. He finally reaches a point where he achieves balance, in a way you've never seen him existing and thriving in before.

Nelson, Murdock and Page flourishes, he begins to trust in the way law enforcement has been flushed of any crooked officers, and at last he allows himself to rest here and there, at last he gives himself permission to slow down, if only for a moment. Peace is all you have ever wanted for him, this beautiful man who has always struggled to find harmony within himself.

Peace changes him.

And in changing him, it changes you, and changes the way you fall into each other. It alters the way he begins to orbit around you, finally, finally, echoing the way you've always orbited him. He becomes the force holding you up after you’ve spent years doing the same for him.

It takes a good long while for him to understand the love you've always felt for him, initially puzzled that someone could accept him so completely and ardently, without question and without asking for anything in return. And it takes even longer for him to realize that this love is for both sides of him, not just the side that exists between sun-up and sun-down.

Once the full weight of your love for him is at his feet, once he feels it settle in his chest, it's as if a dam bursts, and he suddenly finds himself willing and able and hungry to grasp it and return it in its entirety, and then some.

Your first kiss is as turbulent as he is, reflecting both his desire to be gentle and savor the moment, and his need to take what he wants, consequences be damned.

This unconditional love is something he never thought he'd have, he says. Something that he had known, deep down, was missing with Elektra. It's an idea that has unexpectedly moved from nonexistent to abstract to tangible, and he tells you he's in awe of it, in awe of you.

He’s had your heart in his hands for over a decade, and you cry when he finally hands you his.

He has always loved you, he mumbles into your ear one night, legs tangled together on his soft silk sheets. But he doesn't lie to you and tell you that his love for you has always been there in the same capacity as yours has been for him. You both know that he had only ever seen you as a friend until recently, and even though you tell him not to, he regrets all the time he spent looking for something that was right in front of him the whole time.

Elektra had come along and understood him in a way he'd never dreamed of, and she had been willing, and selfishly eager, to accept the pieces of him that he'd always felt he had to hide. Though he sees now how his love for her had almost damaged him to a point of no return, he is grateful, he says, believing she had freed him from a life that wanted to chain him into inaction.

Day after day, night after night, he tells you that he loves every piece of you; he loves you for your laughter, he loves you for your willingness to help others with no thought of yourself, and he loves you for your ability to think first and act later. It's something he has never quite managed, he admits with a quiet laugh.

He loves you for the pieces of you that never give up on him, the pieces that never let him push you away, the pieces that love him, even while he can't always love himself.

But your favorite part is when he tells you that he loves the way you accept every piece of him without thought, without fear, without judgment, and that he vows to love and accept every piece of you the same way.

(“I love you.”

“You loved her once upon a time, too, Matt.”

“But not like this, sweetheart. Never like this. It’s not the same.”)

And it's enough. It's more than enough.

You find yourself struggling to move past the hatred you feel for her, the hatred for what she did to him. But eventually, you accept the truth that she freed a part of this wonderful man; this man who is so good that it breaks your heart to know he doesn't see it in himself. She freed the part of Matt who, without it, might have been shackled to a world in which he would never have felt complete. She was the one who gave him the encouragement he needed to embrace this side of him, embrace the Devil, embrace the part of him that could do more.

He doesn't use that freedom and darkness in a way Elektra would have anticipated, or in a way that she would have felt matched her own dark desires and intensity. Instead, he chooses to channel his anger and skill into a way that helps people just as much as his hard-earned law degree does. He fights with both his fists and his words, and you love him all the more for it.

You remind yourself, every day, that Elektra once upon a time had been the one to give him what he needed, though she had ripped it away brutally when she realized she wasn't going to get out of it what she wanted. But you are what both Matt and the Devil need now, what he will always need, as the pair of you move forward together. You both know it, both revel in it, and are now unable to pick apart the pieces that are you, and the pieces that are him.

You've taken years to get here. It may have been bittersweet and painful and full of truths that went unspoken, but he is the love of your life, and you believe him when he swears to you that you are his.

Hell's Kitchen doesn't deserve him. The neighborhood doesn't deserve the blood, sweat, and tears he willingly sacrifices for it, but you know he will never give up on it and the people who call it home. You aren't quite sure if you will ever deserve him, either, but you know you will spend the rest of your life trying.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Speak Now (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Howdy everyone! This fic was voted #2 to post in a poll I did a few weeks ago! I’ve been working with this idea for a while (ie like 9 months), and it’s reverse circumstances of this fic I wrote back in July. I was at work earlier this week with my music on shuffle, and Taylor Sift popped on the playlist, and I’m like “hmm, this works for the fic, I think”, so I’m gonna call reverse ex-post facto inspiration? Alright, now I’m rambling. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Being friends with both Elektra and Matt is by no means easy, especially with them being a couple and your long-standing love for one blind attorney. But regardless, you told yourself you’d always be there for them, no matter what—and that includes being there for them on their wedding day.

Warnings: Angst, hurt comfort, fluff, love confessions, guilt/heartache, ignoring feelings

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Elektra Natchios, Father Lantom

Word Count: 3,014

It’s fine. You just need to remember to breathe. Foggy has the rings, Father Lantom and Maggie have everything set in the main church—everything is fine. Just a few more minutes, and it’s all over. We get that started, we get down the aisle, and we get Matt and Elektra married. Easy peasy.

“Oh, sorry!” you hear Foggy say, his hands firmly on your shoulders to prevent you from falling down as you bump into one another.

“Thanks!” you breathe, steadying yourself.

“Why are you running around the church like a frantic chicken?”

“Just a lot of energy, you know? Adrenaline. Gotta get it out before the ceremony starts.”

“And how are you doing?” Foggy asks. 

“Fine.”

“No, (Y/N), how are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” you try, but to no avail.

“C’mon. You know.”

“I’m hanging on by threads,” you admit shakily. “It’s a lot.”

“Being a bridesmaid and watching your friends get married? Or watching Matt get married to someone else?”

“No, Foggy,” you interject, now determined to kill the conversation where it stands. You thought you put the final nail in the coffin of that thought a year ago at the engagement party.

“But you love him!” he whisper yells.

“Yes, I do! And it’s because I love him that I can’t say anything. For the first time in his life, Matt is happy. He’s ready to do something that he never thought he’d get the chance to enjoy, let alone have, and just as much goes for Elektra. So, I will watch them go down the aisle, I will stand by them as they commit their love and lives to one another, I will watch them kiss and smile and dance, I will help send them off on their honeymoon, watch them welcome their children, and watch them grow old and happy together! They will be happy—finally happy—and that’s what matters.”

“So your happiness doesn’t matter?”

“Not when it comes to Matt’s happiness. Matt’s will always come before mine, and that’s a guarantee.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“Every. Time,” you repeat. “I can’t jeopardize that on the off-chance that he feels an inkling of anything more toward me. I can’t hurt Elektra like that, and I sure as hell can’t unload on Matt like that.”

“But isn’t it better knowing for sure rather than always wondering what if?”

“No,” you say weakly. “Because right now, I know for sure that Matt is happy. I see it in the way he walks, the way he smiles, the way he answers the phone. He is happy, Foggy. And I need to be happy for him. Now, I need to make sure my makeup isn’t ruined, and then I need to go help Elektra before she walks down the aisle.”

“(Y/N)—!”

You pick up the skirt of your dress slightly so you don’t trip, creating as much distance between Foggy and yourself that you can.

“(Y/N), I was worried!” Elektra says as you come back from the bathroom down the hall, having dried your tears and collected yourself from your conversation with Foggy. “I couldn’t find you anywhere! Are you alright?”

“I promise, it’s nothing. You look so beautiful,” you tell her as you spread out her train, plucking off minute pieces of lint from the carpet that clung white fabric.

She gives you a hug and holds me close. “(Y/N)?” she asks as you part. “Can I ask you to do me one last huge favor?”

“I’m your maid of honor—it’s what I’m here for.”

“I know I said I wanted to walk down the aisle alone, but I’m wondering if you would be willing to give me away to Matthew?”

The request is so genuine and the look of hope in her eyes is undeniable. “Of course,” you breathe. “I’m here for you, El. Always.”

She kisses your cheeks and absolutely beams. 

“I can’t believe this is finally happening.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you tell her, looping your arm through hers as we get to the double doors. The music begins to kick up and you hear the rustle of people stand just before the doors open, exposing the both of you to the excited eyes of many. It’s far more difficult than you anticipated to plaster on a smile and keep tears at bay when you walk down the aisle next to Elektra, seeing Matt stand there in a tux looking so happy. 

God, you wish he was waiting there for you. 

That ship has sailed. You can’t drown yourself trying to chase the thought, because you will sink and no one will ever find you. You had opportunities to tell him how you really felt, and you didn’t. You have to live with that.

You don’t know how you’ve managed to get down the aisle so fast with time moving so slow. You can’t bring yourself to say a single word as you place Elektra’s hand in Matt’s before you step to the side to take your place, praying for all eyes to be on them so no one has to watch you suffer with a smile on your face. You affix your eyes on a column just behind Foggy’s head, not willing to try and catch a glimpse of anything that will cause you to feel the multitude of emotions bubbling in your chest. 

It’ll be over soon. You’re doing the right thing. This is how it’s supposed to happen. They deserve one another. Words and phrases like these play on your mind in an endless loop as the ceremony progresses, silently praying that you’ll be zoned out enough for when they finally kiss to not process it when you’re drawn to the words coming from Father Lantom’s mouth.

“Elektra Natchios, do you take Matthew Murdock to be your lawfully wedded spouse?” he asks.

To your surprise, she doesn’t answer immediately. You watch her let out a long breath before she gives Matt’s hands a squeeze, the pause and silence growing longer and louder with each passing moment.

“Can we talk?” you hear her whisper to Matt. 

“Ellie, what’s wrong?” Matt responds softly, his words barely audible. 

Without another word, she takes his hand and they move back up the aisle, and you watch them take a turn to where Elektra was was getting ready just before the ceremony. You lock eyes with Foggy. He wordlessly asks if you know what’s going on with a scrunch of his eyebrows, and you just arch yours in response—the universal cue for “I don’t know”. 

“All the excitement,” Father Lantom chuckles, addressing a confused crowd. “They probably need a moment to collect themselves.” He twists toward you before speaking in hushed tones. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“It’s probably like you said—excitement,” you breathe. Or cold feet. But Elektra wouldn’t do that. She’s been waiting so long for a moment like this. For this moment, with Matt. “If they’re not back in a minute, I’ll go check on them.”

The minute passes in the slowest manner possible, but nonetheless, you stick to your word and scurry in the most non-alarming fashion possible to follow where they went. When you’re unable to hear any voices through the only door they’d be behind, you raise your knuckles to the wood. 

“Guys?” you knock gently. “Are you doing alright?”

“Yeah, just give us a second,” Matt says, but not before Elektra swings the door open. 

“Can you come in for a moment?” she asks softly, and you can see the conflict written all over her face. You let out a small breath, conceding to her request and closing the door behind you. 

“Can I get you guys—?” you start, only to be cut off mid-sentence. 

“(Y/N), tell us,” Elektra starts, her breathing steady and calm. “Tell us we’re doing the right thing. Tell us we should be getting married.”

“What kind of question is that?” you ask, truly confused. 

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Elektra—.”

“Repeat the sentences.”

You take a breath, looking at them. “You both love one another. People in love get married. You’re listening to your hearts.”

“You can’t say it.”

“Ellie, I—.”

“You’re holding something back,” Matt adds, his tongue peaking out to lick his lips. “What aren’t you telling us?” His tone is telling. He knows. Damn super hearing.

You sigh, desperately trying to steady your heart rate and deflect. “You’re both just letting the nerves get to you. You’re getting in your heads.”

“We need to hear you say it,” Elektra tries once more. “Please.”

You sigh, feeling your chest tightening. “You’re doing the right thing. You two should get married. You belong together.” You feel like you’re going to be sick as the last piece of your heart shatters before evaporating into nothingness. “I’m going to make sure that everyone is staying calm. I’ll see you both out there soon, okay?”

As you leave the quiet room, you hear the rush of dress shoes follow after you.

“Hey,” Matt says softly, gently catching your arm.

“Matt, things have been delayed enough. We shouldn’t hold them up any longer.”

“You’re still holding something back.”

“Matt—.”

“I can’t get married if my best friend is lying to me about something. (Y/N), please,” he breathes heavily. “Please, just tell me the truth.”

“You look at her the way I always wished you’d look at me, and I die a little bit inside every time I see it,” you admit feebly, watching his expression change through bleary eyes. “That look . . . God, Matt, you love her! I don’t matter in this. Just go and be with her, and for once in your life, stop being such a masochist and be happy!”

With anguish and regret, you pull your arm free from Matt’s grip, making a turn for the double doors that lead outside rather than the ones that lead into the cathedral, needing get as far away from Clinton Church as you can. 

“How’d you know I’d be here?” you mumble as you curl into yourself in your favorite reading room at the Columbia Law Library. 

“I didn’t,” Matt sighs as he takes a few steps over and sits next to you. “This is where I go when I need to think.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, you caught me. I locked in on your heartbeat and followed it.”

“Why, Matt?”

“Why what?”

“Don’t shit with me, Matt,” you sigh in defeat, taking in his undone bowtie and general state of dishevelment in his formal attire. “Why didn’t you just go through with it, Matt? You two love each other.”

“But we love you, too. You’ve always been there for us, even when anyone with a modicum of common sense would have left us.” He turns toward you. “Why didn’t you say anything? To either of us?”

“It wasn’t my place. She loves you, and you love her. Simple as that.”

“But I love you, too.”

“Not in the same way.”

“(Y/N).” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs grazing over your knuckles. “I do love you like that. I didn’t think you felt the same, and my God, I was too afraid to ask. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. I couldn’t lose you.”

You sniffle, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t let Foggy hear that, it’ll give him a complex.”

You hear a small chuckle escape his lips. “It’s true though. I’m not sure what I’d do if I did something that meant not having you in my life. I just kept my feelings locked away deep down in my heart because I knew I needed you in my life however I could have you. And then I heard what you told Foggy, and I . . .” He rests his forehead on yours and nudges you with his nose so you finally look at his face. “Can you give me a chance?”

“I want to, Matt, but . . .”

“Please don’t say but.”

“I’d look at you, and I would only think about how I ruined the happiest day of your life. Besides. You’re the ex now. It’s friend rule number one not to date their ex, no matter how you feel about them. And Elektra . . . I couldn’t do that to her.”

“Even if she gives her blessing?”

You whip your head around, seeing Elektra standing in black jeans and a red turtleneck, her leather jacket covering most of it. 

“Elektra, I’m so—,” you start. 

“You don’t need to apologize, darling. None of it was your fault.” She moves to your other side and wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. “Before you came to find Matt and I . . . We spoke, and we’re okay. We’ll always love one another, but not in the way that we deserve. But you two . . . You two can. You already have. I’ve seen it. And you’re a shit liar, my darling. I always thought . . . But when you put my hand in Matt’s at the altar, I knew for certain.” She gently tucks some of your loose hair behind your ear. “You just need to have the courage to take the next step.” She gently tilts your face to look at hers. “I’m okay.”

