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bellaxgiornata · 10 months

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All These Years [Part 10: "The Weight of Grief"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 5.4k

a/n: This one is quite heavy on the angst. Also--if you haven't realized already, the timeline and events of this series aren't exactly canon. Just for clarification. I split this installment into two parts so the next one is actually going to be titled "Last to Know." Feedback is always appreciated! And I have not published this to AO3 with whatever is going on, but I will whenever things have calmed down over there. I just didn't want to leave everyone hanging when I had updates ready!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine

“How about you let me take you out for dinner Saturday night?”

Shouldering your phone against your ear, you continued to distractedly chop vegetables for the late dinner you were making in your kitchen. A smile made its way onto your lips at the prospect of a third date already.

“How bold of you, Adam,” you teased. “Three Saturday nights in a row? A girl might think you like her.”

“Maybe I want the girl to think I like her,” he teased back.

Pausing your chopping, you set the knife down on the cutting board before wiping your hands on the towel next to it. Grabbing your phone from your shoulder, you turned and rested your back against the countertop. Chewing your lip, you felt a faint blush rise to your cheeks.

You’d met Adam through a speed dating event that Karen had dragged you along with her to. That had been about a month ago now. You’d thought the whole idea was terrible and you’d made her promise not to say anything to Foggy or Matt, not wanting either of them to judge you for going. You figured it would make you sound desperate because you were sure Karen wasn’t really having trouble in the dating department. It was clearly a ploy to get you to go in the hopes of finding someone instead of Matt to think about.

And you and Karen had considered the experience successful because you’d instantly clicked with Adam that night. From the moment he sat down at your table and smiled at you, you’d been hooked. He was a veterinary technician with a big heart and a love of animals, something that had immediately won you over with him. He was cute, too. And funny. And he seemed like he was close with his family. With Adam, you found you weren’t actively trying to forget about Matt and push him out of your thoughts. Something that had you instantly drawn to him because no one else had ever accomplished that since you'd met Matt back at Columbia.

And ever since Matt and Elektra had surprised you at your apartment a few months ago, you'd tried hard to let your feelings for him go. There would never be anything more between you and him, you knew that now. So now you were doing your best to focus on just letting Matt be your friend, especially while you tried to adjust to the new knowledge about his heightened senses and him being the masked man running around the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night performing heroics. Though now he’d recently become known as Daredevil in the news ever since he'd gotten that protective new suit made for him. And you were glad he had because you'd worried a lot less about his well-being; he was visibly sporting less injuries at least.

But you didn't spend as much time with Matt as you used to, even if you had stopped actively avoiding him. He was often busy with his vigilante endeavors, and it just felt weird and uncomfortable being around him knowing he knew you had feelings for him that he didn't return. And from your knowledge, he had spent the past few months helping Elektra with something. You were certain they were back together again even if you'd never asked and had it confirmed. You didn't want to even think about it.

And as for what he was helping her with–you didn't ask about that either. You weren't as in the know about what was going on as Foggy and Karen seemed to be, and frankly you didn't want to be. Despite having come to accept Matt's secret alter ego, you didn't want to know about anything that involved Elektra. So whenever the topic of her came up, you usually asked about the bare minimum and found a way to quickly exit the conversation–especially when you’d later overheard that Elektra had died, but also apparently had been resurrected from the dead. Which had confused you too much to want to try to understand.

"Well I am free Saturday night," you answered Adam.

"Should we try that new Italian restaurant?" he asked over the line. "You were talking about craving pasta earlier this week."

The smile on your lips grew wider. You'd told him that offhandedly on the phone three nights ago and apparently he'd remembered.

"I would like that," you told him. "I'm–"

A few knocks on your apartment door interrupted you, your attention shifting to it across the room. A frown settled on your mouth. It was after seven on a Thursday night, who would be stopping by? You hadn't been expecting company.

"Hey, Adam, someone's apparently at my door," you told him. "Mind if we finalize the details tomorrow?"

"Not at all," he told you, the smile apparent in his chipper tone. "I'll call you in the evening? After work?"

"That sounds great," you told him.

You exchanged goodbyes before hanging up, setting your phone onto your kitchen counter. Eyeing your door curiously, you made your way across your apartment towards it. It took you a few moments to unlock the door, unlatching the deadbolt before pulling it open.

Your eyebrows rose up high onto your forehead at the unexpected sight of Foggy and Karen standing there. Both of them had red, puffy eyes that were glistening with tears on their sullen faces. Heart beating harder in your chest, your hand tightened around the doorknob you were still holding. Whatever had brought them here couldn't be good, not with the way Foggy’s lips were suddenly trembling as he opened his mouth, clearly struggling to form a sentence.

And that's when you knew what this visit had to be about. You'd felt the rumble and shaking earlier tonight when you'd been grabbing food at the store on your way home from work. Everyone had been saying it had been an earthquake at the time, but you'd later heard something about a building collapsing nearby in Hell’s Kitchen.

