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escelia · 2 days

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New Sibling Just Dropped

Or Danny gets willingly isekai'd into the DCU and gets a twin out of it.

I know I disappeared from the face of the earth for a bit there, and there's stuff I should probably be updating, but I come baring different stuff this time :D

Just started this for fun, and I have at least one other chapter of it done, but idk how long this bout of inspiration will last, so I'm just rolling with it for now.

@flamingpudding look! i pulled a jason todd and rose from the grave!

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Danny was tired. The kind of tired you felt behind your eyes and in your bones, and weighed heavy with achievement. He was perched on the edge of a building in his ghost form looking over Amity Park with a soft smile as he watched Youngblood run through the park with human children, Cujo playfully on their heels. His galaxy cloak (which had been a coronation gift) billowed around his lap like a gas with stars twinkling inside.

It had been a few years now since he took up the Crown of Fire and became High King of the Infinite Realms, and while he had accomplished many things since then, graduating from high school wasn't something on that list. It sucked that he wouldn't get to walk across the stage with Sam and Tucker, but in the face of all he'd been able to do for both Amity and the Infinite Realms, it was worth it. They coexisted now. There was still trouble every now and then, but Danny had helped the ghosts who insisted on staying in Amity Park find a place in their city where they could thrive.

Youngblood watched over the children of the city, Box Ghost started a box recycling center, Lunch Lady started a program to get food to families that couldn't afford it, and Pointdexter started reporting bullying at the school since he was already there.

On the Realms' side, Danny shut down Walker's prison. Since it was his lair, he couldn't take it away from him completely, but it no longer housed the many ghosts the warden had considered "rule breakers." He'd given Walker a new set of rules to enforce and essentially took him under his wing as a royal soldier, kept under the close watch of Fight Knight, who'd defected from Pariah Dark so fast after his defeat that it was laughable.

He'd done something similar with Skulker, though he was a harder case to crack. Unlike Walker, who was happy as long as he had a set of rules to enforce, Skulker wanted to keep hunting. He'd been recruited forcefully by Walker and Fright Knight after they caught him on his way to fight Danny again.

All in all, everything had begun to run smoothly now. The fatigue weighing on him reminded him that it had been hard to accomplish, and continuing to lead his double life hadn't made it any less exhausting. A cold breath rushed through his chest as he felt a familiar presence slide up next to him.

"You didn't time out," Danny pointed out without looking to face the ghost beside him. Clockwork hummed in acknowledgment.

"Sometimes it's pleasant to watch time flow in person." It was Danny's turn to hum at him.

"How are you feeling?" The Ancient asked thoughtfully. The younger ghost tilted his head pensively.

"It's hard to say. I'm tired, but I'm happy. And also sad..." he paused to gather his thoughts. "I feel like I've done everything I needed to."

But not everything he wanted to do.

"Go on," Clockwork pressed. The teenager did turn his head now to make a face at his mentor. If the guy knew how he felt and what he was going to say, why would he say it out loud? But the other just arched a brow at him and waited.

"Fine," he pouted. "I've spent so much time and energy finding places for everyone here. The GIW are gone, my parents stopped hunting ghosts, Jazz got into the psychology program at Stanford, Sam and Tucker are graduating today... I helped make that happen, I know I did! But they're moving on without me. They're growing up and I don't feel like I am."

'I don't feel like I'm ready.'

Danny stopped to take a breath and wipe away the icy tears gathering in his eyes. He felt stupid for crying over it. He was 17 for Ancients' sake! Jazz would have told him he grew up too fast, but he still felt like a child. He had no idea what he was doing! And yet! And yet... he felt...

"But you also feel ancient, right? Like you've been around too long and seen too much?" Clockwork said as though he were reading from a script. Danny sulked. Stupid time ghost with his dumb Time Stream TV or whatever.

"Yeah..."

"All Ancients feel that way. Though you may be feeling unbalanced in more ways than one because of how young you died and the fact you are half human."

"What do you mean?" Danny turned his whole body to face him now, tucking his knees under his chin and circling his arms around them. His cloak moved with him in inky black wisps and settled around him again like clouds of galaxies.

Clockworks form shifted to that of a child.

"You feel young because you died young. However, it is the nature of humans to grow and change. While you may have died at 14, your childhood died before that. You yearn to grow and learn, while also being an incredibly powerful Ancient."

He supposed that made sense. He recalled all the years cleaning the lab before the portal had even been built, and the fighting and neglect (Jazz's words, not his) that spawned his disdain of Christmas even longer before. He wanted to go back to school. He wanted a reason to love Christmas. He wanted pets and family dinners that didn't come alive. He wanted to grow up properly.

"But you still want to help people," the ghost said as though Danny had been talking out loud or having his mind read.

"I hate it when you do that," Danny complained. Clockwork just smiled smugly.

"I know." He laughed at the glare Danny threw him.

"I have a proposition for you," the older ghost began. Danny perked up in intrigue. "I know of another earth dimension with some problems that need to be addressed. Your role as High King puts you in a position to be helpful."

"Their problem has to do with the Realms?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Ectoplasm from the Realms is pooling into what are referred to on their planet as Lazarus Pits. They are both helpful and harmful as they do not dissipate into the air so they continually collect and concentrate emotion, but they do sometimes revive the dead."

Danny grimaced in disgust at the thought of dunking a person into a stagnant pool of contaminated ectoplasm. "That sounds disgusting."

"Quite," Clockwork agreed.

"So what's your proposition?"

"Well, if it is agreeable to you, I would like to de-age your physical form and place you with a family that's had dealings with the Pits firsthand. I've found them to be quite charming."

"Ah, so you want me to go in undercover?" Danny couldn't help but roll his eyes a little. It wasn't a half bad idea. He could try his hand at childhood again and still get to handle his duties as King Phantom. Leading a double life again would be easy enough, it was just stepping from one role into another.

"Not at all." Clockwork smiled knowingly. Danny was officially suspicious of his ghost guardian. "This planet has had all kinds of dealings with the occult, and even humans with superpowers isn't that unusual. While I would advise against telling anyone you are a king right away, you are in fact just that: a king. You may do what you wish."

For an ancient and wise time ghost, Danny thought Clockwork was really shit at hiding his expressions. Though he tried to keep the grin off his face, Danny could clearly see the twitching of his lips and gleam in his eyes that promised the old man was scheming.

But to get his childhood back. Or, at least a semblance of one... it deserved consideration. Danny looked back out at the cityscape again. Sam and Tucker... they were down there graduating from high school without him. He'd been the one to encourage them to pull away from Team Phantom activities to zero in on their studies, but he didn't regret it. Sam wanted to major in environmental science and Tucker wanted to go to MIT and he just didn't fit into those plans. After Jazz left for Stanford, his parents often forgot he was still there. He'd managed to convince them to study ghosts properly instead of hunting them, and with a little help from the "friendly ghost King Phantom" they were given a place to start. They dove into their research with the same excitement and fervor they'd had all their lives. Which of course meant he went days, sometimes weeks, without seeing them emerge from the lab. It was easy enough to slip past them to the portal while they were distracted.

The point was that he'd started to feel his anchor to this city, to this realm, start to dissipate as the people who kept him there started to break away from him. He still loved them, wanted to protect them, but they were safe and happy now. He felt fulfilled in his task of protecting them, but there was a buzzing beneath his skin to do more.

Danny took a deep and controlled breath. He didn't need it in his ghost form, but it felt good to feel his lungs stretch to fullness.

"When would I start?" He asked finally. The straight face Clockwork had been trying to keep, and he really was so bad at it, finally broke into a wide grin.

"Right now. Everything is already in place and your duties in the Realms will be taken care of in your absence."

Danny smiled softly at his guardian. Clockwork sure had a funny way of showing it, but he cared so deeply for the boy next to him that when Danny responded with a bad pun, he couldn't even be annoyed.

"Well, no time like the present!" He winked.

Clockwork chuckled, and with a flash of light, he sent Danny on his way.

The more time the older ghost spent with his young ward, the more he appreciated him. The Danny he’d come to know was nothing like the Danny’s from other worlds he’d encountered while trying to prevent Dan from existing. His Danny was now truly one of a kind. None of the others, not even the ones that eventually turned into Dan, had been Ancients. There would never be another Danny like him, and every universe was adjusting to include him should he ever decide to visit them. He had a place in any world, should he choose, but Clockwork knew he was needed most in the one he’d sent him to. It would be truly entertaining to watch the young Ancient settle into his role there, and Clockwork was actually finding himself looking forward to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark and quiet a long while before Danny opened his eyes. And when he did open them it got really loud and really bright really fast. It belatedly occurred to him that he should have asked like a billion more questions before agreeing to be iseaki’d into a different dimension to join a family he knew literally nothing about.

There was shouting before someone in what looked like a ninja cult uniform shoved a knife into his hand and pushed him in the path of a person in a different uniform. The man in front of him was dressed in blue and black and wearing a mask that covered his eyes, but Danny could see the surprised shape of his mouth before it morphed into something like anger. And then he was being lunged at.

He shrieked as he dodged out of the way. Not his most graceful save, but whatever. His voice was a bit shrill and his center of gravity felt way off. He must have actually been de-aged! He wondered how old he was now. He still felt light on his feet thanks to his ghost half which felt blessedly intact. But the other guy was fast and he ducked into a roll just in time to dodge whatever weapon he was holding. This guy meant business, but he had no idea why he was trying to kill him.

‘Great, thanks Grandfather Clock for throwing me right back into the good ol’ days,’ he thought sarcastically. Nobody had attacked him for no good reason like that since Walker and Fright caught Skulker mid hunt for the very last time.

What he now saw was a baton swung down from overhead and Danny knew he wouldn't dodge it in time, so he caught it with the flat of the blade that had been shoved into his hands.

“Wait! Why are we fighting?” Danny yelled, panicked as the guy pushed more force into it. The man's face twisted into something like confusion for a moment and he backed off just the tiniest bit before the scuffing of shoes to his right had him looking over just in time to see another guy in a mask, this time in red, rushing at him. He threw his hands up in surrender.

“Wait!” He shrieked before he was absolutely bodied sideways into the ground.

Why was he doing this? He was half ghost, he could have just gone intangible and disappeared. He didn't have to be body slammed into the ground. Wasn't he a child now? Did that guy in red actually just slam a whole child into the ground?

“Red, hold on! This one's different!”

“What do you mean?” The guy Red asked. He was still pinning Danny to the ground.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” Danny asked breathlessly, then whimpered, “Someone please tell me what's going on!”

The one hovering over him must have seen something on his face that convinced him to not try and kill him anymore, because he grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him along.

“We'll take him in for questioning. Don't let Robin see him.”

“Who's Robin?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long, arduous, and confusing journey from wherever they were to… well, wherever they were now. They'd blindfolded him for the transport so he still had no idea what was going on. He had learned that the guy with batons was Nightwing, and Red was actually Red Robin. The one they called Robin was a feral looking thing with swords, he was very small and stabby. Then there was Batman, and he totally threw off the whole bird theme but was easily the most intimidating. And that was all he knew so far. He'd been restrained at an interrogation table.

Danny groaned and knocked his forehead onto the table. He really, really wished he'd asked Clockwork more questions. He'd at least been able to catch a glimpse of himself in the glass behind Batman. He looked like he was eleven or twelve again, which was not as young as he'd been expecting, but much more preferable than being a literal toddler. The group of people he’d been brought in by seemed to be heroes. They were all incredibly weary of him, but hadn’t gone out of their way to harm him since his capture. Though it was hard to call it a capture when there wasn’t a chase involved.

“How old are you?” Batman asked suddenly. His voice was low and rough and somehow Danny could tell it didn't sound like that naturally.

“Um, maybe eleven or twelve?” Danny replied carefully, picking up his head from the table and having the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“And what's your name?” He looked like he was expecting something.

“My name is Danny, sir.”

“Hmm…”

It was quiet and awkward for a long moment.

“Why are you different from the other clones?”

“Yeeeaaah, I'm not a clone.” Danny absolutely did not jump when the brute slammed the file folder shut in front of him.

“We'll see what your DNA results have to say about that,” he said confidently before turning to leave, his cape dramatically flaring out behind him.

Sheesh, and he thought he’d had a flair for the dramatics.

‘Okay, time for some assessment,’ Danny thought to himself as he looked around the small closed room. It was soundproofed incredibly well. While he didn’t have super crazy hearing, it was enhanced by his ghost half, and combined with his other sharp senses, it tended to help him gather more information than others could. The most he could hear outside the room was a quiet hum of activity and nothing discernible. Still, he needed to decide how much he would say to these people. How much truth did he want to weave into his tale? These people clearly already had their own assumptions about him in mind, and while there was absolutely nothing wrong with being a clone, he knew he didn’t have what it took to keep up an act like that for long, which would just end up being awkward for everyone.

He also would not be telling them about his status as Ghost King, per Clockwork’s suggestion. His captors seemed like the uptight sort, and revealing that he was a big, scary ghost monarch didn’t seem like it’d go over well. Telling them he was a halfa would probably get them off his back over the clone thing, at least. He went over the list in his head.

He was a halfa from another dimension, so he couldn’t be a clone.

He had no plans of fighting with anyone unless absolutely necessary.

He did not have a way back to his other dimension.

His name was Danny, and he didn’t have a family anymore.

He did not know why he was in the middle of whatever fight he woke up in.

No, he didn’t know those people.

Danny must’ve been lost in thought for quite a while because his thoughts were interrupted by Batman bursting back through the door. The man’s demeanor had changed completely and he whipped off his cowl to reveal disheveled dark hair, blue eyes, and an expression of absolute heartbreak that accompanied his shuddering breaths. With the mask off, he reminded Danny a lot of his father.

Batman searched his face and, much like Red Robin had before, seemed to notice something there.

“She did it twice,” he muttered to himself. “Two of them this whole time and she didn’t tell me about either of them,” he said through gritted teeth. His frown deepened. Danny copied his frown.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He still had no idea what was going on.