You look between them—Elektra’s eyes filled with resolve and calm, Matt’s a storm of a million emotions, and you can feel how your heart tears in half. Feeling like the room is closing in on you and the air is being pulled from your lungs, you grab your things and rush past them, needing the cool sting of crisp autumn air to help you feel something else then the hot guilt coursing through your veins.

Maybe Matt won’t come in today. The man did take the week off for his honeymoon, after all. But, he is his own boss and can change that as he pleases. Still, the weekend was eventful as hell. Maybe he needed a day. Maybe if you just keep your head down long enough, you won’t have to catch the sympathetic and pitiful glances of Foggy and Karen. No client appointments are scheduled today, either, so—.

“Hey,” you hear a gently voice say at your desk. Looking up, you see Matt with two cups of coffee in his hands. “Got your usual.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, taking it from him, your heart skipping a beat as your fingers brush against one another. You just want things to go back to normal, as if the weekend didn’t happen. This is a sign that Matt wants that too—a drip of normalcy. But why does he have to sound so tender like that?

“Do you have some time?”

“Matt, I—.”

“Please?”

Damn. He knows you can’t say no when he sounds like that.

“Y-Yeah,” you say softly. “How about we go for a walk?”

He nods, letting you get up and put on your jacket. When you get to his side, you take his elbow out of habit, freezing after a few steps when guilt hits you like a freight train to your chest. 

“(Y/N)—,” he tries softly.

“I can’t do this,” you tell him quietly, tears stinging at your lashes and nose. “I’m sorry, Matt, I just can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“Because, Matt! Because I look at you, and I know how I feel! I feel guilt that I am what came between you finally being happy and getting something you’ve told me time and time again you never thought you’d have. I look at you, and still love you as much as the day that I met you and I can’t stop it. But I know that I can’t be what you need because I will never be able to understand you in the way that you deserve—the way Elektra can. I’m just me, Matt. I’m just me.”

You’re not prepared for what he says next. “And what makes you think I don’t love you just the way that you are? For everything that you are? That I’m glad you can’t understand me in those dark ways because you’re the sunshine that makes the darkness easier to deal with? That I know that the only person that I could ever really be with and be happy with is you? That I don’t love you with my entire heart?”

The way that you feel tears fall onto the fabric of your shirt let you know just how hard and fast you’re crying. The way that Matt puts his coffee next to yours so he can cup your face and wipe your tears away only adds to the gravity of his words. 

“Please, angel,” he continues gently. “Please let me help you realize just how much you mean to me. Just how deeply I love you. Because I will spend the rest of my life doing just that, no matter what you say.”

You don’t know what else to do except pull him in for a kiss. It’s not pretty or graceful. It’s wet and snotty and shaky—everything that a first kiss shouldn’t be. But the way that one of Matt’s hands stays on your face as the other moves around the back of your head so his fingers weave into your hair tells you that it’s everything he could ever want. When he finally pulls away, you do what you can to wipe off your tears that fell onto his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper as your thumbs skate across his skin. 

“I love you, too, angel,” he breathes, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you so much.”

“C-Can, uh,” you sniffle. “What next?”

“We go for that walk? Talk about anything and everything. We can figure this out. I want to figure this out.”

You nod as Matt wipes the last of your tears away. “Sounds good.”

He kisses you softly once more and loops his arm in yours as we walk out of the office. The way he holds onto you tells you that he never intends on letting go.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

[akariamai]

Why

Pairing: College Student!Matt Murdock x College Student!reader

Word Count: 1128

Part 2, Part 3

You’d often laid awake cuddling with Matt, wondering if he was a figment of your imagination. It’s been three months since you’ve been together and it’s been nothing but perfect. You both fit together impeccably. There was something in the way he spoke, so thought-provoking and humorous, you melted whenever the thought arose. Maybe you both were still in the honeymoon phase, looking at your relationship through a tinted frame. Or maybe it was puppy love. Either way you hoped it would last forever.

As you both were living on a tight budget, you had to get creative with your dates. Nothing too expensive and it had to conform to both of your busy schedules. Dates were infrequent but you’d cherish the time you managed to spend together. Matt was slowly making his way into your heart. You tried to ingrain each moment with him into your mind, not wanting to forget even a second.

The tear jerking storm arrived and ruined everything you had built with him. This storm came in the form of a woman. A beautiful woman. And you didn’t want to be the type of girlfriend to prohibit your boyfriend from having friendly relations with other women. Had placed so much trust in Matt that you knew he would never do anything to belittle your trust. However, there was something about Elektra that screamed trouble and it terrified you. At first, you chalked it up to jealousy. Elektra was gorgeous and alluring and confident. She knew what she wanted and how to get it. Who wouldn’t be jealous of her? 

It was beautifully tragic finding the man you imagined to be the one falling for another. The magic that once sparked now dwindled and flickered into nothing. You ignored the signs as he slipped away from you, bit by bit. She was just a friend, you foolishly convinced yourself as he kept mingling with her without you. Nights that could’ve been just the two of you were now lost in the haze. He spent them with her and the thought was just painful. Burying your head into the sand of willful ignorance, you inadvertently invited heartbreak.

As his birthday approached rather quickly, you planned a small date for just the two of you. Dinner at the small diner you both loved so much. It was the place where you both went on your first date. After dinner, you both would hang out with Foggy and Elektra (as Matt had grown close to her) at a cheap comedy show. It was a straightforward plan and yet, everything went wrong.

You waited for him at the diner, almost physically shaking from excitement, awaiting to give him the present you so desperately saved up for. The waitress knew you quite well as they’d seen you and Matt there quite a lot. They knew you were waiting for him and it became heartbreaking to watch as you realized he wasn’t showing. You called him multiple times without a single answer or text. You called Foggy but he had not seen him either. 

Panic wracked your body as you feared if he’d gotten into an accident and it threw you into a fit of terror. The waitress was kind enough to guide you to regain your composure and asked if there was anything she could do to help. You declined before making your way to the nearest hospital. If he was in an accident, he would’ve been admitted into it. You prayed it wasn’t the case and he had simply forgotten. Keeping to himself with his phone off.

There was no record of him being admitted into the hospital and for a moment, you felt like you could breathe. You let Foggy know of your discovery so he wouldn’t spin himself into a frenzy like she had. As soon as you ended your call with Foggy, a new message surfaced on your phone screen. It was from Matt and relief swept over you in a calming wave. He was alright. He was alive.

Opening it up, your relief soon vanished and only heartache remained.

It’s not working out. Sorry.

Tears surfaced as you shied away from the bright white lights of the hospital. A text message. Matt broke up with you via text message on his birthday after you had planned a date. It shouldn’t have hurt so much but you truly thought he was the one. The one meant to stay. And suddenly the dreams you once had shattered with the words sprawled out on your illuminated screen. 

Why? You wanted to text back but whenever you managed to have a semblance of control, your unsteady hands refused to send it. Your pointing finger would hover over the button but never touch. The wound was too fresh to bear the answer to the question that will undoubtedly keep you up at night. Maybe haunt you late into the night. 

Were you not significant enough to say goodbye to in person? Were you so beneath him that facing you, listening to you weep over the ruins of a relationship, was simply not worth his time. Were you both on different pages of the same book and he tore it all up. The masterpiece that could’ve been the two of you.

A few days later, when you were returning the box full of his stuff you caught them, him and Elektra, making out in his dorm room. It hadn’t even been a week and yet he already found someone new. They stopped when they’d noticed you and didn’t even appear to be apologetic.

“What are you doing here?” He asked without a hint of guilt burrowing into his voice. It lacked any of the emotions tethered to a breakup. “How do you have a key?”

You grilled forcibly, as the love you once shared withered and died, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?” You, initially, chose to drop off his stuff when he was gone because you didn’t have the strength to face him.

“Didn’t feel like going.” He shrugged as if he was waiting for something. Maybe an outburst of rage or despair or both. You wanted to scream. You want to shout at him for causing you so much pain and question him if they were together at any point in your relationship but you were tired. It had only been a few days since the breakup and yet here he was resembling the tarnish memories of the two of you. It hurt so much. You felt there was a giant hole in the place where he carved a place for himself. He ruined you. 

“Here’s your stuff.” You dropped the box on the floor and left Foggy’s keys on the table before silently leaving.

Masterlist

[somethingblu3]

i need more Matt Murdock x Elektra x reader fics in my life

[imma-devil]

Girls & Boys - blurb

Pairings: Oberyn Martell x fem!reader x Ellaria Sand, Matt Murdock x fem!reader x Elektra Natchios, Damon Salvatore x fem!reader x Elena Gilbert,

Warnings: NSFW (Minors dni)

Tags: Threesomes (MFF), Bisexual [used as an umbrella term], switch!reader, food play, cunnilingus, fingering, shifting position, fainting, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, bruises, making out, cum eating, oral fixation?, love bites, choking, finger fucking, cum shower, first time, teasing, little to no proofreading.

Word Count: 1,287

A/N: I have fed my bisexual fantasies, I will sleep good tonight. My third piece for Lazy Ghouls Spooktober under prompt 'threesomes.'

You can not take my work or translate it without my permission. This piece of fiction is mine, and only the characters belong to their original creators.

Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand

Both are vocal with their praises in adoration of you. 

Oberyn is far more doting in his praise, opting to whisper how good you make him feel in your ear or compliment your beauty while you ride him. When he’s between your legs, he likes to smother the compliments that flow from his lips into your clavicle… his Dornish accent growing heavier with each second he comes closer to release. 

Ellaria is different. She throws out compliments with the energy of a command, intertwining demeaning language in between. “You’re so good to me my pretty little whore~” she’d usher out between aches and moans as she rode your tongue. 

Oberyn and Ellaria both chose you, but let’s be honest… Ellaria is the one who really picked you. Oberyn loves all women and is willing to please the many if granted the choice. He treats you nicely, but it’s Ellaria who acts as if you belong to her. She parades you for all to see like you’re a prize. 

Ellaria often likes to watch Oberyn have his way with you. But you’re not innocent, you purposely give her lustful glances or all-out keep eye contact with Ellaria; no matter if Oberyn’s hips are snapping into yours or if he’s spending endless minutes between your legs tending to your core. 

When you do this, Ellaria more than likely just observes and smirks at your playful nature. But sometimes, if you push her too far, she’ll shamelessly lift her dress to toy with her heat with her fingers. She’ll make sure you can both hear her moans. 

Once Oberyn has worked you over the edge more than enough times, he’ll tend to his wife. He’d bend her over your torso, making sure you feel every thrust no matter how exhausted you are. 

When he cums, he makes sure to pull out so he can share his spend amongst you two. His ropes of cum coating Ellaria’s back and your tits. For good measure, he’d swipe through the white coat with his two fingers, just so that he could find it a place on your tongue. 

When one of your many escapades is finished, Ellaria feeds fruit platters by hand into Oberyn's mouth. But, don’t feel left out. Oberyn will be sure to cradle the ripe grapes or strawberry slivers between his teeth so that he can share them with you. He likes the taste mixture when he kisses you. 

Ellaria will get jealous. She’ll take over, kissing you so longingly that the night begins again. She’ll repeat mantras between heated breaths, “Mine” “You’re mine, little viper.”

Oberyn will watch contentedly for a little while before joining in on the fun. 

Matthew Murdock and Elektra Natchios

Matt will definitely be in a mood when you three finally get it on for the first time. He gets quiet, thrumming with energy that he can barely contain. Unable to quell the devil within him, especially with all the history that rests between him and Elektra. 

Elektra, who on the battlefield acts like a wild panther, is tamed to a house cat when under the attention of both you and Matt. She becomes pliable under Matt’s rough hands and reduced to whimpers when you work her sensitive bud with your tongue. 

Elektra becomes increasingly more sensitive with Matt’s hand around her throat, his hips rolling to meet hers, dragging out a moan from her lips with every thrust. After all, Matt typically liked to take things slow, opting to savor it. 

Matt would fight off release at the glide of your tongue on his shaft, prodding at his head in sparse intervals each time he unsheaths himself from Elektra’s cunt.

A frequent position revisited by the group has you on your back in missionary for Matt; Elekra mounting you with her back arched and ass presented. Matt plows into you from this position, his hands marking deep bruises into your hips. All while your hand reaches around Elektra’s thigh, plunging two fingers into her eager pussy. Elektra would be fucked dizzy from your fingers, trying to ground herself by latching her lips onto yours. 

Once you’d cum more than one time from Matt’s cock, he would switch to Elektra, fucking up into her with a speed that left her breathless. She wouldn’t be able to think, especially with you rubbing tight circles onto her clit. 

After Elektra cums, likely for a fourth or fifth time, she quite literally passes out. Every time this happens, you and Matt often dote on her. The two of you cleaning up, especially when looking after her. Matt would have a content smile resting peacefully upon his lips. 

Any time the three of you have sex, it likely ends in you and Matt having idle conversation before you all sleep the night off. When you wake, Elektra always makes a show of wearing Matt’s shirt. The article of clothing often looks like a dress on her tiny frame. 

Elektra would return to her sharp flirtations and witty remarks as if nothing happened. But you and Matt both know that you could reel her in with a few simple moves. 

Damon and Elena 

Elena is needy. The only way this works is if you accommodate that. So, be ready to have to direct your energy towards her in any relationship, including physical. But, lucky for you, Elena actually was okay with a threesome with her boyfriend’s best friend. Funnily enough, it was her idea. It would also be her first time with a partner of the same sex, as well as her first time having a threesome. 

When things started off, Damon sat in audience with a glass of bourbon; the buttons of his black shirt undone as he slumped into the couch. He mirrors a separate couch, there seated are you and Elena.

She kneels in front of you, her hands pressing into her thighs in a clear display of anxiousness. Even the rock music that plays faintly in the background doesn’t ease her nerves. 

You ask for her permission with every move; allowing you to comb your fingers through the silkiness of her straight hair, lifting her chin in a delicate hold, and placing cautious kisses on her plush lips. Eventually, her hands migrate to drape over your shoulders, signaling a slight release of her hesitancy. 

It's not long before Damon abandons his empty glass to sit behind her, gently kneading his fingers into her dainty shoulder blades. His mouth found its spot against the pulse point of her neck, leaving pink blemishes as he traveled up the length of her fair skin to linger below her jaw. 

Elena lifts her head to offer him room, growing heavy on her shoulders. You decide to reflect his actions, following what Damon knows to already be successful in wooing the Gilbert girl. Elena shivers at the sensation, not used to the second person. A faint whimper makes its way past her lips, to which you and Damon both smile.  

As the night progresses, you end up behind Elena’s back, the two of you lying on Damon’s bed in the boarding house. You support her weight as she leans into you. Damon stands at the bedpost, between her legs. He’s purposeful with his languid thrusts, which you accent with your fingers on Elena’s clit. Your other hand traces the curves of her body, slowly traversing the smoothness of her skin. 

Elena likes being pampered, and it shows in the arousal coating her legs. 

“Look at how wet you are,” Damon boasts with a mischievous glint. 

Elena is silent besides the moans that fill the room like a song, hiding her face behind her hands in embarrassment.

[prettyeyesnof4ce]

Supercilious

Elektra Natchios x gn!reader

Summary: Seeing Elektra in a robe in the right lighting sparks something entirely deserved.

