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pastafossa · 14 days

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

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This couldn’t be you.

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

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

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

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or had you been the one wearing them?

Maybe…?

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

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon.

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

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

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

What you didn’t know was…

Why?

Why here?

Why these people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt was alone.

You’d left him alone.

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

So… why did you feel so very sick?

Sympathy.

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

Protect yourself.

Protect what you might one day have.

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

You were wearing one of his shirts.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Matt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you climbed inside a thread?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you saw was heartbreaking.

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

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

“Jesus,” you whispered.

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

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Emotion. It’s emotion.

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

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

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

The stones.

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

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

Still nothing.

And something inside you… cracked.

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

You’d been loved.

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world.

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with a blink—

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

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

“It’s me. I’m here.”

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

And your weakened heart… skipped.

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

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

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

And you… smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called.

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

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

You knew.

You… remembered.

“Always,” he’d said.

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

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

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt.

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

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

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

“...Remember that. if nothing else.”

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

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

Silence.

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

Red threads never lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, just let me—”

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

A soft intake of breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...D.”

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

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

“Leave me alone!”

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

Wait.

You’d… you’d called him…

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

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

…Steady.

Truth.

Could it really be you?

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

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

You loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

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

Because all that was left was him…

And you.

151 notes · View notes

sherlockig · 4 months

Text

Hello my little grieving friends (aka my CREW!)

I just want to talk about how much our flag means death has given me. I have not had internet friends since i were a teenager. They all kind of disapeared over time in the same way as high school classmates went away. I have been on this blog on tumblr since 2010 and i have never experienced what ofmd has given me. Not even in my very derranged ca 5 year long sherlock-era did i get to befriend and know this many amazing people who live in my phone. Some of you have come and gone and that is life, but some of you are still here and I hope I get to keep you here for a very long time. Max can not stop us and I want to be here with you until tumblr is put down like the beloved rabid pet it is.

I think we are all taking the news very hard and I think it's important to remember what it is all about really. It's about love and family and above all else the crew so i just want to show some love for my beloved mutuals. And i hope maybe some of you will be inspired to do the same because its what we need in these dark times. We need to be a lighthouse guiding each other to shore.

First of all @gentlebeard - Ella💕 my beloved honey 🍯 I can not explain properly or even believe how lucky I am that I found you and that I get a little good morning from you every day. We have been talking every single day since the first message over a year ago and I don't remember or want to remember how i survived before that. I will treasure the time i spent drinking pina coladas on your balcony in the sun forever and i hope i will get some more time on that balcony this summer. I have found a pirate bar in Sweden so we can continue our expensive pirate drinks theme that we started in Berlin. There is no one else i want to spend 6-8 hours talking to over the phone.💕My partner in crime, lasagna partner and floor person or whatever nicknames we have come up with during this time. You are not just the perfect friend to have, you are also funny, sweet, smart and a expert at making fanvideos that make me cry my heart out and laugh my lungs up - sometimes at the same time 💕💕

@blakbonnet - Meow my darling💕 you were the first one i really started to talk to in the fandom and i am so glad i did. You brighten my days and i love talking to you you brilliant humanbeing (i often find myself thinking i have listened to much to cabin pressure because i struggle to use any other word than brilliant to explain things.. the Arthur runs deep in me) also thank you for being my personal skincare guide in life!! Your fics, your art, your edits, your gifs, your meta the whole you make my dash a better place and we are all happy to have you! There is nothing you are not good at and i am both a bit jealus and impressed by you. Its Meows fandom we all just live in it 💕💕

@youshouldseemeinadeerstalker - Nes my dear💕 We may not be talking very often but I know I always have you there. I loved our vacation together and we had so much to talk about that we didn't even realize that the same song kept playing in my car so long that it messed up my spotify wrapped. It was amazing taking naps with you outside ruins of castles and in botanical gardens and living together in the worlds smallest hotel room. I hope we can get lost together in more cities than Hamburg and Copenhagen. (preferably without rain and sickness and maybe with a map) 💕💕

@darkinerry - Marlena 💕 its a pleasure getting weather and work updates from you and i am always interested in knowing what you have been up to and what you have to say. It brightens my day, please never stop!! Your videos and gifsets can make any day better and you are always kind and funny which are two things i appreciate hugely in my friends!! 💕💕 + You have the coolest haircut out of all my mutuals 😌

@aha-my-villainous-thoughts - Ash my wife💕 my love💕Nothing can make me scream, blush and giggle as much as your fanart. You have this style of everything you make from fanart to dolls to interior design that is so special and breathtaking. One day we will drink so many lattes in a cosy cafe and then sniff lush products for the rest of the day. 💕 You are always there for me - as a online shoulder to cry on or to motivate me with the smuttiest wips ever. I am happy to be mutual married to you 💕💕

@bizarrelittlemew - Ida 💕- my thirsting for rhys brother in arms. I can not imagine tumblr without your gifs or your posts. I love screaming with you over a picture of rhys darbys bicep. I am so happy i got to meet you this summer and i really hope it will happen again. We are not that far from each other, just some miles and a stupid bridge; we can make it. You are always a sweetheart and an incredible friend who write the hottest fanfiction ever💕💕

@dickfuckk - josh 💕 (who I also thought for a long time was called tyler) I dont know where the fandom would be without your bts blog! its a international treasure and a service to humanity. i don't know how you do it. 💕You always have everything i have ever been looking for and as a bonus you are witty and funny like no one else. I am so happy i got to meet you and spend a whole day in your company! 💕

@izzy-b-hands - Holden my absolute darling!💕 I am so glad I got the chance to get to know you! You are smart, funny and kind and my izzy mutual tm. You are always there for me with kind words and I am still forever shipping izzy and the third badminton brother which I think is the best headcanon I have ever helped coming up with. 💕

@funforahermit - Kristina 💕 Your love for Rhys and your gifs are a staple on tumblr and my dash. I know where to go when i need someone to understand how hot Steve is (even if we have agreed that he is yours and Murray is mine which i still think is a fine deal). I very often make or see a picture of Rhys and my first thought is "I NEED TO SHOW KRISTINA THIS" so you live rentfree in my brain 💕

@rainbowcrowley - Addi 💕If i ever start playing wow again you bet i am gonna be talking your ear off about my little frost mages progress but in the meantime i am happy to have you on my dash and even if we don't talk that much are you a beloved part of my dash and brighten it daily.💕💕

@fandomsmeantheworldtome - Maria💕 You were one of the very first people i found in this fandom and your gifs might have helped my rhys obession taking form. You might be into many things I have never heard of but its a pleasure seeing your excitement over everything. You are always a ray of sunshine and i love that so much💕💕

@tabbystardust - Tabby dear💕 You are the kindest person I know who I always get the strongest need to hug and hold close. Your fanart is beyond this world and i adore it like nothing else. Its always both hot and soft in the best way ever💕 I am always excited to get kitty updates and to hear about your ramen receipts. I hope we can still meet at the con next year! I am game if you are!! 💕💕

@hummingbee-o0o - Humming 💕 (i dont know your name sorry) I am always excited to hear your thoughts and metas about everything ofmd related as well as your beautiful art. 💕 it was a pleasure to scream about season 2 after every watched episode!💕

@xoxoemynn - Emy 💕💕 i am so happy to be mutual with you! 💕You always bring joy to the people who get to be around you and fill my dash with the same. We might not talk often but i know you got my back! That is the kind of person you are!💕

@saltpepperbeard - Jodi💕 No one write tags on tumblr dot com like you. There is nothing that can cheer me up more than see that one of my posts has gotten a whole ass novel written in the tags and then i instinctively know that its you who have left your wonderful mark. You are always excited and such a lovely human to be mutual with. 💕 And on top of that you make incredible gifs that make my heart stop!!! 💕💕

@autumnbois - Kai 💕💕 I hope you are doing okay. We might not talk much right now but you were there for me when i needed it most and you are a good friend to have living in my phone.💕💕 I will think of you whenever i see something related to scream and your love for piccrew always make me smile💕

@edsbacktattoo - Jams, jams jams! 💕 We are never online at the same time because of the damn time differences *shakes fist* but you are a staple in this fandom. Your art is incredible and you are the sweetest cookie in the jar. You are funny and always spread good energy to everyone around you and I love that with my whole heart💕💕

@kiwistede - Sam 💕 Your love for stede and rhys is unmet and i love you for that. You are always a good source for some rhys darby insanity and we all know that is what i treausure most here in life! 💕💕

@stedesearring - Kaitlin💕 You are the sweetest and kindest soul out here always spreading joy and love like the sun of my dash. 💕 I always love seeing you and i am happy to have the pleasure to have you as a friend in my phone! 💕💕

@stedebonnets - Ara 💕 Where would we be without your gifs?? without your joy?? without your blog?? without you?? No one knows! I am so happy to call you a mutual and friend and you always bring a smile to my face. Always!!💕💕

@appleteeth - Liz 💕 No one is quite as normal about rhys darby as you and it a pleasure to watch! Speaking of pleasure.. your fic the slightest touch is an all time favorite of mine and i would be embarrassed to tell you how many times i have read it... you are one of my mutuals that i am baffled that they want to follow me. Its a privilege! 💕

@as-a-creww - Caroline dear 💕 You are a beloved mutual and your blog are a permanent part of my dash and i want to keep it like that! you are the friendliest of the friendliest and what is more important than that?? 💕💕

@nandorisms - Ed dear💕 Your shameless reblogs makes the world go around. You are always sweet and a much needed wwdits addition to my life. I count you as a dear friend living in my heart!💕

@londonlock - Londie! 💕💕 The only sherlock mutual i have left and i am very happy to have kept you! 💕 I might have left those days behind me but you know as well as i that sherlock lives in my soul and seeing some sherlock and john love on a daily basis keep me grounded and on top of that are you such a romantic and beautiful human being! 💕💕

@follovver - Tanya 💕 My fellow Swedish ofmd fan! I am very happy to have found you! its nice to be able do discuss it in my mother tongue and i hope we one day can do it live! its to bad we never met when we went to the same uni (or maybe we did but didn't know) Du är fantastisk!! 💕

@wastingyourgum - Al💕(which i always read in my head as artificial intelligence and giggle because it make me feel like you are a robot) My fellow rhys friend. You bring me doses of darby when its most needed and your blog is always on fleek 💕💕

@xray-vex - Xray 💕 100 % one of my funniest mutuals!💕💕 You make hilarious posts that no one else could even dream of coming up with! Always top tier blog content and what more can a girl ask for??💕

@jellybeanium124 - Nina💕 I can not imagine my blog without you! Your posts are always a delight and you are so nice and sweet and funny and incredible (even when you make math mistakes kisses kisses) You bring a honest joy into the fandom that we could not live without! 💕💕

@thunderwingdoomslayer - Nellie 💕 My official rhys darby gif provider who I come to as if i needed a new hit of an illegal substance. I salute you and thank you for your service!💕💕

@forestofsprites - Green my dear 💕You might have gone from ofmd to be the supernatural provider of my dash but that does not stop you from being the kindest forest spirit i know. Your presence is calming in a way i can not explain and i am glad to have you and your love for meg here.💕💕

@cheersmequeers - Kate💕💕 A big puzzle piece to bring my dash together. Always filling it with my favorite gay pirates and i love having you here. Always friendly and full of love.💕💕

@sugashook - Sugaaa💕💕 You know i am in love with your art! Your art is always on top and it bring me back to life every time. I keep the dress i bought from you on the outside of my closet so every morning its the first thing i see and it sets the day right!💕💕 I wear your art on my tshirt to the gym as often as i can hoping to lure in a ofmd fan between the weights but that has not happened yet sadly!! Never stop making your art!! The world would be at loss if that happened 💕💕

@lacefuneral - Jay 💕(should be called YAY because that is what i say when i see a new selfie or fashion post from you) You are a fantastic friend and i love your love for stede and you are always kind and patient in a way that makes me comfortable to ask you questions about something i might not be familiar with. You are forever my moth mutual in my mind 💕💕

@meanmisscharles - Charles 💕 In my head i call you charles but i don't think that is your name but i hope its okay with you! Always friendly and sweet but ready to fight the bullshit the other spread! and such a source for good music recommendations!! 💕💕

@forpiratereasons - Darcy 💕literary no one does it like Darcy! Aways bringing the best ofmd posts to my dash and ensuring i don't miss anything! You are incredible! 💕💕

@blackbeardskneebrace - Miles my dear 💕 You make incredible art both the cute and amazing ofmd art but also the gorgeous historical art you post. Its a pleasure to see you talk about history but also about our beloved gay pirates. Your snoopy ofmd art will live in my heart forever and i think it might be healing me a bit. Maybe even watering my crops and clearing my skin! And those valentine ofmd arts from last year. I am 100 % gonna bring them back this February like beloved decorations you store in the attic. 💕💕💕

@awkward-fallen-angel - Heather 💕 You are one of the sweetest people i have had the pleasure to come across. You bring a big excitement and attention to the things you like and it moves along to everyone near. I mean i have watched long critical role videos just because you spoke so warmly about them and i wanted to know what it meant. I love having you here. 💕💕

@mxmollusca - Mx 💕 (dont know your name so i am just calling you that) I mean you are an incredible writer. I have only managed to read ifwts once because i cried so much that i am scared to open it again because i might just never stop crying. You are creative and funny and absolutely totally normal about rhys darby which in my book is a very good thing to be. And besides that you are a very friendly and nice mutual who is always a pleasure to interact with. 💕💕

@poisonintopositivity - Lilias💕 We have not talked much but we have been mutuals for a very long time and i hope you know that i appreciate you greatly as a mutual and you always but the best posts on my dash!💕💕

@glam-hutchence - Birb 💕💕my dear bird lover! You are a sweet potatoe and i love reading about your love for music and the concerts you go to.💕 Its so nice to take a little part of your life. You are always there for me and i always get happy when i talk to you. You are like a little happy pill! 💕💕

@turtles-on-turts - Turts 💕 Whenever i see a turtle i think about you. Its your brand! You make amazing art! and the ones on canvas always blow me away. 💕💕 Its incredible. You are also so very pretty and i have that picture of you in your depression robe with all the pigeons imprinted in my mind because it such a cute one. You are always very friendly and i love reading your personal posts as well. 💕💕

@vonlipwig - Franky 💕 You bring me lots of normality about rhys darby but these days also a huge bunch of normality about david tennant which i appreciate a lot. You are very nice and i stand by my assesment that you have a very cool aura!💕💕

@haeva - Mar my beloved💕 You bring me my wifes emily and valkyrie and a bunch of amazing posts about everything i can imagine. You are loving and sweet and good at maths which i am always very impressed by. I love being your mutual and doing ask games with you is a pleasure!💕💕

@mykonossalome - Myko💕 When i see moomin i think of you because i know how much you love it. We dont talk as much as i would like but the interactions we have had has meant a lot to me and i love seeing you posting about the things you love! 💕💕

@cottoncandiescupcakes - Cupcake 💕 I love that you are always so excited over our boy the swede and its a pleasure to compare language with you. We can continue fighting if the swede belong to the dutch or the swedes but that is a pleasure!💕💕

@mister-brightside - Andrea my dear💕. Your art is always perfect and whenever i see a picture of izzy giving the middle finger i think about you! Its your brand and its your picture now and no one can change that. You are sweet and caring and a lovely mutual to have. thank you!💕💕

@merryfinches - Kylie 💕 What can i say more than that i ADORE your fanart. The colours the style the softness of it all is exactly what we all need in these times. Every single time it shows up on my dash it makes my heart grows softer and my love grow stronger! I love it so so much. 💕

@ofmd-ann - Ann 💕 You glorious glorious gifmaker! Your gifs are always beautiful and these last days you have saved me with your wrecked edits. As a supplier of rhys darby gifs i love you forever. You are a hero love. 💕💕

@usersukuna - Bia 💕You are a gif magician. Your gifs are perfect and you are also very kind and sweet and i am so glad i can call you a mutual! You light up tumblr like no one else and i am always happy to see you on my dash.💕💕

If you are not in this list it does not mean that i dont love you or have forgotten about you it means that tumblr has put a limit to how many people you can tag which sucks. But if i follow you then it means i love and appreciate you. 💕💕💕 And you know what? We will make it through this hard and trying times of greedy streaming services putting an end to our gay pirates show. I love you all and you know what??