Something must have happened to Matt. There was no other reason for both of them to be standing there looking at you like they were. Not in the state they were in.

Tears immediately stung at your eyes, a feeling of dread washing over you as your gaze danced between the pair of them before you. It felt like your throat was closing up, making it almost impossible for you to swallow. Shaking your head, you felt the first tears fall.

"No," you said, voice breaking on the word. "No, don't tell me he got hurt."

A choked sob fell out of Karen instantly, your heart feeling like someone had crushed it in their fist at the sound. One of her hands rose up to cover her mouth as she turned away, unable to look at you. Beside her, Foggy sent you an apologetic smile when your eyes met his, but he couldn’t hide the tears present and ready to spill over.

"There was an–an accident," Foggy said softly. "Matt he was–was out helping those others like him. The ones we'd told you a bit about. They were over at Midland Circle." He paused, exhaling a shuddering breath. "Trying to destroy that Hand group. And they–they blew up the building."

Both of your hands flew to your face at the tremble in Foggy’s voice and the implication of his words. You felt like you were going to be sick.

"No," you repeated, shaking your head more firmly. "No, no he's okay. Tell me he's okay, Foggy!" you shouted.

Foggy said your name softly, stepping into your apartment slowly with his hands raised placatingly as if he was approaching a wild animal. A painful grimace was on his face as he approached you and you took a step back, still shaking your head as more tears streamed down your cheeks.

"He didn't make it out," he whispered.

"No," you growled through clenched teeth. "No, don't you tell me that! Don’t you fucking tell me that, Foggy!"

"The others said he stayed behind," Foggy continued gently. "Trying to save Elektra."

It felt like you’d been barreled over by a city bus at his words. Matt had stayed behind…to save Elektra? He died for her? The heartless woman who’d only toyed with him? The woman who didn’t even know the beautiful, fragile heart she held in the palm of her hands? Who’d never truly loved him, abandoning him back at Columbia with a shattered heart? The very same heart you’d spent months trying to help him piece back together just for him to give it back to her years later to permanently destroy?

He died for her?

You collapsed to your knees, hot tears steadily pouring down your cheeks. It wasn’t until Foggy was kneeling on the floor before you, his hands gingerly grasping your shoulders and drawing you towards him, that you realized you were screaming. You fought Foggy’s attempts to soothe you, struggling against him as he tried to hold you still. The entire time you heard him repeatedly croaking out ‘I know, I know’ over and over, emotion thick in his own voice.

“He’s not dead!” you wailed, still thrashing against Foggy. “He’s not dead! Matt’s not dead!!”

“Hey, hey,” Karen said gently, her voice breaking as she kneeled down beside you and Foggy on the floor. “I–I know it’s hard to hear,” she whispered, “but Matt he–he didn’t make it. They–they said they saw him stay behind.”

“Well maybe he made it out!” you cried hysterically, sniffling loudly as the tears didn’t stop falling. “They’re wrong! It’s–it’s Matt we’re talking about, guys! He’s–he’s like a goddamn superhero! He isn’t dead! He can’t be!”

There was no way you would believe Matt was gone. That his smiling face wouldn't still greet you if you headed over to his apartment right now. That he wouldn't be calling you tomorrow night to see if you wanted to grab drinks with him, Foggy, and Karen at Josie’s. That he wouldn’t be making one of his stupid blind jokes to you over a few beers.

He wasn't dead. You'd have known if he was. Felt it somehow.

Matt wasn’t dead.

You shook your head, pulling away out of Foggy’s embrace and roughly wiping the backs of your hands against your tear stained cheeks. Sniffling loudly again, you ignored the pitying looks on their faces.

“Was there a body?” you asked, trying to calm down.

“What?” Foggy asked you.

“Was there a body?” you repeated, forcefully enunciating each word.

“No, not yet,” he answered. “But they just started trying to sort through the rubble. The emergency responders said it could take days for them to sort through the mess.” Foggy’s frown deepened as he said your name again. “It doesn’t sound like he made it.”

“No,” you said firmly, rising back up to your feet and wiping at your eyes again. “I’m not believing it until there’s a body. He’s alive, I know he is.”

Karen sent you a sad smile, tears still falling down her own cheeks. “Okay,” she said softly with a nod. “Let’s give it a few days. Maybe–maybe they were wrong.”

You were kneeling, bent over the pew before you with your forehead resting against your clasped hands. You'd lost track of the time a while ago, unsure how long you'd been here. But your back was now stiff from however long you'd remained stationary in prayer, your knees aching.

Praying wasn't something you did. You'd never been the religious type, though lately you'd often found yourself seeking solace at Clinton Church. Because it was Matt's church, the place where he told you he grew up going to. The place he had told you he frequented for advice from Father Lantom–who you'd met now with all the time you'd been spending here since Matt had gone missing. The orphanage he grew up in was just next door to this church, too.