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, body worship, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving) (MDNI)

WC: 2.8k

A/N: My first female character x reader fic so go easy on me! Reader is gender neutral, so the oral is being received by Elektra. Any and all feedback is appreciated. I was inspired by that scene where she's wearing that robe heh.

Read on AO3 Masterlist

Approaching tentatively, you had already begun to admire her from where she stood by the window. It was the spring sunset, soft in color yet illuminating in presence. 

“You look good like this” You mumble, making your arrival behind Elektra. She was adorned in a deep scarlet robe, sheen and stopping just above the knee. Her hair was swept beyond her shoulders, free flowing along her back, dark umber and thick as ever. 

Whether she was aware that the lighting gave her silhouette away once met with the fabric,or had innocently forgotten about the very revealing nature of it didn’t matter. Elektra knew she was your sight for sore eyes, she could be standing there in a potato sack and you’d kneel undoubtedly 

A gentle smile would meet her lips, still tinted red despite removing her makeup minutes ago. She was tired from events of the day, maintaining her gaze toward the window despite your presence. Her shoulders heightened as her head dipped.

“Do I?” She spoke, voice never failing to ring like silk. Her feet shuffled ever so slightly, to signal the nerves suddenly inside her. She knew she was under watch. 

You make your move on her, hand coming up to rest on her right shoulder. 

“Of course” Fingers moving  across the surface, you caressed slowly, until you got to her hair, nudging it out of the way to continue. She giggled at the contact on the nape of her neck, hand coming up to bring yours back to its former position. Keeping it there, she held your hand close, tilting her head to rest. 

“Describe it to me” Elektra imposed, smile still tugging at her mouth, letting go of your hand. Purposefully turning to face you, her eyes met yours, pupils already blown. You stepped back before taking up her invitation. 

The knot which kept the robe closed was loose, allowing some leeway to see her chest. Collarbones, for the most part, are visible. The red shade complimented her olive skin so well, it could threaten to knock the breath out of your lungs. 

Knowing what laid below was one thing, yet gawking at it outright and taking in the scene before you was another. She was on display in front of the warmth in the sky, what was not to resist.

She bit her lip as your gaze raked down her torso, taking notice of her piqued nipples. With every rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat became more aggressive. Despite being well aware of the effect she had on people, there was a smaller part in her that maintained doubt. Being under tight watch gave her insecurity yet filled her with adrenaline. That part of her yearned for praise in its most vulnerable form.

Your hesitation made Elektra hold her breath “What if I didn't?” 

Her head quirked to the left, letting go of the chew on her lip. She was blindsided with confusion for a moment before you stepped closer again, hands coming out to grab her face. 

Moving some remaining stray hairs behind her ear, you peered into those dark orbs. You could practically scoff at the way her teeth peeked through her glistening lips as her expression went dreamy. It told you all you needed to know about the feelings rising in her, she was on a pedestal of admiration, which excited her more than anything could. She knew what was about to transpire, it didn’t require words.

Switching from the face to the shoulders, your hands resumed their caress along the sheer fabric. The icy touch coupled with the arousal arising in her was terribly addicting. She almost jolted when your thumb grazed the hem below her collarbone, thinking you were going to reveal more, but it didn’t come. Her eyes searched your face, wondering when you were just going to give her your lips, considering the ache of her skin becoming heated. She prayed there would be reprieve, that your hand would slip and you’d graze her breast, but you were meticulous.

Elektra was many things, but being one to beg wasn’t in her handbook. She had to sit this one out while you had your merry way with the dealing of touch.

Once done admiring her shoulders, you dragged two fingers down her arm, the texture causing a *fwip* noise before finding skin. Taking her hand in yours, you brought it up to your mouth, laying the first kiss of many more. 

Elektra was falling victim to your persuasion, letting out a small chuckle in effort to cover up the way in which she ached, she wanted more. Her breath hitched once you got down on your knees, hand still being held delicately. You eventually grabbed both of them, gifting kisses to each of them before letting go.

She was staring down at you, the impatience bubbling even more, still being concealed by a glint of amusement. Frankly, the blush creeping up her cheeks was intensifying, wildly growing thanks to the realization of the angle at which you saw her at this very moment.

You gave no inkling of a smile back, only a look of intent, one that said “I wanna ruin you” 

It was then when your hands met either side of her legs, unbreaking eye contact as you kissed up them in a painfully slow trail. Elektra parted her thighs slightly, allowing you more surface to peck upon. 

She was biting her lip again, a bad habit that was the only thing keeping whines from escaping her, begs and pleas that gave away her stoic, hard exterior. You were able to tear those walls down with ease, and she absolutely loathed it. 

“God, what on earth are you doing?” The mask slipped, her eyebrows raising in tune to the tone at which she beckoned for answers. A sliver of a laugh rumbled in you, breathing on the sensitive inner part of her thigh before speaking, 

“Appreciating you like you deserve”

Those couple words sent her into more of a frenzy, tripling the rate at which her blood plumped. She was impossibly turned on, every kiss rendering her ability to stand to become weaker.

You stood back up straight, Elektra following you with her eyes before taunting with that seductive stare. She kept switching between your eyes and lips before you took initiative.

Pulling her waist against yours, the crash of your lips couldn’t have come quicker. She whined into your mouth, earning a grunt of approval from you. It was nice to hear some form of expression, that well kept structure only going so far when she had sheer desire racing through her. Again, she didn’t want to admit to that weakness, asking for help with something she couldn’t solve on her own. 

Elektra’s lips were as soft as ever, supple and paired well with her tongue that occasionally made its own statement. 

Swaying her body, you pulled her toward the couch, motioning her to lay down. She half expected you to land on top of her, and when you didn’t, it nearly warranted another whine. All you were left to stare down at was that dreamy expression from before, only this time her arms were thrown above her head, robe slipping and giving you the first glimpse of her undergarment. Scarlet red, similar to the robe, now parting open and revealing her heated body. 

You tilted your head to the right to represent admiration. 

“So perfect” left your lips, barely above a whisper and she smirked. 

Elektra knew she could remain wordless, she understood this endeavor was nothing more than a pursuit of worship. That and because the teeming arousal growing inside her sewn her mouth shut, any inkling of wit was sinking into the crevices of her mind. Right now, she just wanted you in any shape or form. To soothe the fire inside of her. 

She watched as you crowded over her, half hoping your lips would crash into hers again, but you resumed your descent with your mouth on her body. Your knee was hovering, almost wedged right between her legs, the faint contact not going unnoticed. She prayed you’d give some reprieve, before she would take matters into her own hands and buck into the hard surface. But she would not, of course. Those walls of pride and self sufficiency would not be coming down, no matter how intensely she ached.

 Elektra’s breathing was nothing short of rampant, eyes shut while you worked the pulse point on her neck, your hands roaming her legs. The coverage of the robe was becoming increasingly immodest, the way she squirmed beneath you being the culprit. It was almost like you read each other's minds when you pulled up and away, fingers stroking down the silky hem, studying the way her chest heaved as you made it down to the knot at her midsection. It was loose enough for a simple tug with your index finger to do the trick, a specific air of silence hanging while it untied. 

The winding sliver of skin from her chest down to the crotch of her undergarment revealed itself. It was a gorgeous sight, her head tilting and arms above her head again, like she knew the juxtaposition of her glowing skin and carmine robe was a visual to take in. She laid staring up at you, studying your expression, the manner in which your eyes raked over her near exposed figure was much like a feral animal.  She had a rather large obligation to buckle in for the ride that she caused due to her seduction. 

You extend a hand down to her face, capturing her jaw softly and swiping a thumb over her bottom lip. 

“So pretty” you mumble, two fingers now trailing down the exposed path and her eyelids flutter at the touch.

 The impatience is growing in unison to the bubbling of tension in her core, your cold fingers adding to the shivers down her spine. You see a twitch in her hips and you want to smirk so badly. You trace four fingers deftly down her stomach and Elektra follows them with her eyes. The way she parts her legs in arrival to your hand on the waistband pops the bubble of silence and it catches you by simple surprise. It triples the beauty of the sight below you. 

Further inspection bursts your restraints to tease.

“You’re so wet” you mutter in response to the splotch of damp color over her crotch, fully visible now with herself bared to you. Your comment catches her off guard, she giggles with an exhale.

 “Don’t do that” Elektra taunts back, overcompensating for how vulnerable she feels.

 “Do what?” You say as your hand is firm on her inner thigh, rubbing small circles with your thumb reassuringly.

 “Make fun of me” She hesitates with the faintest hint of a whimper, that tiny ministration you're doing so close to her core running wild in her mind. 

“I would never” You mumble, meandering down on your knees, both of your hands now on the outside of her thighs, idling close to her still clothed hips. Elektra fails to argue anymore, surrendering to your control with a barely audible exhale.

Oh, she’s in for it now. 

Resuming your exploration on Elektra’s body, you start to kiss up her thighs, breath becoming labored again as she studies you, for it is all she can do. The flush in her chest and face grows ferociously, the wet, harsh pecks to the smooth delicate surface being the cause. She could almost hold her breath at how fast you ascended with your lips, hot air exiting your nose steadily, tickling the skin. 

Once you’re up to her mound, you finally stare back up at Elektra and she’s nothing short of anticipate, chest heaving ever so slightly. She’s so sweet like this, a moment where you have her knocked on her heels, spread nicely, vulnerable and yours.

 In her dark brown gaze, she’s desperate, waiting for your pounce. Your lips come down on her clothed core, puckering a kiss on her clit and her mouth falls open in reaction. Without her knowledge during the haze, your arms reach around from under her legs, coming up to her chest, palming her firm breasts. Elektra gasps again as you keep kissing against the delicate fabric, attacking the nub like you’re kissing lips. 

You feel the wetness more than double under your attention, it's not enough friction for her liking. She tuts like she wants to speak as you quirk her nipples just right between your fingers. Her back arches when you nuzzle against her with the point of your nose, she’s now finding the words to speak.

 “I want it” she rasps silently, another note of desperation. The walls have come down and she needs you. You smile, placing your head on her inner thigh lovingly, pretending like you don’t know but you do. 

“What d’ya want love?” you tease.

“I can’t play this game anymore” Elektra sounds defeated, she must take matters into her own hands.

She reaches down, nudging past your arms to get to her waistband, ripping the lace fabric apart with a hard tug. She’s now exposed completely, the once gentle, fluorescent pattern diminished to ragged thread. 

A mischievous smile accompanies her flushed face, cheeky and wild. You could almost gasp at the action, she knows what she wants.

Rightfully so, you lick a stripe up her dripping slit, Elektra moans in relief after a lingered chuckle. You return your attention to her hardened peaks, rubbing both of her nipples in unison to the swirl of your tongue. Her hips are already jutting upward into your face, head thrown back making obscene noises. She gets a bit embarrassed to admit it but she gets quite loud when stimulated, the savagery in her craft shining through even in intimate moments. 

Her cries are so pleasant, elbows perched and hands gripping to the couch as her body squirms at your mercy. You alternate, finding that she’s intoxicated whenever you give a barrage of licks with the point of your tongue and then come down with a hard suck. The sounds of her sex are filthy when accompanied with her groans of pleasure. 

Elektra tries her best but she can’t hold back with the way you lap at her hole, making good use of the aftermath from building the tension earlier. She’s got a penchant for being admired, riling her up in ways that rightfully get her incapacitated under someone’s caress in minutes. 

“Uh–mmf!” The constant attention to her bundle of nerves was getting her to climax rather quickly, as if it has been a while since her last. You pull whimpers from her just as fast as the time it took to get her on the couch. Her back arches every time you flicker your eyes back to hers, knowing while face deep in her cunt you’re still admiring her just like before. All eyes on her.

She’s chasing after her breath now, rutting into your unrelenting tongue, gaining as much friction from that textured surface as much as she can. Elektra reaches a rushed hand up to the hand you’re nursing to her breast, as it's still pawing the soft plush roughly. Her other hand is still scratching at the couch fabric, tiding herself in as the knot in her belly grows with every lewd suck. 

“Are you going to let me cum? Yeah?” Elektra beckons breathlessly, the whine in her voice not being hidden anymore. You moan languidly into her, as a firm “yes” to her question and she whimpers at the sensation. The heat of her body and scent is deliciously corroding your senses, you take in the experience of having her spread open just for you, worshiping her for all she is. A fiery girl worthy of fine stimulation, until she’s spent beyond her ability.

With a few more gasps you know she’s riding the line, removing yourself from sucking to licking with a hard emphasis. She quivers with a final gasp and she begins to cum under you, body shaking and jerking aggressively. Your arms roaming her torso act as a stabilizer as she rides out her orgasm, face looking downward at your continuous stimulation. Her hips start to jut when you lap faster at her throbbing clit, crying out a whine and it sounds so fucking gorgeous. 

You feel your own pleasure dispersing in your chest, and its pride. Grateful that you could get her like this, unguarded and safe with you, that Elektra trusts you to make her come undone. Your admiration for her would never go unnoticed, and it's why you guys get here often in the first place. With your face between her legs, taking her in for all that her scarlet red nature is worth.

~

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! feedback, likes and rbs are optional yet appreciated.

(I do not give permission for this or any of my work to be posted elsewhere without my consent)

prettyeyesnof4ce © 2022

[daredevilexchange]

The Hands of Hell's Kitchen for @acesammy

Prompts: "No Devil" by San Fermin, Horror Retelling/Fusion, Halloween Party, grainy.

Grief is a powerful thing. It clutches, like greed; it hungers, like gluttony; it aches, like lust; it demands, like pride. Grief envies the past, and can hold one captive in a moment, at a grave, in a memory; it is much like sloth, in this regard. Most importantly, and most dangerously, grief is a sister, hand in hand, with wrath.

A devil with cracked horns. Lady Justice with her gaze shielded. A child wronged by the dead long gone. Grief, palpable, weary, and worn, is angry.

(OR, Foggy Nelson has the idea to share scary stories while the Defenders & Co. drink their Halloween away at the firm. This idea is odd, but he's been thinking, and he has a great one: the tale, sordid but true, of how Avocados at Law was really born.)

TW: Major Character Death(s), Gore, Graphic Violence (choking and blood), Sexual Content (consensual), Abusive background Relationship, Body Horror, Loss of Parent(s), Addiction, Cult Religion, Paranormal Activity, Perseverating Fixations, Hallucinations, Murder, and Unreality.

Relationships:

Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Todd Neiman/Karen Page, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Elektra Natchios & Karen Page

Characters:

Matt Murdock, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Karen Page, Elektra Natchios, Todd Neiman, Wilson Fisk, The Hand

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Horror, Body Horror, Story within a Story, Foggy Nelson Narrates, Alternate Universe - The Haunting of Bly Manor Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, MattFoggy Endgame, Church of the Sheltering Hands, Puppetry / Hand Imagery, Abusive Relationship (background), Lotta murder, Religious commentary, parent trauma, Loss of Parent(s), Everybody A+ Parenting, Matt as Dani Clayton, Drug Addiction, A Loving Fuck You to Canon, but in such a way where easter eggs abound, Matt and Foggy stay alive, but that is my only promise

[usaigi]

“When did Stick tell you about the war?” Matt asks Elektra, placing her cup of tea on the coffee table. Elektra was Stick's favorite, obviously, but how long did Stick keep Elektra in the dark.  