#dcxdp #danny phantom #batman #danny fenton #fanfiction #damian wayne #batfam #just having fun with all the tropes #danny and damian are twins #except they're also kinda not #danny just wants to be a kid again #clockwork is scheming again #not even damian is safe from it #danny wanted something to do and clockwork dropped him and and said “go fix this”#also this is like barely edited

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lyney-s-bitch · 3 days

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hi omg i have been thinking about this a lot and idk I think you could work well with my request, so I’ll just ask! How would Neuvilette and Wriothesley react to their female s/o telling them they can go raw / they can finish inside? I’m so curious~ and I hope you have fun with writing this! Neuvi and Wrio are so hot omg I am so sad I didn’t get Wrio :(

hello my dear!! thank you so much for sending this in, I finally got around to writing it ;-;

I absolutely did have fun with it, and I’m sure Wrio will honor you with His Grace pun intended during his rerun😌🙌🏼 do feel free to share more of your thoughts hehe

—————

asking them to finish inside (Neuvillette, Wriothesley) || 18+

Neuvillette:

The Iudex of Fontaine had been busy this entire week. Very busy. Too busy to spend any sort of alone-time with you, not even returning home for the night, instead spending the nights in his office, burying himself in the mountain of bureaucracy that he called his work.

Tonight was the first time after said week where he had come home to you, finally burying himself in you again… and it was driving both of you absolutely crazy.

Breathless pants of his name left your lips in a seemingly endless stream, your fingers entangled in the silky strands framing his pretty face as you gently rub your thumbs against his cheeks, the loving gesture in stark contrast to the almost feral movements of your bodies meeting one another in an unrestricted, desperate display of passion.

He was so damn close - you could see it in his face, hear it in the way his moans of pleasure got that slightly whiny edge you loved so incredibly much, feel it in the way his hips began to increasingly stutter with each stroke of his. He tried to slow down in an attempt to postpone his release, refusing to let this end just yet, not before you would be satisfied first… but you yourself had other plans.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in even closer as you whispered in his ear "Don’t stop now, my love… Please, keep going, wanna feel you finish inside…"

He shuddered visibly, inhaling sharply in an attempt to calm himself down and keep from exploding right then and there.

It took all of the Iudex’s willpower to cease his movements, pulling away slightly to look directly into your eyes and inquiring "Are you… absolutely sure?"

Even though you were on the pill, and neither of you knew for certain whether it was even possible for him to procreate with a human, you usually never opted to take the risk… up until now.

You nod, pulling him in once more and clenching around him noticeably, your hips moving ever so slightly to coax him into going on.

"I am. It’s gonna be okay, just please…" You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, though it’s not like you needed to in order for him to understand. He nods very slowly, his empathetic nature paired with the physical need overwhelming him in this moment making it nearly impossible for him to resist your wishes (or his own body’s, for that matter).