Coming here in the recent days since Matt had disappeared had always made you feel closer to him for some unexplainable reason. Like you could just feel him here in the walls of the church somehow. It was comforting to you, the only comfort you’d come to find over the past couple of weeks.

Despite the fact that everyone had told you he'd been in the building when it collapsed, and that he'd been missing for over two weeks, and the fact that you'd gone to a memorial service for him at this very church just a few days ago, you still absolutely refused to believe Matt was dead. There had never been a body found among the wreckage of Midland Circle–for him or Elektra. Which only cemented it in your mind that he was out there alive somewhere.

But your friends were not of the same mind. They’d tried to grieve him at his memorial service, and they’d spent many conversations already trying to convince you that the facts all pointed to Matt having passed in the building’s collapse. Foggy had even asked you to explain why Matt wouldn't have reached out to let any of you know he was alive if he really had made it out of the building. All you could think was that he was lying horribly injured somewhere and unable to reach out. That had to be what was going on.

Because Matt Murdock wasn't dead. He just wasn't. You didn't care that Foggy looked at you now with a different and more infuriating sympathetic look on his face whenever he saw you, one that wasn't just because you were in love with Matt and he didn’t return those feelings. He thought you were in denial and delusional now, unable to accept reality.

Maybe you were, but you weren’t going to accept his death without proof of a body.

You heard movement nearby as someone came and sat down in the pew beside where you were kneeling. Almost immediately you recognized the scent of incense and smoke and you already knew who’d taken a seat–Father Lantom. Over the past few days he’d been stopping to chat with you, having recognized you from Matt’s memorial service and realizing you’d been showing up often.

With a sigh you lifted your head, turning and glancing at Father Lantom in the pew. He was smiling at you, the expression somehow reassuring and comforting just like the church itself. Pushing yourself away from the kneeler, you settled into the pew beside him, your focus on your hands in your lap.

“You’re back again today,” Father Lantom observed.

“I come every day after work,” you muttered.

“You do,” he agreed lightly. “And how’re you feeling today?”

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap. “Furious,” you answered, eyes still focused on your hands. “I’m still angry. Probably more angry than anything lately.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Father Lantom nod. He shifted in the pew, turning to face you more fully.

“Anger is a common reaction when a loved one is taken from us,” he told you. “Especially when the loss is so unexpected.”

Your head darted up, your eyes brimming with tears as you focused on the priest beside you. “He’s not dead,” you stated, shaking your head firmly. “I told you that. He’s not dead.”

Something flickered across Father Lantom’s face briefly before his lips pressed into a thin line, his expression becoming something neutral. He nodded his head just once.

“So much like Matthew yourself,” he mused. “He was always stubborn. Ever since he was a boy, really. When he had an idea in his head you couldn’t shake it from him for anything.”

A tear slipped out of your eye, your hand darting up to quickly wipe it away as your focus shifted to the large crucifix at the front of the church. It was the one thing you didn’t like about Clinton Church–the way Christ was always staring back at you from within the sanctuary, battered and bleeding on the cross. It felt too much like Matt.

“I miss him,” you whispered, eyes falling back down to your hands in your lap.

I still love him.

“Well,” Father Lantom began slowly, “the most we can do for those we’ve lost–however it is that we’ve lost them–is to keep on living. I believe Matthew would want that for you. To keep living your life. To move forward.”

“I feel like all I’ve done is move backwards,” you admitted quietly, your fingers twisting around each other now. “I barely sleep. I can’t focus at work. I broke things off with the guy I was seeing not too long ago because I just can’t–can’t pretend everything is okay. Because it’s not, nothing is.”

Father Lantom sighed loudly, shifting in the pew beside you to clasp his own hands in his lap. His mouth opened as if he was about to speak, but you saw his focus shift towards a nun, your own eyes following the movement. She looked quite stern as she eyed the priest beside you, almost like she was trying to tell him something with her eyes, but when her attention turned to you her expression softened. You swore she offered you a smile before you ducked your head, tears once again threatening to fall.

You abruptly rose to your feet, the threat of tears urging you to seek the solitude of your apartment before you broke down publicly in the church. That was usually your cue to leave.

“Going already?” Father Lantom asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, turning away from him and making your way towards the other end of the pew. “I’m sure I’ll be back tomorrow, though. And the next day.”

Matt’s hand tentatively reached out, fingers brushing over the cool stone of the statue. He could feel the grainy texture of it under the pads of his fingers. Each and every little divot in the stone. His sense of touch hadn’t really been affected by the collapse of Midland Circle, not quite, but what a shitty and useless sense to have retained. All it did was make him further aware of how uncomfortable the cheap cotton clothes he was wearing felt on his skin, and how scratchy the little bed he attempted to sleep in every night felt underneath him. It only brought him further discomfort and pain to match his injuries.