We will make it through as A CREW!

#i might have spent half my work day on this because i am sad and can not concentrate so please dont tell my boss #personal #my beloved mutuals #renew as a crew #i am just very filled with love for you all #for this fandom #💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

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youredreamingofroo · 25 days

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LOVE TRAIN INBOUND !! 🚂💨💨

This is inspired by @acuar-io !! Thank you for doing this and THANK YOU FOR THE TAG!! (even tho it didnt tag me properly 🤧)

Tumblr is silly and while I will tag ppl, I know not everyone will be properly tagged, so if u see this, skim thru the list for your name ESPECIALLY if your my mutual ! 🫶

To start off, I just wanna say that Fae (acuar-io) has some absolutely STUNNING sims, it's hard to exactly word it, but their sims are SUPER recognizable, and their saves (Snow flower, Cozy save, etc) are SO nicely edited, so aesthetically pleasing to the eyes 🫶😩

@oshinsimblr is the reason why I started storytelling (even before my simblr time) and why I try and find a story-related reason on why my sims/characters do certain things, her videos are also SO comforting and i love her lovesick series!!! and of course, @minimooberry the whole inspo for this simblr and why I render in blender!

@mattodore and @cinamun are AMAZING simblrs if u want rich storytelling and/or well-thought out characters, River has inspired me to really tear into my characters and give them more personality, and cina just genuinely makes such realistic characters and the tea is ALWAYS hot and simblr aside, she has very good takes >:P

@groovetrys and @circusjuney have been around on my blog and as my mutuals for a LONG time and they really are some of my biggest hype people, lori has an AMAZING legacy going on with her sim, Melody, and u should DEF check it out, and june makes the most amazing clown sims 🥹 theyre always so pretty and STUNNINGGGG

-> To add onto the above category, id also consider @miralure as one of my biggest hype ppl!!! Although they havent been around as long as june and lori, they always hype me up and it makes me stupid happy 😭 they make REALLY good lookbooks and i love their sim style SMMMM

if u dont know about @rebouks what are you DOING with your simblr-life, bc becca has some of the most human-feeling story/dialogue, i always get a stupid sappy smile on my face when i read her story posts

@jarakio has an AMAZING story called Girls with Guns and its prolly my fav story that ive read on simblr, the dialogue? amazing, the poses? amazing, the vibes? AMAZING, i'm ALWAYS hooked in whenever i see GwG pop up on my dash

@stellarfalls just HAD to be on this list are u kidding me????? Bree has a PHENOMENAL save called Valley, even tho there's no dialogue, each image and gif speaks more than words could, she's inspired me to kick up the quality of my posts and also start making gifs, I also consider her to be one of my biggest hype ppl, she always be coming in with the best compliments 🥹🫶

@torissims !!! She makes BEAUTIFUL posts, her blog is very yellow and orange and i LOVE IT, she pulls a lot of inspo from Studio Ghibli and even tho ive never seen any SG Movies, I can just see and feel the inspo, shes def underrated af 🥹

@amburgundy has BEAUTIFUL builds, and they dont just do TS4, they also make builds in other sims games!! (u did a phenomenal job with Madi's legacy house amber 🤝) I LOVE the clutter and they always looks so cozy 😭

@flovoid is another one of my hypemen LMFAOOO bro you and your tags literally make me so happy, i LOVE reading them. Flo makes AMAZING SIMS, and you should check out literally ALL of their sims, especially their sims Roo and Norman from Majima Land (first post under my Roo tag is me reacting to one of their posts with Roo and Norman, funniest introduction to a blog ever), Also their sim, Draco Almond??? He's got me tucking my hair behind my ear... 🫦🫦

@elderwisp has some of the most immaculate editing ive ever seen, the lighting, the vibes, the dialogue, the poses, the expressions, i be eating those posts up like im fine dining 😩😩

@changingplumbob is so chill, I love how much passion she has for her rotations, and her love for cats?? Perfect mutual to have, I also literally LOVE reading her behind the scenes posts, they're literally so funny 😭😭

@tricoufamily and @dejasenti99 make absolutely phenomenal renders, like if theres any renders on simblr that im gonna recognize immediately, its these two's renders, they're genuinely more HQ than my fucking eyes 😭😭

-> Also Nat (Missatan) makes incredibly HQ renders as well, these three are like... my biggest blender render inspos...

@buttertrait @missatan @virtualfolk @pearlean @claudtrait all have BEAUTIFUL sim styles, butter's is very unique, i know they arent really a sims 4 blog anymore but i ALWAYS recognize butter's sims when i see them on my dash and I genuinely love their sim style sm. Nat (Missatan) has SUCH a gorgeous sim style, you've heard of them hips dont lie, well her sims' lips dont lie 😩🫦 Virt (Virtualfolk) and Sam's (pearlean) sim styles are SO animated (if that makes sense), they're like eye-candy. Den (claudtrait), like Nat, has a sim style with the most luscious lips and poutiest faces ive ever seen and are just SOO pleasing to look at, like i just feel blessed in the eyes when i see their sims

@yukikocloud 's Apricot save and storytelling is incredibly reminiscent of Bree's posts, and I just LOVE looking at and reading her story posts, this post in particular just absolutely captivated me, I was drawn in and just get so giddy seeing the Apricot save pop up on my dash 🥹

@alientown @venriliz @nefarrilou @druidberries @machinegrl make STUNNINGGGGG occult (or cyber/robotic in Baja/Machinegrl's instance) sims. Nef always makes beautiful sims for their Cryptid "series", im just in AWE when i see their cryptids... Ven and Ana (alientown) both always make absolutely gorgeous alien sims and they also just have very unique/beautiful sim styles 😍 Baja's cyber girlies are just >>>>>>>>>>>>> I love her whole dystopian/cyber theme, its literally so good and so cool, and her Deadstars series? SO good. Alexis' (druidberries) elowen is so pretty, and her sim style, especially with occults, is just MWAH chefs kiss, literal eye candy

@swallowprettybird is just one of the sweetest people on simblr, I love reading what she has to say about mine and others' posts, and she makes amazingggg posts, I loved that one national geographic inspired post with the zebra, it was so well done

@softle0 makes some absolutely stunning builds, they always look so lived in, so cozy and I would ABSOLUTELY live in pretty much every single build they make

and honorable mentions to @droolski @felysline @pamsimmerstories @swiftviolets @weirdosalike @mushbop @calicosimgirl @shadowtrait and @seriallovertrait because I feel like they're all SO underrated, they're all passionate about their own stuff and I just love seeing their posts, and if you're seeing this, FOLLOW THEM 🫵🫵

Thank you Fae (acuar-io) once again for starting this train up, I love seeing stuff like this and it's so sweet to see what everyone has to say about one another, I may have spent 1 or 2 hours doing this, but it was INCREDIBLY well spent to be able to admire and appreciate all these people, them and every other simblr person, whether i follow them or not, deserve every last drop of love and appreciation genuinely

#tw yap nation LUHMAO #well deserved yap nation i loved doing this #i love doing stuff like this i love the lot of you 🥹#i just know tumblr is gonna untag so many people and its gonna make me so sad #simblr #simblr community #yapping

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Hands Off | Ch 3: Alchemy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

gif by @fandomsunited (not sure why that didn't persist in my final edit but I posted this late last night sorry about that)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: Steve’s loved hearing about you from Bucky. He doesn’t want anything to derail the progress his best friend has made toward being a whole person again, which is why he’s going to use every ounce of his slowly-deteriorating willpower to resist touching you, tasting you, taking you. After all, he’s just met you, and his own integrity, not to mention Bucky’s trust, is important to him.

Neither of you are prepared for the catch.

Length | Warnings: 2,772 | Sex

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan

Alchemy

Electricity. The second your leg touches Steve’s hand, you feel a jolt of searing need that flashes across every inch of your exposed skin. The tiny amount of self-discipline you’d been clinging to has completely evaporated.

You’d already been reaching for him when Steve had started sliding his heated hand up your leg, leaving eddies of anticipation in its wake. The way you beg out his name sounds overeager even to your own ears.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, the words rough and reluctant.

“Absolutely not.” You curl your fingers around his wrist and pull his fisted hand up to kiss his knuckles. Even your lips feel swollen and sensitive, something that’s enhanced when Steve’s hand flexes after your kiss to press his thumb against them.

Both of you make noises in the dark at that.

“I shouldn’t listen to you,” Steve whispers hoarsely, snatching his hand away.

You feel desperate and empty. “It feels like I’ll die if you don’t touch me,” you plead. “I thought you were a hero, Steve Rogers!”

There’s a loud sound behind your head that can only be Steve slamming his hand flat on the headboard, and then his lips are sucking a groaning kiss onto your shoulder as one hand drags away your loosened bra. His frantic need touches up a sharp stab of fear that’s oddly erotic, but it’s the way his knee presses up between your legs to spread them that undoes you. You grab a handful of his shirt to anchor yourself right as he tears your flimsy lace panties off.

“I can’t see y-- I need you to--” he blurts out haltingly, hand gripping your hip so hard it’s definitely going to bruise. You want it to.

“What is it?”

Steve quests for you in the dark, forearm grazing your nipple deliciously on his way to taking your hand and placing it on his bicep. “I need to hear or feel that you’re with me, or I’ll never--”

As soon as he says the word ‘feel,’ you reach for him, pulling at his tank top, stroking his hip with your leg, tugging, begging, pleading.

“I hear you, I’m here, I--” he mutters, meaning you’d been saying those things out loud, but then you find each other, and he lances into you. The pure pleasure and relief is enough to take your breath away. “Oh,” Steve breathes into your hair, holding still.

You feel both pierced and enclosed, surrounded by this man you’ve heard and cared about by proxy over the past few months. The sensual heat of his body against and inside is filling you more than you were prepared for, as though the intimacy itself has healing properties.

Then, Steve moves his hips.

“Oh my God don’t you ever fucking stop!” you gasp out, moving to meet him when he rocks back in.

“I don’t think I can,” he says brokenly. The way he sucks in a breath as your rhythm matches his sends sparks of pleasure from every place you’re touching. “This is--”

“Ruinous?” you ask, deliberately angling your hips and tightening your inner walls around him. It’s rewarding as fuck, literally, because Steve Rogers grunts out his approval and speeds up, slamming into you with glorious fervor. All you can do is hold on and enjoy the ride, the fleeting thought passing through that you really wish you could see his face.

There’s reward in the clench and release of his muscles under your hands, in the noises he’s making, but then he shifts his weight and cups your face with one hand, his thumb caressing its way over to press on your lips again. You’d loved that the first time, but you aren’t ready for Steve to lean his head a breath away from his own thumb, almost kissing it, his other hand holding your hip possessively.

The tenderness of his gesture during such a frenzy rips away the secret armor around your heart before you realize it’s happening-- because this is the very last barrier he has, the only part of himself he’s holding back.

Kisses are for lovers, and he’s being a hero.

After a thought like that, everywhere you can think to put your hands feels like trespassing, even though he’s fucking you into the mattress. There’s no comfort you can give this man, but you can show him that you’re an eager participant, that you’re not merely enduring this, but enjoying it, actively. You roll your hips with every thrust, stroking your hand along his bicep instead of his face like you want to.

It’s obvious that it feels as good to him as it does for you, because Steve’s response is to huff a heated, grateful moan against his own thumb, his other fingers curling in pleasure on your face. You hum in appreciation, forgetting the way the sound will resonate on his thumb and his lips.

Steve licks his lips, and the brush of his tongue is napalm-sweet, destructive and delicious. You throw your head back and clench yourself around him as you arch up, hands sinking into his hair despite your determination not to. His response is to groan low and deep, sinking his face into the pillow beside you. You catch your breath when he runs his free hand along your leg, his hips stuttering with his lost concentration.

That’s heady enough, and you can feel a catastrophic orgasm on the horizon-- but then he keeps moving his hand, stroking and searching until he’s pulling your hand from his hair and slamming it down beside your head. Then Steve sucks in a breath, clasps your hands together and comes.

He comes, like it was a surprise, like the act of holding your hand was enough out of all the filthy, sensual, glorious things you’ve been doing together. Like Mistress wasn’t enough, like the room smelling like the musk of arousal wasn’t enough, but a palm to palm connection with you sent him over the edge.

Every second of his agony is almost as intense for you as it clearly is for him. The weight of what’s just happened floods your eyes with tears that you know Steve wouldn’t understand if he could see them. That’s reinforced when, after going limp on top of you for a few seconds, he moves to rest on the mattress beside you. The fingers he’d been brutalizing your hip with smoothe a caress over to your stomach… but he doesn’t let go of your other hand.

Lifting Thor’s hammer couldn’t have made you feel more worthy.

After a moment, the hand on your stomach starts to slide down, thank God.

“Do you want--” Steve asks, and there’s enough Mistress in your system that your body answers for you. His deep chuckle sounds relieved rather than mocking to your overstimulated ears, but mostly you just chase his twisting fingers with your hips as you whisper barely-respectable encouragement.