He lets out a soft groan under his breath, starting to move against you once more, this time with more vigor and intensity, yet also trembling more than ever before. It wasn’t long until his thrusts grew sloppier, until he eventually pushed himself as deep as he could possibly go and let out a soft, shaky moan when he finally released inside of you.

~~~

Wriothesley:

The Duke was a smart and responsible man. He seemed to always know what to do and what not to do, keeping a cool head no matter the direness of a situation… but goddamn did you make that impossible for him today.

It was a certain time of the month - the time where you were especially horny and needy. And he already knew in advance: Wriothesley kept track of your monthly cycle in his calendar, ensuring that he was mentally prepared for all of your moods and could avoid additional headaches. But all that preparation didn’t help him much in this case, because how on earth would you expect him to not go completely feral when you come up to him sitting in his office, straddling his lap and rubbing yourself against him so deliciously??

He actually still had some administrative work to finish… but tomorrow would be a day too, right?

So Wriothesley ended up telling himself one of the biggest lies in human history: "JuSt tHe TiP" - which of course escalated into much, much more as you kept teasing and taunting him to keep going until he ultimately bent you over his desk, slowly sinking himself into you just the way he knew you loved.

He eventually doubles over, leaning down and pressing his chest against your back, whispering to you in a husky voice as he wraps one hand around your delicate neck: "You’ve managed to rile me up quite a bit there, darling." You only let out a soft whine in response, clenching around him desperately as you could feel yourself throbbing for more. The Duke couldn’t help but let out a stifled groan, sinking his teeth into your shoulder at the sensation.

"You’re really a piece of work, y’know that?", he then remarked with a throaty chuckle, his free hand coming down on your ass and eliciting a surprised yelp from you. He knew he wasn’t going to last any longer, you had gotten him way too weak already, so he inquired in a low rumble of a voice: "Where do you want it, princess?" He was about to pull out, but a distinct protest from you stopped him - it was as if your pussy was holding him in with a death grip, causing his eyes to roll back for a moment due to how close he was feeling to his limit.

"Stay inside, please, want you to cum inside", you babbled almost incoherently, yet the man understood every single word.

*Wrio.exe has stopped working*

You hadn’t even finished the sentence when he exploded inside of you, letting out a not-so-manly moan in the process (you fucking loved it).

#I’m ngl Wrio’s was personal LMAO #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #neuvillette #iudex neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #my writing stuff

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keerysfreckles · 3 days

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bad ideas right? — LN4 (au)

pairing: fratboy!lando x fem!reader (college au)

summary: during her senior year of college, y/n and her ex get too close for comfort. it was a bad idea, right?

warnings: swearing, kissing, alcohol consumption, sexual themes mentioned but no smut written, bit of a long fic, based on the song "bad idea right?" by olivia rodrigo

a/n: WHAT ON EARTH IS IN THE MIAMI AIR PLS HE LOOKS TOO GOOD

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n didn't remember why her friends dragged her to the 2-star bar at the edge of campus. her brain was becoming fuzzy as the night went on. she's had maybe five drinks, not that she was complaining. herself and her three friends were dancing ridiculously as a song full of bass blared through the speakers.

two of the girls makeup was starting to smudge, one had lost a single shoe, and y/n's loose black dress was definitely the wrong option for tonight. but none of them cared. they all needed this night out before the stress of finals month started.

y/n's phone rang multiple times in the past seven and a half minutes, but couldn't hear or feel the small vibration. on the ninth call she realised her phone was lighting up in her pocket. her eyes struggled to focus on the name, but soon registered the name and number to her ex, lando norris.

the asshole who broke her heart sophomore year. the dick who left her out in the rain after kicking her out of his dorm. the shithead who then ignored her for the following year because she told him what they had was "messy". y/n l/n believed lando norris was the bane of her existence.

so why was he calling her?

he missed her.

twenty three minutes before the first phone call, lando was pacing back and forth in his untidied dorm room. he debated calling for two main reasons. he truly wanted to apologize for the way he's treated her for the past two years, and he was genuinely curious on how she was doing.

the reason for calling her so late was simply because earlier in the day his thumb hovered over her contact to delete it. however, he internally scolded himself when he simply shoved his phone back into his pocket.

lando knew he fucked up with the girl. he knew he hurt her, but he fears he'll never know how much he twisted her heart and proceeded to throw it into the dirt.

so he called her. but was left on voicemail eight– now nine times. he could recite the damn recording after tonight. "hi, it's y/n. i'm probably out so if you'd leave a message that be amazing. thanks! bye!"

on the other side of campus, the four insanely drunk friends were trying to walk back to their two dorm rooms. their arms were all linked together as they walked slowly and in anything but a straight line.

in the span of five minutes the girls got maybe thirty feet away from the club, still laughing over nothing and everything at the same time. y/n groaned in annoyance once she felt her phone ringing again.

this time however, her brain skipped the part to take the time to look at who the caller was. so she answered.

"hello?" she giggles into the phone. she lets go of her friends arms, staying a few feet behind them.

"y/n," her heart twists and her throat tightens at the voice on the other end.

"lando," her voice is quiet.

"why didn't you answer any of my calls?"

lando doesn't miss the giggle and slight slur to her words as she spoke, "me and my friends were out. why? are you some kind of spy now? you just have to know where i am?"

lando goes to speak again, but hears y/n giggle after a curse word falls her lips. the girl can't help but laugh as she tripped over the small crack in the sidewalk, making her phone fall to the floor.

"y/n are you okay? do you guys need me to come get you?"

after two attempts y/n is able to pick up her phone, while one friend tries getting her off the ground.

lando doesn't get a cohesive response, now that two other girl's voices and druken laughter were flooding the speaker.

y/n finally gets to her feet and puts the phone on speaker, "lan, we're just going back to our rooms."

lando's cheeks flush lightly at the nickname he hasn't heard her use in practically forever. he runs a hand over his face, debating on if his idea is stupid or not.

he sighs, "just stay where you guys are alright? i'll come find you and take you back safely."

before y/n can respond, the line goes dead.

so now the four girls were spread out slightly on the cold sidewalk, at least four blocks from their building. two girls were trying their best to look up at the stars without falling over. while y/n and the other were sitting on the curb, leaning against each other.

lando would admit he's surprised that he didn't get a speeding ticket the whole time he was in the car. he took the route from y/n's dorm room, that he's only been in once this year, and drove in the direction of three different bars.

after no luck, he turned around and called y/n again. at the sound of her drunk giggles, he was starting to get annoyed. yes, this was his own idea, but he couldn't live with himself if he knew they were out and he couldn't do anything about it.

after several minutes, he finally got some sort of address out of the girl.

y/n could already feel her head pounding as her friend beside her continued to ramble on about the color green. y/n knew neither of them would remember this conversation in the morning.

her friend cut herself off, "ow! who turned the sun on?"

the "sun" was actually the headlights of lando's dark blue car. y/n leaned over to see him pulling over to their side of the road.

lando muttered out a curse word or two at the state of y/n and her friends. y/n watched as lando struggled to get the three of her friends crammed into the backseat of his car. he managed to get them inside without hitting their heads, so he considered it a job well done.

"c'mon," he held both hands out to help y/n off the curb. she subconsciously leaned into him while he helped her into the front seat. once he triple checked they were all buckled, he gave each of them a water bottle before driving in the direction of their dorm rooms.

the drive was quiet, despite the few druken burps let out between all the girls.

lando had a solid game plan once he parked into the front row outside of the girls' senior building. he would get one out at a time and safely into their room.

after getting one girl out of the backseat, y/n taps on her closed window, catching lando's attention.

"you're gonna need their passcode to unlock the door," her voice was scratcy, but lando could tell the water helped her sober up slightly.

lando thanked y/n after she told him both room codes, which made getting the girls inside much easier. he locked the car doors after each girl, and was quick as he could be to get them to their beds.

two girls were able to walk slightly, while carrying the third was just easier. now y/n was leaning against lando as they went up the single flight of stairs. he kept his grip on her while typing in the code, but y/n didn't let go when the door unlocked.

she silently turned and hugged him. the action caught him off guard for a second, before he held her head to his chest.

"are you gonna be okay?"

"i've missed you lan," y/n completely ignores his question, and he knows she's sincere when her grip slightly tightens on the back of his shirt.

y/n looks up at lando, losing her train of thought now that she gets a good look at him for the first time that night. her cheeks flush at how he's looking down at her, with his stupid backwards hat, and his stupid curls.

lando stares back at her, watching her widened pupils flick between his own eyes.

"i've missed you too," he fianlly admits out loud.

before y/n leaves to go in her room, she leans up to place a kiss on his cheek. the action instantly makes lando's brain fuzzy, as well as the girl's. lando smiles slightly before leaning forward to kiss y/n's forehead.

"call me if you need anything, 'kay?"

y/n nods, watching him now walk down the hallway. she lets out a loud groan once her head hits her pillow. her brain's telling her one thing, but her heart is telling her another.

she groans once more, knowing if she debated this any longer she'd only give herself an even bigger headache. she isn't sure if lando left the parking lot yet, so she throws on a pair of shoes without tying them, and runs down the hallway and back down the stairs.

she's surprised she didn't trip, but the thought leaves her head once she calls lando's name.

his movements stop, his hand halting on the handle of the driver's side door.

his eyebrows instantly furrow, "are you okay?" he doesn't get an answer, y/n only walks over to him with a certain look of determination filling her features.

"is something wrong?" he asks again, now that she's in front of him.

y/n doesn't answer again. two seconds pass until y/n pulls lando's face down to hers. the grip on his neck is soft and firm at the same time while her lips press to his.

lando kisses back almost immediately, one of his hands going to her waist while the other holds the back of her head.

"wait, shit you're not still super drunk are you?" lando pulls back, his lips barely hovering over hers, but concern filled his words.

"yes," y/n nods, "lan i've never wanted anything more."

she sucks in a breath, slightly regretting her choice of words. however her shoulders relax once a smirk makes its way across lando's face, before he's pulling her back towards him.

lando walks backwards, bringing y/n with him, before opening the door to the backseat.

y/n lets out a small laugh, "really?"

lando shrugs, "we can't really fuck in your room with your sleeping roommate." he pulls y/n with him, with her closing the door behind her immediately. her legs rest on either side of his, as his hands move to her thighs, starting to bunch up the material of her dress.

lando pulls away from the kiss once more, "you're sure you really want this?" he can barely concentrate on her answer while she threads the hair at the back of his neck between his fingers.

"i need you lan, please," she's desperate and she knows it, but she couldn't care less.

—

with lando's car now midly humid and smelling like sweat, he runs his fingers up and down y/n's back under her (his) shirt. he heard her breathing even out maybe three minutes ago, as well as her hand going limp by his waist. he knew she'd be out for the rest of the night.

9 am rolls around rather quickly, and y/n wakes up to a repetitive knocking. her eyebrows furrow before she wipes the sleep from her eyes. turning, she's met with a very amused roommate outside of lando's car.

"shit," y/n mumbles. she sits up while shaking a sleeping lando.

"lan, c'mon wake up, steph is outside."

lando wakes surprisingly easily, waving awkwardly at y/n's roommate as she gets out of the car.

"sleep well?" steph jokes, walking quickly after y/n who's almost running up to their dorm.

"want to explain why you were with a shirtless lando, sleeping in his car on this fine saturday morning?"

"no, no i don't," y/n replies while typing in the code to their shared room.

"you seriously slept with him? after what he did to you?" steph asks.

"we were just," y/n pauses, "sleeping."

steph lets out a loud laugh, "sure, and i was just on the phone with the president."

steph closes the door behind her, hearing y/n groan.

"what are you doing here?" she asks the others in the room, rachel and brianna, her other close friends.

"we got a call from steph saying to come here right away," rachel answers, smirking at y/n.

"now we know why this urgent meeting was called," brianna chuckles from y/n's bed.

steph pulls out one of the desk chairs before sitting, "y/n totally had sex with lando last night," she speaks up.

"steph!"

"shit, really?"

"y/n i thought you promised yourself not to be with him again."

y/n rolls her eyes, "i'm not with him or anything. i only see him as a friend."

steph can't help but laugh, as brianna chuckles, "lying to yourself won't help the situation hun."

a small vibration hums, and rachel picks up y/n's phone before squealing. "if he thinks you're just friends, then why did he just text you asking to come to his party tonight?"

"what?" brianna and steph practically jump to look over rachel's shoulders. y/n just grabs her phone as she reads the text herself.

"well, what if you guys come with me?"

brianna shakes her head, "nope, he asked you specifically."

"if he wanted all of us there he would've been more clear," steph adds.

y/n puts her head in her hands, her mind already swarming with what could happen if she goes to lando's stupid party.

her phone hums in her hand again, and she reads the text out loud knowing her friends would ask about it.

"it'd be a small hangout with maybe twenty of us, just want you to be there," y/n can't help but smile at the words on the screen.

her three friends gush at lando's text.

"we can help you with your outfit!" rachel squeals again.

"are you going to go for hot or slutty? or both?"

"guys!" y/n laughs, "the party isn't till tonight."

steph stands, "she's right. we'll get out of your hair so you can sleep, and get rid of this sex-driven hangover you have," y/n sends her a glare.

"just text us when you need us!" brianna calls before the three of them leave y/n alone in the room.

—

"when did you get this little number?" steph pulls out a small red dress from the back of y/n's closet.

steph, brianna and rachel came back to the room an hour ago. rachel helped with y/n's makeup and hair, while brianna and steph were trying to find the perfect outfit.

y/n already vetoed three of steph's picks, stating they were too much for a simple dorm party.

she continues shaking her head at both girl's picks, just making them groan.

"aha!" brianna now pulls out a short dark green velvet dress, with spaghetti straps that cross and twist in the back.

when y/n doesn't shake her head instantly, steph throws both her hands up, "she loves it!"

"no, no i never said that."

steph shrugs, "you basically said it without words."

she takes the dress from brianna, "it's not that bad. only problem is i can't wear a bra with it."

brianna laughs while steph explains, "if you're gonna get laid again, bra's only waste time."

"i'm not having sex with lando tonight!" y/n defends.

"who said anything about lando?" rachel jokes, making y/n's cheeks flush.

y/n triple checks her hair and makeup after steph threw a pair of converse at her, explaining how strappy heels are just another obstacle for horny college guys.

considering lando's dorm room was only a block away, y/n insisted she was fine with walking by herself. she sent the small four person group chat when she started walking up the two flights of stairs to lando's floor.

y/n didn't know why she was nervous. she saw lando less than twenty-four hours ago, and it's not like this is the first time being inside his room.

before anymore consuming thoughts fill her brain, she knocks quickly at the door.

damn, y/n thinks to herself, seeing lando leaning against the doorframe. she hates to admit it, but she doesn't think she's seen anyone look as good as lando does at this very moment.

white shoes cover his feet, with baggy jeans and a white t-shirt, with that stupid backwards hat covering his curls again.

"you just gonna stand and stare all night?" lando smirks, and y/n simply ducks under his arm to go inside. "sure, come on in, make yourself at home," he mutters while closing the door.

the first hour since y/n's gotten there goes by smoothly. like lando said, there was probably sixteen people crammed into his dorm room, with loud music playing and drinks were being poured left and right.

lando, subconsciously or not, stood near y/n almost the entire night. when he gave her a shot he stood next to her after she downed the alcohol. when there was a group talking, lando was sure to be around if y/n was there. at one point lando's hand was on the small of y/n's back, not that she was complaining.

as people started dispersing from lando's dorm room, y/n helped him tidy up. she threw any beer bottles or cans into the garbage bag lando held open for her. he asked if she needed a ride home, but assured she'd be fine considering she only had two shots the whole night.

"thanks for the invite lan," y/n smiles up at him as he leans against the door frame again, watching as she started to walk down the hallway.

"i'm glad you came," he states, making the girl turn to face him. "i'm sorry i've ignored you for the past two years, and treated you like shit."

lando looks down at his shoes, only to find the tops of y/n's shoes now in front of his. he lifts his head, seeing y/n was in front of him now, and not down the hallway.