His hearing hadn’t fully come back to him, either; it was often touch and go. Sometimes he’d hear a ringing in one or both of his ears if it didn’t sound like he was underwater. He also hadn’t regained his heightened sense of taste–didn’t matter what food Sister Maggie brought him, it all tasted like blood and ash. And his sense of smell was basically nonexistent. He hadn’t been able to smell a damn thing besides smoke since he’d woken up in the undercroft of Clinton Church. He was utterly and pathetically useless without his senses. Just plodding around clumsily with a cane and tripping over his own goddamn feet in the church’s basement.

Yet for some reason, he still found himself trying. Which is what he’d been up out of his bed trying to do now as he attempted to map out the space he was in. He had no idea what time of day it was–it’s not like he could hear much besides the room he was in to even gauge time–and he was becoming stir crazy trapped in this church basement trying to heal. So he’d been up the past few minutes wandering around, his cane left hanging off one of the statues somewhere in the room. He honestly didn’t even know where, which wouldn’t have been the case if he’d been back to his normal self. Something that only further pissed him off.

Matt took a handful of careful steps forward, focusing intensely on where he was going. But as he took one more step, his foot hit something solid and he lost his balance. He fell to the floor, his hands flying out to try to brace himself for the impact, but he’d cut his palm on the corner of something sharp before he landed roughly on his side. He groaned out, his eyes closing as he curled into a ball.

He wished he’d have died in that goddamn building.

But that wasn’t quite true. What he’d really wished was that Elektra hadn’t been so dead set on getting her hands on what the Hand had been after. That she hadn’t become the Hand’s puppet when they’d resurrected her as the Black Sky. If she’d have just listened to him he wouldn’t have stayed behind. He wouldn’t have felt the need to try to save her. Because despite the hurt she’d put him through, despite the way she’d broken his heart those years ago, he couldn’t just leave her to die. That wasn’t him. But ever since he’d woken up after he’d been dragged out of that wreckage, he’d hated her for having made him make that choice. For not just leaving with him and everyone else. For choosing to die trying to get what she wanted, and in true Elektra fashion, dragging him down with her.

But it wasn’t Elektra he’d been thinking about when the building had collapsed and he knew he was about to die.

It was you.

Every moment he’d ever had with you felt like it raced through his mind in a matter of seconds. The first time he’d stumbled on you on campus, when you'd stopped to help that stranger pick up their spilled belongings and you’d been so unbelievably kind. All that time he’d spent searching Columbia's campus for a sign of you afterwards. The unexplainable excitement when he’d accidentally ran into you at the library and finally got your name and your phone number. And every good memory he had of you ever since then; all of those Saturday nights he’d spent with you and Foggy, and the times he got you all to himself when Foggy had inevitably passed out early in his bed. Every conversation at meal times in the dining hall. He recalled graduation night when he’d almost kissed you, almost told you he loved you–and he regretted it so much right now that he’d never just said it back then.

He recalled every moment with you that he could–every single one of them. Because he wanted you to be his dying thought.

As the building fell around him, Elektra had been shouting something at him, trying to rile him up one last time, but he hadn’t been paying attention to her because he’d been trying to remember the way it felt when he held you in his arms. You’d always fit so perfectly against him. He’d tried his hardest to recall the scent of your shampoo–something faintly floral and sweet, but never overpowering–and the softness of your hair the times he’d been bold enough to press his nose into it. You almost always buried your face into his left shoulder when he embraced you, a small random detail, but one he always remembered nevertheless. Your arms always wrapped around him so hesitant at first, but then you’d almost melt into him for a moment, expelling the softest little sigh that he always wondered about, even then in that moment.

And that’s what Matt believed would be his last thought. The memory of that soft, contented sigh that always confused him whenever you hugged him.

Except it wasn’t his last thought because he hadn’t died in the explosion. He’d somehow been spared. Saved. But all he could think about since he had woken without his senses was how absurd that was considering God had clearly turned his back on him. He’d been spared for what? What was the point of him without his heightened senses that he’d always thought God had bestowed on him?

So he’d decided to let Matt Murdock die at Midland Circle. He figured he would finally listen to Stick–he’d cut out the people in his life he cared about who cared about him in order to keep them safe. Foggy, Karen, and you.

You were all safer without him. Safer thinking he was dead and gone.

And then he would just be Daredevil. Nothing left to live for, nothing left to lose.

Matt heard the faint, muddled sound of footsteps hitting his ears as someone descended the church’s basement steps. The sound pulled him from his bleak thoughts. Gradually he pushed himself upright, leaning against the stone of whatever it was he’d tripped over. He wasn’t surprised when he heard Sister Maggie’s voice speak a moment later. It was only ever her or Father Lantom that checked on him down here to begin with.

“What on earth are you doing on the floor?” Sister Maggie asked.

Matt huffed out a frustrated breath from his place on the hard floor. He could hear Maggie’s footsteps approaching him and he tried to focus on them, attempting to lock on to her movement in the room.