It doesn’t take long for the tide of onrushing pleasure to start cresting for you, and you devolve into gasps and sighs that grow more desperate the closer you get to coming. Steve’s been making little encouragement noises that have barely registered for you because, whether he realizes it or not, he’s also been squeezing your joined hands in rhythm with his other hand’s movement.

There’s something hot as hell about that, for some reason, but trying not to squeeze with him has drawn out your pleasure in wonderful and frustrating ways. You’re scared you’ll remind him that you’re holding hands, and he’ll stop-- but then Steve does something with his hand, something that only works if you’re strong and your hand is large, and you arch up, babble something incoherent, and squeeze the hell out of his hand.

“Ahhh!” Steve says, hand shifting so he can press his thumb in a warm sweep against the very center of your palm-- and that’s it, you’re destroyed for anyone else, forever. As you writhe in the throes of the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced, the thought that no other man’s going to play with your clit and your palm at the same time occurs to you, but there’s nothing you can do about that now.

You black out.

When you wake up, you recognize the clinical setting of a hospital room, and the huge, terrified breath you suck in alerts multiple people to the fact that you’re awake.

“You’re okay, Dee, you’re fine, you made it,” Bucky says from somewhere in the room. The light is too bright, his voice is too loud, and you let out a sound of distress that sounds so much like a sex noise you swear out loud. “There she is!” your asshole best friend crows. Only then does he look over at you enough to realize what’s going on. “Light too bright?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, noting that there’s an actual IV in your arm, when you go to cover your ears. “Everything’s too much. Light, sound…”

Blessedly, someone flips a switch, and most of the lights in the room go out.

“I’ll mark that down,” a woman’s voice says softly. She’s wearing a white coat and an ID badge, but the badge is turned toward her chest, and the coat is covering what look like regular clothes, not scrubs.

“Whose insurance is this under?” you ask, suddenly uneasy. You’ve been uninsured for a while, ever since stepping away from your day job to work ‘full time’ as a vocalist. In reality, you’ve swapped to doing charity work in exchange for a small apartment above their office, with fewer hours, but the result is the same.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Miss--”

“Stark’s mistake, Stark’s funds,” Bucky interrupts. His voice is loud enough that it takes your muddled brain a little while to understand what he means. Your expression must look pained, because when he speaks again, it’s much quieter. “Can we have a few minutes?”

“That depends,” the doctor/nurse/indiscriminate medical professional says, sliding her glasses down her nose to address her next question to you. “Do you feel any residual effects of your exposure?”

Sure you do. You’re shaken to your core, literally and figuratively. Your concept of heroes has been drastically changed.

You’ll never feel satisfied with sex ever again.

But that’s not what this woman is asking.

“No, I--I pretty much feel like myself.”

“Took you a minute,” Bucky mutters.

“Answering a medical question right away just makes doctors dubious,” you sniff.

“Quite right,” the woman says, sliding her glasses back up. “Three minutes.”

She’s already walking out the door when Bucky chases after her, hissing, “I won’t be done talking shit in three minutes!” You’re grateful he’d done that instead of yelling, because everything is intense right now.

“You’re never done talking shit,” you point out, holding up your arm. “So, I needed an IV? Please tell me it wasn’t for fluids.”

Bucky starts coughing. “Shit, I thought I’d have to wait a month before I could make jokes!”

“Oh, you do. I don’t.” You grin at him.

“Got it,” he says, clearly suppressing a smile. The expression shifts, and Bucky says, “You're in the tower infirmary. Steve says he’ll clear out if you want to visit the apartment. I told him you’d probably never set foot in there again.” He looks over at the window, obviously uncomfortable, so he doesn’t catch your stricken expression. Steve had done everything possible to treat you with respect. You don’t want him to think you’d be that… flippant about everything, at least, not with him.

“He knows you didn’t talk to me first before you said that, right?” You wonder if Steve needed an IV at all or if his healing factor meant he was fine by the time the two of you were rescued.

You also wonder how long he held your hand, after you passed out-- but shove the thought away.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. How did I end up here?”

Bucky walks over and seems intensely interested in the IV bag, avoiding your eyes.

“You didn’t break in, did you? Steve says there was some kind of toxic gas that would get released if we broke the door barrier dow--”

“I did not break into my apartment, no,” he says over the rest of your sentence.

“Okay, you are not subtle, which tells me you want me to know that you broke in somewhere,” you say, your scattered mind bumping into some conclusions you can’t quite bring into focus. The only one you can get a grasp on makes you frown and reach for him. “You felt helpless, didn’t you?”

Bucky squeezes your hand for a second, and you tighten your grip when he goes to pull free. The signals he’s sending are clear, but now is not the time. You yank at his hand to make him look at you, and tune the dial back to levity.

“Hey, at least one thing went right, right? You’re in a new shirt!”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, tensing up.

“Woah, there. Do what?” you ask. Bucky’s pulling at his hand again, and you look down in time to see that there’s some blood on it, before he uses his superior strength to get free, the thing he’d avoided doing before. “Gig’s up, Buck. What did you do?”

His lips twist to the side like he’s five years old and you’ve caught him stealing cookies. “I reassigned some priorities.”

“How does that put blood on your hand? Is it yours?”

An alarm starts going off in the room. It’s too loud, oppressively so, enough that all you can focus on is blocking it out.

Two awful minutes later, the sound stops, and you emerge from your pillow refuge to see that Bucky’s nowhere to be found. The white-coated woman from before is now tapping away at the machine next to your IV pole.

“Your blood pressure rose very quickly,” she says, frowning.

“Okay, you know what? Your blood pressure would rise too if you’d had that conversation, so how about you tell me when I can get out of here, and in return, I won’t rip this IV out and make that decision for both of us?”

You very much need to go home and start the process of forgetting what it feels like to hold hands with Steve Rogers, because that’s the part that’s fucking you up. It feels dangerous.

Disapproval is wafting off of this nurse/caretaker/doctor person, but she nods, pulling an envelope from the pocket of her coat to hand you. “I can remove the IV now, but as for release, give me a half hour? Yours was one in a long line of disturbances today.”

You spend the whole IV removal affronted by the characterization of what happened to you as a ‘disturbance,’ until you realize that was her goal. It had kept you quiet and still as you seethed.

You stew on that while you open the envelope, but the letter inside makes you forget all of that.

Hey, Chickadee. Tony Stark here. Good news! There is zero surveillance footage of your presence in the tower today. I snatched snagged a few images you might be interested to see, though. Please don’t sell them for money. Your phone data should be copied over to the new model I took the liberty of picking out for you by the time they let you leave. I know this makes me a dick jerk, but I take the safety of my teammates very seriously, and you’ve done wonders for that, so it’s the least I can do. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about my part in what happened today. I fucked screwed messed up, and I’m writing this on some serious pain meds. I owe you some favors, is what I’m saying, and the phone is only the first of them. I’m fine, by the way. Just fine. Stark

You’re pretty sure he wrote this himself with zero oversight, and though you probably should be offended by the insensitivity, the letter is pretty ballsy and hilarious, which is on brand, really. Bucky had implied that Steve’s accident with Mistress was Stark’s fault, and if that’s true, you have some questions, but right now you’re so shaken by the effect that you don’t have time to contemplate the cause. Inside the envelope is a second envelope, and inside that is two pictures.

One is a picture of Tony Stark with a black eye.

The other is a picture of Steve Rogers with a black eye.

Next chapter...

#allcapsbingo2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #sex pollen #humor #romance

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

Note

OKAY OKAY SAGAU BUT THE CREATOR IS A HUGE KPOP FAN LIKE IMAGINE THE MOST STOTIC CHARACTERS DANCING TO TWICE

ANON I HAVE SEEN UR ASK SITTIN IN MY MAILBOX AND BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE-

GOD IM SO BASIC ANON I ONLY KNOW LIKE 2 SONGS BY TWICE (LIKE "FEELS" OR SMTH POPULAR), I KNOW A LITTLE MORE ITZY, BUT MY MAIN'S JUST BEEN BTS SINCE 2019😭

(send me recs pleassseeee ;-;)

Hey this'll be the last time I use colored words for characters!

I think it's a bit too distracting, and the only reason I was using them was to let ppl know if their fav was in there, but now I'll probably just use CW/TW to mention character heavy asks/fics :)

Thanks for being patient with me for so long if ur still reading my stuff :0 <3

Listen as you read?

EDIT 1/1/24: Hey I expanded more about this on my Eldritch Fanfic Part 2 post, but unfortunately I did a form of exoticism by including the term "Huangdi" inappropiately here. I have since replaced it with "Emperor" as was the original untranslated term I would've used. I'm genuinely sorry that I did this, and will absolutely be on the look out/do better in the future. I hope you can understand.

----

AGONIZED OVER THE GIFS THIS TIME THEYRE SO PRETTY AND I WANTED TO GET THEM DANCING ONE OF THEIR CUTER ERA/THEMES ALL DRESSED UP TOO-

also im so sorry?? Idky i was in such a scenario mood today??? Ig im in my exectutive dysfunction paralysis state so maybe that’s why, like it unconcoiusly wants me to waste more time not catching up on uni work??? anyway, hope u like this chaotic addon 😭

or i just love this ask sm, that’s entirely possible too <3

I JUST NEED YOU TO KNOW I PUT ON A MEGA TWICE PLAYIST WHILE WRITING THIS ENTIRE THING LMAO

ok but they’d totally heard ur music tastes thru the screen right?

like just imagine-

the video game music is normalized, and to them its just another one of those “all kinds of magic in teyvat” causing the music, like the seelies wandering around all the time or elemental energy

Jean is flipping through a folder filled with the reports for the week, she’s got to get the routes ready for the week, then there’s the liyue shipments the knights need to help escort over, then checking in on any of the emergency stations/rations throughout Mondstadt for weary or hurt travelers/merchants-

She sighs, and yet another irritated thought is thrown Varka’s way in her mind, she can’t even muster the energy to make it outright dislike she’s so tired…

Jean was so concentrated she just now is starting to hear the Favonious Headquarter’s music once more, it’s peppy upbeat tune… grates like nails on a chalkboard.

and if she has to hear that damn flute for the next hour she works, she’s going to start banging her head onto her desk.

♤

Out in Jueyun Karst, Xiao is dealing the finishing blow to a flying ruin hunter

He’s huffing and stabs his spear into the ground to lean on and catch his breath, the gentle music of the peaks begins to float around him once more

The Yaksha feels the earth beneath his feet shake. Not like from his Lord, not the other adepti angered, but an enemy so large it’s stomps shake the ground he stands on

Xiao quickly straightens less he fall over, pulling his spear out of the dirt with a little more effort than it probably should’ve taken…

The high sounds of the guzheng trickle through the air, a perfect representation of the base of the slopes, trees, streams, and nature all around him

Xiao turns to face the enemy behind him, his arm popping with tired joints,

…A ruin grader, two ruin hunters, and finally regular three ruin guards, follows it. they come around the corner of the bottom of another slope, and they're still simmering with black smoke, curling off their metallic shoulders.

Xiao sees several red targets layer over his chest,

the music fades a little, but sticks around, plucking strings gently. Xiao sighs, exhausted already.

♧

Kazuha and Beidou had to redirect the Alcor from a nasty storm at sea that intercepted their usual route between Inazuma and Liyue,

the storm had practically chased them further and further down form the Inazuman islands

it wasn’t until Kazuha, from the crow’s nest, spotted fog on the waters that they realized they’d be forced to go into said creepy fog, what with the crackling looming clouds at their backs pinning them in

“Not good Captain, the fog is miles long, I’m not sure I can see a way around it…” Kazuha calls down to the deck, Beidou letting out a sharp sigh through her nose

“Damn… fucker’s not even sentient and it practically backed us into a corner, feels like we literally gotta escape the damn thing… BRACE YOURSELVES CREW, WE’RE HEADING INTO THAT FOG!”

The Alcor makes it’s way into the fog, a piano swells with a strange tune…

Beidou, Kazuha, and the crew know to listen to the music of teyvat, especially if you have a life at sea, where storms can appear in the middle of the day or other pirates could attack any moment.

The music means nothing good, but at least Kazuha can see the storm staying at the border of the fog, moving no further in, unlike themselves

“Shit… see anything up there Kazu?” the Captain steering the ship doesn’t even reach a shout, for the music has creeped out all conversation on board

“No ma’am, wait,” a chill breeze brushes through the wanderer’s white hair, he feels goosebumps jump on his neck and spine,

“…Yes! Portside Captain, land, no enemy movement yet!”

“Alright, here goes a bad idea…” Beidou’s arms flex as she easily turns the heavy wooden wheel, steering left,

the Alcor gently comes ashore, and they make anchor.

…there are no enemies, like Kazuha said, but the tune worsens, it had gotten louder now that they’re actually on the theme’s land

It plays slowly, encasing the crew of the Alcor in a paranoid quiet, and it almost has a melancholy note

Crows caw and fly off of a stone gate up ahead, they can see flickers of a strange blue light further inland, like figures carrying lanterns everywhere they go…

“Damn music, I wouldn’t feel half this anxious if it didn’t sound like we were walking into a monster infested cave…” the first mate says, the first person to break the quiet the music held over them.

“Yes, while we might need to stay here for awhile, I think we’re all very aware how dangerous this is…” Kazuha agrees, crossing his arms and squinting at the moving blue lights… the piano plays on.

☆

You open on Spotify on your computer, clicking on your favorite kpop playlist, it’s been rainy all day, so you need the peppiness of this dance playlist to actually not be half-asleep playing Genshin-

You hum along to the Korean lyrics as you boot Genshin up, ugh, ur in-game music is so loud, u forgot u turned it up last time to hear the new Sumeru music…

Turning it down, you let the Kpop songs fill ur headphones as you nod to the beat, your team materializing on screen. Right, off to do commissions first!

♤

Jean is like.. seconds away letting out a scream of frustration, anger, tiredness, loneliness, etc. her hands clenching her hair and ruining her ponytail when, thank Creator, the theme quiets down finally.

The loss of her immediate ire gone, she lets go of her hair, her hands just kind of hovering midair, not knowing what to do with herself, all the negative emotions giving her face wrinkles just melt off, leaving her stunned, blank face behind

🎶 Dalkomhan chocolate ice-cream-cheoreom Nogabeorineun jigeum nae gibun so lovely! Kkamkkamhan uju sok gajang banjjagineun Jeo byeol jeo byeol geu yeope keun ne byeol 🎶

Acting Grand Master Jean actually screams when abruptly a song in an unrecognizable foreign language, blasts into her office, around it, filling the entire Favonius Headquarters with its… cheeriness??