"why did you treat me like that?" y/n's voice wasn't angry or filled with venom, she just sounded confused.

"i told myself i wasn't ready for the commitment of a relationship," lando's voice is quiet, as he regrets his past actions.

"it's stupid, believe me i–"

"would you tell yourself that now?" she cuts him off.

"what?" it completely catches the brit off gaurd.

"would you say you're not ready for commitment now?"

lando chuckles dryly, "i don't– i don't know y/n. where is this coming from?"

before y/n can think straight, her words leave her lips faster than her brain allows them to stop.

"i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i miss you lan. i really do. i think about you way more than i should, probably five times a day at least. almost everything i do reminds me of you and i hate it. i hate how i can't just call you to ask you to come over and watch a movie. i hate how much of an idiot i was when i actually walked away from your room," y/n takes a breath before continuing, not noticing lando's sincere look. "i should've turned around and tried harder to get you back, and i've kicked myself in the ass everyday because i didn't."

lando doesn't say anything at first, still taking all of her words in carefully. y/n swallowed before turning back around to walk away from the boy who broke her heart, she wasn't going to let him break it again.

her movements stopped once she felt a hand on her wrist.

lando simply pulls her back in front of him, catching her other arm with his other hand as she slightly tripped over her own feet. he moves his hand from her wrist to the side of her face.

lando's adams apple bobs before bringing y/n's lips to his. he stands up straighter once her hands reach his waist. y/n goes to pull away, but lando has other plans when he pushes the back of her nack, crashing his lips to hers.

the pair stumble backwards back into his dorm, moving around the small kitchen to go to his room. on the way, both of their shoes are discarded somewhere by the front door, as well as lando's hat and y/n's phone and wallet.

lando's shirt and belt are hastily taken off by y/n before he lays down on his bed, quick to pull the girl on top of him. he sits up slightly as the two begin to kiss again, a bit slower but more than passionate this time.

lando pulls back for a moment, taking in the sight of the girl in his lap. her hair already tangled in places from his fingers running through the strands. her widened pupils from anything but alcohol this time.

he leans forward again, capturing her lips in between his, as his left hand moves to her shoulder. the slow and intimate moment is new for the both of them, as he slowly pushes the strap of y/n's dress off her shoulder.

"i'll take care of you," lando admits, "i won't try and push you away this time."

"i won't let you," y/n whispers with a shake of her head, before pulling his chin to kiss him again.

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roosterforme · 3 days

Text

Aim for the Sky Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley starts building his daughter's playset with a little help from an unexpected visitor. He wants to finish all of his projects and take care of you and do as much as he can now that he's home. There's so much he wants to get done, it might be time to make a to-do list.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, oral, pregnancy, bit of angst

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was up at the crack of dawn on Saturday. His afternoon nap the previous day turned into one that lasted into the evening when you got up with him and cooked him dinner before going back to bed. His plan was to come home and take care of everything so you didn't have to, but so far you made him homemade chicken fajitas and lulled him to sleep with your fingers in his hair, twice.

But today, he was determined to return the favor. He wanted to get started on building the jungle gym, and he wanted to get in a few reps on his own workout equipment in the garage. He'd clean up the kitchen and take Tramp for a walk later, too. If he got started now, he might be able to build the entire jungle gym frame for his daughter. His daughter. He ran his hands over his face as you snoozed right next to him in bed. Would he ever stop being on the verge of tears when he thought about it?

There was a list of names he liked in the Nugget notebook which was still tucked away in his duffle bag. He had a favorite, but he didn't want to try to convince you that it was perfect until he heard which ones you liked. But he knew it would be perfect.

"Roo?"

He was just about to slip out of bed when you rolled toward him, reaching for him groggily like you couldn't quite believe he was really home. "There's my Baby Girl," he whispered, letting his hand settle on your belly now that you were awake. "And my Nugget."

In an instant, you pushed him onto his back, kissing him as he cradled you with both hands. Your bump wasn't very big yet, but it was noticeable, and he didn't want to hurt you. God he missed waking up next to you, and it was obvious you'd missed him, too. You deepened the kiss, your tongue dipping between his parted lips until you were tasting his mouth. He could feel your nipples harden against his chest through a layer of cotton as you dragged your fingers through his hair before letting them trail down his body to the waistband of the shorts he fell asleep in.

"Okay," he grunted, already hard for you as you ran your index finger inside the elastic. "Take it easy, Sweetheart. Wanna make this last." He rolled you gently onto your back as you cupped him inside his shorts, your thumb stroking his length. You squeezed his balls gently, spreading your legs wide. He glanced down your body as you smirked at him. "If you're gonna show off that pretty pussy, I'll put my mouth all over it."

"Bradley," you moaned, turning your head to the side. How on earth that bashful smile could make him even wilder, he had no idea. But just when he ran his thumb along your wet slit and tickled your ear with his mustache, someone started pounding on the front door.

You squeaked and jolted beneath him, but not in the way he wanted. "What the fuck?" he growled, easing his body off of yours. Once he was standing, he tried to adjust himself in his shorts, but it was obvious he was hard. Then there was more pounding.

"It's your first weekend home. Did you seriously invite someone over here this early, Bradley?" you asked, squinting as you reached for your phone. "It's seven o'clock!"

"No," he grunted. "I didn't even talk to anyone! I just wanted to eat your pussy in peace."

He stormed out of the bedroom, adjusting himself as he went. Tramp was already pacing back and forth and whimpering at the front door when Bradley saw Jake's car parked in front of the house. "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me." He wrenched the door open and found Jake standing there with some grocery bags and a box of donuts. "What do you want?" Bradley barked while Tramp started licking the unwanted visitor's leg.

Jake strolled inside like he wasn't interrupting Bradley's blissful weekend of giving his wife head and finding out his Nugget is a girl. "I brought all of the groceries and everything," Jake answered, heading for the kitchen, completely unfazed by Bradley in nothing but his compression shorts. "Welcome home, by the way. Looks like the perfect day to start on that playset."

Bradley didn't particularly want to jump down his throat, especially since Jake had been the one to promise to get the damn thing built for the baby if he didn't make it home in one piece. "Why are you here exactly?" he asked, and then he heard your voice from down the hallway.

"Is that Jake?"

"Yes," Bradley and Jake replied at the same time. And then you appeared wearing that old shirt and a pair of Bradley's gym shorts and your glasses, and he wanted to drag you back to bed and put his mouth everywhere.

"What the hell?" you asked, stomping right up to Jake, clearly annoyed that Bradley's face wasn't between your thighs. "You practically woke us up!"

"Well, that's not completely true," Bradley muttered with a smirk, earning a glare from you.

Jake checked the clock on the microwave. "It's 7:18. When you texted me last night and said Rooster was home, you told me to come over around seven."

"I meant seven in the evening!" you said, flailing your arms. "Like a normal person!"

Jake just shrugged and bit into a donut. "I brought the groceries you asked for."

Bradley watched you and saw the exact moment you caved. The annoyance on your face melted away as you grabbed a cream donut from the box. "Wait, why did you ask Jake to bring groceries over?"

You nibbled on the donut and snuggled up against Bradley, looking up at him as you said, "I wanted to make Reuben his cookies today, but I didn't want to leave you to go to the store."

He kissed some powdered sugar from your lips and whispered, "You're the sweetest thing."

You pressed your cheek to his chest and said, "Since he's here, you might as well get Jake to help you with the pallets on the driveway since I can't lift anything that heavy."

Bradley cringed just thinking about it. "You will not be lifting a fucking finger, Sweetheart. I'll take care of everything." He looked at Jake over your head and asked, "Feel like helping me get started on the playset?"

He had half of a second donut in his mouth as he mumbled, "I thought that's why I was here."

----------------------------

Bradley didn't put any more clothing on, and that was a-okay with you. He just added his work boots to the mix. Those black compression shorts were working overtime as he and an equally shirtless Jake hauled everything from the driveway to the backyard. He already cleared out the area where the playset would go, framed it in with long wood planks and filled it with gravel, and today they would start assembling the frame.

Your plan to make five dozen cookies for Reuben kept getting derailed as you wandered over to the sliding glass door every five minutes or so. The yard wasn't very big, and now most of it would be taken up by the patio, shed and playset, but you'd let your husband build anything he wanted back there. He was so excited about the baby, it made you feel lightheaded.

You were pregnant with a girl. Maybe she'd have Bradley's wavy hair. Maybe she would look just like him. You leaned against the open door frame and watched the guys as they argued about a drill bit setting and smiled. When you caught Bradley's eye, he shouted out, "I love you," before continuing with his discussion. He loved you so well, you already knew he'd be just as devoted to his daughter.

The oven started beeping, letting you know it had preheated. You ran your hand down your body and whispered, "Your father is going to spoil you rotten." Then you put the first tray of chocolate chip cookie dough in the oven, and within minutes your entire house smelled amazing. You baked so many cookies for Reuben, you didn't see how he would even be able to eat all of them before they got stale, so you shaped the last batch into little heart cookies with your fingers before tossing them in the oven.

Then when you took a bite out of one of the cookies that was cooling on the counter, you felt her. It was that same light, fluttering sensation as last time when you tried to eat a piece of candy on Halloween. "Hi," you whispered, voice laced with excitement. "Do you have a sweet tooth?" There was more fluttering, and you grabbed at the edge of the counter as you laughed. "You do! Are you going to eat everything I bake just like your dad?"

You closed your eyes and chewed the cookie slowly, letting yourself linger in the kitchen over the feel of your daughter doing some kind of a wild somersault for you.

"It's getting hot out," came Bradley's voice through the open door. "Let's grab some drinks before we drill the brackets into place." Once he was inside with Jake, he started digging around in the refrigerator, retrieving two cans of beer and two water bottles. "You okay, Sweetheart?" he asked as he handed Jake a bottle and a can. He was eyeing you cautiously where you stood with your hand on your belly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you whispered, and now both men were looking at you. "The Nugget was just doing some backflips."

"She was?" Bradley asked in excitement, leaving his forgotten drinks on the counter next to the refrigerator. In an instant, he was on his knees in front of you, yanking your shirt up and kissing your belly button while his big, warm hands settled against you. "Is she still?"

"She?" Jake asked with a smile, and you smiled back while Bradley shushed him.

"I think it's still too early for you to feel anything this way," you whispered, tugging your fingers through Bradley's sweaty hair as his stubbled cheek came to rest on your bump.

"Hey, little Nugget," he murmured while Jake took his drinks and slipped back outside. "Can you let Daddy feel like one little thump?" You could feel her squirming around while he talked, but she was probably still too small for him to get what he wanted. "Please?"

You didn't rush him. Bradley just knelt there with his eyes closed for a few minutes while you played with his hair. Now that Jake knew you were having a girl, you may as well just call your parents this week and tell all of your friends as well.

Bradley groaned and hopped to his feet as soon as Jake started up one of his power tools on the patio. He kissed you, his sun-warmed torso pressed against you as he said, "I need to make sure he doesn't break anything." You were still laughing as he rushed outside.

---------------------------

The backyard was coming together nicely. After you fed Jake dinner and he finally left, Bradley undressed you and picked you up, setting you down on the edge of the counter where you could look out the window as the sky darkened. "You got a lot done today," you moaned while Bradley spread your legs and ate your pussy, picking up where he left off this morning. "Such a dedicated Daddy."

"Anything for the Nugget," he groaned before licking a long stripe up to your clit. His forehead bumped your growing belly which thrilled him as he slowly, meticulously brought you every bit of pleasure you should have had in bed earlier. His mind was swirling with all of the projects he had to do and the torn apart attic, and he was still exhausted from being away for so long. But he got lost in your taste and the sounds you were making as soon as he started sucking gently on your clit.

"You know what that fucking mustache does to me," you gasped while he tried not to grin. His fingers found your dainty tattoo, and he sucked on your clit a little harder until you were begging him to fuck you. He wanted to tell you no and draw your orgasm out of you on the kitchen counter, but then you demanded, "I want to come on your cock."

Carefully, so he didn't dare hurt you, he helped you slide off the counter and into his arms. "If this is uncomfortable for you, then you need to tell me, Baby Girl." But you were already spinning around and pressing your gorgeous ass back against him.

"Fuck me," you whined, and Bradley was more than happy to oblige.

He lined himself up with your slick entrance and pushed himself deep as he said, "I thought you told me you weren't as horny in the second trimester."

You were whimpering his name before you got control. "Well now that you're home, I guess I am."

"Music to my ears."

He went slowly, making sure you felt everything, and he cupped your belly and your fucking delicious breasts while you held onto the counter. Your body felt different to him, but in so many ways it was exactly the same. Your response never changed; you always welcomed him knowing he'd get you there no matter what. And you gripped him tight, rolling your hips back to meet him, stroke for stroke.

When he plucked at your nipples, you arched your back, and when he rolled your clit between his fingers, you started to come. He was right there, too, and you pushed him over the edge when you said, "Make a mess of my pussy, Roo."

"Damn it," he growled, lips pressed to your shoulder as he filled you up and kept himself thrust deep to enjoy the squeeze of your orgasm around him. When you straightened up but held him snug inside you, your head tipped back against his shoulder. "How was that, Sweetheart?" he crooned, and you moaned. Then your stomach growled loudly, and he chuckled.

"I'm so hungry. Didn't we just eat dinner?"

"My little Nugget is growing," he whispered, letting his chin rest on your shoulder so he could look at your tits. He brought his hands up so he could swipe his thumbs along your nipples. "I swear these fucking thing are getting bigger by the day," he mused while you reached for the plastic container of chocolate chip cookies. You held it up and let him take a bite before finishing the rest of it yourself. "Weren't these supposed to be for Reuben?" he asked.

You pointed to the island where several gallon sized bags were filled with cookies. "His are regular. The little heart shaped ones in this container are for you."

Bradley could have stood there forever with his hands all over the front of you and his softening cock still inside your pussy while you fed him heart shaped cookies and told him the baby was moving around again. "I want to feel her," he whispered.

Your head tipped back again as you said, "I know, Roo. Pretty soon she'll be kicking up a storm, excited about meeting her dad."

Then you started yawning and he finally took a reluctant step away from you. "It's time for bed," he said, patting your ass. "It was an early morning with Jake showing up and everything." He followed you to the bathroom and helped you clean up his cum from your legs, and then he waited until you were done washing your face and brushing your teeth to lead you to bed. He handed you a clean pair of his boxer briefs and watched you pull them up so the elastic sat just below your bump. He smiled, and before you could pull on his ancient UVA shirt, he pulled you closer.

"Can I help you with something?" you asked, giving him a coy look. "You ready to go for round two?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Are you ready to go for round two?" You were smiling but already stifling another yawn when he guided you toward the bed and tugged his shirt over your head. "You need to rest. I'll fuck you twice tomorrow."

You pulled the blanket up and whispered, "This is all Jake's fault."

Bradley snorted as he pulled the blanket back down, yanked up the shirt and leaned down to press his lips to your warm breasts. You whimpered as he kissed both nipples and ran his nose along your perfectly soft skin. "I can't get enough of these fucking things. My god, Sweetheart." He forced himself to pull the shirt back into place when you started to squirm, quickly kissing your bump first. After he removed your glasses and set them aside, he reached for the lamp on your nightstand.

"Aren't you getting in bed?"

He shook his head. "I'll clean the kitchen and let Tramp out first, and then I'll be in. I love you both."

"Love you, Roo," you curled up on your side, already falling asleep when you added, "You know what I'm hungry for?"

"What's that, Baby Girl?"

"Hot sauce."

He had to stifle his laughter as he whispered, "Finally. I'll take care of that tomorrow, too. I'll just add it to my list. Two rounds of sex, more playset building, and some hot sauce."

You were already sound asleep.

-----------------------------