“Falling, apparently,” he muttered bitterly.

He heard the way Sister Maggie sighed, the noise coming from nearby. He realized she’d lowered to sit on the floor next to him a few seconds later when he registered her body temperature near his right side.

“I brought you something,” she told him.

“I’m guessing food?” he asked flatly. “Not like I can smell anything still. Everything tastes the same too–like blood and ash.”

Matt felt Sister Maggie press something into his hand. It was long and cylindrical. Wrapped in something like a wax paper wrapping.

“It’s a sandwich from the deli nearby,” she said. “Thought you might enjoy it more than the soup Sister Ethel made tonight for the children.”

Matt’s fingers ran over the paper wrapper for a moment, trying to ignore the stirring in his chest at the kind gesture from Sister Maggie.

“Thank you,” Matt murmured.

He heard her unscrew the cap of something next. It sounded like a pill bottle; the sound of a few pills rattled out of it and into her hand.

“Brought you water, too,” she continued. “And you need to keep taking these.”

Matt held out a hand expectantly, waiting for her to drop the two pills into his upturned palm as she came down here to do every few hours. When she did, he quickly tossed them into his mouth. Holding out his hand again, Sister Maggie handed him an opened bottle of water. He drank down the pills, frowning as he swallowed and stared blankly ahead.

“How’s the hearing?” she asked.

Matt made a face, the fingers of his left hand absently fiddling with the sandwich wrapper again. “Still can’t hear for shit,” he replied.

“Well your body took quite a beating,” she told him. “Everything’s swollen. Maybe your hearing will come back when it goes down.” There was a brief pause before she added, “Or maybe it’ll come back when you finally take your head out of your ass.”

A sharp, bitter laugh fell out of Matt at her words. He hadn’t been expecting that, but she'd been full of crass and unexpected comments like that since he'd woken here.

Humorless laughter subsiding quickly, a heavy silence fell around the pair of them. Matt didn't need his extra senses to know there was more she wanted to say. And he had a feeling he knew what it would be, too.

"What?" he asked.

He briefly registered the sound of Sister Maggie’s shoes lightly tapping along the cement floor, almost like a nervous fidget. Matt's frown only deepened as he waited in silence.

"She was back again this evening," she eventually said.

Matt's eyelids slowly lowered, his heart feeling like it sank to the floor beside him. She didn't have to even say your name, he knew she meant you. Father Lantom had told him he'd seen you every day here for over a week now. Always bent over a pew in prayer–which was odd because he knew you weren't religious and you weren’t a parishioner at Clinton Church.

"Who is she?" Sister Maggie asked curiously. "She comes here everyday grieving over you. I saw her at your memorial service with those friends of yours that you refuse to call friends.”

“Just someone who used to be a friend, too,” Matt mumbled morosely.

“Seems like more than a friend with how often she frequents this church because of you,” Sister Maggie replied. “Paul seems to think so, too.”

Matt’s head darted towards her at her words, his brows furrowing. “Father Lantom has spoken with her?” he asked. “He’s never told me that.”

“Mmm, oh yes,” Maggie answered. “Often. She comes around the same time every evening. Just after work. Always praying silently in the same pew. Paul says she doesn’t believe you’ve actually died.”

Matt’s brows drew together even further on his forehead, his mouth going dry. “What?” he breathed out.

“She refuses to believe you're dead without a body,” Sister Maggie explained. “And she’d be right, because you aren’t dead. But you are stubborn as hell, though. Tormenting your friends like this. Letting them think you’re dead and forcing them to mourn the loss of you. Letting that poor young woman up there put her life on hold–”

“She’s not putting her life on hold,” Matt cut her off sharply. “She’ll move on soon enough.”

Sister Maggie drew in a deep breath, silence once again falling between the pair of them. Matt’s attention shifted back to the space in front of him. His fingers were still absently fiddling with the sandwich wrapper.

Why were you coming here every day praying for him though? Refusing to believe he’d died? Why not just mourn with Foggy and Karen and move on already? Just forget about him. He wasn’t any good for you anyway. You deserved a better friend, one who wasn’t in love with you and keeping your secret from Foggy just because he was selfish.

“Was she more than your friend, Matthew?”

The question broke through his thoughts, Matt’s face scrunching together in confusion at the unexpectedness of it. Why would she even ask that?

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “She’s just a friend. From Columbia.”

“Hmm,” Sister Maggie hummed curiously. “But you love her, don’t you?”

Matt’s teeth grit together, his jaw clenching in frustration at that question. He had been trying his best to ignore those feelings. And also–how the hell could she possibly know that?

“You flinch everytime Paul or I say her name,” she clarified. “Every time we tell you she’s been by the church crying again. It hurts you that she’s hurting. I can see it plain on your face, Matthew. It’s killing you.”

“She’s not safe being around me,” Matt ground out.