Jean lets her hands fall onto the desk, still in shock

..well, she quickly decides she’s grateful for the new music either Barbatos or the All-Parent had heard her pleas for…

…actually, it’s kind of,, catchy?

Jean takes out her ponytail, massaging her aching scalp, huh, she really did have it tight she’s just now noticing, she feels a small smiles appear on her face,

she actually kind of wants to do something now (she kind of hopes this new foreign bard song sticks around..)

♧

If you asked Xiao what happened in that battle he’d be hard pressed to tell you,

without going completely red in the face. LMAO

He probably wouldn’t tell the other adepti this, especially Cloud Retainer, but Xiao had definitely had to get used to fighting brutal battles to the sound of gentle summer day-esque music

Right as the aruguably, army of ruin machines spotted the Yaksha, he’d launched himself into the air to try and evade the rusted beasts, aiming his jade spear, adding winds to swirl around the staff to better boost his attack, the machines warm up, their targets moved and locked onto him midair, right as both sides launch their attack-

🎶 Geogi neo I fancy you! Amuna wonhaji anha Hey, I love you (Love ya!) 🎶

Xiao nearly falls out of the air.

Quickly recovering, he uses his anemo power to propel himself off to the side dodging, he swears to his Lord and his Emperor himself, delayed attacks, as if the machines were caught off guard too,

missiles whiz by him, exploding behind, the peppy song of foreign women’s voices sings out into Jueyun Karst bright and happy-

🎶 Geurae neo I fancy you! Kkumcheoreom haengbokhaedo dwae 'Cause I need you! (What?) 🎶

Xiao’s face goes from being confused to concentrated throughout the rest of the battle, and the worst part… it actually helps his energy levels.

and he finds himself nodding along

☆

Kazuha takes the lead, his sword unsheathed and at the ready to cut down the slightest movement before it can get to any of the crew behind him,

He’s flanked by the Captain of the Alcor herself, Beidou’s electro shield emitting a deep hum as it blocks in front of both himself, and the crew behind him

all of the pirates have unsheather their own weapons, daggers, swords, claymores, bows, their all on high alert, waiting for.. well, any enemies at all.

In fact, Kazuha hopes he sees hilichurls soon, just for the familiarity it could give him and the his crew-

the music begins to fade away.

The crew stops just shy of the entryway that was perched with crows before they scattered, the white fog hasn’t moved beyond its lazy drifting, but the creeping sounds have stopped entirely. Not good.

Captain Beidou sighs after a few silent moments, other than the quiet breathing and shuffling of weapons from the Alcor crew.

She lets her claymore sword thunk against her shoulder, and just as she opens her mouth, turning to address the all, deciding camping here will have to do for the night-

🎶Fancy! youu, ooh Nuga meonjeo johahamyeon eottae Fancy! youu, ooh Jigeum neoegero gallae Fancy! ooh!🎶

Kazuha’s shoulder shoot up to his ears in a flinch, red eyes wide, he barely stops his reflexes from taking a hard swing with his sword, several crewmembers shriek, collide with metal clinks into one another, Beidou drops low, her sword swinging off her shoulder into almost a full swing at the ground-

…

…..

……..

🎶 Dalkomhan chocolate ice-cream-cheoreom Nogabeorineun jigeum nae gibun so lovely! Kkamkkamhan uju sok gajang banjjagineun Jeo byeol jeo byeol geu yeope keun ne byeol 🎶

the music plays on, the only one making any noise as the entire Alcor crew just, stop. after their initial shock.

Kazuha’s the first to break.

He desperately tries to contain a quiet chuckle, which turns into a giggle, which turns into a full-on wheeze, as he buries his sword into the ground to brace himself on it and one of his knees

the Captain cracks by the time Kazuha wheezes, her laughter going straight to guffaws and knee slapping, her claymore shaking the ground where she stabs it to lean against

the crew erupts into laughter, both as the peppy foreign song echoes into the mysterious fog, and Beidou’s ridiculous laugh, as always

they don’t recover until two songs later when there’s finally a slow kpop song, Kazuha’s had to sit down, tears streaming down his face, Beidou’s half-dead, wheezing out complaints about her stomach, as the crew keep sending each other into more and more laughter right as they think they’re done.

They decide their Akitsu Mikami must have the best sense of humor and must just be sitting on their celestial throne pranking some of their subjects from time to time, and the Alcor crew find themselves all the more appreciative for it, their nerves entirely gone about the island

Kazuha and Beidou are constantly asking other bards they meet to try and see if anyone can recreate the song for the crew sometime they liked the beat and the memory so much, Fancy by Twice will still get a laugh out of Beidou and Kazuha, and they’d quickly let you in on the inside joke so you’d be a part of it too (afterall you did it lol)

♡

NOW MORE IMPORTANTLY, BC IDK IVE BEEN ON A SCENARIO KICK LATELY?? SORRY IDK WHY U GUYS KEEP GETTING SCENARIOS-

There’s only TWO 2 CATEGORIES THAT MATTER HERE-

◇

Who’s DANCING!! w/o u needing to do anything but play the music:

NILOU (she got those choreos done in like, an hour flat everytime u teach her, shes always begging for “just one more dance lesson Greatest Lord? 🥺”),

YUNJIN (difference betweeen the two dancers is that nilou asks :) → yunjin lowkey demands, she like always gets u into a situation where you have plenty of time to teach her and feel obligated, u just got gaslight gatekeep girlbossed into teaching her another kpop dance LMAO), they also see it as they’re (literally) god-given job to dance better than any idol you’ve seen do it before, esp when they recruit groups of other dancers to join for group choreos

Yoimiya! cutie #1, CHILDE, amber, eula, ITTO, bennett,

Collei (but shes shy u gotta encourage her),

Diona (cutie #2),

FISCHL (would form an actual group to dance all the choreos like a real kpop group),

Gorou (shy #2, needs encouragement),

Kazuha (tbh I think he’d have fun and be weirdly good at it, fem or masc dances),

Ayaka (shy #3, needs encouragement and would rather die than dance in front of ppl other than you),

KLEE CUTIE #3, NAHIDA CUTIE #4,

Qiqi (but u gotta teach her slow bc she needs to memorize it, and also it takes her a bit to write down the dance steps in her journal so she doesn’t forget as much),

Razor (another person i think would just have fun with it! also he’d do it but it would be very, aggressive? like making finger hearts but violently shoving his arm out at ur face lmao),

HEIZOU (shutup he’d actually be good at it and brag- and flirt at you-),

Aether (shy #4), VENTI, xingqiu, xinyan, KAVEH

BARBARA (she literally stalks u around Mondstadt all like “oh hello your highness! just happened to walk by you and was wondering if you heard any new of those “kpop” dances, you know I’d LOVE to show it off at my next show-!” like she hasnt been a block behind you the entire day 💀)

♡

WHO YOU MANAGED TO CONVINCE TO DANCE LMAO-

babygirl Wanderer (he literally surveyed the area before he finally let u teach him any moves, and refused to any sort of dramatic moves, like fem or masc),

Alhaitham (but only like a small part of a guy group choreo like a bit from God’s Menu or smth, he was too lazy to do anymore even for u lol),

Cyno (dammit some of these bitches look way too good doing even girl group dances-),

Diluc (u got him to do like, a pose. LMAO and he saw Kaeya in the distance and quit immediately LMFAO),

Kaeya (but it didnt take much convincing, if anything it just took forever to teach him, he’s talented in footwork for swordfighting but apparantly not dancing, at least not modern dances he tripped so much ur convinced he did it on purpose at one point so he’d fall into your arms again lol),

Ganyu (super shy, wont do it around anyone but you, and maybe Shenhe),

speaking of Shenhe (she just took awhile to teach bc she wanted to stay upright a lot, kinda stiff),

Keqing (once again, another who’d only dance when it’s just u two lol),

Yae Miko (she just wanted to learn the whole choreo that’s what took so long… and now she’s making comments like “My goodness, my god wants me to dance for them? They’ll even show me how? Oh, now I must do it perfectly so I can satisfy you, my Kami.” STOP TAKING THINGS OUT OF CONTEXT UR TEACHING EVERYONE-),

Ayato (he’s acts so theater gay he refuses to do anything but the girl group dances/fem dances lol),

SARA (easy, give her ur strongest, saddest pout and she cracked like glass, u got her to do a whole dance with u/she actually got into it too, its her secret guilty pleasure now lol),

Kuki (did one sort of move then got BARRELED OVER by Itto’s crazied boy group acrobatics he likes so much, u know the backflips over each other type of ones? yeah. ),

Ei (the god herself/not the puppet, catch her never doing that lol, she tried but didnt, get it? she’s also pretty stiff, but she looks like she’s having fun so u just keep teaching her moves, and she likes that its you teaching her something new),

Thoma (shy #5 ? idek what number we’re on anymore lol),

TIGHNARI (u nag that bitch so hard he nearly throws a drink at you to get u to stop bothering him- NO he does NOT think those dances would suit his ears- dammit he wont do that dance, no matter how much he likes you- DAMMIT MY LORD-),

Xiao (if u thought nagging Tighnari was hard, this is like nightmare mode, not only does he not wanna do the dances, but he also wants to understand WHY u want him to dance each and every move- !! bc he would “look cute or cool”?!?!!?!!! …yeah he’s gone, he went so red u cant even get him back with tofu),

Zhongli (would like, be so confused on how to make his body do that, that he ended up just sort of posing, at least he looks cool)

♡

(anyone not on these 2, u did, in fact, not manage to convince, yes, even if their god asked them to, nor are they doing it of their own volition lol)

WHAT THE HELLLLLLL-

THIS IS SO LONGGG IM SO SORRRYYYYY

ANYWAY HOPE SOMEBODY LIKED THIS, DW ILL STOP THE WEIRD SCENARIOS AFTER THIS ASK I JUST GOT IN A PHASE I DONT KNOW WHY

also, im like, three weeks away form graduating uni? NICE, soon i will be free to assault u all with responses mwhahahaha (rubs my little gremlin hands together)

Safe travels,

💀 ♒

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

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dearasteria · 9 months

Text

Major Gale romance SPOILERS below, so please DO NOT read and watch if you don't want to get spoiled.

I was REALLY worried about how romance with Gale would go, especially after talking to him right after he gets Karsas' book. My Tav wanted to believe and trust him, but something didn't feel right. At the end of Act II, when Tav tries to convince him not blow himself up for his ex's forgivness/to save Faerûn, it can be summed up with that one gif from Grey's Anatomy: "So pick me. Choose me. Love me" 🤡. Honestly, she asks not only to choose her, but also not to kill her and the rest of the team. Gale is so easily swayed and tells Tav that he loves her, even more than Mystra. Tav should be happy, right? But I'm like WAIT A DAMN MINUTE, it was faaar too easy, I mean, no protests from him, I didn't even have to use persuasion to convince him. At that point, after the trauma that Bioware had caused us with Anders and Solas, I'm getting paranoid. Gale doesn't love Tav, he's definitely hiding something. But I'm thinking to myself, "Okay, calm down, he just doesn't want to die, super understable. Maybe he really loves her and he needed to hear it? He needed reassurance that he has something to live for? Yes, it must be it". But then I go to the quest journal and see this:

DAMMIT GALE, you snake 🐍 My poor baby Tav (especially since the romance scene in Waterdeep was so warm and tender). She's so in love in him. Now I'm convinced that he will definetly betrey us, stubs us right in the heart.

At the beginning of Act III, he becomes obsessed with a book called The Annals of Karsus that may help him learn more about the crown. He becomes obsessed with how powerful he can become. When Tav gives him the book and says, "We already know the crown's dangerougs. Wouldn't that make things worse?" he replies:

"Worse? It could be the best thing that ever happened to me. To us."

After all this, Gale tries to convince Tav to help him reconstruct the crown. We have this beautiful scene on the boat and when I tell you my jaw dropped. HE CHOOSES TAV, listens to her concerns and simply chooses her.

The way he says it, the way he corrects himself… damn. For Tav, it's like a bucket of cold water. And I'm like, "Here we go again" 🤡

Furthermore, when we visit the Stormshore Tabernacle in Baldur's Gate and interact with Mystra's statue, he seems to feel so uncomfortable, he doesn't want to be there. Tav starts to think he's definitely hiding something. She would like to hear Mystra's version of what happened between her and Gale (I hope we can talk to her at some point in the game, it would be very interesting).

My Tav, however, disagreed, and Gale replies, "I hope you're right. I truly do. Godly power, perhaps I can live without, but you? You're everything". Has the curse of dating mages that leave players heartbroken been broken?

But I have to admit, when he said: "With you, I forget my goddess. I love you. Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me you want what I want. Please" - OH GODS 😳. I was so close to agreeing to this madness. The VA did an amazing job (side note: so many talented VAs in this game, it's mind blowing), the writing is amazing, the music is incredible, I was blown away, really.

Next day, after the boat scene, he's so adorable and full of love for Tav. Then I remembered his gratest flaw (for me it's more like his biggest fear) from the scene with Zethino in the circus: "He thinks he, and the world, might be better off if he were dead". At the time I thought he was lying, manipulating Zethino and his answers. My distrust of mages in games… Yes, I have a problem 😅

I haven't finished the game, but I have high hopes for a happy ending. No spoilers please, thanks :)

What a rollecoster of emotions, I love it, I love Gale. It felt like I was playing Dragon Age: Origins for the first time, way back when I was a teenager. It's really insane how this game makes me feel, how much I care about its characters and story.

EDIT: Okay, so we have an audience with Mystra, I mean only Gale, but we see the whole conversation between them. My only complain is that Gale doesn't mention Tav when Mystra asks him why he defied her 💔 The outcomes are different depending on whether you do it before or after the boat scene. Personally, I think doing the boat scene before meeting Mystra is much better. I get the impression that Gale is abandoning the plan to reconstruct the crown solely for Tav and his love for her. And the drama 👌🏻 it gives me life.

#sorry for the wall of text #ignore my rambling #the thing is i'm very excited and none of my friends play bg3 and my husband can't listen to me anymore 🤭#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #Gale #gale of waterdeep #gale romance #might delete later #Tav #gale bg3

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writefightandflightclub · 1 year

Text

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he’s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He’s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

#joel miller x reader #tlou #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers

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basilone · 3 months

Note

I want to hear your thoughts on fandom and the recent influx of the term content creation!

Well, anon, you are in luck! (Or not, depending on your definition of luck. 😉) I just so happen to have many Thoughts & Opinions™ about this. I will get wordy, this will get lengthy, and I will be social and put most of my thoughts under a readmore cut.