When you got up on Sunday morning, Bradley and Tramp were nowhere to be found, but both Broncos were in the driveway. "Roo?" You were met with silence as you made yourself some coffee and filled a glass with water. He had covered the refrigerator in rows of ultrasound photos, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way he used up all of the magnets. You picked up one of the now stale donuts that Jake left, and that's when you found a note from your husband.

Walking Tramp to the beach. Back soon. I have my phone. Tell the Nugget I love her.

You smiled, looked down at your belly and said, "Your Daddy loves you." The way she immediately started to squirm and flutter around had you reaching for the counter. "Feels like you love him, too."

You moved his note to the side, and your fingers brushed a handwritten list, partially folded up and sitting on top of all of Bradley's unopened mail that you'd collected. The last time you went through his things, you ended up in a very dark place after you saw the results from the sperm test he took. You didn't want to do that again. You could just want until he got home. He wouldn't be long now.

But you stood there and read the first two things written which weren't hidden from your view. Contact lawyer. Send check to Nicole.

Who was Nicole? And why was Bradley contacting a lawyer without you? Your skin prickled as you reached for the piece of paper before pushing it further away. You considered going to get your phone from the bedroom to call him and tell him to come home, but instead you stood there and got frustrated. You did not want to do this to yourself again.

When he walked inside a few minutes later wearing snug gym shorts and a white tank, he was all smiles as Tramp ran for his water bowl. "Morning," he rasped, yanking his aviators down lower on his nose as he hung up the leash. "You look cute."

You didn't though. You hadn't showered, and you didn't even brush your teeth yet. "Can we talk about what's on this list?"

His brow furrowed and he froze. "What list?"

"This one," you said as calmly as you could. "The one where you wrote about contacting a lawyer and someone named Nicole."

He made his way over to you and asked, "How much did you read?" as he tossed his sunglasses on the counter.

You crossed your arms over your bump and frowned. "That's all I read."

"Good." He snatched it up, unfolded it and handed it to you. "It's my list of things I want to take care of today or tomorrow."

You read the list from top to bottom.

Contact lawyer

Send check to Nicole for permit

Order album for ultrasounds

Call Bradley Ross

Hot sauce reservation for my Baby Girl

Text Reuben

Offer to babysit Jeremiah

Order a new drill bit to replace the one Jake broke

Decide on Thanksgiving plans

"Oh," you said, meeting his eyes as you handed it back to him. "Who's Bradley Ross?"

He folded up the list again as he said, "The contractor who is going to re-do our attic however you want it."

"Oh." You pressed your lips together before you asked, "Are you going to tell me why you want to talk to a lawyer and who Nicole is?"

"Come here," he rasped, and you tucked yourself into his arms, your lips brushing his paper airplane tattoo. "I want a lawyer to add the Nugget to my will. And I think you should come with me to make sure literally everything is in order. for yourself, too." You nodded against him, and then he added, "And I really don't want to tell you who Nicole is, because it will ruin the surprise. But I've never even met her, and I have no idea who she actually is."

"That sounds weird."

"It's not, I promise, Sweetheart."

You looked up into his eyes, his gaze soft as he ran his hand slowly up and down your back. You already felt better just talking to him. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But the surprise had better be a good one."

He nodded. "It's something for our anniversary. You'll love it. Now why don't you bring your coffee outside and keep me company while I work on the playset?"

You were starting to melt. "I could do that."

"Then we can take a shower together?" he asked hopefully. "You can wash my hair?"

You melted a little bit more. "I would love that."

"And then I'll take you out to dinner."

You sat out on the patio in the sun for a while, not doing much to help Bradley other than occasionally catcall and make sure he drank enough water. Then you took a luxurious shower, complete with hair washing and sex against the wall. He was taking you up to the hot sauce restaurant in Del Mar where you had your first date, and you squeezed yourself into the red dress you wore that night.

Bradley was acting like his brain was short circuiting, and maybe it was. "Holy fucking hell," he groaned, gripping the edge of the dresser when he came to check to see if you were ready to go. He was staring at you like he was in agony as he bit down on his knuckle. He let out a soft wheezing sound before he said, "You're pregnant. In your red dress."

You looked down at yourself; you didn't think it looked that bad. "Yes?"

He rushed forward and grabbed your hand. "That's so fucking sexy. We've gotta go. Now. Or else we'll never leave the house."

"Roo!" you laughed as he pulled you along. "I don't even have shoes on."

He threatened to carry you everywhere before you successfully put on a cute pair of shoes. Then you and he dropped the cookies off at Reuben's place, and you gave the other aviator a kiss on the cheek and thanked him for looking after Bradley. And then the two of you were back in the blue Bronco, winding up the coastal highway as the sun set over the ocean. It was nearly Thanksgiving. It was almost your first wedding anniversary. The Nugget was back to doing somersaults. And finally, you were craving hot sauce again.

-----------------------------

This man already loves his kiddo. BG is about to have a do over for the steak dinner that got ruined when she was in Annapolis. I still don't know what they are doing for Thanksgiving (good thing it's on his to-do list), but they will definitely be celebrating their first anniversary very soon! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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nouvxllev · 16 hours

Note

CAN I DO A REQUEST..

Jenna x Reader

Summary: R gets high off their ass after an argument w J, J gets home (xtra tired) w R drunkkkafff, but even in a drunken state, R still treats J like a literal princess, no matter the circumstance they're in cuz R loves J sm

LOVELOVELOVE YOUR WRITING SM.

-🦦

i (do)nt care!

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: literally drinking tears away, on the verge of an alcoholic and stressed out reader, readers the sweetest but also dorkiest, bittersweet stuff but the author is trying to sound funny above most of it

a/n: one of my recognizable anons, thank you for requesting!!! APPRECIATE YOU SMMM

masterlist.

You're a shitty person at times, like having quips come flying out of your mouth like a 7th grade asshole. You don't know where they come from, but they came from something like maybe a stressful week.

Like people not knowing when and how to shut the fuck up, angry customers with blonde hair and a penchant for that pixie-cut hairstyle pestering you all day because you allegedly forgot their order as if you weren't new to the whole running a coffee shop thing while on a minimum wage!

The internet seriously romanticized it too much, it's becoming a hassle to know which job to take when all you want is something relaxing and pays well.

Job hunting was a pain in the ass more than you are.

But then there's that lovely and caring girlfriend of all that makes it all bearable even if you're on the brink of insanity. The one who makes everything okay with literally just her presence. If there were a worldwide contest for the best and most understanding girlfriend, you knew Jenna would win it hands down.

You'd sooner try to stop a bullet train with your bare hands than even hurt her in the slightest. You loved her all too much to even do so.

But somehow in your own fucked up, seriously-like-actually-what-the-actual-fuck-were-you-thinking way, you managed to mess that up too.

You had an argument with Jenna as soon as you walked through the door the both of you shared. (It was because she accidentally broke your Minecraft bed and now it wasn't placed beside her. Again, you were stressed, and everything piled up. Even if it's dumb ones.)

You still remember the sound of her voice, heartbreaking is all you could say. (Again, dumb argument. Why did you even bring it up as if it was some huge problem?)

So now you're here. Drinking all your sorrows away like it would magically bring Jenna close and sing some we are the world shit for the rest of your living lives and kiss.

It was moments like these when you question if you were dropped on your head as a baby multiple times and no one even bothered to tell you.

I mean, arguing over a Minecraft bed? Seriously? Maybe you should take up lobotomy without anesthesia.

You still remember saying, 'Fine! Go away and see if I fucking care!' like something out of a bad soap opera and then she actually went away.

And you do care. Very much so.

It's safe to say you spent 30 minutes crying on the floor before picking your ass up to get a cab and come up with a dangerous coping mechanism before you eventually spotted a bar and decided you'd start drinking.

And of course, being that one person who never drank before in their entire life without having to chase it all down with water the soon it hits your tongue, it tasted bitter.

The bar was quiet with a hint of peoples voices going up and down alot, screaming alot, and the occasional drunkard barging in with their work attire.

You'd like to think that you're none of these people, but your the person who argued with literally the love of your life that you vowed to never hurt over something so dumb and tried drinking it all away.

"Ffffuck..." you murmured to yourself. Your eyes burned like hell, that was a nice addition to a headache.

Your head was down on the counter, your fingers gripping the shot glass as if it was your last moment on earth.

"You've ordered two bottles of whiskey and a fuck ton of tequila shots in the past hour, something wrong?"

Let's see, I've been fighting sleep as if I've disrespected my ancestors, job hunting is literally chewing me like I'm flavored bubblegum, tired, stressed, and most importantly, I managed to upset my one and only girlfriend who only gave me nothing but pure happiness and love! So, I'm fucking not, thanks so much for asking!

But you can't say that to someone who's also working minimum wage at a bar in New York. Living in New York is hell enough, dealing with fucked up customers like you is already going to be the next problem.

Because what can you really say to someone who's just trying to do their job? They don't need to hear about your self-inflicted drama.

You hear the bartender sigh. Not unlikely because you've probably been groaning and whining for the past few minutes.

"Let me guess, gotten to a fight with your significant other?"

How in the hell did he know that!?

Your eyes widened, immediately sitting up straight. "Holy shit, you're a wizard!" By the way your voice slurred and literally no one on earth would have that as their first thought, you're drunk.

The bartender chuckled, cleaning off another class and chucking it in the sink. "Not quite. Just seen my fair share of broken hearts. Kind of comes with the job."

You shake your head, "Nope," you popped the P, "definitely a wizard."

"Wanna tell me about them?" He placed another shot glass your way, "On the house, juice, though. You shouldn't be drinking anymore."

Taking the glass of juice, you swirl it around absentmindedly with your hand perched on top of the table and carrying the weight of your head. People say don't talk to strangers, but they never really said to spill your guts over to them.

With a sigh you down it all.

"Her name's…" Oh, right. She's an actress.

You really shouldn't be going around telling people you're literally with America's Idol when you kept your relationship with her private until she's ready to go public.

"Her name is, uhm, Jenny." Fuck, she's gonna kill you if you tell her this story. But it does put a very stupid smile on your face.

"Pretty name."

Your eyes lit up like never before. You were passionate for her, how could you not? "She's pretty, very pretty—you wouldn't know how to describe it yourself, you'd have to write verses upon verses to."

"Have you?"

"I'm still writing. Everyday."

The bartender nodded with a slight smile to his lips.

You stand up straighter. "She's this—talented person with one of the most dangerously charming brown eyes that resembles a nebula. Her smile, oh—her smile is one of the most incredible things to witness. She could make a devil weep and laugh with her, it'll make them regret their sins in an instant." Your voice was warm, clear, not even a trace of drunkenness whenever you're talking about her.

"It's not just her looks, or her smile, or whatever, she has a brilliant mind you could never dissect. Tears were never a challenge for her, she's brave, braver than anyone I've ever seen. She's a kind and romantic soul, an old one at that, but romantic nonetheless. Not just to me, but to everyone around her. She cares for everyone around her." You didn't notice you started crying halfway through.

"Dreaming was never a problem when I'm around her, though it felt like reality was greater than anything I've ever slept in. She's just the most gorgeous and incredible girl. She sees right through me, through everything, but she still loves me despite all my flaws and fuck-ups."

You pause. "But tonight, I got us into an argument so stupid, like so stupid and then I burdened everything I was feeling on her. Before I knew it, I yelled some things at her that I didn't really mean and she was out the door."

You'd think you'd be fine after literally spilling everything out, but no, you just slump back again in defeat like some pathetic hopeless romantic loser.

You facepalm yourself. "Give me a bottle."

"You shouldn't be—"

"I'll pay you 100$ no change needed, just please give me a bottle." You were acting like one of those drunkards you see on TV shows where the character gets horrendously fucked over.

One of the all time low for you, you've really outdid yourself.

You hear the bartender sigh and place another bottle of whiskey. "Business is business."

In one go, or maybe one shot glass, you were back to words stumbling and your brain feeling like fizz.

"All I know is I screwed up big time, and now I'm sitting here feeling like the world's biggest idiot for doing something like that to literally the love of my life!"

"Well, is she—"

It happened in a flash.

Or rather it happened in a second by how fast your mood changed to serious to straight up bawling your eyes out and gripping the bartenders collar.

"What the hell do I do, John!? Is your name even John!?" You cried, even breaking down and making a mess of yourself in front of the population of this bar.

"ImessedthefuckupandIdon'tevenknowifshesgonnaforgivemeohmanwhatthehelldoIdo!?" You swayed him back and forth, it's amazing how he isn't calling for security and escorting you out.

"OKAY, OKAY! Calm down, shit!" He immediately grabs your hands and gently pries your fingers from his shirt and sits you back down.

"I feel like the—" you hic "—worlds biggest asshole and my girlfriend thinks that too!

"She's—"

"I still love her with all my heart! I'll do anything to be with her again, I'm so fucking serious, anything I—!"

"She's right behind you, man!"

You stop.

You turn around.

"Oh, shit."

You murmured. It was like your brain was stumbling on a delicate thread of soberness and drunkenness. Jenna looked like the most finest pair of blobs.

Jenna looks tired, exhausted, stressed. Her eyes are glistening with tears, and her nose carries a reddish tint to it. You didn't even notice that she was wearing your shirts with one of your jackets.

"Oh, love!" You come crashing down on her as you stood up, embracing Jenna into a warm hug.

"Y/n, you're crushing me—"

Jenna used to love your hugs, even if they were totally crushing her. Oh, you were so fucked.

"Sorry, sorry," you mumble, stepping back slightly but your hands lingered on her shoulders, offering a small massage to her stress. "Is that you, Jenna?"

She looks up at you. There were visible dark circles under her eyes and glint of past tears that trickled down her face.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Jennaaaaauuhh!" you cry out, her name stretching as you bawled your eyes out in front of her, words tumbling out of you before you can even stop them.

"I didn't mean anything, or any of it! I was stressed, people were so mean to me, but that isn't a valid excuse for me to just..." you blew a raspberry for dramatic effect, "blow it up on you. Please don't ignore my hugs, you always adored my hugs! Oh, God, Jenna, I'm so sorry!"

You were still talking before Jenna could even get one word out, "I love you literally sooo so so much I was a fool for even—hey, how'd you know I was here? Fuck, you shouldn't be here! I can't let you know that I was drinking, turn around!"

"Y/n," she sighs, reaching up to cup your cheek in her hand, "Let's just go home. You've been here for an hour."

You nod frantically, not knowing if that was meant to be as an I forgive you gesture or an I will tear your limbs from muscle to tendon and taxidermy you into the most horrendous positions after we get home gesture.

"I'll get the door for you!" You shout while stumbling over your own feet as you rush to get the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time the two of you got home safely without you trying to insist taking over the steering wheel when you're completely blacked out of your mind, you're still clinging onto Jenna as if she was the one going to fall on her own feet.

"Y/n, what are you doing?"

Jenna looks up at you, your whole figure sprawled out in front of her like a starfish.

You turn around at her like some superhero who came to save the day, vision blurry from the light. "The moon looks suuuper close tonight. What if you'll get burnt!?"

"That's the porch lamp, Y/n."

"No, it is not—!" You look up. Oh, shit it is.

"Oh." You take Jenna's hand, giggling away your blatant stupidity with a goofy grin, "God, you're so smart, can't believe you're my girlfriend."

But Jenna just laughs. It's everything to you, a sweet symphony blessed with those close with her.

"I like 'ur laugh, Jenna." You whisper to her, hands in your pockets while you watch her struggle with the keys.

She doesn't respond but with a nod. Your heart sinks for her—she's that exhausted and it's all because of you!

Finally, she manages to get the door open with your heart stuck in your throat while Jenna leads the both of you inside. The house was warm, toasty, but it left remnants of your argument with her.

You steel a glance at her, her eyes cast downward while she struggles with her own jacket.

"Oh—here! I'll get your coat," you offer, your hands trembling slightly with your own coat hanging from your forearm. "Annnd I'll take care of your clothes—wait, did you have dinner yet? I can whip up something for you!"

Without Jenna's judgement, you hurry up with a tail stuck between your own two feet to Jenna's closet, throwing everything out and getting some nice and comfy clothes for her. Not knowing you went to your closet instead of hers.

"Jenna!" You run towards her, pretty fast for a drunkard without falling over, "Shit everything looks like hell for me—anyway, what do you want for dinner? I can literally make anything, just say the word!"

Jenna still stands in the doorway, looking up at you. "You can't cook dinner, love, you're drunk."

She called you love! Yes!!

"I'm not drunk. I don't have my hiccups anymore, my vision is not that impaired and I can walk perfectly fine. You just saw me run!"