Sister Maggie scoffed loudly. “That’s bullshit and self-pity talking,” she shot back. “Clearly the woman loves you, too. Why keep up the lie? Why keep hurting her?”

Matt shook his head, his fist tightening around the bottle of water in his right hand. “She’s in love with our mutual best friend. She’s told me that already,” he gritted out. “And she’ll move on from the loss of me.”

He heard the frustrated sigh come from the nun beside him, vaguely aware of her rising back up to her feet. For some reason the thought of her leaving him alone again down here had him grinding his teeth harder together. He didn’t want to be alone. But it was better if he learned to live like that.

“I think you’re being foolish and stupid,” Sister Maggie stated bluntly. “Causing undue harm to those you love most–and it's only going to backfire on you. And if you really think that young woman repeatedly coming here doesn’t have feelings for you, you’re more foolish than I ever thought.”

Sister Maggie’s steps slowly grew fainter and fainter until he could no longer hear them anymore. His focus shifted down to the sandwich in his lap that she’d brought him, his fingers carefully tearing the paper open.

She didn’t know what she was talking about, he thought angrily to himself. Sister Maggie couldn’t possibly understand the decisions he’d made or why you kept coming to Clinton Church. He’d been one of your best friends–a shitty one, truthfully–and you were grieving. That was all.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fic #daredevil x reader #matt murdock

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lovelybrooke · 3 months

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I'm really tired of seeing people use the "AroAce is a spectrum" argument when it comes to Alastor, especially now that the show is getting more popular. I just want to talk it about it a bit, since y'know, I'm AroAce and have a lot of opinions on it.

For reference, I've been a on and off fan on Hazbin Hotel for a long time. The pilot came out around the time I was in middle school and it was a large part of my personality for my younger years. Obviously I fell off it as I got older, but my point still stands.

Alastor was the first time I ever saw a canon AroAce character (that I knew off, I wasn't aware peridot was AroAce), and It was amazing for me. I never got to see myself be represented in a show like that, and even if he wasn't explicitly AroAce, having the creator say he was was amazing, since a lot of the AroAce characters at the time were just popular headcanons.

So you could understand my disappointment when I'd go into fandom spaces and see him be shipped with other characters, be drawn in suggestive ways, and overall his canon sexuality be ignored. Now before you comment and say "Well, Aromanticism and Asexuality are spectrums, so there's a chance he's romance and sex favorable" I want to ask you a genuine question.

Do you think that Alastor is romance and sex favorable because in the show, pilot, or any other official media he is depicted to be that way? OR, do you just think he's romance and sex favorable because it gives you an excuse to write fanfic of him where he's in romantic and sexual relationships?

I have a feeling a lot of you believe it's the second one, but would never admit it. I haven't watched the pilot in a while, but after watching through the show, there hasn't been a single point where he is shown to be romance or sex favorable. Nothing hints to that or points to that in any way.

Because ultimately this isn't about making sure you are representing his character correctly, this is about you guys disillusioning yourself into believing he's romance and sex favorable to that you guys can put him as close to allonormativity without being called out for it. You do not care about real life AroAce people who are romance and sex favorable, you care about your own comfort. And it's easier to imagine Alastor as romance and sex favorable when in reality, he's only been depicted as the exact opposite.

Do you know how I know most of ya'll don't care about real life sex and romance favorable AroAce people? Because AroAce discourse is never ending on this platform. Not too long ago there was a poll going around that had people arguing on whether or not cishet Aromantic men were valid. Aromantic people are constantly villainized and treated like monsters for having consensual loveless relationships. Asexual people constantly have their own experienced denied to their faces, and are told time and time again that they don't actually exist. AroAce people are constantly having to prove that they deserve to be in the LGBTQ+ community, and every few months there is some stupid fucking person who created discourse about a what type of AroAce gets to be in the community, just to divide us and make us feel like shit. And you know what?

You don't care.

You completely ignore or are oblivious to real life discourse surrounding the identity you claim to be an expert on. You ignore real life AroAce people who tell you you're wrong, all while going to war over your right erase an identity you really know nothing about. You would never go this hard for real life sex and romance favorable AroAce people who are constantly told they don't exist, they don't belong in the community that supposed to except them, and that they are either mentally ill or damaged. You don't care about real life AroAce people, because unless they're Tumblr sexy men, they don't matter to you.

I acknowledge that romance and sex favorable AroAce people don't get represented enough, but at some point you have to acknowledge that it less about accurately representing the character, and more about changing characters who are canonically sex/romance repulsed so that allonormative people can be more comfortable with them. If you're someone who's AroAce, and you whole heartedly believe he's romance and sex favorable, good for you, I'm not gonna argue with you.

But if you are not AroAce, and you believe he's romance and sex favorable, I want you to reevaluate why that is. I'm not saying you can't ship him, or write your fanfic, or draw your art. I'm not the police. But please try and see it from a point of view of someone other than your own. Please try and understand why taking one of the very few canonically AroAce characters and weaponizing our own identity against us so you can justify the continuous eraser of said identity is kinda annoying.