I personally try to avoid the terms ‘content’ and ‘content creation’ when talking about fandom works and a fandom’s creative pursuits nowadays. Occasionally, sure, it happens that it slips out anyway – it’s a term we’re all really used to using! – but I want to be as mindful about its use as possible. This is a personal decision on my account and I won’t get uppity about other people’s use of these terms, though.

But, Killy, you might say... why would you avoid using these terms? For me, here’s why:

Content is not synonymous with art;

Content creation indicates something different than art creation;

Fandom should not be subject to consumerism;

Fandom is about connection.

If all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die.

Yeah. I know. Melodramatic much? I’m on my fainting couch here, folks. 😂 But let’s dig in, shall we?

You know, maybe it’s just the archivist in me that balks at the term ‘content’. Content is a data entry field in the archival system we use at my real-life job: literally speaking, this data entry field is where we put a brief summary of the document attached to that specific archival file. It contains information that tells you the key takeaways of what the document is about, but it will not contain the full text of the document itself. Content is one of the points of access for our archival search: I know what I’m looking for, so I put a few keywords into our search and it pulls up the relevant file. But what do I need, really need, in my line of work? It’s the document itself, not the data entry field. The document tells me the whole story that I need to be able to truly do my job well. The content-field is a cliffnotes edition of that story.

It’s the same way with the art we create in fandom. I’m gonna take myself as an example here, because I create a fair bit! (Shocking, I know. Local Tumblr cryptid sighting, more at 11. 😎) I spend hours writing fic. I spend hours sorting through screencaps before screeching at Photoshop for a lengthy amount of time. I spend days pouring over quotes, books, documents, photographs, tutorials, and other things that will help me create something cool. I apply color theory, art framing/perspective, narrative focus, and many other theories and techniques to my writing and my giffing. If I were to put my finished work or any of my WIPs in that same archive system, it would be the document within the archival file. The tags I use on my posts? Those are markers similar to the content-field. They tell you who my gifset depicts and from which show it is. They tell you which OC of mine my fic is about. My work contains these things I tagged.

But my creative work is not content itself.

Content is marketable, easy access, blurb-y stuff. Content is something you absorb within one minute flat. Content is the highlight reel. It’s what fills a page, something you’ll scroll past in a heartbeat, something that barely stands out in a long long long list of stuff. Content is what you consume on a lazy Sunday afternoon without ever being forced to read lengthy pieces, take in the details of what you see, pause mid-scroll to ponder the meaning of life, whatever else have you. Create content and you create a flash in the pan, a quick laugh maybe, before it fizzles back out again. Create content and it’s here today and gone tomorrow without anyone mourning its absence for too long.

Art should last longer than that, don’t you think? 😉

So when I see people put a fic request in an askbox and it’s phrased like “Speirs x spy!reader fluff” and that very same request makes its way into about ten more askboxes before the fandom starts comparing asks? I might be inclined to classify us all as slot machines. Put an ask in and out rolls a fic. Who cares which slot machine it came from? As long as you’ve got your painstakingly crafted fics that you consume the same way you do actual content, right? We, its writers, are just lucky if we get a pat of acknowledgement on our little slot machine head for our troubles, aren’t we?

When I see an overly detailed summary of what sounds like a full-fledged fic in an askbox and the demand is “write this for me”, I recoil from the screen and go “child, who the hell birthed you, were you raised in a barn?” out loud. If you can tell a story in the space of an askbox, consider asking for help to let that story – a story you own, a story that is more yours that it could ever be mine – grow into what it has the potential to be.

When I see fics and gifsets and other creations get likes but not reblogs, I mutter something about the state of fandom economy these days. We exist in a little fandom bubble. Our bubble can’t expand or blow from place to place without a little help from our friends. And you’re my friends, right? I know the follow-button says follow, guys, believe me, I’m not that far gone, but for me ‘follow’ means ‘friend’. 💚 You’re my buddy now. Suck it up. We’ll share a can of peaches. 🍑

When I see fics and other creations get reblogged without tags or comments attached, I die a little on the inside. I feel like a little Victorian orphan child going “please, reblogger, a little penny of thought for its creator, if it pleases?”. I feel like commentless and/or tagless reblogging is giving me nothing, nothing at all, about who you are.

And I want to get to know you! I want to know who’s in my notes. I want to know who’s scrambling through my MotA gifsets like a fat little raccoon inhaling its third helping of a box of jelly-filled donuts. I want to know who is adopting which character and why. I want to know that it’s your birthday, or that you had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up, or that you are locked in an Ikea at three in the morning reading my blog by the bright lights of countless Solhetta bulbs. I want to know that you love my OC Darlene but that you ain’t sure what the hell my OC Lottie’s got to do with anything. I want to know what tickles you – a turn of phrase I used, a color in a gifset, a little detail I captured that made me go !!!!!! on the inside while I was creating too – and I want to know what moves you.

What reaches into the soil of your being and nourishes you enough to blossom into whichever lovely self you can grow to be? What is precious to you? What comforts you in the dark nights of your soul, when all light feels like it’s faded out? What do you love, truly love? What feeling and thought and idea and love love LOVE do you consume – truly consume, head to tail, no takebacks – and what are you consumed by in turn?

Let me connect with you. Let me know the little internet scraps of you that tell me you’re a DeMarco girlie, or that you’re here for Hoosier only, or that you’re as feral and batty about Speirs as I am, or that you actually really can’t stand the one dude everyone else raves about. Let me know that you like angsty quotes on gifsets – feel free to yell at me for making you schedule an impromptu therapy session – or let me know you saw what I did in my fic there and you’ll be demanding compensation from me while you lie down and wail about it. Let me know you’re very into those lovely blues on a gifset (I know, SO good, right??) or that you are side-eyeing me because that close-up of your fave turned you into a little puddle.

Let me know what moves you, because I created these things with love. I created them because they moved me, too. I created them because I have a story to tell, somehow. I created them because the whole world is a string of stories and I want to pass the heart of them on to you. I created them not because I want to jump on a hypetrain that races past all the episodes and all the alternate universes and all the stories without stopping, but because I want to soak up the sun and point at something and tell you “look, isn’t this beautiful?”. I created them not because I am looking for a quick fix or a distraction or an escape, but because I want to give you something that nourishes you as it has nourished me.

That’s so much more than that quick flash in the pan, yeah? That’s so much more than what content could ever hope to be. That’s something that lasts beyond the clicks and gives you an ever-expanding horizon that leaves you wondering just what in the world is next.

Let me repeat point five: if all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die. Because content doesn’t sustain you. Connection does. And connection? That happens with meaningful interaction. That happens when you stop getting followers and start getting friends. That happens when you treat all forms of art as something unique that can be precious to someone, rather than something to like today and forget about tomorrow.

Can I do a lil mic drop? Yeah. I think I’m gonna. Just this once. 🎤

#fandom things #yeah so this got long but in my defense I have never pontificated about this in public much before #sometimes I reveal myself as the crochety little fandom old I am #creative asks

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sunnysidevans · 1 year

Text

Part Of Me - J.Seresin

Synopsis: Continuing to build your family after the Uranium mission, jake continues to realize the best part of him was your family, through everything.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Pilot!Reader + Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Pilot!Reader - Callsign: Joker.

Warnings: 18+, language, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, mentions of cheating (its so tiny), angsty. lots of angst. dad!jake and dad!bradley.

This is part II to this fic which can be read here -> nothing else matters

a/n: so uh as I was editing this guy I realized i hit 1k? whaaaat? I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart and for that I present you this lil gem. I can't belive that many people like me enough to follow me. thank you thank you thank you <3

i do not own the gif used below. full credit to owner.

Jake Seresin was a man who lived his life on the edge, lived life by the edge of his sleeve.

Until now, the baby staring up at him with her soft brown puppy dog eyes.

He smiled at the little girl, holding her into his chest. He looked back at you laid soundly in the bed. He knew the amount of painkillers you were on, an almost fourteen hour labor. Sitting in his arms was the result of that labor, the one thing changing his world.

"Hi sweet Eve” he smiled as she babbled slightly, her small hand reaching out to him. “I’m never gonna let anything happen to you okay?” he whispered to her, lifting his pinky for her to hold onto. His Naval academy ring shined under the fluorescent lights as he smiled at the small pink bundle.

You smile, watching the moment from the bed. “I think she knows” you mumble as he turns around to face you. His smile grows at the sight of your own eyes staring back at him. “Hey you” he walks towards the bed and sits on the edge beside you.

“Look what you made,” he whispers, holding the little girl towards your chest. Sitting up, you take the bundle into your own arms and against your chest.

“God” you whisper more to yourself than him, he smiles. “I mean it” he whispers, looking at you. You hum in response, looking back up at him with a dazed smile. “Nothing is gonna happen to her if I have anything to say about it, either of you” he reaches out, pushing the sweat dried pieces of hair out of your face, pulling you forward to kiss your sweat dried forehead.

“You are my girls” he whispers against your skin as you smile. “I know” you look up at him with the dazzling smile he’s always loved. “Never thought Hangman and Joker would be sitting here with a baby” you smile as he chuckles, nodding.

He moves to sit beside you, letting your body fall into his side. He smiles down at the babygirl in your arms. “Jake?” you whisper, eyes focused on the baby as he hums in response. “Please don’t leave us” his heart breaks at the sound of your voice, he leans forward, kissing your hairline.

“I’m never leaving either of you” nodding, you both fall silent and listen to the babbling of your baby.

As you laid beside him, he watched the rise and fall of your chest. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him. Maybe he could be the man the two of you deserved. He could fly home to Texas and gain the courage to ask his Mom for her wedding band that she saved just for him. The band that would look perfect sitting on your left hand.

He had all he needed laid beside him, you and Evelyn.

He kissed the top of your head, letting his nose rest on the crown of your head. HIs thoughts continued in waves, interrupted by his phone.

He pulls his phone from his pocket as slowly as possible, looking down at the text in front of him.

Phoenix: Drinks tonight? ;)

His stomach plummeted at the text as he sighed. He moves you to gently lay back in the bed and climbs out. He takes one look back at you as he stands in the door, tapping his phone in his hand. It wasn’t too late for him.

“Hey you” Phoenix's voice is sultry, flirty on the other end of the phone. “This stops now” he says, looking back at the door as he stands in the hallway. She scoffs softly on the other end. “And why is that? There’s no way someone tied down the Jake Seresin'' he sighs, pushing his hair out of his face. “She did and you know that'' he says, hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you fell in love with Joker of all people'' she seeths as he bites his tongue.

“You know how I feel about her Phoenix '' he can hear the hurt she tried so hard to hide from him. “She’s gonna backstab you Bagman” he shakes his head, knowing she couldn’t see him. “It’s my decision to make and I am making it” he hangs the phone up then, not continuing to listen to her arguments.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he continues to let the thoughts flow through his brain like waves. Jake was going to keep his promise, he was going to stay. It wasn’t too late for the two of you and the family you were building.

The two of you were home from the hospital finally. His girls under the same roof. You fall onto the couch beside him with a heavy sigh. “You okay?” he asks, looking down at your tired eyes.

You’ve only been home for two days.

Home.

Jake’s home that he helped make yours. Together. You nod, moving under his awaiting arm, “I need to ask you something”. Your voice is soft as he nods, kissing the top of your head. “Anything you want” he whispers, running a soothing hand through the strands of tangled hair. “We tell everyone we don’t know who her father is okay?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

Jake’s heart stops. The two of you knew exactly who her father was and chose to keep it between the two of you. “If anyone asks, we don’t know, '' he nods, watching your face closely. “I-I love her and I don’t want anything to happen to her, the world does not need to know she belongs to Chicken'' he chuckles softly at the nickname you've picked up for the man in question.

“What if I say she’s mine?” he whispers, making your heart stop. “I’ve been here the whole time, I mean we can certainly make it work” he cups your cheeks. “Are you sure you would want that? This?” you ask sitting up. You knew Jake and his reputation.

“Jake, you don’t do long-term” you whisper, his heart clenching one word at a time. “I don’t but I want long term with you. It's not too late for us Jokes'' you nod slowly.

“I want you and Evelyn beside me in this life, you two are the best parts of me” he admits. “Okay” you whisper, smiling. “You are her father, it’s the three of us” he nods, pulling you in to connect his lips to your own, kissing you as if the world was crumbling.

“I promised, remember?” you nod with a chuckle, “you did”.

Jake was fully intent on keeping that promise.

present day.

The waves crashed against the sand as your breaths followed the crash. Taking a deep breath as one made its way in, exhaling at the crash. “It’s gonna be okay” Jake whispers beside you, kissing your temple. “I promised him and I can’t take that back” you mumble, looking over at Jake. He nods, looking at you with a smile. “She’s our little girl okay?” nodding, you sigh.

The sound of gravel pulls you from the bubble you tried to hide in, looking back at the blue Bronco. “I’ll go” he mumbles, moving from your side.

With a shake of your head, you reach out taking his hand to stop him. “Please don’t, if this goes south, I want you here for her” he nods slowly, lacing your fingers together.

“Hi guys” Rooster makes himself known then, looking at the two of you with a shy smile. You smile, looking back at him behind your own aviators. “Hi Chicken” he sighs, Jake stands with a proud smile.

“Evelyn! C’mere sweetheart” you yell to the toddler, she sat making a sand castle a few feet ahead. “Comin Momma” she yells back, standing and running towards the three of you. You and Bradley crouch down to meet her at eye-level.

“I have someone I want you to meet” she wraps an arm around your neck as she buries her head in your shoulder at the sight of Rooster. Pulling her into your chest, you hold her closer, sending rooster a sheepish smile.

He nods, watching the scene unfold. “Evelyn” you whisper as she pulls her head from your shoulder, looking at the man who made her, she didn’t know it yet.

“This is Bradley,” he smiles, waving at her gently. “He’s your dad sweetheart” you whisper, rubbing her sides soothingly. She looks back at you, then back at Bradley and lastly, she looks up at Jake. He stands beside the three of you.

The four year old was smart she looked between the three of you then between Jake and Bradley. “Then he’s not my dad” she points to Jake as he crouches down to be eye level. “Of course I am sweetheart, you have two” he smiles at her, as she nods slowly. “Bradley and I are both your dad okay?” she nods, looking at the other man beside her.

Bradley smiles at her, waving again. She walks over to him, looking him over. “I’m Evelyn” she mumbles, looking up at him through her lashes.

He smiles, “hi Evelyn, I’m Bradley” he whispers, “but you can call me Rooster” she thinks, nodding slowly. “Chicken!” He closes his eyes behind his aviators as Jake tries to hide his laugh.