"You mistook a porch lamp for a moon and tried to protect me, Y/n."

Noooo! Back to the first name basis already!?

"Well—"

"You're sweating even if the air condition is turned on, your eyes look red so is your face."

"Okay, maybe—"

All you heard was a sigh before Jenna's lips met yours. Soft and delicate, it was the effect she had on you. You can melt like winter bathed in sunlight for the first time by the touch of her lips on yours.

"Earth to Y/n?"

Your eyes were still closed even after she pulled away, what an idiot you must've looked like.

You blink.

"Oh—oh, that's me. I'm Y/n." You cleared your throat. "Here, your clothes!" You bounced back almost immediately, but you swear your heart is still fluttering like crazy.

Jenna took the neatly folded pile of clothes on your hands, "Let's just take a shower, okay—"

You're practically bouncing with energy and utmost passion to help out your girlfriend with a simple sentence coming out of her mouth. "I'll draw a bath for you! Even scented candles and bubbles—wait, let's get you on the couch first."

Jenna smiles at you. Oh, how you've missed her. "You know, you don't have to do this, baby." She murmurs as she makes her way to the couch with your hand between hers, sinking into the soft cushions with a relieved sigh like she was a plushie.

"But I want to," you respond softly, handing her a bottle of water and arranging pillows for extra comfort. "It's the least I can do."

Fuck, she's too adorable. How in the hell did you manage to get into an argument with this perfect girl?

"I'll be right back, baby. Just relax, okay?" You reassure her, giving her a quick peck on the forehead before eagerly skipping to the bathroom like your life depended on giving your girlfriend the most luxurious bath of all.

It took a long while before you got everything in place. It was all 50% work and 50% taking a rest because you almost tripped and fell into the bathtub, eaten shit on the floor and the bath bomb, mistook rose petals for blood, almost dropped your phone into the water, and took numerous breaks to calm your vision and heartrate down.

Returning to the living room, you find Jenna lying down with her eyes shut, looking cozy and content.

Yet she was still tired.

Visible traces of exhaustion were etched on her face, her eyebrows are slightly creased even in her REM cycle, and her hand is curled into a fist as she constantly twists and turns in her sleep.

You wince at the sight.

You approach her quietly, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Jenna's face. You watch her breathing even out, her chest rising to her breaths. She looked dangerously ethereal.

"Y/n?"

How long have you been staring at her for?

You smiled, getting into the couch with her, wrapping your arms around her soft body, hoping that it felt like comfort to her like how she felt like undeniable solace to you. She was cold, very cold, but you couldn't help wrap your arms around her.

"Hey." You murmur, planting a soft kiss to her neck, "You okay? I drew a bath for you."

"Just for me?"

"Mhmm, why?"

"Aren't you going to take one? You reek of alcohol, baby."

"Harsh."

She laughs at you, sitting up and pulling you along with her. "Take a shower with me, there's enough space for two."

You smirk at her, "Ooooh, sexy."

Jenna could almost burn holes in your face, rolling her eyes with the same smile as yours, "We are not having sex, baby."

"Oh." You wince as you get up, taking Jenna along with you, "But seriously?"

"Seriously, you reek."

"And I thought you love me!"

"I do, just not the smell."

By the time you both got into the shower, you were marveling at Jenna's figure.

She seemed almost too flawless, simply too gorgeous not to appreciate fully. You could almost cry at the sight (which you did). She was too perfect not to.

Jenna turned to you, her wet hair cascading from her shoulders as you sat behind her, massaging her shoulders to relieve any stress and tension in her body. "You alright, baby? You're... crying."

"Sorry," You wiped your tears away with a light laugh, "You're too perfect, how could I not!?"

Jenna leaned into your touch, letting the warm water and scented candles warm her spirit as well as heart, the tension melting away under your gentle touch. "You're pretty perfect yourself, Y/n."

"Compared to you, I'm no one."

"Now that's the dumbest thing you've ever said."

You paused in your ministrations. "I made you cry, Jenna. Over something so stupid." You let your arms fall to her waist, wrapping them in a tight hug as you bring her closer to you, burying your head on the crook of her neck. "'M sorry. I shouldn't have blown up everything on you. I didn't mean anything."

Jenna sighed, her hands finding yours cuddled around her and intertwining each finger with hers. "I know you're just tired—"

"You are too. More tired than me but you never harmed me like how I harmed you." You whisper to her, your breath shaking, "I'll do better, Jenna. I'm sorry."

She hummed, turning her head to plant a delicate kiss on your cheeks. "I forgive you, Y/n. We all have our moments, you aren't any out of the ordinary."

You hummed softly against her skin.

"Also, please don't go out drinking again, okay? It's gonna turn out a bad habit for you."

"You smoke, Jenna. We aren't that different."

Jenna narrowed her eyes, "I will drown you, Y/n."

You laugh, placing a kiss on the corners of her lips. "I'm just joking!"

You continued to massage Jenna's shoulders, feeling your own stress and tension melt away as you kiss every patch of her skin.

"How come you still treat me so well even when you're drunk?" Jenna adjusted her position as she nestled between your legs, her own drawing up to her chin.

You scoff, "For the second time, I'm not drunk and I love you too much not to."

"That's a stupid reason."

"Excuse me?"

"What were exactly your exact words... Oh, 'Go away and see if I fucking care?'"

"You know I didn't mean it!"

"I do. But I wanna hear you say it."

You couldn't see Jenna's exact face, but you know she's wearing a shit-eating grin with the most stupidest and cutest dimples around her smile.

"I do care for you, Jenna. So much. I was a dumbass for saying that, a dick, even."

Jenna laughed, leaning in to rest on your shoulder, her hand gently guiding your head to face towards her.

She pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "I love you."

"Well, I care for you." You kissed her back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: im surprised that this was so short also im back! my schedule is hectic and very stressful but im still alive for the most part

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x gnreader #jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega

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captainsophiestark · 2 days

Text

Picture Perfect

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict's childhood best friend, who he's recently started courting, notices he's been a bit off lately and decides to see if there's anything she can do to help.

Word Count: 3,045

Category: Fluff, a little bit of Angst

A/N: It's been a minute since I rewatched season 2, so I may have the timing wrong a bit. For the purposes of this fic, though, Benedict finds out that Anthony paid to make sure he got into art school at the same time that they're all at the Bridgerton's country estate.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Something was wrong with my best friend.

I could tell from the minute I saw him, as his mind was clearly somewhere else. He also gave his brother Anthony a colder shoulder than usual, which I knew Anthony likely deserved, but that Benedict rarely gave him. It must've been something pretty bad.

A few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to drag Benedict somewhere and get some answers out of him, followed by doing whatever I could to cheer him up. But unfortunately for the both of us, despite having grown up together, now that we were both adults in society and he had recently started courting me, we were no longer technically allowed to be alone together. Things were usually a bit looser when it was just the Bridgertons and I, but while I'd joined them for a trip to their country estate, another family had joined us as well, tying my hands more than usual.

Still, I managed to corner him slightly away from the rest of the group after dinner that night, when I'd first noticed something off. He'd been on his way upstairs, rather than joining the rest of us in the parlor after dinner, and I managed to get in front of him quickly enough to make him stop in the hallway.

"Benedict," I said, trying to keep my voice low. He let out a long, deep sigh, but didn't move to step past me, instead fixing me with a tired stare. I frowned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's... nothing."

I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.

"Benedict Bridgerton, I have known you since the age of five. There is no chance of that terrible lie convincing me of anything, besides perhaps that I made the right decision about checking on you."

He sighed again, this time even heavier, and when he met my gaze again it was with an empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You remeber I shared my excitement with you about being accepted into art school?"

"Of course! Don't tell me something went wrong..."

He shook his head. "The opposite. Apparently my dear brother took it upon himself to make sure I got in, offering a bribe to secure my acceptance. Yet again, I fail to step out of my family's shadow and generate an accomplishment of my own, without their name and money securing it for me."

I frowned and reached out to touch his arm, but Eloise's voice from the other room promising to find where I'd wandered off to broke the moment. Benedict mustered that hollow smile again, then finally stepped around me.

"I'll be fine, I promise. Don't worry about me. Just go enjoy the rest of your evening."

I frowned after him, but he didn't look back as he climbed the stairs and disappeared onto the second floor. I briefly debated following him, but Eloise's hand on my elbow broke me from that thought.

"Y/N, what on earth are you doing out here? You're missing Kate and Anthony sparring over something trivial again."

I forced a smile onto my face that was hopefully more convincing than Benedict's and turned to face Eloise.

"Well, that's certainly something I don't want to miss. Let's go."

Eloise still looked like she had questions, but I didn't give her room to ask them as I joined the rest of our group in the parlor. Benedict stayed on my mind for the rest of the night, although I tried to hide my worry. Hopefully he'd been right about himself, and would be feeling better in the morning.

*****************

Benedict clearly wasn't feeling better in the morning. I was witnessing the man I loved having an existential crisis, and by the afternoon, I decided I couldn't sit by an watch anymore, society and the Ton and the gossips be damned.

I spent the next hour gathering and setting up the things I'd need, then went to find Benedict. He wasn't anywhere to be seen in the house, so I asked Eloise, who directed me to his bedroom.

I'd been in his bedroom before, of course, since we'd practically grown up together. But now that we'd started on the path to being something else to each other, with my heart registsering significantly more romantic feelings for the man Benedict had become, I found myself slightly nerovous as I stood outside his door. Still, I forced myself to ignore the nerves as best I could. Benedict was hurting, so everything else had to be put on hold while I helped him.

I knocked on his door, pretending my faster-than-normal heartbeat didn't exist as I waited for a response. That became much harder to accomplish when Benedict opened the door, his shirt far more open than normal and without anything over it, hair looking a rumpled mess. My heart did backflips, despite me mentally telling it to calm down.

"Y/N! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. I must look a mess-"

"No, not at all!" I said much too quickly. "You look, uh... very nice."

The familiar lopsided smile I loved so much appeared on Benedict's face as he leaned on the doorframe before me. He raised an eyebrow, the familiar spark of mischief that I loved so dearly igniting in his eyes, and for the first time in more than a day, he looked to be slightly back to himself.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear you think so. What brings you to my door, then?"

"You haven't seemed to be doing very well since you got the news about Anthony. And don't try to deny it, I know you too well. So, I thought I'd come find you and try to help cheer you up."

Benedict's eyebrow rose again as he crossed his arms.

"And what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I'll show you. But we're going to have to be a bit sneaky about leaving."

Benedict's mood lifted the moment he found out we were going to sneak out of the house together. We'd been regular trouble makers as children, sneaking out for adventures at least once a week, but since we'd both grown up that had basically come to a stop. Now, as I took his hand and dragged him along behind me and we ran through the countryside and left Bridgerton House in our wake, I couldn't stop a wild laugh from bubbling out of my chest. I'd missed this much more than I'd wanted to admit.

"Where are we going?" Benedict called, his own voice breathy and laced with laughter as we ran. I just shot him a grin back over my shoulder.

"You'll see!"

He huffed, but didn't protest as he followed after me. Finally, after winding through the woods and climbing a rather steep hill, we reached the spot I'd spent so long making nice this morning.

This hilltop looked out over the countryside stretching beautifully below us, even better now as the sun had started to get a bit lower in the sky. Waiting for us was a picnic blanket spread out in the grass with all of our favorite foods, wine, and an easel with art supplies set up right next to it. I dropped Benedict's hand as we came to a stop, instead turning to face him with a grin.

"Well? What do you think?"

He stared at everything I'd laid out, mouth open slightly in shock. His brow furrowed when he saw the canvas, and he turned back to me.

"What is all this?"

"It's a picnic, for the two of us," I said. "To watch the scenery and the sunset together without the pressures of society or being a Bridgerton to bring us down. The easel is optional–we can pack it away right now if you want to. But you told me you think Anthony's the reason you got into art school, and I don't agree. I've seen your work, and I know just how good it is. You got in on merit, Benedict. But I know I can't just say that and have you believe it, so I brought some supplies here so you can prove it, if you want to. Paint this moment for the two of us, and I'll swear on our relationship and everything I hold dear to be honest about what I think. Completely, totally, brutally honest."

Benedict's eyebrow quirked again.

"Well, I don't know if brutal is completely necessary..."

"I mean it, Ben. I hate to see you like this, doubting yourself. So if there's something I can do to counter Anthony's idiotic meddling, I'd like to."

"And what if..." He cleared his throat, emotion swirling in his gorgeous brown eyes as he met my gaze. "What if the truth would only serve to enforce what I know? That Anthony's meddling and money is the only reason I've gotten where I am."

I shook my head. "That won't happen-"

"Y/N." I stopped, biting my lip and forcing myself to meet Ben's stare again. He took a few steps forward until we were right in front of each other, then took my hands gently in his own. "What if it does?"

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Then I will keep my word and tell you so. One way or another, I will tell you the truth, even if it may not be what I want to tell you. I swear it, Ben."

He nodded slowly, eyes scanning my face. We stayed like that for a few long moments, and briefly, I thought Benedict might make a move to do something I never though he'd do with the Ton hovering over both our shoulders whenever we were together. But then he sighed, a smile returning to his face as he stepped away.

"Alright then. I believe you, and I value your opinion. And since you went to all the trouble to drag these supplies up here in the first place... I may as well get started."

I beamed at him. "I'll pour us some wine."

"Please."

When Benedict first sat down at his canvas, he kept fidgeting nervously, his hands hovering and twitching over various paints and brushes as he second-guessed his decisions. But slowly, as I kept up a stream of conversataion, supplying him with food and drink for fuel as he needed it, I noticed him beginning to relax.

"This is nice," I mused, leaning back on the picnic blanket and looking out at the scenery as Benedict worked. The sun had gotten much lower in the sky than when we'd left, which Benedict had grumbled about as it impacted his painting. Still, the golden light, soft breeze, and warm, fresh air felt like heaven to me.

"I agree," he said, not taking his eyes away from his easel. "I missed running off on adventures with you at the drop of a hat."

"So did I. But, hopefully... we may be able to get back to that again sometime soon."

Benedict looked over at me from his easel, a rougish grin on his face.

"If I didn't know better, Lady Y/L/N, I would think you were boardering on making me a marriage proposal."

I faced forward and closed my eyes under the guise of feeling the sun, trying to ignore my heart pumping frantically in my chest.

"Well. Fortunately for us both, you do know better. And it's not as if you're some strange man I met at court. You're... Ben. My best friend."

"I never said I wouldn't like it, did I? It would be an honor to be proposed to by you."

I cracked one eye open, turning my head to face Benedict with a grin. He wasn't looking at me, his stare focused on his canvas, his face completely serious. My heart stopped threatening to explode out of my chest, and instead settled into the unique, glowing warmth of love I felt whenever Benedict and I were together.

"I love you, Ben," I said, my voice soft and quiet. He stopped his work completely to turn and look at me, a soft smile on his face.

"I love you too. Very, very much." We held each others' stares for a moment, soaking in the comfort and joy of being together, and then Benedict's smile turned into a more edged grin. "It's a good thing we feel so strongly, since we may just be forced into an earlier marriage than planned to avoid a scandal after disappearing for an entire afternoon and evening together."

I huffed and waved him off. "Fortunately, I predict your brother will be accidentally helping us and making up for causing this crisis of confidence in the first place. He and Miss Kate Sharma are so ridiculous and dramatic together, I highly doubt anyone will notice we're gone."

Benedict chuckled, turning back to his work to scan it one last time before finally setting down his paintbrush. He took a deep breath, then stood and offered a hand to me.

"I've finished," he announced as I took his hand. He pulled my to my feet, but instead of looking at the painting, my eyes stayed fixed on him. We were almost chest to chest, and I could tell from his furrowed brows and darting eyes just how nervous he was about my verdict. "Remember, you promised me honesty."

"And honesty you will get."

Finally, I turned from Benedict to the canvas he'd been working on all afternoon. I'd resisted peeking before now at his request, so I wouldn't have any bias from watching his process. Fortunately, just as I'd predicted, his work was magnificent.