“Frankly I’m surprised you never asked.” 

“I did,” he scoffs. “He used to hit me whenever I’d ask questions.”

“So you stopped asking questions?”

“Nah, I just got better at blocking,” Matt presses his lips together, masking his resentment. “Did you? Ask questions, I mean.”

“Oh God no. I was such a teacher’s pet back then. I’d do anything Stick said and if the other masters or student had a problem with it, I’d run to hide behind Stick.” 

“Why?”

“Why would I bite the hand that feeds me?”

[beastsovrevelation]

Why am I thinking of this scenario:

St. Lucia: Irene's away, so I need to talk to you

Valak: what?

St. Lucia: Leonidas tried to eat my eyes

Leonidas: Elektra dared me

Elektra: I didn't think he'd do it

Valak, rubbing his forehead: son... you are thirty years old

[thirtysomethingloser92]

1. Same Old Tired, Lonely Place.

Summary:

Trapped in The Void with Wade Wilson and Logan, you meet Remy LeBeau—the man fate has bound to you as your soulmate. From the moment you lock eyes, the connection is undeniable, but you hate the idea of a soulmate. You’ve spent your life keeping people at arm’s length, fiercely protecting your independence.

Remy’s charm and your growing bond make it hard to maintain those walls, even as chaos unfolds around you.

But when you finally escape The Void, Remy doesn’t come with you. Now you’re back home, haunted by the bond you didn’t ask for. What happens when your soulmate is still out there, and you’re left alone to face the inevitable pull of fate? Warnings: Angst, Hurt, Swearing, Violence, Smut.

The idea of soulmates had always been something you hated.  In fact, you thought it was complete and utter bullshit. A fantasy spun by people who romanticized love to the point of obsession—desperate souls clinging to the belief that somewhere out there was a perfect match, just waiting to complete them. You never bought into it. The whole concept felt like a cheap fairytale, something designed to make people feel better about their lonely, mundane lives. The idea that two people were bound by some invisible force, destined to meet and fall into this profound, all-encompassing connection?

Ridiculous.

You’d seen the way people talked about it, the way their eyes lit up when the subject came up, the way they whispered about it like it was some kind of holy grail. As though finding your “other half” was the key to happiness, as though it would suddenly fix everything wrong with your life. And worse, the way people waited for it—wasting their lives in pursuit of some mythical bond, convinced that nothing else could compare. It was maddening.

Love wasn’t some magical force. It wasn’t preordained or written in the stars. Love, real love, was messy. It was hard work. It was built on choices—on compromise, on trust, on effort. Not some cosmic string pulling two people together like puppets on a stage. That was just lazy. A way for people to avoid taking responsibility for their own hearts, their own lives.

And the way people talked about it, like soulmates were the answer to everything wrong with the world. As if finding that one person would suddenly make you whole, as if you weren’t already enough on your own. It was toxic, this obsession with soulmates. It turned love into a crutch, a dependency, a desperate need rather than something you chose to give freely. You’d seen people break themselves over it, waiting for something that might never come, forsaking real connections in favor of some fairytale ending they’d been spoon-fed their entire lives.

You’d vowed a long time ago that you wouldn’t be one of them. You wouldn’t waste your life chasing after something so intangible, so unreliable. The whole idea of it made your skin crawl.

So yeah, the concept of soulmates? Total bullshit.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Then you met him.

And everything you thought you knew, everything you thought you believed, shattered in the space of a single breath. “The name's Remy LeBeau. De Diable Blanc. But you can call me The Gambit.” The resistance hideout was a far cry from any notion of comfort or sophistication—barely scraping the edge of what you could call livable. It was carved directly into the rugged stone of The Void, the walls rough and jagged, almost as if the place had been hastily gouged out of the earth itself. The dim, flickering light from an old, industrial lamp hanging from the ceiling cast long, moody shadows across the room, bathing everything in a sickly yellow glow that made the space feel even more claustrophobic.

The air was thick and stale, carrying the scent of dust, old leather, and alcohol. Clearly, Logan had made his mark here, judging by the half-empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand and the assortment of liquor bottles haphazardly strewn around a makeshift shelf that looked like it was barely holding itself together. The shelves, if they could even be called that, were cluttered with random supplies—canned goods, rusted tools, and whatever scavenged items the resistance had managed to scrape together from the remnants of pruned timelines.

Everything felt worn. The furniture looked like it had been pulled from a dozen different realities and pieced together with duct tape and desperation. The place had the vibe of a bunker, the kind of space where people only stayed because they had no other choice. It was survival, plain and simple. The walls, carved from rough stone, were dark, cold, and unforgiving. You could see faint cracks running along the surface, like the place was on the verge of collapsing in on itself.

The only window—a narrow, jagged slit in the rock—allowed a sliver of pale light to leak in from the outside, but it was barely enough to cut through the gloom. Dust particles floated lazily in the beam of light, the only real movement in the otherwise still room.

This was the heart of the resistance. A hideout that was more cave than command center, more tomb than refuge. It reeked of desperation, of people clinging to existence on the fringes of time.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh that echoed off the jagged stone walls around you.

Maybe this was where you belonged. A graveyard for misfits and mistakes. People like you—people who never quite fit in anywhere else.

The whole situation felt like some kind of cosmic joke, and you were the punchline. The universe had played its cards, and they were stacked against you.

Seriously, The Void? The one time you stepped out of your comfort zone—left behind the familiar chaos of Hell’s Kitchen and the vigilante lifestyle you’d clung to—and this is where you ended up. Not just in some time-warped hellhole, but standing here, in the middle of all this chaos, staring at him.

Your soulmate.

The irony was so thick, you could choke on it. You’d spent your entire life spitting in the face of fate, scoffing at the idea of soulmates, of destiny—of any kind of higher power having a say in your future. You didn’t need anyone. You didn’t need to be completed. But now? Now you were standing in front of the man who was supposed to be your other half, and everything you believed about yourself was unraveling.

Remy LeBeau leaned casually against the wall, as if none of this chaos even fazed him. Like he was the king of his own personal wasteland. His red-on-black eyes were locked on you, that damn playing card twirling lazily between his fingers. He looked dangerous, like something out of a nightmare, and yet there was something magnetic about him—something you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

The moment you’d realized who he was—what he was to you—a cold dread had settled in your chest, but it was laced with something else. Something darker. Something that made your skin prickle and your heart pound. The bond between you had snapped into place the second your eyes met, and now it felt like the very air between you was charged, humming with a raw, electric energy.

And of course, Wade Wilson couldn’t resist commenting on it.

“Are you serious?” Wade said, throwing up his hands dramatically, like he was personally offended by the entire situation. “Of all the people in the multiverse, you—you—end up with that guy?” He jabbed a finger in Remy’s direction, his voice dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “I mean, come on. You’re all, ‘I don’t need anyone, I’m too cool for feelings,’ and now the universe sticks you with Mister Smooth Criminal over there? This is like some soap opera-level shit.”

You shot Wade a glare that could melt iron. “Wade, I swear to God, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will—”

“Oh, I know, I know. You’ll rip my arms off, jam them somewhere unpleasant, and then probably throw me off a cliff. Heard it all before, sweetheart,” Wade interrupted, waving you off like your threats meant nothing. “But seriously, this is hilarious. You’ve spent years acting like emotions are a waste of time, and now? Now you’re standing there, all ‘oh no, my soulmate’, and it’s just—” Wade let out a laugh that was way too loud, slapping his knee for effect. “It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, but I can’t look away.”

Logan, leaning against the crumbling wall nearby, grunted. He was holding his bottle of whiskey like it was the only thing keeping him sane. “This is a goddamn mess,” he muttered, taking a long swig. “First we get pruned. Now we’re stuck in The Void. And on top of that, I gotta deal with this soulmate bullshit? Give me a break.”

Beside him, Laura crossed her arms, her eyes darting between you and Remy with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, like she couldn’t decide if this whole thing was fascinating or just plain gross. “Soulmates are stupid,” she muttered, her voice flat. “It’s all just chemicals in the brain.”

“Smart kid,” Logan grunted, nodding in agreement. “Soulmates are a load of crap.”

“Hey, let’s not pretend this isn’t entertaining,” Wade chimed in again, as if he was narrating some kind of reality TV show. “I mean, look at her! She’s practically vibrating with feelings.” He leaned in toward you, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “You’re dying inside, aren’t you? I can see it. You hate this. You hate him.” Wade wiggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “But you’re also kinda into it. Aren’t you?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying—failing—to ignore the way your pulse quickened under Remy’s steady, unwavering gaze. “Wade, I swear, I’m going to kill you.”

Wade, of course, was unfazed. He was leaning against a pile of crates, grinning like a kid at a carnival, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Oh, please,” he drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re not gonna kill me. You’re too busy having your little soulmate moment with Tall, Dark, and Cajun over there.”

But you barely heard Wade. The second you realized who Remy LeBeau truly was to you, it was like the entire world around you shifted. No—it wasn’t just the world. It was the very fabric of reality itself. It started small, like the faintest tremor beneath your feet, something you could almost brush off as nothing. But then it grew, swelling into something so massive, so all-consuming, that it felt as if the ground you stood on had been ripped out from under you.

The Void—a wasteland that had always been cold, indifferent, devoid of life or warmth—suddenly felt alive.

You felt it in your chest first—a tremor, subtle but undeniable, like the distant rumble of a coming storm. And that tremor… it spread. It unraveled across your skin, sinking into your bones, weaving itself into the very core of you.

And yet, no matter how much your mind screamed at you to run, to put as much distance between you and him as possible, your body refused to obey. You were rooted to the spot, standing in the center of the hideout, surrounded by the others, but it was as if none of them existed. It was as if there was only him. Remy LeBeau.

Because somehow, deep down, in the marrow of your bones, you already knew the truth.

He was yours.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, sudden and brutal, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you breathless. You had heard the stories your whole life—about soulmates, about that unbreakable bond that tied one person to another. But they had always seemed like just that: stories. Something that happened to other people. Not you. Never you. And it wasn’t some gentle tug on your heartstrings. No soft, romantic whisper in your mind. No, this was something primal. Something fierce. It gripped you with the force of a storm, pulling you toward him with an intensity that terrified you. It was as if the universe itself had woven an invisible thread between the two of you—one so strong, so unyielding, that nothing, not even the vast, infinite wasteland of The Void, could sever it.

And that terrified you. Because Remy LeBeau was dangerous. Not just because of his reputation, though that alone should have been enough to send you running. No, it was something more than that. It was the way he looked at you, with those smoldering eyes that seemed to burn with a fire only you could see. It was the way his presence seemed to fill the space between you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.  It was the way he smiled—crooked, sly, and all too knowing—like he already knew exactly what was happening inside of you, like he could feel the same pull, the same bond.

You hated it. You hated him for making you feel like this, for making you vulnerable in a way you had never been before. You had built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable—walls that had kept you safe, that had kept you from ever getting too close to anyone. But Remy… he didn’t just tear those walls down. He shattered them with a single look, a single sentence. And now, there was nowhere to hide.

Your chest tightened with the weight of it all, with the overwhelming realization that your life had just irrevocably changed. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for him. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. And as much as you wanted to fight it, as much as you wanted to push him away and run as far from him as you could, you knew it would be futile.

Because Remy LeBeau wasn’t just some man. He was your soulmate. He was the one person in the universe who was meant for you, the one person who could see you, truly see you, in a way no one else ever could.

But for now, standing just behind Wade, facing down the man who looked like sin and danger incarnate, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the whirlwind of emotions crashing through you. Remy’s red-on-black eyes held yours for what felt like an eternity—burning, intense, and all-knowing. There was an unspoken energy between you, something deep and raw that neither of you could deny. It clung to the air, thick and palpable, like the charge before a lightning strike. You could feel the bond settling into place, and for a moment, it was as if the entire world had narrowed to just the two of you.

But then, something shifted in his gaze. His attention flickered, his eyes moving from yours to something—or rather, someone—just behind you. The soft clinking of glass reached your ears, the sound breaking the spell that had wrapped around you like a vice. You blinked, pulling yourself out of the trance just as Remy’s expression shifted from intense to something more amused, more dangerous.

“You know,” Remy began, pausing his casual shuffling of a deck of cards as he tilted his head slightly to the side, his Cajun accent thick and dripping with charm, “we never had a Wolverine up in here.” He let the words hang in the air, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was an edge to it, something sharp beneath the surface. His fingers stilled on the cards, and his gaze narrowed just a fraction. “But I can tell you now, mon ami, it’s just a common courtesy t’ask before y’drink up all of my liquor.”

His voice dropped lower, the playful lilt giving way to something more dangerous—a warning.

You turned on instinct, curiosity pulling you to glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there stood Logan, the unmistakable figure of Wolverine, holding up a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and wearing that same familiar, dry, unimpressed look on his face. He didn’t seem to care about Remy’s thinly veiled threat, didn’t even flinch at the tension in the air between them.

Logan raised the bottle slightly, his eyes locking with Remy’s, before he took a long, deliberate swig. When he pulled the bottle away from his lips, he gave a small, half-shrug, completely unfazed. “That’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck,” he said gruffly, his voice low and gravelly, as he took another long drink, clearly not in the mood for a pissing contest.

You could almost hear the smirk forming on Remy’s lips behind you.

Remy let out a short chuckle, but there was no humor in it. It was the kind of laugh that sent a shiver down your spine, one that promised trouble. His fingers moved in a blur, and before you could even process what was happening, one of his cards glowed with that unmistakable pinkish energy. Charged with kinetic power, the card was flicked so fast it was a blur of light and motion. The next thing you knew, the bottle in Logan’s hand exploded with a sharp, cracking sound, shards of glass spraying outward.

You jumped back, your heart racing, instinctively throwing up your arms to shield yourself from the debris. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and ozone from the charged card as you quickly glanced at Logan, who looked more irritated than anything else. Shards of glass littered the floor, and Logan stood there, bottle neck in hand, whiskey dripping from his knuckles, his expression somewhere between annoyed and unimpressed.

“Asshole,” Logan grumbled under his breath, barely sparing Remy a glance as he tossed the broken remnants of the bottle aside. Glass shattered at his feet, but he didn’t care. He was already reaching for another bottle from the bar, twisting the cap off with the kind of casual ease that said this kind of shit happened all the time in his world. And knowing Logan? It probably did. He took a long, slow swig, completely unfazed by the mess of glass and whiskey at his feet.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching this little pissing contest between Remy and Logan with a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. The Void had already drained most of your patience, and this macho shit wasn’t helping. Your head throbbed, and your throat was dry, but the last thing you needed was to get tangled up in whatever testosterone-laced nonsense these two were brewing, “Close up abilities. Now I get it,” You said simply.