“Rooster, do you wanna go make a sand castle?” she asks, looking at him as he nods slowly, standing to take her awaiting hand. “Thank you” he mouths to you and Jake as he follows her down the beach to her station of building a sand castle.

You watch as he sits down beside her, helping her build the sand castle she was building moments before. “Do you fly planes like my dad?” she asks as they pile sand into the bucket. “I do,” he nods, looking over at her. She nods, looking at him. “Why do they call you chicken?” she asks, he chuckles at her bluntness.

“Your mom and dad gave me that nickname a little while ago” she nods slowly, watching his face. He takes the aviators off his eyes, hooking them to the white tank top he wore under the Hawaiian shirt.

She looks him over, taking in the features that were so close to her own then looks away. “There's a picture of you in our house” she mumbles, continuing to dump sand into little blue bucket. “Oh?” he asks, as she nods, “you, my mom and dad”. He knows what photo hung there it was from after the Uranium mission, the three of you.

“I think it’s going well” Jake mumbles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, you sigh. “I hope it is, looks like she is giving him the third degree” you can see the discomfort on Bradley's face as they continue to talk. “Eh, gets it from her momma” he says as you slap his chest, “ow” he chuckles.

Evelyn moves to sit between Bradleys legs as he laughs, helping her dump the bucket. “Okay, now what do you want to use to decorate?” he asks her as she taps her chin in concentration. “Shells!” she yells, standing as he stands after her. He takes her awaiting hand and walks to the edge of the sand. “I hope she still loves me” Jake mumbles, whipping your head around, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“She’s gonna still love you as much as she has before, I promise you” he nods, kissing your temple. He hoped that you were right and that she would still look at him as he held the world and stars.

Rooster made his way beside the two of you, sitting down on the sand to the left of you. “She is just like you” he mumbles, looking over at you. Chuckling, Jake nods, “yes she is''.

You shake your head, looking between the two of them, “she gets a lot of qualities from you as well Rooster. Don’t give me all the credit” he nods slowly, looking at you with a smile. “I have to give you most of the credit, you’ve raised her to be the wonderful girl she is” you smile, bumping his shoulder gently. “You too Hangman” He mumbles, looking back out at the young girl who ran through the waves, looking back at the three of you with a bright smile.

Her smile is almost as wide as the sun. “Daddy!” Evelyn squeals from the shoreline, Jake kisses the top of your head, standing from the sand. “Where are you goin?” you ask, he smiles as he nods toward the four year old, “i’ve been summoned” he laughs at the shake of your head. “I’m comin Eve!” he puts the aviators back over his eyes as he jogs down to the shoreline. “It’s weird, seeing such a different side of him” Bradley says as you smile.

“This is Jake Seresin'' turning your gaze from the sight in front of you over to Bradley, “this is not Hangman” he nods as you continue.

“He may be a cocky aviator in the skies and that's fine, his ego is huge but here” your smile grows as Jake holds evelyn on his shoulders, “He’s just dad”.

The sun setting pulls the three of you back to the parking lot, Bradley crouches down to Evelyn’s level. “Bye Roo” she whispers, wrapping her small arms around his neck as she yawns. “Bye Eve” he whispers back, rubbing her back. “Make sure you are good okay?” he asks as she shrugs, looking up at him. “I make no promise” she grins at the growing smile on his lips. “I’ll see you later okay?” he asks as she nods, looking between you and Jake.

“Of course” Jake nods, picking her up to set her on his hip, she nuzzles her nose into his neck. “See you tomorrow Rooster” he nods in goodbye and makes his way past him and to the truck a few feet away. “Thank you,” Rooster says, looking at you with a smile. You smile up at him nodding, “I think she enjoyed your company” he nods with a chuckle. “It’s nice to see you again, it's like Top Gun all over again” he winks, nudging you gently.

“In the best parts of Top Gun” you defend, following him to his Bronco. He nods, pulling you into a hug with a chuckle, “I know and listen, motherhood fits you so well” he whispers, giving you an extra squeeze. “Bye Bradley, see you tomorrow” he nods, watching as you walk back to Jake and Evelyn.

The alarm beside the two of you rang, blared into the emptiness of the bedroom. Reaching over, you slam a hand down to shut off the screeching.

In seconds another much more muscular arm does the same beside you. Rolling over, you nuzzle into his back, arms wrapping around his waist.

Jake’s hand reaches down, taking hold of the hand you had on his boxers. “One of us has to take Eve to school” he grumbles, voice full of sleep. “When do you have to be on base?” you ask, kissing his shoulder blade. “0600” he mumbles, looking at the red numbers on the bedside table beside him.

“I’ll take her” you mumble as you roll away from his body, sitting up. He reaches out running his fingers along your back soothingly. The cold of his hands on your back makes you shiver. “Sorry” he chuckles, his eyes still full of sleep.

“I’ll pick her up” he mumbles as you nod. “Okay handsome” you lean back, kissing his chest as you stand. Stripping the shirt and panties you wore to bed, his snores were soft but you knew he had fallen back to sleep.

You toss the shirt at him with a smirk as he jumps, sitting up. “I’m up” he sighs. Jake Seresin never thought this would be his life, the love of his life waking up beside him and the daughter you two shared slept down the hall. “Love you” your soft whisper doesn't register with him at first.

It makes him smile in his daze, “love you more” he mumbles back.

The door is peaking open as the bathroom door closes. “Daddy?” her voice is hoarse as it comes out in almost a whimper. “Hey baby girl” he’s sitting up immediately at the sound of her voice, he notices it then. She’s holding the stuffed shark that Bob got her for her birthday tight to her chest as she sniffles.

He invites her onto the bed as she climbs beside him, holding onto his arms as she goes. “C’mere” he pulls her into his chest, cradling her head as he did the day she was born. “What’s goin on?” he asks, looking down at her. She sniffles into his chest, nuzzling deeper to hide her face from him. “Honey” he whispers, running his fingers through her hair, he can feel the small tears falling onto his pec.

“I-I had a bad dream..” she finally whispers, voice cracking softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks as she shakes her head, moving deeper into his arms. He smiled slightly, pulling her closer to his chest. “Eve?” he whispers, looking down at her. She nods in response as he kisses the top of her head, “no matter what, I won’t let anything ever happen to you okay?” he whispers as she nods slowly.

“You are my girl you know?” she looks up at him with tear stained cheeks. “More than momma?” she asks as he grins, holding a finger to his lips, “just don't tell her” she smiles.

He climbes out of bed and holds a hand out to help her down, “let’s get you ready for school okay?” he asks as she nods, walking towards the door. “I love you daddy” she stops at the door, looking at him. He feels his heart clench as he smiles, “I love you too sweet girl” Jake says, following her down the hallway to her room.

“Good Morning” you smirk, pulling the glasses off your face, looking around the room of Aviators. “I have some good news” setting the sunglasses down on the podium, you move to stand in front of it.

The group sat with bated breath, watching your every move. “As you all know, the naval ball is approaching and I got word from Admiral Simpson, the dagger squad is all to be honored” you grin at the smiles breaking out on their faces. “Now, of course that's a big deal but I have more news on top of that” the group moved to the edge of their seats, watching your every move.

“You are all staying here in North Island, the dagger squad will remain a strike-team for the Navy '' the room breaks out in cheers as Jake looks at you with a bright smile, smiling back at him, you wink.

“You are all going to continue on with dog-fight maneuvers today, show some of these recruits how it's done” you smile, “dismissed”. The group all files out slowly, Jake is the last remaining in the room as he makes his way to you. “I get to stay?” he whispers, looking down at you with wide eyes.

Reaching out for his hand, you nod. “You do,” you whisper as his smile grows. “We can be a family” he whispers more to himself in pure disbelief. Reaching forward, you pull him into your arms. “We are a family, we can just be together now” he nods, nuzzling his nose into your neck to hide the tears in his waterline. “I am so proud of you” you whisper, running your fingers through the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“I asked if I could be the one to present you with your accommodation” he grins against your skin, “so of course I am”. He stands to his full height, looking down at you with a smile. He reaches out, cupping your cheeks with a wider grin.

“God, I love you” he whispers as you grin, kissing his palm, “i love you more cowboy, now go” you nod towards the door.

“I need you to go show these recruits how it's done” he nods, saluting as he walks out the door.

Standing at the mirror, Jake attempts to tie his tie for the fifteenth time. He was more nervous for this pinning than when he got his academy ring. “You need help, sailor?” you ask from the doorway as he looks over with a smile.

There you stood in the dress he helped you pick out a few weeks ago, still hugging you in all the perfect places. He nods, turning to face you as you tie the tie slowly.

He smiles, looking over the small details of your makeup and jewelry. The small “J” pendant looked perfect sitting on your neckline. “There” you whisper, patting his chest with a smile, looking up at him. He kisses your forehead gently, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’m nervous,” he admits as you chuckle softly, looking up at him. “You deserve this, all of you do” he nods, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Woah!” Evelyn says from the doorway, looking between the two of you. Smiling, you look down at your daughter who is grinning as she makes her way to the two of you.

“Momma, you look so pretty! You look nice too, daddy!" she looks up at the two of you with a smile. Jake reaches down, picking her up to place her on his hip as she grins, looking at the three of you in the mirror.

Jake’s heart stops for a split second, his family staring back at him.

“Give me a kiss so momma can take you to Aunt Pens” he grins as the girl kisses his forehead, he leans up to place a kiss on hers. “Be good, okay?” he asks as she nods, hugging his neck. “You be good. Be nice to Rooster” she mumbles as he laughs, nodding, “of course, for you I will."

The rain poured in North Island, something you were not completely used to. Evelyn sat quietly in the back seat as the world was lit with multiple colors of storefront signs and red lights. “Momma, I dropped my toy” Evelyn mumbles as you come to a stop, reaching back and grabbing the toy from the floor of the truck, holding it out to her to take. Jake told you to take the truck after you dropped him off with Coyote for them to carpool.

The world stopped as the light turned green. You had no time to stop as the truck came barreling towards the two of you. “Evelyn!” you yell as you attempt to reach back into the back seat as the oncoming truck came and hit the driver side of the truck.

Within seconds, the world was dark.

Jake stood beside Coyote, looking between everyone and their spouses, sipping the beer in hand. He looked down at the watch on his wrist. He knew it didn’t take long to get to Penny’s from the venu.

“Where's Joker?” Bradley asks as he looks over at him, shrugging. “I have no idea, maybe she got distracted with Penny” Bradley nods slowly, looking out the window at the pouring rain. The sirens could be heard for miles, Jake and Bradley thinking nothing of it.

Reds and Blues filled your vision, looking around the truck as the world was upside down and spinning. “Ma’am can you hear me?” the paramedic’s hands were cold on your skin as you groaned. “I have a pulse!” he yells as you gently move his hand away. “No, No please help me daughter okay?” he stops, looking at you.

“Ma’am you need medical attention” shaking your head, you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“I don’t care about me! I need you to help her” you yell. The movement is shifted from you to the back of the GMC.

“Momma!” Evelyn whimpers as the paramedics help her out of the top of the truck. Closing your eyes, you sigh. “It’s okay baby! Go with them, they are gonna help you” she sobs as the additional paramedics take her to the awaiting ambulance.

“Ma’am, I’m gonna be honest-” the fireman stops at the look on your face. “Just tell me” you say, looking up at him he tried his hardest to hide the sadness on his face. “It’s gonna take us some time to get you out of here” he says as you nod.

“Can I just make a phone call?” you ask. He nods as you ramble off the phone number, a number you knew by heart. Bradley notices the vibrating first, nudging Jake’s shoulder. “Phone” he whispers as Jake nods, pulling the phone out of his pocket. He furrows his brows, he was not one to accept unknown calls but something in him told him to answer it.

“Hello?” he answers, the room full of noise but he doesn't miss the sound of an ambulance as hears you sob. “Baby listen to me” he sits up as the seat scratches along the floor. “Baby, what is it? What's going on?” he stands, the group of Aviators watching him.

“I need you and Bradley to meet Evelyn at the hospital” you say,taking a deep breath. “(Y/N) answer me what is going on?” He slaps Bradley's arm, motioning him to follow him.

The two men apologize to the group, walking out. “Just meet her there for me okay? I need you to take care of our girl” he stops at the door, taking a deep breath. “Baby, I need to know what's going on” he levels out his voice, hiding his nervousness. “There was an accident, I-I’m sorry about the truck, I don’t know what happened but what matters is that you and Bradley are with Evelyn right now” your voice cracks as the firefighter beside you nods slowly.

“I love you Jakob Seresin don’t you ever fucking forget that, you are the best part of me” your voice is soft as another voice comes on the line seconds later.

“Evelyn, the young girl will be transported to General, she should be there in about fifteen minutes” the line goes dead before Jake can reply.

The two men run into the Emergency Department like wild horses, pushing past nurses and people. “My name is Jake Seresin, I’m looking for my daughter Evelyn (Y/L-” a small voice down the hall stops him.

“Daddy! Rooster!”

Jake looks at the young girl as she runs towards the two of them as Rooster catches her first, holding her into his chest. She had a small bandage on her forehead, otherwise she seemed okay.

“She’s just got a few scrapes and she will be okay” the nurse nods, looking at him with a reassuring smile. “Do you know if her mother is here yet?” Jake asks. “I need an OR stat!” a doctor yells, running down the hall to meet the paramedics rolling in the gurney.

Jake turns his attention back to Evelyn for a brief moment until the gurney is rolling past him and the small ‘J’ pendant is shining brightly under the fluorescent lighting.

“Baby, stay with Rooster '' he whispers, kissing her head as he runs after the doctors. “(Y/N)!” pushing past the oncoming doctors and nurses, he manages to take your hand, noticing the blood that ran down onto his own palms.

“Baby listen to me” he’s whispering, holding your hand to his chest. “I love you, I love you so much and-” he lets the tears roll down his cheeks. “I need you to pull through this, for Eve, she-she needs you, I need you Jokes” he kisses your knuckles as the nurse gently moves him from the gurney.

“Sir, I need you to please step aside” she nods in understanding as he sobs looking at her with a nod.

The hospital fell silent in the hours of the morning. Jake sent Evelyn home with Rooster much to her protests of wanting to stay with him. The presence beside him pulls him from the blank stare at the now empty vending machine.

“How is she?” He looks over, noticing Phoenix sitting beside him. “I don’t know” his voice is hoarse, the first time he’s spoken in almost two hours. She nods, reaching out to give his arm a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry” he furrows his brows, looking at her. “Why are you sorry?” he asks as she sighs. “Joker and I may have had our difference as you and I but she doesn't deserve this and neither do you” he nods slowly, running a hand over his face.