Also please don't get heated in the comments, at the end of the day this is about a fictional cannibal, I just have too many opinions.

#Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel discourse #hazbin hotel alastor #Alastor aroace #aroace character #aroace discussion #hazbin hotel discussion

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hallowsden · 6 months

Text

Devotion

Zevlor x G/N!Tav snippet

Author Notes: All I'm gonna say is this was originally supposed to be only about 500 words only for me to finally get to the part of Act 2 where I managed to save Zevlor and OH BOY- it evolved into 1.2k words. Just- I adore Zevlor. This came out having more angst than I initially thought, though, so... Anyways, hope you all enjoy it! [Not beta read]

He pretends not to see the relief in your eyes when you first go up to him after fighting the Mind Flayers and Intellect Devourers. After all, why would you give him such a look with what he's done? No, that's just all in his imagination. He knows you're aware of his sins. Then again, you always did have a habit of knowing things before anyone else does...

Even without the tadpole that now inhabits his head like you and the other saviors, Zevlor could see through your brave mask. In those mismatched eyes he had grown fond of long before your lot had done the impossible all those months ago, he sees a mirror image of himself.

The festering fear that haunts you and everyone else like the shadows that barely stood by in this damnable land. The neverending guilt that attempts to drown you to the depths of your mind as the blood refuses to wash away from your hands, your head chanting apologies as you think about the what ifs of you have done better.

Zevlor knows that look you wore well. He's seen it in himself every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection, as of an occurrence that was... Not to mention, it reminded him of the others... The younger Hellriders especially tend to wear it more publicly, not yet developing the skills to effectively hide their inner demons yet... So many gone, just like that-...

The exhaustion you practically wore like a second skin, with bags that cling to you with a vengeance, one that came along with you before he had even met you. The exhaustion that weighed your trembling shoulders and buckling knees had it not been the adrenaline that roared through your ears-. Hell, he swears he could see some new scars marking your delicate face, even.

Has it been that long ago since he last saw you? You haven't appeared to have changed much, and yet...

And yet, as he goes on to blink, he senses it immediately as he explains himself to you. What once was the hollow void in your chest when he first met you, the one that mirrored his own so brokenly is now replaced with a bright, burning radiance of celestial strength and blessing, one that pulses to the beat of your heart.

A not so mirror image. But it was still you, nonetheless...

No longer were you a fellow oathbreaker who was ever so lost in the world and of yourself. You had what he once had, an Oath of Devotions that glowed in you but more, filling up your broken cracks like the way the false God had shown him if he just gave them his broken faith and devotion and followed what they said...

It was nothing but a lie, as his people got hunted down and slaughtered. The people he swore to protect... He betrayed them all and failed them once more.

But you're here, giving him a look of understanding... And admittedly, it confused him...

Why do you care for him, he's so tempted to ask. The moment you met him, you practically acted as if you were drawn to him like a Moth to a flame... He doesn't understand it. Why care for an old, decrepit man like him? And why did your eyes shine with familiarity when you two first met?

You saved him. And no doubt you saved the others. He just knows you did. From all that he knows about you, from word of mouth and the times you decided to hang around in his little area back in the Druid's Grove, you'd never let anyone suffer under your watch.

You were always so compassionate. He at first thought it was due to being a fellow Tiefling. Goodness, how the world already hated their kinds existence. It wasn't uncommon for Tieflings to stand up for one another. After all, who would if not themselves in the world they lived in? But no... He's seen how you work. Your heart was far bigger than the body that holds it. It was something he appreciated about you.

You were the person he once was. You were a person he wished to be once more. Brave and strong despite it all. Kind and passionate and protective even to the low lives like him.

He adored you more than he could ever realize up until now.

Maybe that's why he didn't hesitate when he hastily said "I want to help- if you let me" even when his throat burned with dryness and guilt as he spoke. Even when anxiety shot high in his blood, his tail pinned itself between his legs, feeling just how drained his body was.

He knows you have already done so much for him, for his people. But... Maybe he'll find salvation and forgiveness if he goes with you. Find redemption. At the very least, he could repay you with his services, even if it's being a meat shield as he goes to try and help out the others. He'd deserved that if anything...

Death was too good for someone like him. He deserved to be tortured for all his failures... Yet, when his eyes met yours...

... Maybe you were the angel he had prayed to the Gods for from before... Who knows? Not him. Not when he was surprised you even listened to any of his words. Not when you gave him such a gentle look, eyes full of empathy that he didn't deserve, as you asked him to join your party, another blade in the fight to come.

You... Want him by your side?*

And even when he had his doubts, not wanting to be a backstabber twice over, your glowing eyes met his as you said, "I trust you." You had said it with such earnestness, how could he deny you like that?