"Benedict..." I breathed as I took in the soft lines and vibrant colors before me. It perfectly captured how I felt looking out at the valley before us; it captured the gorgeous scenery, yes, but it also infused everything with a bit of magic that I only felt in this space with him. "This is absolutely incredible."

Benedict came around to stand next to me, arms crossed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him shaking his head.

"Now please don't forget, you promised me honesty."

"I am being honest! Benedict, this is fantastic. The way you capture the myriad of different shades of the light shining across the valley, the seamless lines giving the world a slightly hazy, dreamlike look, and the way you've left the paint a bit messier with the clouds, to make it look like they're moving? It's all perfect, Ben. And masterful. It's a picture of the valley, yes, but it looks like it's alive. And you somehow managed to capture what it feels like to be here in the moment together, the sun on our faces, with each other even when we're not supposed to be, in a truly special way. You're an incredibly talented artist, and I'd be saying that even if you were a complete stranger that I didn't particularly like."

He snorted, then after a second, wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. I leaned into him immediately, sighing a bit as he leaned his head against mine.

"I have a hard time believing you'd say all that to a stranger you didn't like."

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him in the stomach, and he laughed without letting me go. A smile spread on my own face despite myself.

"Alright, maybe I wouldn't say all that to a stranger I didn't like. But I'd say it about their work when they couldn't hear me, probably to you. My point stands, Ben. You are a very skilled and talented artist. Anthony isn't the reason you got into that school. You are."

His chest rose and fell with a long, deep breath, and then finally, I felt him nod.

"Thank you. I can't promise it will always be easy for me to always believe it, but... I'll try to remember your words, and not my brother's, from now on."

"Good. And if you feel down again, you can always come to me. I'll always be there for you, Benedict, whenever you need me."

"And I you, my love," he said, moving down to whisper the words in my ear as he wrapped his other arm around my waist, too. He kissed my cheek, and I leaned back into his chest for a moment before turning around in his arms to face him.

The beautiful, kind smile I'd fallen in love with stared back at me, along with his warm brown eyes. I smiled too, then finally stopped ignoring my racing heart and decided to continue the theme of ignoring the Ton and what they might say.

I leaned into Benedict, closing the distance between us with a glance at his lips before meeting his eyes again. Both of his eyebrows shot up, but he didn't pull away.

"Y/N... if anyone found out..."

I smiled. "They won't. Besides, they'd just make us follow through on something we're already planning, anyway."

Benedict huffed a laugh, his eyelids fluttering a bit as he looked at me like he couldn't believe I was real. Then, his arms tightened around my waist, and he leaned in even closer. I closed my eyes, feeling Benedict stop just a hair's breadth away from my lips.

"Are you sure-"

I closed the distance myself before he could continue. Benedict smiled into the kiss a moment later, pulling me closer to him, the two of us locked in each others' embrace as the sun set in the hills behind us. Truly, I didn't think anyone would be able to find out about how we'd spent our afternoon, but I also truly didn't care. I loved Benedict, and even though it was technically early in our courtship, I'd known him for most of my life. I knew we were meant to spend our lives together, and I knew he felt the same way as I did. Sooner or later, we'd make it official with an engagement and marriage, and be able to disappear together whenever we wanted without the Ton batting an eyelash. But, in the meantime, I didn't mind sneaking away for private moments like this one bit. No matter what had led to it in the first place.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

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verdantcrimson · 2 days

Text

Kanna Natsu Idol Story - 2

Written by: Akira

Season: Spring

TL: verdantcrimson

Proofread: @revuestarlight

[Two years since ES was established. In the ES building infirmary.]

Kanna: ……

Hinata: Goood morning!

Yuta: Today, we’re thinking of playing a hidden camera prank on the talk of the town, child prodigy, Kanna Natsu, when he wakes up!

Hinata: Because both of us in 2wink love pranks!

Yuta: —and since we've been in the business for the while, the agency was like, “C'mon, show your junior how things work around here. You guys love that sort of stuff, right?”

Hinata: There's a difference between playing a prank and bullying, though!

Yuta: But we can't disobey the agency. That's just life, y'know? We've gotta work hard and pull this off in order to maintain our character image.

Hinata: Why do you seem weirdly pumped about this, Yuta-kun?

Yuta: This guy is Kanna Natsu, y'know…… Everyone's making a fuss about what a genius he is, but he's still just a brat, and seeing him get more attention than us pisses me off.

Yuta: We've gotta punish this ill-mannered newbie, don't we?

Hinata: Whoops, it's getting hard to keep my brother's wickedness in check these days, yknow~?

Hinata: Ah, but he's acting like this on purpose because that's the kind of image he's decided on! Yuta-kun is actually a good kid!

Hinata: All of you watching at home, please don't misunderstand!

Yuta: Hell yeah, that's the perfect excuse. Now, no matter how cruel and inhumane I behave, I can just say it's because my agency or my producer told me to play that sort of character.

Yuta: I can use that to justify my bullying. Hehehe.

Hinata: How wicked… Looking at you these days makes your big brother worry, Yuta-kun.

Hinata: …..Hm?

Kanna: ……

Kanna: ……?

Hinata: I knew this would happen. Look, look, Yuta-kun! Natsu-kun is awake already!

Yuta: Huh, No way. He looked like he was fast asleep— Maybe we made too much of a racket?

Hinata: What should we do? Should we abort mission? I didn't really want to do an unfunny and old-school prank like that anyways, so I'm fine with it.

Yuta: It sounds like you were making a fuss on purpose so that the plan would fail.

Kanna: Good morning.

Hinata: Ah, yup. Morning. You sure slept well.

Kanna: Yes, thank you. Though sleeping isn't something I do for leisure.

Kanna: I don't get the opportunity to sleep when I'm occupied with research, so I try to sleep as much as I can whenever I find time.

Kanna: Also, if I pretend to be asleep, everyone will leave me alone.

Hinata: Oh, so you were just pretending to be asleep? Then, did you realize we were trying to prank you?

Kanna: Yes. Though, even when I'm asleep, one half of my brain stays awake.

Yuta: Are you a dolphin?

Hinata: That's so genius-core.

Kanna: I think anyone could do it with enough training.

Yuta: Tsk tsk tsk. It's exactly because all that training is so tedious that nobody would ever be able to make a name for themselves as a genius.

Kanna: I see. I understand now.

Kanna: I think that if anyone focused all their efforts on a single thing for approximately a year, they could become an expert in that field.

Kanna: Only a child like myself would be able to concentrate on a single thing for as long as they want to, correct?

Kanna: Any adult, I mean, essentially everyone, requires time to eat, play, socialize, and maintain their physical and mental health.

Kanna: It is quite difficult to concentrate on a single thing.

Kanna: That is why they fall short of success. Yes, people who are able to do that to some extent from the very beginning— Only they are successful and lauded as geniuses.

Kanna: If everyone is limited to only being able to spend a fraction of their time on their efforts, then only those who are privileged are able to succeed and win.

Kanna: That is the reason, correct? It's logical. I can understand this.

Hinata: I've been wondering, what on earth is this kid going on about…?

Yuta: You like making theories about other people based on their behavior and then feeling like you've understood them, don't you?

Kanna: Yes. Because I'm around that age. That's adolescence, I suppose.

Hinata: Yeah, well I don't believe that! If you treated any older kid like a ‘teenage brat’ they'd get angry and rebel. They'd never admit that they're going through puberty!

Kanna: Maybe that was just the case for you, Yuta Aoi.

Hinata: … Oh? Huh? Ermm?

Kanna: It's easier to live when you believe that your ‘normal’ and the world's ‘normal’ aren't congruent.

Kanna: I've long since given up on that sort of premise.

Kanna: I'm different from everyone else. I'm certain, nothing can be done about this.

Hinata: Ummm… I'm terribly sorry if we're boring you or something, but I think there's been a misunderstanding, so let me clear it up.

Hinata: I'm Hinata.

Yuta: And I'm Yuta.

Kanna: No.

Kanna: I know about you two. The twin idols from Cosmic Productions, 2wink.

Kanna: The two of you have changed your marketing strategy as of late, with the older brother Hinata continuing to present as a cheerful a good kid—

Kanna: —While the younger brother, Yuta, differentiates himself from his older brother by growing out his hair and selling a ‘bad kid’ image.

Kanna: That is what the established theory is.

Hinata: The established ‘theory’?

Yuta: Those are just facts.

Kanna: What are illusions?

Hinata: Huh, why'd you bring that up suddenly? What are you talking about?

Kanna: An illusion, or ‘sleight of hand’, is something that takes advantage of people's imagination.

Kanna: You make the world think that ‘the twins have differentiated their appearances and begun walking separate paths.’

Kanna: That way, you can do as much deception as you please.

Kanna: The twins that are supposedly never interchangeable, swap places in secret. Older brother becomes younger brother. Younger brother becomes older brother.

Kanna: Characteristic differences in hair length can also be accounted for using wigs and such.

Kanna: People tend to assume based on their prior knowledge, that ‘the one with longer hair must be the younger brother,’ since both brothers have similar facial features and so on.

Hinata: … Even if all of that were true, what good would it do for us to impersonate each other?

Kanna: Simply put, you two probably just enjoy those sorts of tricks.

Kanna: Furthermore, there are countless merits to being able to switch places. That is probably why having twins swap places is considered taboo, even in the most hard-core of detective novels.

Kanna: It's simply too convenient. It'd be used to forge alibis to no end, because now, anything goes.

Kanna: Additionally, if you succeed at your trivial ‘swapping places’ prank, you'd be able to make a fool of the child prodigy brat that everyone is making a fuss about, correct?¹

Kanna: You'd be able to say “That kid acts like he's a genius, but he's an oblivious idiot who couldn't even notice we switched places.”

Hinata & Yuta: ……

Kanna: 2wink is a unit comprised of a ‘good kid’ older brother and a ‘bad kid’ younger brother.

Kanna: Recently, it seems as though the two of them have truly diverged and are trying to pursue their own paths.

Kanna: That is why. Even if the younger brother was specifically requisitioned for work that would earn him points or experience as a ‘good kid’— The older brother would swap in and take his place. The reverse applies as well.

Kanna: So the two of you steadily gain experience and continue growing, correct?

Kanna: You're each trying to specialize in being a ‘good kid’ and ‘bad kid’.

Kanna: Waiting for an opportunity, with nobody any wiser.

Yuta: ……

Kanna: I don't have much interest in anything. However, I find your impressive tactics very interesting.

Kanna: I'm not trying to get in your way. However, by exposing your actions like this, I can render your footage unfit for broadcast.

Kanna: Even if what I said just now might be untrue.

Kanna: If the world's people begin to doubt you, you'll have a hard time operating. They might begin to think things like “Maybe they've swapped places?” or “Are they playing tricks?”

Kanna: All the earnest and serious people of the world will begin to view you poorly.

Kanna: That probably would not be desirable for you.

Kanna: I apologize. Being filmed and broadcasted in my sleep is quite embarrassing.

Kanna: That is why I have taken these preventative measures to keep it from occurring. Please understand that I bear no ill-will towards the two of you.

Kanna: That is all. I'm going to go back to bed now. Goodnight.

Kanna: Zzz, zzz.

Yuta: ……

Hinata: … He ended up being the real deal.

Yuta: Yeah. I figured it was just the usual hype you see on TV and magazines.

Hinata: (But really, I never thought he'd notice we ‘switched’.)

Yuta: (Yup. I thought nobody could tell. But this kid saw through us, probably just through a glimpse of our activities on the news or on the internet.)

Hinata: (To top it all off, just in case— He made sure we wouldn't get in trouble even if we did air it, by following it up with “what I said might be untrue.”)

Yuta: (He didn't want to inconvenience us, so he acted considerately.)

Hinata: (This brat sure acts full of himself. I ought to scribble on his face while he sleeps.)

Yuta: (Give it a rest already... Let sleeping gods lie, Yuta-kun.)²

Hinata: (You're such a good kid, Hinata-kun.)

Yuta: (And you’re a bad kid, right, Yuta-kun?)

Kanna: Zzz, zzz…♪

Hinata: (This kid might be incredible— more than anyone could imagine.)

Yuta: (But his sleeping face is adorable, just like any other normal kid's would be, y’know)

Translation notes

He's repeating back the same phrases that Hinata and Yuta used to describe him while he was 'sleeping'..

The original saying is '触らぬ神に祟りなし' which is means the same thing as 'let sleeping dogs lie', but I retained the 神 portion because I figured it might be a fun play on Kanna's first name '神無'

#Kanna Natsu #Hinata Aoi #Yuta Aoi

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unformula1 · 6 hours

Note

Lando proposing to you with “bless the broken roads”

bless the broken roads (LN4 x gn!Reader)

lando and you don’t think you’ll find someone. liar. w/c: 1237 masterlist(read more) a/n: I tried my best lol. I'm sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. Please correct me if you wanted something else!! TW: one use of y/n

There was a running joke between Lando’s friends. “Lando will never find true love.”

After years of being single or chasing someone to no avail, Lando’s almost beginning to accept his curse. However, as much as he joked about it, he really wanted someone. He needed someone.

It was a death cycle. Lando would find someone, they’d lead him on, then down bad Lando would take over, then he’d take his chance and fail. Then after all that work, he would be pushed back onto his broken road.

He was beginning to accept that he was really never going to find someone.

But he never gave up. He kept searching.

------

You don’t know how long it was since you felt someone loved you romantically. You missed that feeling. Spending forever just finding someone who would love you back and then getting absolutely no fruit was tiring, it was exhausting.

You know when you finally find someone, you’d give them the world and shower them with all the love you had in you. You constantly tell yourself how there’s one grand plan for you to find the one person you’ve been longing for and all you have to do is wait.

Waiting for years isn’t easy.

You’re losing hope, walking along a broken road.

------

Lando and you met some time ago, but you two hit it off almost instantly. Both of you were made for each other, the chemistry was through the roof.

Lando never failed to make you laugh. Even on your darkest days Lando was like a beacon of light, a bundle of sunshine. He smiled a lot, which you admired whenever you could.

You never failed to make Lando feel appreciated, which Lando would never admit no matter what, but deep down you knew Lando loved that. You made time for Lando, and you stayed with him come hell or high water.

Life wasn’t easy for you. There were countless nights where you cried in his arms, you cried your eyes out with him, and you felt safe. You felt safe with Lando. There were sleepless nights where everything just got too much and right next to you was Lando, holding your hand, and that was all you needed. You felt safe with Lando.

Life wasn’t easy for Lando either. Sometimes his busy life got a little too hectic and chaotic, he’d come find you. Lando felt protected by you, although he’d never say. Sometimes people got too far and everything felt like a crumbling mess, he’d come find you. Lando felt protected. He wanted to be next to you, whenever, wherever you were.

Then one day, everything fell together, sort of. Lando asked you to be his “other half”. Long story short, you said yes and kissed him in the sunset.

------

It had become a common occurrence for you and Lando to lie down on empty grass fields or the rooftops and look up into the skies, to talk about your lives.

You open the door to the rooftop. Lando doesn’t usually do these a night before the race. A cold blast of wind blows against you as you walk out. Lando is just standing there, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, as he looks out into the city.

You walk over to Lando and slide your hand around his waist and he giggles as you do so.

“I like the sky tonight.” You say and Lando hums an approving ‘hm’.

“I like it too. Starry night.” Lando replies, shifting on the spot slightly.

“You know in the wilderness, people would use stars to guide them.” You say, pointing at some random stars.

Lando hums.

“Especially the North Star, because it lies above Earth’s North. So they used it to guide them.” You smile while saying it.

��Everyone else before you was like a North Star.” Lando speaks.

You turn to Lando, cocking up an eyebrow.

“They guided me to find you.” Lando clears his throat, smiling widely as he looks up into the sky while speaking.

“You’re adorable.” You reply which earns you an honest chuckle from Lando.

You shift closer to Lando and he does so too. Both of you stand next to each other, bodies touching. His warm hands slide out of his pockets and around your shoulder, it makes you feel comfortable despite the cold winds blowing against you.

“I used to dream of days like these.” Lando admits, his voice is soft and just for you to hear, “Never thought they’d come true.”

“I did too.” You chuckle.

“I thought they were lost dreams.” Lando continues, “But yet here you are.”

“Yea…” You take a deep breath, “Here we are… you’re the love of my life.”

Lando shifts even closer to you, pulling you into his embrace. The hug is tight and it lasts for a while, you hear Lando’s soft sobbing which he usually doesn’t do publicly.

“Are you okay?” You ask, voice laced with concern.

Lando takes a deep breath, clearing his throat, “There have been many people I’ve tried to love before you.”

You nod.

“None of them have been as good as you. I never thought I’d meet someone who understood me, but you came.” Lando takes another deep breath, “I honestly never thought there’d be someone for me…”

“Neither did I, honestly.” You chuckle as you place your hands on Lando’s shoulder.

“When I asked you to be the love of my life, I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Lando shuffles his feet and sniffles a little, “But you did and I could not be more grateful.”

You smile at Lando and he smiles a little too.