His head falls to her shoulder in a heavy sigh, “I couldn’t protect them”. She furrows her brows, looking at the top of his head as she sits back in the linoleum chair. “Evelyn is okay” she starts, noticing the shaking of his shoulders and the small wet droplets she felt on her bare shoulder.

“(Y/N) may not be” he whimpers, closing his eyes tightly. “She will be Jake” she reassures him, running a soothing hand along his back in comfort.

“Jake” Bradley’s voice is soft as he shakes his shoulder, Jake sitting up quickly. “What, what is it?” he asks, looking up at the man in front of him. He fell asleep on Phoenix's shoulder and before he knew it the sun was shining through the hospital windows.

“They’ve got an update on her, c’mon” he motions to the doctor standing behind him, walking towards her. Jake rushes beside Bradley, standing straighter. He looked disheveled, the suit still adorned his body from the night before.

“Good Morning” the doctor smiles at the two of them, “I am Dr.Cameron” she motions for the two men to follow her. Both men on either side of her follow down the hallway of fluorescent lights. “I have been taking care of (y/n) since her arrival, I performed her surgery also” she turns to the two of them, stopping at the door.

“So, is she gonna be okay?” Bradley asks, watching as Jake makes his way to the small window that shows the inside of the room. He can barley makes out your silhouette.

He turns to face her, his eyes full of hope. “She’s expected to make a full recovery, she has suffered some sustainable injuries but she will be okay” she smiles at the smile breaking out on Jake’s face, nodding towards the door. “You can go in” she encourages as she shakes Bradley’s hand and walks away.

Jake pushes the door open quickly, you turn slowly at the opening of the door, smiling. “(Y/N)” he sighs, rushing beside you. “Jake” you reach a hand out to him, his hand sliding into your awaiting one. He sits beside you on the bed, resting a hand on your knee. “You scared the shit out of me” he pants, looking you over. Scrapes across your face, bandages over the ones that looked too deep.

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry about the truck” he shakes his head, “I do not give a fuck about that truck, it protected you and Eve”. Reaching out, he runs his thumb over the bandage on your eyebrow. Bradley makes his way into the room, smiling sheepishly.

“Rooster” he smiles from the entryway, waving slightly. “Came to check on you, I’m gonna go back to Eve but I had to see for myself” he says, watching the smile on your face.

“Take care of her for me?” you ask, voice soft. He nods, “of course” he smiles at the two of you, turning to the door and shutting it behind him. “Hey” Jake pulls your focus back to him, looking up at him. He reaches out, cupping your cheek, "I thought I lost you tonight” his voice is soft as tears make their way to his lash line. "I may have never gotten to tell you all the things I've been meaning to" he smiles sadly, “You walked into my life all those years ago and changed my life, I have walked through this world living on the edge” the two of you chuckled slightly.

“But then four years ago, we sat in a hospital room very similar to this one and my world changed forever. It was at that moment I knew I wanted to better myself for the two of you” smiling, you kiss his palm. He smiles, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb, “the two of you are the best parts of me, you changed my life and made me a better man, the man I want to be for you and Evelyn” he smiles, catching the tear falling onto your cheeks.

“So no, (Y/N), you are the best part of me” looking over his face, it was full of seriousness as you leaned up to pull him closer. “Get over here” you grin, pulling his lips to your own. Jake Seresin lived his life vicariously, he lived his life as he knew his two girls needed him.

He pulls away from your lips, nudging your nose gently. “I love you” he whispers a grin breaking out on his face. You smile, looking up at him through your lashes, “I love you more than words could ever describe”.

The two of you fit like puzzle pieces, filling each missing part of the other.

The school yard was full of kids, Evelyn laughs from her spot on the playground. School was on its way out, she was waiting to be picked up. She looks up at the sky as two planes fly overhead, she knew exactly was flying those planes.

“There’s my mommy and daddy!” she points. True to her word, Jake grins from the plane beside you, “Think she saw it?” he asks. You turn to look at him with a grin, “I know she did” he chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Evelyn!” she looks back, smiling. Rooster stood beside the Bronco, hands on his hips. “Dad!” she runs down the playground steps, “wait, I thought your dad just flew a plane?” a kid asks. She looks back at the kid, smiling. “I have two dads,” she laughs, running to Rooster. He scoops her up into his arms, “there’s my girl” he grins.

“Let’s get you to base huh?” he asks, putting the aviators on her face. He straps her into the car seat into the Bronco, grinning as he climbs into the driver seat.

“Can we listen to grandpa's song?” she asks, he nods from the front seat with a grin. “Of course we can!” he turns the radio up, “Great balls of Fire” plays through the speakers.

The two of them sang loudly down the road towards the base.

Cyclone smiles from his office at the sound of Evelyn's giggles down the hall. “Hi Uncle Cy!” she says in the doorway, waving as Bradley sends him an apologetic smile. He smiles, waving to the little girl. “Hi sweetheart” she waves and runs off back towards the hall.

She knew exactly where to go, running these halls for almost two years. Pushing out the door, she makes it just as you and Jake land on the tarmac.

The canopy opens and the two of you climb out, Jake makes his way to you and wraps his arms around your waist. “You still got it, Jokes” rolling your eyes, you wrap your arms around his neck, “shut up”.

Jake grins over your shoulder, causing you to follow his sight. Bradley held Evelyn's hand as they walk along the rows of planes, “so that’s aunt phoenix’s plane” he points out the planes as he goes.

“And there is Mommy's plane” he smirks as you pull the helmet off your head. “Momma!” she runs over as you crouch down with open arms. “Hi sweetheart” you grin, hugging her tightly. “Thanks Bradshaw, leave me out” Jake says, shaking his head as he ruffles the little girl's hair. She shakes her head, standing back to move to look up at Jake. “Daddy, that’s mean be nice to dad” he chuckles, picking her up onto his shoulders.

“Got it” he nods, handing her his helmet. She plops it on her head as they walk inside. Standing to your feet, you smile.

This was your family, the three of them. The best parts of you lived on in the little girl on Jake’s shoulders, as well as in Jake. Bradley who was someone you least expected to be part of your family.

“C’mon Admiral Seresin, we got stuff to do” Jake yells as you chuckle, jogging to catch up with them.

"We got a little girl who needs to get an Ice cream sundae from the cafeteria” he says as she giggles, holding onto his head.

“I second that,” Bradley grins, following the two of them.

a/n: i hope i did this justice, if I love a fic I normally don't write prt 2's but I knew I had to write about dad!jake/dad!bradley. If you enjoyed this, likes,comments and reblogs are appreciated.

if you enjoyed this fic, you can find my other fics in my library.

library.

#glen powell #miles teller #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fluff #dad!jake seresin #dad!bradley bradshaw

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gabzilla-z · 1 year

Text

ok quick thoughts, spoilers behind the cut.

Pros:

Halle. HALLE. H a l l e. Her voice, her face, her mannerisms. They took what made Ariel special in the animated movie and built on it and she was the perfect person to pull it off.

Her beauty was distracting.

So glad they finally got a singer for a live action, I couldn’t take another B&B autotuned disaster.

Made me want to get to the nearest rock and play mermaid ngl.

I had my doubts with Jonah but he did a great job with Eric, played the shy, kinda awkward potato prince charming to perfection. Loved that they expanded his backstory and his interest in adventure and the sea. Also A+ for the movie knowing he had a white shirt on while surrounded by water and using every chance it had to drench him.

Eric still being caring and worried about Ariel even under Ursula’s spell? 10/10 no notes.

He came to chew bubblegum and be dreamy and he was all out of bubblegum.

Halle and Jonah’s chemistry was insane, I need them to do ten movies making eyes at each other.

Seriously the movie could have been 2 hours of them interacting in that library and it would have been money well spent.

or just two hours of them being cute smol and tol in a boat idc

TRUE LOVE INDEED

Can’t wait for this movie to be out in D+ so I can reblog all the gifs.

Part of Your World and all reprises were ofc gorgeous. Vanessa’s Trick is haunting and exactly what one would want for a siren song. For the First Time is gorgeous and underrated, felt very Broadway-esque. Eric’s song was corny but in a good way.

The rest of the songs are adequate but are not as good as the original ones.

Gotta said, song aside, the Kiss the Girl scene was more endearing in this version. When she helps him figure out her name?

Melissa was good as Ursula and made the character her own, though I think she was not as scary as she could have been. Better than I expected, though.

The actress that plays Vanessa knew she had 5 minutes to make an impression and used them to the fullest. Delightful.

Cons:

The CGI felt unfinished and so did the color grading/lighting. I edited all the movie images in this post (just played with the saturation and the contrast) and I’m mediocre at best. HIRE TUMBLR EDITORS, DISNEY.

Halle deserved to wear more outfits, I can't believe Disney missed an opportunity to sell more dolls. Would have given her a dress for each day on land and the water dress. Mouse, I thought you liked money.

we could have had it all

Wanted more of her sisters tbh. And less Triton, Javier phoned it in imo. I know Triton and Ariel’s relationship is an important part of the original movie but idk if it was his half assed acting or me wanting more of the sisters, but I wasn’t moved.

Flounder's weird character design was saved by his stellar voice actor and Sebastian grew on me, he was hilarious. Scuttlefina was tolerable but gosh she’s always playing the same character, stop casting her in everything.

Less I say about Scuttlebutt the better. Kids are probably gonna love it, though.

The ending was kinda weird? It felt rushed and the battle with Ursula was disappointing. Which is a surprise because the OTHER stormy scene at night was wonderfully done.

Up to Ursula taking Ariel back to the ocean it felt really cohesive but the second Triton appears to save her it was like they were trying to speed things up and it got... weird.

Didn’t mind Ariel being the one that killed Ursula, after everything she put her through.

Cannot believe the movie robbed us of Jonah screaming “I lost her once, I’m not gonna lose her again!”

Overall it was a well paced (up to the finale), entertaining, charming movie. Despite its faults, the only Disney live action I want to rewatch (outside MAYBE Cinderella).

8/10 Justice for the foam dress.

#The Little Mermaid

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myluvrrhea · 3 months

Note

Can I pls have Dominik Mysterio x Fem reader with the prompts “I trust you” + ➻ “May I kiss you?” where the reader goes to his room and not only tells him her feelings but also how he's helped her with her inner demons?

Apocolypse

When your all alone , I will reach for you

Pairings - Bsf!Dominik Mysterio x Wrestler/Bsf! Reader

Warnings - Fear of unrequited feelings , Just fluff rlly!!

Word Count - 0.7k , Gif Creds

You and Dominik had been the dynamic duo of The Judgment day. You would always spend time with him. He was like the sun to your moon. You always saw edits either, praising the friendship you two or, shipping you two together. You and Dominik would make fun of the edits and react to them , but little did he know how much you wished you two could be together. And the edits just fueled your need for him more. So today you decided you wanted to tell him the feelings you and hidden for a while. You felt scared telling him about it , but you didnt tell him , he would never know.

You asked him to meet at a nearby beach at 5:00pm. The sun should be setting at that time , you thought. Checking your phone it was already 4:45. You grabbed your keys and purse as you looked into the mirror next to the door. It’s time to set your plan into action you thought, as you sighed.

You arrived to the beach as you sww Dominik sitting with his knees to his face looking at the sunset. You tapped his shoulder feeling your hands sweat up at the thought of what you were about to do. You saw Dominik turn to you , a smile forming on his face when he saw you.

“Hey mariposa, did you need me here for?” He asked.

“Hey I was wondering.. could we talk for a bit, its kinda important,” you asked as you sat down next to him.. Why were you feeling so nervous all of a sudden? You felt confident just a moment again where did it go? You thought to yourself.

Dominik looked straight ahead, feeling the breeze of the wind hit his hair. He looked so , beautiful. Almost unreal you thought as you looked into his eyes. You took a deep breath before you turned pulled dominik by his hand to look at you.

“You trust me right? This wont ruin what he have? “You whispered to him. You saw his face switch from a smile , to a worried expression.

“Of course, mi vida , I trust you know that right?,” he replies back.

Before you knew it , your faces were closer than you had imagined. You saw Dominik’s gaze linger on your lips and then back to your eyes.

“Dom what are you do-“ but he cut you off before you could continue.

“May I kiss you?” he asked. His question was soon answered as your lips met him in an heated kiss.

You felt Dom smile into the kiss as your lips left his. You could still feel the linger that his lips left behind. And you loved it.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” He asked as smirk painting his face.

You looked back at the sunset ad you opened your mouth to speak. Feeling his gaze linger on you.

“I just wanted to tell you how much you’ve helped me through out my career. Ive been having a hard time adjusting to the judgment day lifestyle, especially with these changes— its just been hard for me. And at some point I’ve thought about quitting,” you saw Dominiks face change to worry again as you spoke.

“But you helped me through these things Withought knowing. And I love that about you Dom.” You turned to look at him , seeing his smile match yours as his face turned a brighter shade of pink.

He grabbed your hand a bubbly smile on his lips as he began to speak.

“Im happy to be that person for you, and I want you to know how much I care… even if I might not show it you’re always on my mind,” you smiled as you turned to look away , trying to hide your face getting warmer. But instead of letting you, he kept you in his touch , pulling your face closer to his chest. Making you lay down on him. You and Dominik watched the sun set , as you rested on his chest. He took glances at you from time to time, but no words were exchanged. Just the love for each other , lingering in your hearts.

A/N- I hope You like this lovley!! Thank you all for the support on my fics it means alot!! 💕

#dominik mysterio x reader #dominik mysterio imagine #dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio fanfiction #dominik mysterio fluff

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gimmethatagustd · 1 year

Note

Hi Jai, ruu here

Thank you for adding me in your taglist.

And you said you are taking fic requests... His last live made me go insane.. He is so hot.. So umm its not actually a fic req. But imagine this Taehyung hovering over you before he devours you.. 🤤

👀 ruu, you can't do these things to me ((ik you said it's not a fic req but um i'm a slut))

this is for my taehyung whores. y'all know i have no self-control

((maybe if my whores with other biases were a lil thirstier in my asks y'all might get a lil gift too idk idk))

also wanna make sure everyone acknowledges gif credit @kth1 ((tho ik it says it in the gif itself, just wanted to make it clear for everyone since idk if the ask feature allows gifs to be linked directly to posts or not)). pls make sure to check out maggie's work!

You were convinced you didn’t mean anything to Taehyung, but when he looked at you like that it was easy to imagine that this was more than just sex.

It was an expectant look like he was waiting for something he believed could be found in your eyes, his breath held just behind his teeth.

Maybe he saw summer in your eyes. Sun rays sparkling down on intertwined fingers, his hand engulfing yours. Ice cream dates and lazy days at the beach. His lips, sticky and strawberry-sweet, against yours.