Remy didn’t miss a beat, though. He turned to you, his smirk still firmly in place, eyes gleaming with that damnable charm that seemed to ooze from him. “I charge up the cards, make 'em go boom,” he explained as if you hadn’t already figured that out. His voice was smooth, that Cajun drawl curling around the words like smoke.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a headache coming on. You didn’t need this right now. Hell, you didn’t need any of this. The Void, Remy LeBeau, the whole “soulmate” business—it was all one long, exhausting cosmic joke, and you were the punchline. You’d spent your whole life avoiding entanglements, keeping people at arm’s length, and now? Now you were supposedly bound to him?

Yeah, fuck that.

“Great,” you said flatly, your voice dripping with disinterest. “You’re a walking fire hazard. Good for you.”

Remy’s grin didn’t falter, though. If anything, it seemed to widen. “Y’got a sharp tongue, cher,” he mused, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I like that. Keeps things interestin’.”

“You must be a riot at parties,” you shot back, feeling your temper flare. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you, like he could see something in you that you didn’t want anyone seeing. And you definitely didn’t like the way your heart had skipped a beat when he called you cher.

You weren’t some starry-eyed romantic. You weren’t the kind of person who believed in fate or soulmates or any of that bullshit. You were practical. Hard. Worn down by the world in more ways than you could count. And now? Now you were supposed to believe that this cocky, card-throwing, smooth-talking asshole was your other half?

Fuck. That.

Before you could say anything else, Elektra stepped in, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough,” she said, her gaze flicking between you and Remy. “We’re wasting time. You can all lay low here while we figure out how to get out of this…place.”

You took a deep breath, grateful for the distraction. The Void was starting to mess with your head, and the last thing you needed was to be stuck here, in this weird limbo, dealing with Remy and his infuriating charm. Blade and Elektra might not be the warmest hosts, but at least they were practical. You could work with practical.

“Fine,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Blade, who had been silent up until now, gave you a brief nod. He didn’t say much, but then again, he never did. He was a man of action, not words, and right now, that was exactly what you needed.

As the group started to make plans about what was needed to get you all out, Remy sidled up next to you, his presence unmistakable. He moved like a cat—silent, fluid, and way too close for comfort.

“Y’know, cher,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “we ain’t gotta pretend like this soulmate thing don’t mean nothin’.”

You stiffened, your jaw clenching as you kept your eyes firmly ahead, refusing to look at him. “I don’t believe in soulmates,” you said, your voice clipped and cold. “And even if I did, you wouldn’t be it.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like warm honey slipping through the cracks in your armor. “That so?” he asked, his tone teasing, but there was something deeper underneath it, something that made your pulse quicken against your will. “Seems like the universe disagrees wit’ y’, cher.”

“The universe can go fuck itself,” you snapped. “I don’t care what some cosmic bullshit says. I don’t want a soulmate. I don’t need a soulmate.”

Remy’s grin softened, but his eyes—those damn red-on-black eyes—stayed locked on yours, unflinching. “Maybe y’jus’ scared, non?” he suggested, his voice gentle in a way that made your throat tighten. “Maybe y’jus’ don’t wanna admit that someone out there might actually care ‘bout y’.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you hated him for it. Hated him for seeing past the walls you’d built, for seeing the cracks underneath. You’d spent years keeping people at bay, pushing them away before they could get too close. You weren’t about to let some smooth-talking thief break down the walls you’d spent a lifetime building.

As Remy stood there, watching you struggle to form the words, he could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him. He wasn’t used to this—this feeling. This raw, undeniable connection that hummed between the two of you like a live wire. It was unsettling, even for him. And that was saying something. He was Gambit, after all—the man who could slip in and out of any situation, any heart, without leaving too much behind. He was the one who played with danger, danced on the edge of chaos, and never got too close.

But this… this was different.

From the moment he locked eyes with you, something shifted inside him. It wasn’t just the pull he felt, that deep, bone-deep knowing that came with the soulmate bond. It was you—the fire in your eyes, the way you carried yourself like you didn’t need anyone, like you were ready to take on the world by yourself. He could see it, clear as day. The walls you’d built around yourself, the way you guarded your heart like a fortress. And he knew—he knew—that you weren’t the type to let anyone in easily.

But still… there was something about you. Something that made him want to try.

He watched as you opened your mouth, clearly ready to tell him off, to push him away just like you’d done from the moment you realized who he was to you. It was almost predictable at this point. But the words didn’t come. And in that silence, in that tiny moment where you faltered, he saw it—the fear. The fear you were trying so hard to hide, the fear that ran deeper than any anger or frustration you threw his way.

You were scared. Not of him. No, this wasn’t about him at all. You were scared of what he represented. Of the bond that tied you together, a bond neither of you had asked for but couldn’t deny. You were scared of letting someone in—scared of what it would mean if you did.

And Remy understood that. Hell, he understood it better than most. He’d spent most of his life running from the same thing. But now, standing here, so close to you that he could feel the heat rolling off your skin, he realized something.

He didn’t want to run anymore.

He sighed, his usual cocky bravado slipping away as he lowered his voice, speaking softly so that no one else could hear. “Look, cher,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “I ain’t sayin’ we gotta make this more than it is right now.” He paused, glancing down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “But if y’want to talk ‘bout it… I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way your heart was warring with your head. You were staring at him like he was offering you something dangerous, something you didn’t want to touch. And maybe he was. Maybe everything about him was dangerous. But this? This was as honest as he’d ever been. He wasn’t trying to charm you, wasn’t trying to push you into anything. He just wanted you to know that he was there—really there, in a way he rarely was for anyone else.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be.

You stood there, your eyes locked on his, and for a brief second, he thought you might take him up on it. That maybe, just maybe, you’d let him in. But then you blinked, the walls sliding back into place, and you shook your head just slightly, as if shaking off the moment entirely.

“Thanks,” you muttered, the word stiff and awkward on your tongue, like it physically hurt to say it. “But I’m good.”

Remy chuckled softly, though this time, there was no teasing in it. No smugness. Just understanding. He knew what it felt like to keep people at arm’s length, to convince yourself that you didn’t need anyone. And he wasn’t going to push you. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he wanted you to know that the door was open.

“Alright, cher,” he said, his voice low, carrying just the faintest hint of warmth. “But the offer’s always open.”

With that, he gave you a small nod and turned away, his boots scuffing softly against the stone floor as he walked back toward the others. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, like he was leaving something behind. But he didn’t look back. He wanted to—hell, he wanted to stay there with you, to push past the walls you’d put up. But he knew better. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And that was okay. He could wait.

He didn’t hate you for it. How could he? He understood your fear because he felt it too. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you, but he knew that wasn’t how this worked. You couldn’t force something like this. It had to be mutual.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced when he thought about you—the way his pulse quickened every time he caught your scent in the air or heard your voice. It scared the hell out of him, but it also thrilled him in a way nothing ever had before. There was something electric between you, something raw and untamed, and no matter how much you both tried to fight it, it was there.

He could only hope that one day, you’d stop fighting it too.

For now, though, he’d give you space. He’d wait. Because no matter how much you hated this—hated him—he knew the truth. He was yours. And deep down, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you were his too.

It was just a matter of time. <><><<><><><><><><>

Night had fallen—or at least, the closest approximation of night that The Void allowed. The dim, eternal twilight of this place never truly changed, but the group had settled into a rhythm regardless. People took turns keeping watch, sleeping in shifts, always on edge, never fully relaxed. This was a place where vigilance was as crucial as breathing.

You were sitting on the edge of a half-collapsed structure that passed for shelter, absently cleaning your weapons. The air here was thick with tension, the weight of too many lives twisted together by circumstance. You could feel the others moving around you—Logan muttering quietly with Laura, Wade humming some off-key pop song while sharpening his katanas. The scrape of metal on stone was oddly comforting in the silence.

And then there was Remy.

He’d been unusually quiet since the decision was made to stay, his usual smirk replaced by something more thoughtful, more restrained. You’d caught him watching you a few times, his red-on-black eyes lingering on you in that maddening, unreadable way of his. It wasn’t the cocky, playful look he usually gave people—it was something else. Something that made your heart clench uncomfortably in your chest.

He approached you now, his footsteps soft and deliberate. You didn’t look up as he stopped in front of you, but you could feel his presence like a storm on the horizon—electric, dangerous, impossible to ignore.

“Y’alright, cher?” he asked, his voice low, almost gentle.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure the answer was true. “Fine.”

Remy didn’t press, just stood there for a moment, his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets. You could feel his eyes on you again, like he was searching for something in your expression that you weren’t ready to give. You hated how easily he could read you, how he seemed to see past all the walls you’d spent years building.

“Look,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping even lower, more personal. “I’m takin’ first watch tonight.” He gestured toward the makeshift sleeping area behind him. “Y’can take my cot.”

You finally looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re giving me your bed?”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Gotta sleep somewhere, non? ‘Sides, I’ll be up all night anyway. Might as well put it to good use.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out his angle. Remy LeBeau was always playing a game, always working some angle, but this felt… different. There wasn’t that usual glint of mischief in his eyes, no smirk tugging at his lips. He seemed sincere, and that made you more uncomfortable than anything else.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice coming out a little harsher than you intended. “I don’t need your bed.”

Remy’s lips twitched, a faint shadow of his usual grin. “‘Course you don’t. But it’s there if y’want it.”

There was something disarming about the way he said it, like he wasn’t offering out of pity or obligation, but simply because he wanted to. And that unsettled you more than anything. You were used to people wanting things from you—information, strength, loyalty. But this? This felt like something else.

You glanced past him, toward the others. Logan was already stretched out on the floor, eyes closed but not fully asleep. Laura was perched nearby, her gaze sharp as ever. Wade was still humming to himself, completely absorbed in whatever bizarre internal monologue was playing out in his head. No one was watching you and Remy, but you felt exposed all the same.

“Thanks,” you muttered, the word awkward and stiff in your mouth.

Remy nodded, the movement slow and easy, like he hadn’t expected anything more. “No problem, cher.”

He turned to leave, but paused for just a moment before walking away. His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, there was something unspoken, something heavy hanging between you. It wasn’t the usual flirtation, the playful banter you’d come to expect from him. It was something deeper. More vulnerable. Like he was offering you more than just a place to sleep.

Later, long after the others had settled into some semblance of sleep, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the cot. The cot smelled faintly of him—of smoke and leather and something else, something warm and familiar. You hated how comforting it was, how it made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear or anger.

You glanced toward the entrance of the shelter where Remy was keeping watch, his silhouette barely visible in the half-light. He was leaning against the crumbling wall, his posture relaxed but alert, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.

He hadn’t asked for anything in return. He hadn’t pushed or pried or tried to make you talk about the bond that hung between you like a noose. He had simply offered what he could—his cot, his quiet presence—and it was more than you’d expected.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to push him away. <><><><><><><> The Void was a place that gnawed at you, a wasteland of perpetual twilight where time seemed to stretch and twist. The longer you stayed, the more it got under your skin—like an itch you couldn’t scratch, or a weight that pressed down on your chest, leaving you breathless. The others felt it too, you could tell. Even Logan, with all his gruff resilience, had been more irritable than usual, his temper flaring at the smallest things. Wade, for all his jokes and endless chatter, had moments where his eyes flickered with something darker, something he tried to bury under layers of sarcasm.

But it hit you differently.

At first, you didn’t want to acknowledge it. You were used to keeping your distance, to handling your own problems, pushing everything deep down where it couldn’t hurt you—or anyone else. You had your walls, and they’d served you well. The Void, though, had a way of slipping through the cracks, of amplifying every doubt, every fear you’d buried. The anxiety started creeping in, subtle at first—a knot in your stomach, an edge of paranoia that made the shadows seem too deep, the silence too loud.

And then there was Remy.

It started with something simple: sparring.

You hadn’t wanted to at first—didn’t want to get too close, didn’t want to let him in. But the Void was unpredictable, and everyone needed to stay sharp. Besides, you told yourself, it wasn’t really about him. It was about you staying strong, keeping your skills honed for when the time came to face Cassandra Nova.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Remy had suggested it with his usual casual charm, leaning against the crumbling wall with that cocky grin of his. “C’mon, cher,” he’d said, spinning one of his bo staffs between his fingers as if it weighed nothing. “A little practice never hurt nobody. Better to be ready than rusty, non?”

You’d hesitated, arms crossed over your chest, giving him a look that said don’t push me. But he didn’t push—not really. He just stood there, watching you with those damn red-on-black eyes, waiting. He had a way of making it seem like it was no big deal, like it was your decision all along. And eventually, reluctantly, you agreed.

The first session was tense. You kept your distance, both physically and emotionally, moving through the motions with precision but no real connection. Remy, to his credit, didn’t try to crowd you. He was quick, graceful, his movements smooth and effortless, but he never pressed too hard. He let you come to him on your terms, even when you were holding back.

By the third or fourth sparring session, though, something shifted.

You still tried to keep him at arm’s length, but Remy had a way of sneaking past defenses you didn’t even realize you’d built. At first, it was just in the way he moved—fluid, controlled, almost playful. He made it look easy, and you found yourself grudgingly respecting that. There was something fascinating about the way he fought, like he was dancing more than sparring, always a step ahead, always with some trick up his sleeve. It was infuriating, but also… captivating.

It started out simple enough—just sparring. Something to keep your skills sharp, to stay ready for whatever Cassandra or the Void itself might throw at you. At first, it was strictly business. You needed to stay focused, to keep your edge. Remy was just another set of hands, someone to help you maintain that discipline. Nothing more.

But Remy wasn’t the kind of person you could keep at a distance for long. He had a way of weaving his charm into every moment, slipping through the cracks of your defenses before you even realized it. And then there were the words. The banter.

Remy had a silver tongue, and he used it often, throwing out quips and teases mid-spar, his voice smooth and rich, like honeyed whiskey. That Cajun accent curled around every syllable, wrapping even the most mundane phrases in a kind of warmth you hadn’t expected. At first, you resisted it—tried to stay focused, tried to keep the interaction strictly professional. You needed to stay in control. You needed—wanted—to keep him at arm’s length.

But damn, did he make it hard.

"You’re slippin’, cher,” he’d said one day, dodging a punch with infuriating ease. He moved like smoke—fluid, untouchable, always just out of reach. His grin was lazy, teasing, like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “Might have to start callin’ you slowpoke instead of powerhouse.”

You’d glared at him, narrowing your eyes as you pulled back your fist and readied yourself for another strike. But the heat behind the glare wasn’t real, and you both knew it. “Shut up, LeBeau.”

He chuckled, low and soft, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he purred, sidestepping your next move with maddening ease. “I’ll go easy on ya.”

At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just part of the sparring, part of the game. A way to keep things light, to take the edge off the endless tension that hung over all of you like a dark cloud. The constant threat of the Void weighed heavy on everyone’s shoulders, and if Remy wanted to joke around to keep things from getting too bleak, then fine. You could deal with that.

But then he made you laugh.

It started small—a half-smirk here, a quiet huff of amusement there. But before long, you found yourself smiling more, even when you didn’t want to. Even when you were trying to stay serious, trying to keep your distance. His words had a way of slipping under your skin, taking the edge off your frustration, easing the weight of the Void pressing down on you.

One day, after narrowly dodging one of your kicks, he had the audacity to wink at you. “Gotta do better than that, cher,” he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You’re makin’ this too easy.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you lunged at him again, faster this time. “You talk too much.”