“My entire life has been like a broken road, filled with pitfalls and traps, loss and despair. All my life I’ve wanted to just be for someone, and now I have.” Lando takes a step back.

“y/n…”

“Lando…”

He reaches into his pocket before getting down on one knee. The backdrop of car honking and people chattering suddenly fades into silence and the stars shine brighter than ever. All the lights shine at him and you two are in the spotlight.

“I never want to live without you again. Will you marry me?”

The world around you freezes, all you see is Lando, on one knee, holding a ring in his hand, his eyes filled with tears.

“Yes.” You say softly.

“YES!” You repeat but louder, and admittedly, more cheerfully.

He slides the ring onto your ring finger and gets up. You take no time to rush into him, your arms swinging around him and pulling him in.

“I’ll make you the happiest person ever, I promise, all those years of finding love, I’ll give it to you and only you.” Lando says as he lifts you off the ground, planting a kiss on your lips.

It feels like forever on the rooftop before both of you walk back down to Lando’s room, holding each other’s hands.

It was nothing special, just both of you on a silent rooftop. To you, it was everything. Every single attempt to find someone who would love you back, every lost road that both of you set on, every heartbreak you two went through, all culminating in that few seconds.

You loved Lando. Lando loved you.

Both of your broken roads, leading right into each other’s.

Bless the broken roads that let both of you to each other’s arms.

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pastafossa · 2 days

Text

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

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This couldn’t be you.

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

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

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

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or had you been the one wearing them?

Maybe…?

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

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon.

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

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

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

What you didn’t know was…

Why?

Why here?

Why these people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt was alone.

You’d left him alone.

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

So… why did you feel so very sick?

Sympathy.

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

Protect yourself.

Protect what you might one day have.

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

You were wearing one of his shirts.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Matt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you climbed inside a thread?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you saw was heartbreaking.

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

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

“Jesus,” you whispered.

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

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Emotion. It’s emotion.

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

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

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

The stones.

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

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

Still nothing.

And something inside you… cracked.

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

You’d been loved.

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world.

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with a blink—

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

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

“It’s me. I’m here.”

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

And your weakened heart… skipped.

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

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

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

And you… smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called.

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

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

You knew.

You… remembered.

“Always,” he’d said.

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

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

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt.

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

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

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

“...Remember that. if nothing else.”

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

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

Silence.

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

Red threads never lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, just let me—”

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

A soft intake of breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...D.”

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

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

“Leave me alone!”

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

Wait.

You’d… you’d called him…

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

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

…Steady.

Truth.

Could it really be you?

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

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

You loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

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

Because all that was left was him…

And you.

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estapa-edwards · 15 hours

Text

RIVALS - J. HUGHES

paring: jack hughes x reader

word count: 2.3k

requested? yes - jack falling in love with his rival player from the rangers and the media and everyone alwyss comparing the two and they like to tease each other back and fourth and people think they are enemies but really they have been friends since they both moved away from their families to jersey and york, they ended up living in the same building and became good friends despite the rivalry, they just love to tease each other on the ice and making everyone speculate, something important goes on and jack brings her as his plus one and he is like she’s been my gf for years didn’t you know?

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

As I lace up my skates in the familiar locker room of Madison Square Garden, I can feel the buzz of anticipation coursing through me. Tonight, like every other night when we face off against the New Jersey Devils, the media will paint our matchup as an epic clash between bitter rivals. They'll hype up the drama, the tension, the supposed animosity between me, Y/N, of the New York Rangers, and Jack Hughes of the Devils. But what they don't know is that behind the scenes, Jack and I are actually good friends.

It's funny how things work out sometimes. We met shortly after we both moved away from home to pursue our hockey dreams. Fate seemed to have a sense of humor when it placed us in the same apartment building. At first, we were just acquaintances, nodding at each other in the elevator or exchanging small talk in the lobby. But as time went on, our friendship blossomed.

Jack is one of those people who's impossible not to like. He's got this infectious energy, always cracking jokes and keeping everyone around him in high spirits. And despite being fierce competitors on the ice, off the rink, he's one of the most genuine and down-to-earth guys I've ever met.

From the moment we stepped onto the ice as rookies, Jack and I knew that we were destined to be compared and contrasted by the media. They loved to pit us against each other, to scrutinize every goal, every assist, every move we made on the ice. And as much as we tried to brush it off, it was hard not to feel the weight of those expectations.

But amidst the chaos of the rivalry, Jack and I found something unexpected: a genuine friendship. It started with small gestures – a friendly nod during warm-ups, a quick word of encouragement after a tough game – but it quickly grew into something deeper. We discovered that we had a lot in common, both on and off the ice, and that despite wearing different jerseys, we shared a mutual respect and admiration for each other's talents.

As our friendship blossomed, we found ourselves gravitating towards each other more and more, seeking refuge from the pressures of the rivalry in each other's company. We'd sneak away from the prying eyes of the media and our respective teams' management to grab lunch together or hang out at one of our apartments, swapping stories and jokes like old friends.

Of course, we knew that our friendship had to remain a secret. Our PR managers made sure of that, reminding us constantly that we were supposed to be bitter rivals, not bosom buddies. But in a strange way, the secrecy only made our bond stronger. It was like we were in on this big, inside joke together, sharing a secret that no one else knew.

And so, we became experts at playing our parts. We'd exchange playful jabs during interviews, making sure to throw in a few subtle digs to keep up the facade of animosity. We'd celebrate our victories against each other on the ice with exaggerated displays of triumph, all the while exchanging knowing looks behind the scenes.

---

As rookies, stepping onto the ice for the first time felt like stepping into a pressure cooker. The weight of expectations hung heavy in the air, fueled by the constant comparisons and contrasts the media loved to draw between Jack and me.

"Hey, Y/N," Jack called out as we lined up for warm-ups before our first game against each other. His voice cut through the tension, and I turned to see him flashing a grin. "You ready to show the world what we're made of?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his infectious enthusiasm. "You bet, Jack. Just don't expect me to go easy on you out there."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied with a playful wink.

And so it began – a friendly rivalry that would soon evolve into something much deeper. As the games went by, Jack and I found ourselves drawn to each other, seeking solace from the relentless scrutiny of the media in the comfort of each other's company.

"Rough game out there, huh?" Jack said one night, catching me in the hallway outside the locker rooms after a particularly grueling match.

I nodded, grateful for the chance to decompress with someone who understood the pressures we faced. "Yeah, tell me about it. I swear, they're never gonna let us live this one down."

Jack chuckled, clapping me on the back in a show of solidarity. "Well, at least we can commiserate together, right?"

And so our friendship blossomed, forged in the fires of competition and camaraderie. We'd steal moments away from the prying eyes of the media, grabbing lunch together or hanging out at one of our apartments, swapping stories and jokes like old friends.

"Man, I can't believe we have to keep this friendship a secret," I grumbled one day as we lounged on Jack's couch, watching highlights from our latest game.

Jack shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Eh, adds to the intrigue, don't you think? Besides, it's kinda fun having our little secret."

I had to admit, there was something exhilarating about sneaking around like a couple of teenagers with a forbidden romance. It made our bond feel even more special, like we were part of some exclusive club that no one else could join.

Of course, playing our parts as bitter rivals wasn't always easy. We'd exchange playful jabs during interviews, throwing in a few subtle digs to keep up the facade of animosity.

"Y/N, what do you have to say to Jack Hughes, who claims he's going to outshine you on the ice tonight?" a reporter asked during a post-game press conference.

I shot Jack a knowing smirk before turning back to the camera with a smirk of my own. "Tell him he can try, but he's gonna have to get past me first."

Jack laughed from his seat beside me, the tension in the room dissipating as we shared a private joke

As much as we excelled at maintaining the illusion of rivalry in public, it was behind closed doors where our friendship truly flourished. Away from the prying eyes of the media and the expectations of our teams, Jack and I could be ourselves without reservation. We'd spend hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing our hopes and fears, our triumphs and struggles.

There was a comfort in knowing that we could let our guard down around each other, free from the pressures of being seen as rivals. In those moments, it was easy to forget about the intensity of the rivalry and just enjoy each other's company. Whether we were binge-watching our favorite TV shows, cooking dinner together, or simply lounging around, every moment spent with Jack felt like a welcome reprieve from the chaos of our professional lives.

And yet, even as we reveled in our friendship, there was always an underlying tension – the knowledge that our bond had to remain a secret. It was a constant balancing act, navigating the delicate line between friendship and rivalry, always mindful of the consequences if our true relationship were to be revealed.

But despite the risks, our friendship only grew stronger with each passing day. We became each other's confidants, sharing our deepest thoughts and feelings with a level of trust and understanding that went beyond words. And as much as we cherished our time together off the ice, there was something uniquely special about the moments we shared on it.

On game days, when the arena was buzzing with excitement and anticipation, Jack and I would find ourselves locked in a silent battle of wills. We'd exchange knowing glances across the ice, each one a silent reminder of the bond we shared. And when the puck dropped and the game was underway, it was like we were playing our own private game within the game – a subtle dance of friendship disguised as rivalry.

But no matter how convincing our performance was for the outside world, there were moments when our true feelings would slip through the cracks. A shared smile after a particularly well-executed play, a quick pat on the back after a hard-fought battle – these were the moments when our friendship shone brightest, illuminating the darkness of the rivalry that surrounded us.

The locker room is quiet, the only sound the faint echo of distant celebrations filtering through the walls. I sit alone on the bench, still basking in the afterglow of our victory over the Devils. It had been a hard-fought battle, but in the end, we'd come out on top, securing another win for the Rangers.

I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear the door creak open, and I glance up to see Jack standing in the doorway, a hesitant smile playing at the corners of his lips. Everyone else has already left, leaving us alone in the quiet solitude of the locker room.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey," I reply, returning his smile. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with your team."

Jack shrugs, taking a few cautious steps into the room. "I needed to talk to you."

My curiosity piqued, I gesture for him to take a seat beside me on the bench. "What's on your mind?"

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering uncertainly as if searching for the right words. And then, in one swift motion, he crosses the distance between us and takes my face in his hands, leaning in to press his lips against mine.

For a moment, time seems to stand still as the world falls away around us. I'm too stunned to react, too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions coursing through me. But as his kiss deepens, I find myself melting into his embrace, the weight of our shared secret finally lifting from my shoulders.

When we finally pull apart, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, I meet Jack's gaze with a mixture of surprise and longing. "I didn't know you felt that way," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the pounding of my heart.

Jack smiles, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I've been trying to tell you for months," he admits, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my cheek. "But I never had the courage until now."

I reach out to take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together with a sense of newfound clarity. "I'm glad you did," I say softly, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Because I feel the same way."

As the seasons passed, Jack and I found ourselves navigating the complexities of our newfound relationship with a sense of cautious optimism. We were no longer just friends who shared a secret bond; we were now a couple, bound together by love and mutual respect.

But as much as we reveled in our newfound happiness, we couldn't escape the ever-present shadow of the rivalry that loomed over us. Our teams, our fans, and the media all seemed determined to keep us apart, to maintain the facade of animosity that had defined our relationship for so long.

We knew that our relationship had to remain a secret, at least for the time being. Our PR managers had made that abundantly clear, reminding us constantly of the consequences if our true feelings were ever to be revealed. And so, we continued to play our parts, keeping our love hidden behind a carefully constructed facade of rivalry and competition.

But as the years passed and our relationship continued to flourish, it became increasingly difficult to keep our secret under wraps. We longed to share our love with the world, to finally break free from the constraints of the rivalry that had kept us apart for so long.

And then, one day, an opportunity presented itself that we couldn't ignore. Jack had been invited to a prestigious event, a gathering of the league's top players and executives, and he had been given the chance to bring a guest as his plus one.

As we stood outside the doors of the grand ballroom, Jack turned to me with a mischievous grin. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

I nodded, my heart pounding in anticipation. "I'm ready," I replied, squeezing his hand tightly in mine.

And with that, we stepped inside, hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. As we made our way through the crowd, heads turned and whispers followed in our wake. But Jack didn't seem to notice, too caught up in the moment to care about the opinions of others.

And then, when we reached the center of the room, Jack turned to me with a smile that lit up his entire face. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice ringing out clear and confident. "I'd like you to meet someone very special to me. This is Y/N, and she's been my girlfriend for years. Didn't you know?"

The room fell silent, the air thick with shock and surprise. But as I looked around at the stunned faces of our peers, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me. We had finally broken free from the shackles of the rivalry, and nothing – not even the expectations of others – could hold us back any longer.

As Jack wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, I knew that our love was stronger than any rivalry, stronger than any obstacle that stood in our way. And as we danced together in the center of the room, surrounded by the whispers of our peers and the glow of the evening lights, I knew that we were finally free to be ourselves – together, forever.

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