The bed creaked as he shifted his weight onto his forearm. Taehyung wasn’t summer, though. When you breathed him in you felt winter, something heavy and earthy like the crunch of leaves beneath your boots or the weight of mulled wine, mug hot between your palms.

“What’re you thinking about?”

He sounded like winter, too. Warm and gentle like the crackle of a fireplace after playing in the snow.

You crumpled the hem of his t-shirt in your fists and let your knuckles brush against his smooth stomach. His t-shirt was loose enough to see his chest through the scoop neck when he leaned forward.

“Nothing,” you murmured, eyes trained on the curve of his collarbone. It was hard to look into those endless eyes. You were scared of what they saw in you when you could hardly know what you saw in them.

“Hmm.”

Taehyung was the rumble of an avalanche en route to bury your heart deep within him.

“What?” You met his eyes and mirrored the way he bit into his bottom lip.

“Guess I gotta fix that,” he rumbled on, his head ducked down to run his nose from the base of your neck to the start of your jaw just below your ear.

You shivered despite the heat of his body hovering over yours when you felt his teeth tug on your earlobe.

“Oh?”

Words meant nothing when your hands were now flat against his chest beneath the baggy t-shirt and his thigh was pressed between your thighs. You could feel his erection through his sweatpants.

“Mhmm.” His tongue flicked against your skin and you felt fire, numblingly hot like frostbite, seep into your skin. The fabric of his shirt rubbed uncomfortably against your bare nipples when you arched against his chest. “Want you thinking about me.”

“Of course I’m thinking about you.” You squirmed beneath his fingertips as he pulled your underwear down your thighs.

“Relax, baby,” Taehyung cooed, his teeth grazing your nipple as his fingers slid through your folds. “You know I got you.”

“Tae…”

Your skin simmered with every touch of his lips as he trailed kisses down your torso, immediately growing cold when he lifted his mouth to inch further toward the one place you both both wanted his lips to be.

People thought winter was about death and decay, but they couldn’t see beyond relentless snow and barren lands.

You knew winter was for rest. It was the incubation time for rebirth in spring.

Every time his warm hands pushed your legs to your chest and his breath landed cool against your skin, before his tongue swiped hot over your clit, you swore you felt something new bloom inside of you.

And when the suck of his lips on your clit and the brush of his fingers along your walls made your vision explode with light, you saw the bright greens and soft creams of snowdrop flowers poking through frozen ground.

“You make me feel alive,” his fireplace voice crackled against your lips when he kissed you, and you wondered if you were spring.

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herewegobacktomoon · 1 year

Text

Okay, I've been trying for two days to ignore all the feelings 6.07 brought up for me, but you all made it kind of impossible with all the edits and GIFs🥲

So here I am, trying to put all the thoughts that have been nagging me out there, hoping that it'll take away some of my pain and if not, it'll make people who believe Maya is just a shitty abusive human being realize how wrong that is.

So, let's start.

The first thing Maya says when she wakes up? She asks where Carina is, she asks for her wife.

I've seen many people commenting that Maya was looking for her because she probably just wanted to get out of there asap, but I don't think it's about that at all.

Take one second, one moment, to look at her.

She just woke up, she's puzzled, she slowly takes in her surrounding, trying to gather her thoughts, to understand what may be going on, until you see a shift behind her eyes.

Teddy talks to her, Jack is there too, she knows she's at Grey Sloan, and that befuddled look turns into a conscious looking for something, or rather someone.

She woke up, in the hospital where her wife works, and Carina is not there.

Maya's not plotting her elopement right now, she just needs her wife, she needs her and to see that Carina's not there has probably sent her on a spiraling of her own.

I might be wrong, obviously, this is just my opinion, but the second scene gives us a lot to think about.

As soon as Jack tells her about Maya, Carina runs to her, terrified.

That "hey", the same exact thing she told her brother when she entered his room after his surgery, might be a coincidence (probably is) but it still gives us an insight on how triggering this can be for Carina, who flies to Maya's side but not without throwing a glance at her stats first.

Carina is understandably worried, but so is Maya.

The slew of sorrys she blurts out speak on its own: she knows her getting hurt is probably one of Carina's worst fears, if not her worst one, and I strongly believe that not seeing her before, as soon as she woke up, had instilled in her the idea that Carina might have been so angry with her that she had left her there, not even daring to come see her.

It's wrong, we know Carina wouldn't leave Maya like that, but in that moment Maya doesn't.

Carina is not Lane, but Maya is too stuck in her head to remember that, and she's terrified.

She's so terrified that the exact moment her wife is by her side, she clings to her with everything she has. And right there, that's Maya needing her wife, wanting her close.

She knows she needs her, she knows it's bad, Carina doesn't yet, but Maya is aware what happened in order for her to fall.

She simply can't bring herself to accept that, so she denies it.

And that's when she asks Carina to be discharged.

The tone of her voice, her eyes... she's trying to talk Carina into this: she's not manipulative, she's just trying to get things to go her way, as we all do.

And Carina is starting to get a bigger image of the situation, but there are still some pieces left to the puzzle.

And it's shown perfectly in the scene right after that one.

When Maya brings up wanting to be discharged again, Carina's answer shows us that she still doesn't have a full picture of all this.

"You've been doing too much", she says but the problem is that it's worse than that. It's way worse.

Maya didn't just "do too much": she's being reckless, putting her life at risk in more than one occasion, overexerting herself even when she knows she's in pain (like the treadmill scene, which has so many meanings), but Carina doesn't know that and she doesn't realise it either.

She jokes about it, she brings up Maya's Olympics and her bragging, something Maya always did to show how good she was at embracing the pain, at overcoming it.

She always used it as a demonstration of her stubbornness and her willpower, and by using it as an example, we know that it's what Carina thinks this is about too: Maya being stubborn.

It's when Maya says that she needs to get back to work, because there was a call and she was supposed to help her team that something starts to feel wrong.

"I need to get back to work" Maya's voice is shaking, the walls are cracking again.

"I'm fine" she insists when Carina disagrees, shaking her head, her voice trembling again, but we can see that she's trying so hard not to break down, and when Carina brings up "the help" Maya needs, the walls fly back up.

She feels constricted, having no control, and in one of her most vulnerable moments, Carina brings up the thing she's been avoiding for months now, and as a consequence, she feels attacked.

So Maya snaps, her defenses shutting Carina out once again.

Maya snaps and Carina flinches, abruptly getting up.

As triggering as this moment is for her, considering her past with her father or at least, the little we can assume for what we saw and heard here and there mostly on Grey's, we can see realisation dawning on her.

The puzzle is not complete, but another piece has just fallen into her hands.

The look on her face (I can't stress enough how fucking amazing Stefania's acting is, every single time) speaks volume once again.

Maya is not herself.

She's not scared of her wife, but she's terrified of where her Maya has gone, and how far that distance has now grown, irreparably.

It's not the first time Maya snapped at her in the last period, but never, ever like this, not even on the rooftop scene.

She's starting to understand that no matter what she does, the help Maya needs is way bigger than the capacity of what she can do for her.

It's not until she talks with Jack that the puzzle is complete.

Watching it for the first time live, kinda got me angry, because I could tell Carina was processing, slowly making a decision, and I hated how Jack was apparently making it about him, but I have to thank some people on twitter who shared their thoughts and made me see it slightly differently.

So, while I would still have probably made him ask her how she felt, or how it went, something that Carina probably wouldn't have even needed to answer to, ( I'm telling you a sigh would have been more than enough, explicative in itself considering the situation), I believe this scene was a turning point.

Carina realized Maya wasn't just being stubborn.

At first, I was surprised at how Jack was so straightforward, angry at his lack of delicacy, considering how Carina already lost many people she loved , especially her brother, but after many, many rewatches, I came to realize that it was probably the aim of the whole thing.

To draw a parallel, at least in Carina's head, something stirring through her traumas and forcing her to make a decision, more drastic than everything she had considered so far.

A decision Maya feels betrayed by.

Maya was hoping to be discharged, but teddy and Carina tell her she's basically being 5150ed.

Now, for all the people that like me aren't too familiar with US laws, 5150 is a law code for a temporary, involuntary, psychiatric commitment for people who present a mental illness that leads them to be a danger to themselves, being considered unstable.

And while it doesn't excuse AT ALL Maya's behaviour, or bringing up Andrew's death, it EXPLAINS why she would feel that way.

Maya's not okay and we can see that very clearly, but she doesn't want to admit it.

"let me go home, we can figure this out" and then "you can help me, at home".

That pause between "you can help me" and "at home"? A whole line. (Danielle's acting as well...a masterpiece)

Her voice breaks again, and what I love about this part is the rollercoaster we go through as she expresses her emotions.

She's terrified, she's so afraid and tears are pricking at her eyes, but as soon as she feels that fear getting too loud, she tries to overshadow it with anger.

She felt like she had no control as she lay in that bed, and the 5150 took away the last bit of it she thought she still had.

She's a loose cannon now and Carina's standing right in her trajectory.

So she brings up Andrew.

His death and Carina's need for space, which was a whole different story, to Maya right now it isn't.

In a conlicting way, I'm convinced she didn't bring it up to hurt Carina.

She doesn't want to hurt her or to reopen her wounds even if that's what happens (I'll talk about it in a sec) : it's her twisted way to tell Carina what she needs, that she needs love and support, but that she doesn't feel it.

In a very twisted way, it's Maya letting out what we already knew she feared: that Carina wasn't on her side anymore, or worse, she no longer loved her as before.

Is it devastatingly painful? Without a doubt.

Even more knowing that it was exactly what Carina was doing in that moment: loving her beyond herself.

Carina has tried to help Maya, and she wouldn't let her in, but now that Maya is saying that she "can help her", Carina knows it wouldn't be enough.

And she knows that probably Maya wouldn't listen either, not when she's having psychotic breakdown, being convinced that she's fine, perfectly fit to go back to work.

That's why the 5150.

What Maya think is them taking control away from her, it's Carina doing everything in her power to protect her, taking over the control Maya has long lost.

When Maya brings up Andrew, we can see her face twist in pain, the memory and the accusation too raw to leave her unaffected.

But what Maya doesn't know is that she is Andrew, right now, but we, from outside, can see the similarities perfectly, even in their struggles.

So, when she sees Carina walking away, she panics.

"If you walk out that door, we're done."

It's supposed to be a threat, but Maya's voice betrays her.

She chokes on her words, on her tears, cracking up once again, letting us see how terrified she is.

But she doesn't want that, so she repeats that statement, her tone now angrier, but not in the slightest less scared.

And then Carina's words, the love behind them hitting like an uncontrollable force, crash against Maya's walls, destroying everything they find.

"I lose you either way, Bella. I'd rather lose you and have you be alive".

That is the most selfless act of love Carina could do in that moment.

Leaving Maya shatters her, Maya is her home and she's watching her collapse, but she knows that her arms aren't strong enough to put the pieces back together right now.

Maya needs help and Carina does too.

And by walking away, Carina is making sure that Maya isn't Andrew.

We know it's not, but she's probably still convinced it was her fault, that by letting him on that train, she failed him.

By believing that she could help him, that if she was there he would be okay, she probably thinks that she was delusional.

And what happened is that Andrew died.

He died and Carina is afraid that by doing the same with Maya, by being sure that she could make it work, that she could fix it, things would have inevitably ended the same.

So she walks out of the room.

She doesn't walk out on their marriage, or on Maya: she's taking a step back to let Maya realize that the help she needs right now is a work she needs to do herself.

She's also setting a boundary, something that she knows she needs to keep her own trauma at bay.

But Maya's screams are probably more haunting than any of the ghosts from her past.

I honestly can't choose what was the most painful thing to hear.

When Maya threw that threat at Carina, she was sure, so sure that she would have stayed that when Carina "left", she shattered, with no restraint. (Except from teddy's arms, lol)

The trembling, pleading, repeated "Carina", the "I can't -", with the hand grabbing at her neck, her strangled voice as she chokes on her own screams and tears, on the verge of a panic attack as we hear her monitor beeping uncontrollably.

The "how could you", screamed with such a raw pain that you have to listen to it more than once to actually catch all the nuances behind it.

She's screaming, crying, breaking down because Carina has left.

I honestly have a hard time believing how every person that has watched this scene, even just once, can think that Maya doesn't love her, or that she doesn't deserve her.

She's crumbling, piece after piece, cracking as the pain excruciatingly overflows out of her lungs, and people still have the courage to say she's mean, abusive and undeserving of love.

And I'm glad Carina proves you all wrong.

Because she stays.

Maya doesn't see her, and she could run, she could run away from Maya's gut wrenching screams, but she stays there, crying with her, as shattered as her.

And then she covers her ears.

And although it was an incredibly intelligent improvisation, it's not casual.

She covers her ears when Maya chokes out a "Get back here", because she can't deal with all this pain, she can't bear it, and hearing Maya asking for her to come back, agonizing, would probably be enough to make her walk back inside.

And now that Carina is no longer there, we can see that Maya's more lost than ever, hollow, nothing but a shell of a person.

But ironically enough, this gives me hope.

It gives me hope because we all know the extent of the issue now, everyone has caught up, or at least Carina has and Maya did too.

For how painful and emotionally heavy it was to witness, I'm positive that Carina walking away is the first step that needed to be taken to be able to walk towards change, and eventually, the light.

Now if you've made it so far, I'm honestly so sorry for you lol, but I really needed to get it off of my chest or it would have haunted me the same way Maya's screams have been replaying in my head🙃

This is my silly, personal opinion, nothing more: I don't want neither to impose my thoughts on others nor to tell you how to feel about stuff, and I'd love if this starts a conversation.

But there's one thing I'm gonna ask you, something I can no longer stand: stop hating on Maya.

By writing this post, I strongly hope you were able to understand why everything is happening, why she's reacting like that; I hope it gave you a new insight.

So stop with the mean comments, cause words won't hurt her (it's sad, I know, but she's a fictional character), but they will hurt people who read them and struggle with the same issues.

I'm usually not fazed by this stuff, let alone if said by people I don't know, but I can tell you that reading some of your comments, the lack of empathy and coherence of thought of some people had me feeling very discouraged.

I'm not telling you to love Maya, nor to like her.

I'm not telling you to excuse her behaviours.

I'm telling you to try and understand.

And if that's too hard for you, if you tried but you can't empathize with someone struggling with their mental issues, I'm kindly asking you not to choose hate, and trust me: your silence is way more respectful than your words.

It's as simple as that.

#maya bishop #carina deluca #danielle savre #stefania spampinato #marina #maya x carina #station 19 #personal rant

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