“Maybe,” he replied, easily dodging your punch and spinning behind you in one fluid motion. His voice was low and close to your ear. “But you like it, non?”

You froze for a split second, caught off guard—not by his proximity, but by how right he was. You did like it. More than you wanted to admit. More than you were supposed to.

Remy took advantage of your hesitation, sweeping your legs out from under you in one swift move. You landed on the mat with a soft thud, and before you could even catch your breath, he was crouched next to you, his grin wide and unapologetic.

“Gotta keep focused, cher,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Can’t let me distract you like that.”

You glared up at him, your pride stinging more than the fall. “I wasn’t distracted.”

“Sure you weren’t.” He winked again, offering you a hand to help you up. You hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet with ease.

It was in that moment, standing there with his hand still wrapped around yours, that you realized something had shifted. The banter, the teasing—it wasn’t just a game anymore. Not for him. Not for you.

The days passed in a blur of sparring sessions, supply runs, and restless nights in the Void. And somehow, Remy was always there—always close, always watching with that infuriatingly knowing gaze, like he could see right through you. He never pushed too hard, never pried into the things he knew you weren’t ready to share. But he was there. Always there.

And the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to keep your walls intact.

It wasn’t just the banter anymore. It was the way he looked at you—the way his eyes softened when you let your guard down, even for a moment. The way he seemed to know when you needed space and when you needed him to be close. The way he could make you forget, just for a little while, about the weight of the Void pressing down on your chest.

And then there were the moments in between the sparring, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, sitting in silence after a long day of searching for supplies. You’d sit there, side by side, watching the strange, shifting horizon of the Void, neither of you saying anything. And somehow, those were the moments that felt the most intimate. The most real.

The anxiety came in waves, subtle at first. You’d be walking through the endless twilight, your eyes scanning the horizon for supplies or landmarks, when the air would feel too thick, too heavy. Your heart would start to race for no reason, your chest tightening like there was something you couldn’t quite reach. It wasn’t long before the paranoia followed—shadows that seemed too long, sounds that didn’t belong, the feeling that someone—something—was watching you.

You tried to push it down, to ignore it. You told yourself it was just stress, just the pressure of the mission, of being stuck in this godforsaken place for too long. But it wasn’t just stress. The Void was getting to you, worming its way into your mind, twisting your thoughts, making everything feel wrong.

You hadn’t noticed how much you’d been slipping until one day, after a particularly long supply run, you found yourself standing still in the middle of a clearing, unable to move, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The shadows had started to feel like they were closing in, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if they were real or just in your head. Everything felt too close, too heavy.

Remy had noticed immediately.

He’d been walking a few paces ahead but turned when he realized you’d stopped. His eyes flicked over you, taking in your stiff posture, the way your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, the tremor you couldn’t quite hide.

"Hey,” he said, his voice soft but urgent as he stepped toward you. “Cher, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, trying to force the panic down, trying to act like you were fine. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Let’s just keep moving.”

But Remy didn’t buy it. He stepped closer, his gaze steady, his voice calm. “It’s The Void,” he said quietly. “It does this. Gets in your head. Makes you feel like everything’s closin’ in.”

You looked at him, your heart still racing, your chest still tight. “It’s not me?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you hated how vulnerable it sounded, how raw.

Remy shook his head, his eyes soft with understanding. “Non, cher. It ain’t you. This place… it messes with everyone. I’ve seen it before. Makes the strongest people doubt themselves. Makes ‘em feel like they’re losin’ control.”

His words sank into you, slowly easing some of the tension in your chest. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “How do you deal with it?”

Remy’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile. “You don’t, really. You just remind yourself it’s not real. Not you. And you stick close to the people who ground you. The ones who keep you from slippin’ too far.”

He was close now, closer than he usually got, but his presence wasn’t overwhelming. It was steady, solid. You could feel the warmth of him, the calm certainty in his voice, and for the first time in days, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you started to ease.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks.”

Remy’s smile softened, his eyes never leaving yours. “Anytime, cher.”

And in that moment, something shifted. The walls you’d built around yourself—the ones you’d spent so long reinforcing—didn’t feel quite so necessary anymore. Maybe, just maybe, there was someone here worth letting in.

Maybe Remy wasn’t just breaking down your walls.

Maybe you were letting him. It wasn’t long before the two of you were paired off for other tasks. The group had to split up often—The Void was a vast, ever-changing landscape, and supplies were scarce. Remy had started volunteering to go with you on these supply runs, offering to help navigate the twisted terrain. You’d been reluctant at first, not wanting to spend more time with him than necessary, but you couldn’t exactly refuse without drawing questions.

So you went.

The first few trips were quiet. You kept your eyes on the horizon, on the strange, shifting landscape that seemed to pulse and breathe around you, always changing, always disorienting. Remy was more subdued during these runs, his usual cocky banter replaced by a quiet focus. He didn’t push for conversation, didn’t try to pry into your thoughts. He just walked beside you, his presence steady, his eyes always scanning for danger.

But eventually, the silence between you started to feel less like a barrier and more like a space where something else could grow.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes, his gaze soft but thoughtful, like he was trying to figure you out without pushing too hard. And slowly, you found yourself opening up, if only a little. It wasn’t anything dramatic—just small moments, little cracks in the wall. A comment here, a shared look there. You still kept your distance, still tried to hold him at bay, but it was harder and harder to deny that something was shifting between you. <><><><><><><<><> The fire crackled softly between you, casting flickering shadows across the rough terrain. The heat from the flames was comforting, a rare warmth in a world that had been so unforgiving. You and Remy sat side by side, the air around you thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what was to come hanging heavy between you. Tomorrow, you would face Cassandra, and if you succeeded, you would finally have a chance to return home.

But tonight, it was just the two of you, the fire, and the quiet of the night.

Remy leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes reflecting the orange glow of the fire. He had that familiar, easy smile playing on his lips, but you knew him well enough now to see through it. There was something deeper in his expression tonight. Something he wasn’t saying.

“We really gonna do this, huh?” he asked, his voice low and casual, as if you were talking about some small, inconsequential thing rather than the life-or-death mission you were about to undertake.

You gave a small nod, your gaze fixed on the flames. “Looks like it.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I gotta admit, cher, you got more guts than I gave you credit for when we first met.”

You smirked, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Took you long enough to figure that out, Cajun.”

His laugh was a little louder this time, full of warmth, and for a moment, it felt normal. Like you weren’t sitting in the middle of a war-torn world, like you weren’t about to walk into a battle that could very well be your last. Like it was just you and Remy, sharing a quiet night by the fire.

“What are y’gonn do when ya get back?” He asked, shifting the conversation to lighter ground, even though there was nothing light about the question. “Y’know, assuming we don’t die tomorrow.” He leaned back, looking up at the sky.

You leaned back, mirroring his pose, staring up at the stars. “Honestly? I haven’t thought that far ahead. Probably sleep for a week. Maybe get a drink that doesn’t taste like dirt.”

He grinned. “Now that’s a plan.”

The banter was light, easy, but it was just a way to fill the silence, “What about you? What’s your grand plan?” You both knew there were bigger things left unsaid. As that thought sank in, the conversation started to lull, and the familiar quiet settled between you.

And then, after a long pause, Remy’s voice cut through the stillness, quieter this time.

“I ain’t goin’ back.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in as you turned to look at him. His gaze was now on the fire, his expression unreadable, but there was something resigned in the way he said it.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you already had a feeling what he was going to say.

“There’s nothin’ for me out there,” he replied, his voice soft, almost matter-of-fact. “The world you come from? That ain’t my world no more. Ain’t been for a long time.”

You stared at him, the crackling of the fire the only sound between you for a long moment. His words hit harder than you expected, the finality of them settling in your chest like a stone. And for a second, you couldn’t speak. You just let the silence stretch, trying to process what he was saying.

After a moment, you swallowed and looked back at the fire, your voice quieter than before. “You have me.”

Remy’s smile was small, sad, as if he appreciated the sentiment but knew better. He shook his head, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Cher… you got a life waitin’ for you. A real life. People who care ‘bout you. Friends. Family. I don’t got none of that.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that wasn’t true, that you cared about him, that he wasn’t alone—but he cut you off before you could speak.

“I’ve accepted that I ain’t ever leavin’ here,” he said, his voice steady, resigned. “My job is to get you home.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but you could see the truth written in his eyes. He had already made his peace with it. He didn’t see a future for himself beyond this world, beyond this fight.

And the worst part? He wasn’t saying it to be noble. He wasn’t trying to be a martyr. He genuinely believed it. He had spent so long surviving, so long fighting, that he had forgotten what it meant to live. To hope for something better.

“Remy…” Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, but he heard it. His eyes flicked to yours, and you saw a flicker of something there—something vulnerable, something that told you he wasn’t as sure as he pretended to be.

“I’m serious, cher,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You’re gonna get through that portal tomorrow. And when you do, you’re gonna go home. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “And what about you? What happens to you?”

He smiled again, that sad, resigned smile that made your heart ache. “I’ll be right where I belong.”

The silence stretched between you once more, heavy and painful. You wanted to argue, to tell him that he belonged with you, that this damn world didn’t have to be the end for him. But the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because deep down, you knew he had already made up his mind.

But that didn’t stop the knot in your chest from tightening, didn’t stop the pain from settling deep in your bones. You didn’t want to leave him behind. You didn’t want to lose him. Because somewhere along the way, in the middle of all the chaos and the fighting, he had become more than just a teammate. More than just a partner in this war.

He had become a part of you.

You stared at the fire, your heart heavy, and for a moment, you just sat in that silence, letting it wash over you. There were no easy answers. No promises that could be made. But there was one thing you knew for certain.

“I don’t want to go home without you,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a question. It was just the simple, painful truth.

Remy didn’t say anything for a long time. His gaze softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, as if he was trying to ease the ache in your chest. “You’ll be alright, cher. You stronger than you know.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. But you nodded, because what else could you do? You couldn’t change his mind. Not now. Not after everything.

The fire crackled softly between you, and for the rest of the night, you sat together in silence, knowing that tomorrow would change everything. <><><><><><><> The car rattled over the uneven road, the worn leather beneath you creaking with every bump. You shifted in your seat, trying to find some semblance of comfort between Remy and Blade, but there was none to be found. The desert stretched endlessly outside the window, the heat of the sun beating down on the roof of the car, casting sharp shadows that flickered across the flat, barren landscape. You could feel the tension in the air like a living thing, thick and oppressive, weighing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t the kind of quiet you could sink into and find some relief. No, this was the kind of silence that felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment. Everyone was on edge. Laura’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead, while Blade sat rigid beside you, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword every few minutes as if he was expecting an attack. Logan, crammed into the trunk, hadn’t said a word since you’d started driving, though you could practically feel his irritation simmering from behind you.

And then there was Remy.

Ever the charmer, he’d tried to break the tension earlier. That Cajun drawl of his had slipped through the thick air, lazy and teasing as he cracked some half-assed joke about how, if the car got any more crowded, you might as well sit on his lap. He’d said it like it was nothing, like it was just another one of his flirty quips, but you weren’t in the mood. Not today. One sharp glare from you had shut him up for the rest of the ride.

Good. You didn’t have the patience for his bullshit right now.

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, trying to shut down the endless churn of thoughts swirling in your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about what was coming. The portal. Cassandra’s lair. The end of this whole disaster, one way or another. You weren’t naive—you knew the odds. Chances were, none of you would make it out of this alive. Maybe Logan and Wade would, with their damn healing factors, but the rest of you? You weren’t optimistic. And honestly? You didn’t care. Whether you walked through that portal or died trying, it didn’t matter. Either way, you wouldn’t be dealing with this soulmate bullshit for much longer.

Wade had dragged you into this mess, and you’d never forgive him for it. You’d liked your life before all this—a life that made sense, a life that was simple. You’d spent your time knocking heads together, punching bad guys, getting a drink afterward. That was your zone. That was where you were comfortable. But this? Traveling through time and universes, being tossed around by multiverse drama like some kind of cosmic joke? This was so far out of your pay grade it was laughable.

And yet, somehow, over these long days in the Void, you hadn’t been able to keep your distance. Not from him.

It had started small, as these things always do. Late nights when the others were asleep or pretending to be. You weren’t sure how it happened, but you and Remy had fallen into a routine—quiet conversations under the endless twilight sky, his voice low and easy, drawing you in even when you tried to keep him at arm’s length.

He was always like that. Persistent. Charming in a way that made it impossible to shut him out completely, no matter how hard you tried. At first, you’d kept your guard up, throwing barbed words his way every time he tried to get close, but Remy had this way of slipping through cracks you didn’t even know were there. He never pushed too hard, never asked for more than you were willing to give. He was just… there. And slowly, without you realizing it, he’d started to slip past your defenses.

The first few nights, you hadn’t said much—just sat in silence, the two of you side by side, staring out at the endless horizon of the Void. But Remy had a way of filling the silence, not with words, but with his presence. He made you feel like you didn’t have to talk, like it was okay to just exist for a while, even in this hellish place. And then, after a few nights of that, the words started to come.

He talked about New Orleans, about the life he’d left behind. You learned about the Thieves’ Guild, about the complicated ties that still pulled at him even though he’d been trying to let go for years. He told you about Rogue, about how she’d been the one thing he thought he could never have, and how, in the end, that was exactly what happened. He lost her, and it wasn’t just her he’d lost—it was everything. His home, his purpose.

And now, sitting in the backseat of this cramped car, the weight of what was coming pressing down on your shoulders, you couldn’t stop thinking about that night. About the way Remy had looked at you, like he’d finally seen through all the layers of armor you used to keep everyone at a distance.

You stole a glance at him now, sitting beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His profile was calm, collected, but you knew him well enough by now to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers fidgeted with the cards he always seemed to have on hand. He hadn’t said a word since you’d shut him down earlier, but you could feel him there, the steady presence you hadn’t realized you’d come to rely on.

It wasn’t much, what you’d offered him that night. Just a few words. But for someone like you, it was everything. You didn’t let people in easily. Hell, you didn’t let people in *at all.* But somehow, over the course of these long days in the Void, Remy had managed to break through. He’d wormed his way past your defenses with his charm, his banter, and his quiet understanding, until you’d found yourself trusting him in a way you hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time.

“You alright, cher?”

His voice broke through your thoughts, soft but steady, and you realized he’d been watching you. You blinked, pushing down the knot of anxiety that had been building in your chest.

“Yeah,” you lied, your voice rougher than you’d intended.

Remy didn’t push. He just nodded, lifting an eyebrow like he could see right through you, but he didn’t call you out. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his arm brushing against yours in the cramped space.

“You got me, too,” he said quietly, so low you almost didn’t catch it over the hum of the engine.

And just like that, the tension in your chest eased, if only slightly. The Void was still there, still pressing in on all sides, but in that moment, with Remy beside you, it didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

No matter what happened when you reached Cassandra’s lair, no matter what the Void threw at you next, you weren’t alone. You had him.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

The car came to a violent, screeching halt, Laura slamming down hard on the brakes as the tires kicked up a cloud of dust around the familiar, crumbling building that housed Cassandra’s lair. The sudden stop jolted you forward, and you nearly collided with the seat in front of you if not for the quick reflexes of Blade, whose arm shot out to stop your momentum. You grumbled a quick thanks, brushing it off, and reached for the large gun that had been resting in your lap. One of the few perks of this whole shitshow—you didn’t often get to play with the big guns, and if nothing else, it felt like a small consolation.

As everyone climbed out of the car, you handed the weapon off to Blade, who took it without a word, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. The man was a walking tank, and right now, you were glad for it. He gave you a quick nod before positioning himself in front of the building’s reinforced doors, aiming the launcher with ease.

The explosion rocked the world around you, the blast of heat and debris tearing through the air as the doors caved inward. Smoke and dust billowed out from the entrance, and you took a deep breath, letting the acrid scent fill your lungs. This was it. Showtime.

As the rest of the group began to prep for the inevitable fight ahead, you checked your own weapons, making sure everything was in place. Your heart was pounding, but it wasn’t fear. It was focus. You weren’t afraid of the fight; you were afraid of what came after. Of what this would mean for all of you—if any of you survived.

Just as you were about to rejoin the others, a hand grabbed your arm, firm and unyielding. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The grip, the warmth, the silent insistence—it was Remy, and the moment you felt his touch, your chest tightened with a mix of irritation and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Now’s really not the time, LeBeau,” you snapped, trying to pull your arm free, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you in place. His usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced with a seriousness you weren’t used to seeing from him.

“We gotta talk,” he said, his voice low but calm, though there was an edge to it. Something urgent.

You glared at him, shooting him a look you hoped would make him back off. “About what? How you’re a pain in my ass?”

He didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he stepped closer, his other hand reaching into his coat pocket. “Non, cher. ‘Bout what’s happenin’ between us.” His eyes flicked around, making sure none of the others were paying attention. “Whether y’want it or not, somethin’s goin’ on here. You feel it. I feel it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to dismiss him, to tell him to shove his soulmate nonsense where the sun didn’t shine, but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth was, he was right. You did feel it. You’d been feeling it from the moment you locked eyes with him in the Void. Some undeniable tug, some irritating pull that made your skin crawl and your heart race all at the same time.

Soulmates. The very idea made you want to scream. You were a loner by nature. You didn’t need anyone, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be tied to someone—especially someone like Remy LeBeau. Smooth-talking, arrogant, dangerous. Everything about him screamed trouble, and you’d spent your whole life avoiding that kind of attachment.

“Look,” Remy said, pulling something from his pocket and pressing it into your hand. “I ain’t makin’ it outta here, cher. You know it. I know it.”

You looked down at the object in your hand—a small, intricately carved token, old and worn by time. It was warm to the touch, like it had been held close for longer than you could imagine. You frowned, confused. “What’s this?”

“Somethin’ t’remember me by,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual cocky edge. His gaze was intense, serious, like he was laying everything out on the line. “When this is all over.”

You wanted to laugh, to shove the token back at him and tell him to stop with the dramatic bullshit. But the weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. He wasn’t joking. He really thought he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. And for some reason, that thought twisted something deep inside you.

You clenched your fist around the token, your throat tightening with something you didn’t want to name. “Don’t be so dramatic,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’ll be fine.”

Remy just smiled, but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin. There was something softer behind it, something sad. “Maybe,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your arm before he pulled away. “But just in case… y’keep that.”

You stared at him, your mind racing, unsure of what the hell to say. Part of you wanted to shove the token back at him, to tell him to stop acting like this was some kind of final goodbye. But another part of you, the part you tried to keep buried deep, wanted to hold onto it. Just in case.

Remy sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, all traces of humor gone. “Look, cher,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, “I’ll watch your back if y’watch mine. That’s all I’m askin’.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. As much as you hated to admit it, you needed him. You needed someone in this hellhole. And he needed you. Whatever this thing was between you, it wasn’t something you could ignore anymore. Not now. Not ever.

“Fine,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. “But don’t expect me to get all sentimental if you die.”

Remy chuckled softly, the sound low and rough, but there was warmth in it. A familiar warmth that you’d come to rely on, even if you didn’t want to admit it. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cher,” he said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

You rolled your eyes, shoving past him as you headed back toward the others, ready for the fight ahead. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that token in your hand, the smooth surface of it pressing into your palm. It was a constant reminder that, for better or worse, Remy LeBeau had gotten under your skin.

And no matter how much you hated it—no matter how hard you tried to keep him at arm’s length—you couldn’t escape the fact that you didn’t want him to die. You didn’t want to lose him. Not here. Not like this.

The fight was coming, and you weren’t sure who would make it out alive. But one thing was certain: whatever happened, Remy had become more than just a distraction. He had become something you couldn’t shake, something you couldn’t ignore.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you wanted to. The battlefield stretched out before you, a wasteland of cracked earth and swirling dust, the wind kicking up debris that stung your skin and lodged in your lungs. Across from you, Cassandra’s army of mutants stood like a wall of bodies, their faces twisted with grim determination. Behind them, shimmering like an impossible dream, was the portal—the gateway home. The one thing standing between you and whatever life you had left outside of this nightmare.

You clenched your fists, feeling the tension coil in your shoulders, the weight of the impending fight pressing down on you. You’d been in battles before—plenty of them—but this was different. This wasn’t just a fight for survival. This was the final battle. The endgame. One way or another, everything would be decided today.

The wind howled around you, carrying with it the scent of blood and dust. To your left, Wade stood unnaturally still, his usual frenetic energy dialed back to something cold and sharp. Even Deadpool knew when shit was about to get real. To your right was Remy, and of course, he wasn’t silent.  He was never silent.

“You know how long I been waitin’ for this?” Remy’s voice was a low rumble beside you, thick with that familiar Cajun accent that always seemed to carry a hint of mischief, even in the worst situations. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look at him. Not yet. You weren’t sure if you could, not without wanting to slug that damn smirk off his face.

He was rolling one of his cards between his fingers, the soft glow of kinetic energy pulsing through it in rhythm with your own heartbeat. “Whoo, I’m ‘boutta make a name for myself here,” he added, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.

You hated how calm he was. You hated how you weren’t. This wasn’t a bar fight or some turf war with a few low-level thugs. This was war. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the way home—if there even was one—stood just beyond a wall of enemies you weren’t sure you could break through.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if any of you would survive this.

You finally glanced at him, casting a sidelong look at the man who somehow always seemed unfazed, even when the world was on fire around him. His smirk was still there, infuriatingly casual, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and thrill for the fight ahead.

“You’re about to make a name for yourself?” you muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice, but failing. “Pretty sure ‘Gambit dies in a blaze of glory’ isn’t the legacy you’re looking for.”

Remy chuckled, low and smooth, flicking the card in his hand, watching it glow brighter before letting the energy fizzle out. “Oh, non, cher,” he said softly, not looking at you. “Gambit don’t go down that easy. Not today.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your chest tighten. On the surface, he was still the same cocky, infuriating man you’d been dealing with since this whole nightmare started. But underneath that confidence was something darker, something colder. He wasn’t telling you the whole truth. You knew it, and he knew you knew it.

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop acting like this was just another job, another day. But before you could say anything, Logan’s gravelly voice cut through the tension, as blunt and unflinching as ever.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, like he was talking about the weather. There was no sugarcoating in his words. There never was with Logan. You all knew what this was. Either you fought and won, or you died trying. There was no in-between.

And then there was Remy, standing beside you, so damn calm, so damn sure of himself. His confidence should have been reassuring, but instead, it just pissed you off. Because deep down, you knew. He wasn’t planning on walking out of this.

You stole another glance at him, trying to read the expression on his face. He was still smirking, still playing the part of the charming rogue, but there was something behind his eyes—something resigned. He knew he wasn’t making it out of here. He had accepted it. And that realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

All this time, you’d been so focused on surviving, on getting home, that you hadn’t stopped to think about what it meant for him. Remy didn’t have a life waiting for him outside of this. He didn’t have friends or family wondering where he was. He didn’t have anyone. Not anymore. The Void had taken everything from him—his home, his purpose, his future. And now, he was willing to give up the only thing he had left: his life.

But you? You still had something worth fighting for. You still had people waiting for you, a life waiting for you. And Remy… Remy was going to make sure you got back to it. Even if it meant he wouldn’t.

“You just make sure people remember what happened here today,” Remy said, his voice quieter now, more serious. “When you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

When.  Not if. You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “You’re not dying here, Remy,” you said, your voice more forceful than you meant it to be. “You’re not pulling some heroic bullshit.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to you, and for the first time in as long as you could remember, there was no smirk, no bravado. Just Remy. His eyes were dark, serious, and there was something in his gaze that made your heart twist painfully.

“Y’got a whole life waitin’ for you on the other side of that portal,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with a kind of finality that made your blood run cold. “Friends. Family. People who need you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off before you could get a word out.

“Me? I got nothin’, cher,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “Ain’t nothin’ left for me out there. But you… you got everythin’. And I’m gonna make sure you get back to it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the quiet determination—it shattered something inside you. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he did have something left, that he had you, but the words caught in your throat. Because you knew, deep down, that he had already made up his mind.

Remy had accepted that this was the end for him. But his goal, his only goal, was to make sure you made it home. To make sure you survived. Because he believed in you. He believed in your future, even if he didn’t believe in his own.

You clenched your fists, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over, trying to keep your voice steady. “You don’t get to make that decision for me,” you said, your tone sharp, though it was more to keep yourself from breaking than anything else.

Remy smiled then, but it was a sad smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ain’t no decision to make, cher. I’m just doin’ what I have to.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavier than the air, heavier than the battlefield stretched out before you. He wasn’t trying to be a hero. He wasn’t asking for praise or recognition. He was just doing what he thought was right. And that scared the hell out of you.

“Remy—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off again.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Just promise me you’ll get home. That’s all I want.”

You stared at him, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop talking like this was the end, to tell him that you wouldn’t leave him behind. But you couldn’t. Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you had a choice.

The wind howled around you, and the sounds of battle began to rise in the distance, but for a moment, it was like everything had fallen away. Just you and Remy, standing on the edge of the fight, staring down the impossible.

You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fine. But you better not make me drink alone.”

Remy chuckled softly, and for a brief moment, the old smirk returned. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cher.”

And then, without another word, he turned toward the battlefield, his cards flickering to life in his hands, the kinetic energy crackling through the air. The fight was coming, and you both knew what had to be done.

But as you stared at his back, that small, carved token still clenched in your hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing something far more important than a battle.

You were losing him.

And you weren’t sure you could live with that.

You felt Remy’s hand brush against yours, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he pulled away. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but in that brief contact, something shifted inside you. It grounded you, anchored you to the present, reminding you that despite everything—despite the chaos, the fear, the uncertainty—you weren’t alone in this. Not entirely.

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. Something was happening between you. Something that terrified you as much as it pulled you in. It was that unspoken connection, the kind that lingered just beneath the surface, simmering between stolen glances and moments like this.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You couldn’t afford to think about whatever this was, not with a battlefield stretched out before you and an army of enemies charging forward. Now was the time to fight. To survive.

“I’ll watch your back,” you muttered, your voice low, almost lost to the rumble of the earth beneath your feet. You cast him a quick glance out of the corner of your eye, the words feeling like a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. “But don’t expect me to hold your hand.”

Remy chuckled softly, but this time there was a warmth to it, something softer, something almost grateful. That smirk was still there, but it was tempered by something more genuine.

Your grip tightened around your weapon, knuckles white as adrenaline surged through your veins. The fear was there too, of course. It always was, lurking in the back of your mind. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t paralyzing. It was… clarifying. You were scared, but there was a strange sense of focus that came with it, a razor-sharp awareness of what you had to do. You were going to fight like hell. You were going to give every last piece of yourself to this battle, because that was the only way any of you were getting out alive.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d make it out after all.

But if you didn’t?

At least you wouldn’t be going down alone.

You stole a glance at Remy again, this time allowing yourself to really look at him. His eyes were fixed ahead, scanning the battlefield, but there was a calmness to him that you envied. He seemed perfectly at ease, even with the odds stacked against you. That cocky grin, the one that usually grated on your nerves, was still there, but now it felt like a lifeline. As if his confidence could somehow carry you both through this.

You didn’t know how he did it—how he managed to stay so calm when everything was on the line. Maybe it was just who he was, or maybe it was because he had already accepted something you were still struggling to grasp.

He didn’t expect to make it out of here.

You could see it in the way he moved, in the way he spoke. He wasn’t fighting to survive. He was fighting for you. To make sure you got out. He had nothing left outside of this, no life to return to once the Void spat you all back into whatever reality waited on the other side. But you? You had a whole world waiting for you. Friends. Family. People who would miss you if you didn’t make it back.

And Remy—damn him—he was preparing to make sure you did, even if it cost him his life.

The thought twisted something inside you, a knot forming in your chest that tightened with every passing second. You didn’t want him to sacrifice himself. You didn’t want to lose him, not after everything you’d been through together. But you could see it in his eyes, in the way his fingers flexed around the cards he held, the way the energy crackled faintly at his fingertips. He had already made his peace with it. He was ready to die here, if that’s what it took.

And you hated him for it.

But you also couldn’t help but feel something else—something raw, something deep that you didn’t have the time or the courage to name. It was fear, yes, but not for yourself. It was the thought of losing him that terrified you more than the thought of your own death. Because for all the walls you’d tried to build around yourself, for all the distance you’d tried to keep, Remy had found a way in. He had gotten under your skin, and now the idea of a world without him in it was suddenly unbearable.

You clenched your jaw, steeling yourself against the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. Now wasn’t the time for this. Now was the time to fight.

The roar of Cassandra’s forces grew louder, and you could see them now—mutants of all shapes and sizes, some familiar, others grotesque and twisted by whatever dark experiments she had been running in her lair. They moved like a single entity, a wave of destruction hurtling toward you, and the ground shook with the force of their charge.

“Here they come,” Logan growled, his claws extending with a metallic snikt as he moved into a crouch, ready to tear into whatever came his way.

Wade, his usual chatter silenced for once, cracked his neck and flexed his fingers, twin katanas gleaming in the dim light. Even Deadpool, the king of chaos, seemed focused, his usual madness replaced with a deadly precision.

You took a deep breath, your weapon steady in your hands. This was it. The final stand. You weren’t sure if you were ready, but it didn’t matter. The fight was here, and there was no turning back.

Remy shifted beside you, his voice low as he spoke, barely audible over the approaching onslaught. “Whatever happens, cher, y’keep movin’. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you weren’t leaving him behind. But the words caught in your throat, because deep down, you knew what he meant. You knew what he was asking you to do.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you muttered, your voice rough with emotion you couldn’t suppress. “I’m not dragging your ass out of here if you get yourself killed.”

He smiled, that damn smile that you had come to rely on more than you wanted to admit. “Wouldn’t ask you to do no such thing.”

The mutants were close now, their snarls and battle cries filling the air as they surged forward. You tightened your grip on your weapon, every muscle in your body tensing in preparation for the fight of your life.

<><><><><><> The battle raged around you, wild and chaotic, but somehow, in the eye of the storm, you and Remy moved like you’d been doing this for years. It didn’t make sense. You’d only met him days ago, thrown into this insane mission with no time to adjust, no time to learn each other’s rhythms. And yet, here you were—fighting side by side like you’d been doing it your whole lives.

There was no hesitation. No second-guessing. Every move you made seemed to align perfectly with his. When he swung his bo staff in a wide arc, you were already ducking beneath it, taking out the legs of a mutant charging toward him. When you threw a punch, he was right there, using the momentum of your attack to spin and deliver a charged card toward another group of enemies. It was an unspoken understanding, an instinct, like your bodies just knew how to work together.

You didn’t need to talk. There was no time for words anyway. But you didn’t need them. Every glance, every shift in stance, communicated everything you needed to know. When Remy saw an opening, you were already moving to cover it. When you took down an enemy, he was already preparing for the next. It was like your instincts were perfectly tuned to complement each other, like two sides of the same coin.

A massive mutant lunged at you, and before you could react, Remy was there. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent a charged card flying straight at the attacker’s chest. The explosion knocked the mutant back, and without missing a beat, you stepped forward, grabbing another by the throat and slamming him into the ground with your enhanced strength. The impact shook the ground beneath you, and Remy flashed you a quick grin.

The battle wore on, the two of you cutting through Cassandra’s forces as if you were made for this. But then, you started to feel it—fatigue. It was creeping in, despite your strength, despite the adrenaline. And you could see it in Remy too, the way his movements were just a fraction slower, the way his breathing had started to quicken.

Remy noticed it too. He glanced at you, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield, then darted toward you, grabbing your arm. “It’s time to go,” he said, his voice urgent but steady. He nodded toward the steps leading up to Cassandra’s lair, where Logan and Wade were waiting, keeping the path clear. “You get up those damn steps, cher. Now.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. “What about you?”

“I’ll hold ‘em off,” he said, already turning back toward the approaching mutants. His fingers twitched, and a handful of charged cards appeared between them, glowing with purple energy. “Just get home.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that you weren’t leaving but you couldn’t. Hey,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “I got you covered, cher. You just get yourself home.” He gave you a small, reassuring smile, but there was something heavy behind it—something that made your chest tighten. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll take care of this.” Your heart clenched in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. He was telling you to leave—telling you to go without him. But every instinct in your body was screaming at you to stay. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to walk away and leave him to fight alone. The thought of it made your stomach twist, a cold dread settling in your bones.

No.

Not after everything. Not after the way things had shifted between you over the last few days, the way this connection had formed—slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, but now so strong that it was impossible to ignore. You couldn’t leave him. Not like this.

“No,” you started, shaking your head, your voice barely audible over the sounds of battle. “I’m not leaving you behind, Remy. We can—”

“Non,” he cut you off, his hand tightening slightly on your arm, grounding you. His voice was gentle, but firm. “You have to go. The portal’s waitin’. You stay here, and none of us make it out, cher. I’ll hold ‘em off. You just make sure you get through dat portal. Get yourself home.”

His words were like a knife twisting in your gut. Every fiber of your being wanted to stay with him, to fight beside him until the end. But you knew, deep down, that he was right. If you didn’t go now, you wouldn’t get another chance. And this whole mission—everything you’d fought for—would be for nothing. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

Your body was screaming at you to stay, to be with him. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind racing with every possible reason to fight by his side just a little longer. But your feet felt like they were stuck in place, frozen in that horrible moment of indecision. You didn’t want to leave him. You couldn’t leave him.

It hadn’t started like this. It hadn’t started with this painful, gut-wrenching pull to stay by his side at all costs. When you first met him, all you’d seen was the cocky grin, the casual swagger of someone who didn’t take anything seriously. He had been infuriating, reckless, too damn sure of himself for someone thrown into a life-or-death situation. You had tried to keep your distance, tried to focus on the mission, on survival. But Remy had a way of getting under your skin, of making it hard to ignore him, no matter how hard you tried.

You couldn’t pinpoint when the feelings had started to change, when the walls you’d built between the two of you had started to crumble. Maybe it was the night you’d both nearly been taken down by Cassandra’s forces, huddled behind the wreckage of a vehicle, breathing hard and bleeding, but laughing anyway because for a moment, against all odds, you were still alive. Maybe it was the way he’d reached out to steady you, his hand warm and solid against your skin, his eyes holding yours just a second longer than necessary.

Or maybe it was something deeper, something that had been building all along. A connection that went beyond words, beyond glances, beyond the battlefield. Something neither of you had asked for, but that had grown between you anyway, slow and steady, until you couldn’t deny it any longer.

But now, in this moment, that connection felt like it was being torn apart.

Before you could say anything else, Logan’s gruff voice cut through the chaos, sharp and urgent. “It’s now or never!” he shouted from the steps leading up to Cassandra’s lair. “We gotta go, now!” His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the urgency in them. He wasn’t asking. He was telling you—if you didn’t leave now, you’d never make it home.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, torn between the need to survive and the desperate pull to stay with Remy. You hesitated, watching him for a moment longer, your eyes searching his face for something—anything—that would make this easier. But there was no easy answer. There never was.

Remy met your gaze, his eyes softening for just a second, and in that moment, something passed between you. An understanding. He gave you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that this was it—this was the last time the two of you would see each other. And even if neither of you said it out loud, you both knew what it meant.

It felt like your heart was being torn in two, but there was no time left. You had to go. You had to make it through that portal. And he? He was making sure you had the chance to do it.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Remy said, his voice calm, but there was something in his tone that told you he didn’t believe it. He was saying it for your sake, to make the choice easier. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, cher. Just get home.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, every part of you wanting to argue, to stay, to fight beside him. But you nodded, knowing you didn’t have a choice. Logan was right. It was now or never.

Reluctantly, you turned and started toward the steps, where Wade and Logan were waiting. The sounds of battle faded behind you, but your mind was still with Remy, your heart aching with every step you took away from him.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you couldn’t help yourself. You turned back, just for a second, just to see him one last time.

There he was, standing in the middle of the battlefield, his bo staff spinning, his charged cards lighting up the sky with their brilliant purple glow. He fought with the same reckless confidence, the same fluid grace that had drawn you to him in the first place. But now, there was something more—something final in the way he moved. He wasn’t fighting to survive anymore. He was fighting to give you the chance to make it out.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest as you watched him, your body screaming at you to run back to him, to stay with him. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t.

And then, just before you turned away, he looked up, meeting your eyes across the battlefield. For a moment, everything else faded—the sounds of battle, the weight of the mission, the urgency of your escape. It was just you and him. One last look. One last connection.

He gave you that damn cocky grin, the one that always seemed to say he had everything under control, even when you knew he didn’t. And then he nodded, a silent promise, a final goodbye.

Wade grabbed your arm, pulling you toward the portal, his voice distant in your ears. “Come on. It’s time.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned away from Remy, your heart heavy. You reached the top of the stairs, prepared to face Cassandra. The last battle to fight before you got to go home.

And that was the last time you saw him.

At least… until now.

[darius-1]

Elektra vs Goblin!

I have this idea: Green Goblin, being weaker than the one we know, is more street level and not riding a glider. So, therefore I put him on Elektra’s level. Or Elektra is Spider-Woman in this universe and so she is street level like Spider-Man with her newfound strength rivals that of the Goblin’s. Either way, both characters can now battle each other on equal footing.

Posted these in the past on DeviantArt, so I'm posting here in celebration of Jennifer Garner's birthday.

[hopealumi]

Summary:

Fate brings Spike, a mechanic stuck in the past, and Julia back together when he needs to check his almost empty bank account after fixing a special car for several years. Faye takes the chance that her friend Julia is connected with Spike who works with Elektra, a grumpy butch mechanic she's been trying to woo for a while. (Disclaimer that this is a mess)

Cowboy Bebop, Spike x Julia and Faye x Elektra (as a side ship mostly).

Alternate Universe. Modern setting. Spike is a mechanic and Julia is a banker.

Word count: 10,487.

Complete.

(Sorry I don't have the energy to transcribe the screenshot. This is the gist of it.)

My main blog is @homiro.

[ellieswr1d]

elodie yung

[akariamai]

Forgiveness

Part 1, Part 3

Pairing: Ex!Matt Murdock x Writer!reader

Word Count: 1627

As the poor college student you once were, whose heart was crushed in one of the worst ways possible, you’d had no clue what was awaiting ahead to surprise you. The dream which seemed unreachable at the time. There was a bright future shining over you. The book you wrote a few years after you graduated from Columbia University slowly gained attraction. Suddenly your life has become a whirlwind of good news. You were rising to become a well-known author. Your books began appearing on the shelves of your favorite book stores. Your childhood dream was gradually becoming a reality. You were ecstatic, truly.

You were currently planning a new mystery thriller series in your condo. A giant cork board covering your wall as each piece of the mystery hangs. The cork board contained the entire timeline of your mystery. Red string showcases how they all connect. At first glance, many would’ve chalked it up as a mess. To you, it was your ongoing masterpiece. Notebooks and lone sticky notes covered your work space. A cup of steaming hot coffee was held close to your lips as you looked at the chaos you’ve established. It was your chaos and you treasured it.

Your show of appreciation was disrupted when your phone rang. You very rarely kept the sound on. Writing was hard enough without distractions and while your multitasking had gotten better, it was not that advanced where you could listen to the television while working on the backbones of your series and having your phone on standby. Your friends understood and rarely messaged you with the occasional meme or invitation to go out which you greatly appreciated. They were the best and you loved them dearly.

You walked toward your charging phone, checking the name before answering, “Hello beautiful.” You already knew the reason for this call. It was a reminder to get ready to go out. “I just want to let you know I did not work today.” Lie. “But I did admire my work with a cup of coffee.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Their voice echoed a scanty teasing tone. It supported the mental image, that you created in your mind, of them tilting their head before placing their pointing finger on the lower side of their check. Unintentionally, you were called out on your bullshit. “Maybe because you're a workaholic and refuse to rest your mind and soul.”

You rubbed your forehead gingerly before rushing to grab suitable clothing, “There’s nothing wrong with getting ahead of work. My deadline might seem long but you never know when that pesky writer’s block comes to bite me in the ass.”

They laughed as you searched through your closest. “One night won’t make a difference.”

“How would you know? I could have a revelation at the bar with no paper or pen and forget about when I get home. A true tragedy for my fans.” You were being dramatic and for good reason. It was simply fun to annoy friends. They loved you no matter how annoying you can be and the good ones stick till the end. “Taking advantage of this abnormal desire to write seems to be a hell of a way to spend my night.”

“Which you have last night and the night before that and the night before that. I don’t want you to burn out and feel uninspired. I know how you get when you're pressed for time.” It was not pretty. You basically have a complete and utter meltdown. Scurrying to finish to reach the deadline while also not disappointing your fans or doing such a disservice to your characters.

As you could not win in this playful argument, you relented. “See you there.”

~~~

The glass bottle clanked when they were slightly tapped against one another and you and your friend cheered for good fortune. The place your friend had chosen was, to the untrained mind, a dump but places like these were the best. The tap water however cannot be trusted. While it looked ghastly, it kept so many memories within its walls. A secret only the building will know when everyone ceases to exist and more memories continue to be harbored. Tonight you will be one of those secrets. Another body the bar sheltered and one that will soon leave when the night is replaced by day. 

You didn’t notice them. Two old faces sitting in the same bar astonished you were so close yet in an entirely different universe. One watching with fond eyes, the other unable to do the same. One was ecstatic to see you once again, grown into the person you were meant to be, and the other, filled with guilt for how things ended. There was another with them, an unfamiliar face, and witnessing the jolting glances they sent to you.

“[Reader].” One whispered so lowly the others didn’t hear. The sound of your heart beat once again gracing his ears. He missed you. Once the tinted frames of Elektra were smashed away, he realized the devastating aftermath left in her wake. The relationship that was once wondrous and blissful was gone. Ruined and tarnished by his inability to not decimate his own happiness.

There was always one thing he wanted to say, after he freed himself from his own blindness, if he was ever granted the chance, was to apologize. His mishandling of the situation caused you so much unnecessary harm and there was only him to blame. He fell for Elektra charm and her assertions of being cut from the same cloth. Still there was no excuse for what he did.

“I’ll be right back.” He assured Foggy, who knew of his intentions, and Karen, who remained confused. Foggy remembered those late night talks after the whole Elektra situation detonated. Matt mourned the loss of a healthy relationship and shame remained to haunt him. If Foggy was being honest, he missed you. He loved to hang out with you and Matt despite the lovey-dovey gestures you’d paraded around him. It felt like a glimpse of what real love was.

Matt reached your table before asking, “[Reader]?” You had never known of his powers and yet always treated him like an able-bodied person. With the occasional but completely harmless quips surrounding his blindness. After all these years, he wondered of all the moments you would’ve shared together had he not doomed your love. He wondered if you laid awake flustered at the thought of his lips.

“Matt?” He looked different yet the same. The years have gone easy on him since the last time you’d spoken. He matured like fine wine. “What are you doing here?” Not in the bar. You wanted to add. Here by me.

He straightened his posture, “I wanted to speak with you.” And apologize. “Alone if that’s alright with you.” The conversation he hoped to have should not be for anyone other than yourself. At least for this specific moment. He knew friends (Foggy) would want an update.

Your friend gave you a look before you assured them that you would be fine. They walked away, too far to listen but not so much they’d lose sight of you. Matt took over the now empty seat and the two of you sat in silence. The agonizing tension striking the two of you like a club or, in this case, a cane.

“What did you want to talk about?” The relationship you once had was short-lived but memorable. Your first taste of what love should’ve been until it was spiked with poison. You had plenty of time to reflect upon your brief passion towards one another but you were still left with questions. Maybe they can finally be answered.

“I was - I’m sorry.” His head faced the stained table as if he was ashamed of himself and granted he should be. “I know we didn’t end off on the right foot and it was my fault. I should’ve handled it better but my naive younger self was thoughtless of the pain and anguish I’d caused you. There are no words to describe how embarrassed and ashamed I am for not apologizing sooner.”

There it was. The apology you’ve been missing for years and now you had it. Apologies are never enough, however, it is merely words seeking for an ounce of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a fickle matter to you. It is, in your mind, unnecessary when burying the hatchet of the past. Forgiveness is not for you but the person who hurt you. Moving on does not require forgiveness. Moving on, in its true form, is reflecting on what was done and finding a semblance of peace. 

You found yourself only able to mutter a simple thank you and the tension heightened. There was nothing more to say. Nothing that truly mattered in this moment. “I’d like to make it up to you.” He offered, “A redo of sorts. We can go to that diner we've loved.”

The thought almost made you laugh. A redo. At the place where it all began and ended. Moving on was one thing but the memories will always linger. The pain never truly vanishes. It merely blooms in a different form.

Shaking your head, “No.” The word spilled out of your lips with such sternness. Matt tensed when they reached his ears. “I don’t think so. While I do appreciate your apology, I’d rather not exhume what once was. Our love, no matter how short, is and will forever always remain six feet under.” You couldn’t fathom his train of thought. How ridiculously seeming it was. “I’d rather leave the past where it belongs and I suggest you do the same. Do, however, say hi to Foggy. I have missed him.”

Masterlist