He could never turn you down, not with those eyes of yours... And distantly, he remembers how the other refugees would tease him upon meeting you back before everything went to shit... Admittedly, they were right. Just as you were drawn to him, he was drawn to you... Maybe that's why he cared for you more than others...

"... On the condition that if I ever freeze like that again, do not hesitate to strike me down. Better me gone than being a traitor once more." That was his only condition. And he sees you nodding, ignoring the slight hesitation you had at first.

He couldn't bear the idea of hurting you.

"Let's get you checked up and rested first, yeah? You've already been through a lot. And I need to go check for others trapped... Just follow me closely, alright?"

You care so much... He didn't deserve it.

Oh, how he didn't deserve you, but obediently, he followed you with his hand clasped in yours. For you, he'll give you his devotion and faith. His everything, even. After all, you never broke his trust. You never broke his faith. If anything, you gave him what he had lost for so long. Hope.

You have given hope to him just as you gave hope to others. Maybe that's what caused you to stand out from even your group.

You deserve the world with all the good you've done. Of how you saved his people. Of how you saved him. For that, he is grateful, and he'll make sure, as long as he sides with you, he'll help with any endeavors and goals you put your mind to, knowing it would always align with that good nature you carry in your heart. To the end, he will follow.

'So he swears, so mote it be.'

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cellophaine · 1 year

Note

Can i request a Professor Matt x Student Reader (she's like 21) where he tutors her and they spend so much time together he ends up falling in love with her but doesn't say anything bc he doesn't wanna scare her away one night he's walking her to her place it starts to rain they share a moment and he ends up kissing her she feels the same way its sweet and innocent (no smut plz i just want some fluff)🥺

Lost & Found

Pairing: Professor!Matt Murdock x GN!Student!Reader

Warning: professor x student relationship (nothing shady), troubled family matters, fluff, bad writing.

Author's Note: Happy exactly one year and two months since I received this request! I'm sorry for taking too long to answer, and I hope you will still enjoy it. If not, that's okay too!

Share and feedback are greatly appreciated!

GIF Credit

"Are you … listening?"

As if the fog was lifted, the curtains were drawn, and the stupor evaporated, you found yourself in Professor Murdock's office once more. Only then did you realize that you never left it in the first place. You ran your hands over your face as if to physically remove the protective film wrapping around your skin so tight you couldn't breathe. All you wanted to do was to sink into the softness of your bed and stare at the ceiling for hours, unable to sleep.

"Sorry, professor. I'm here. I was just– I've just remembered something I need to do, uhm … after this."

You forced your tired eyes to focus on the man sitting on the other side of the dark wooden desk. Your vision roamed over the pair of red-lensed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the slightly tousled but well-kept hair, the harbour grey dress shirt on his proper posture opposing your slouching. Everything about him was a contrasting reflection of you, and the realization made you sit straighter in your chair.

"Are you okay? You were quiet for a little bit there. You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I'm great! I'm sorry, what was the question?"

You attempted a smile, not that it mattered, but you hoped it would somehow weave into your voice, casting a guise of genuine interest on top of the fact that you didn't pay attention.

"Is everything okay at home?"

You cast a tentative glance at him, taking in the slight frown on his lips. The question sounded foreign, slightly out of place, as if it had no right to be so ambiguous and unintentionally intrusive at the same time. You did not doubt that he was annoyed with your inattentiveness, which was what landed you in his office to begin with. You hoped that was all to it.

"No– I mean, yes! Everything is fine. Why do you ask?"

The words rushed out in one breath as if they were strung together and tugged hard by the defensive pull of your voice. If your abrupt outburst offended Professor Murdock, he didn't show it. His face didn't give anything away, and certainly not his body language, which stayed hard to decipher. But you tried anyway and drew to the conclusion of nothing.

"I received your midterm report, and it wasn't something I expected from you, especially after the excellent research you handed in a month ago. You've missed deadlines on recent assignments, and, on top of that, Connor has told me you haven't been paying much attention in class."

An icy shroud of dread settled over you. You knew you didn't do too well on midterm since you were sidetracked by a family matter on top of a busy schedule that left you no room to breathe, but to get snitched on by your professor's teaching assistant? That was the new low you didn't expect to hit. You tried to go for just enough to pass, but even then, it was proven that the bare minimum was out of your reach.

"What did you expect from me, then?"

The question was harsh, like a bitter retaliation that didn't come out right. In all truthfulness, the indignant remark was weak, just like how you felt at the moment. The unwelcoming feeling of inadequacy brought you back to the years of living under your mother's roof. You felt like you could lose it at the mere mention of expectations, of something you could only chase after, never able to fulfill. You released a shuddering sigh. The recent incident with your mother really messed with your head.

Professor Murdock cleared his throat; his body angled toward you in a careful manner as if he was approaching a wounded animal.

"You're a bright student, and … forgive me if I overstep, but I feel like there is something else going on outside of class that affected your performance."

His carefully chosen words manifested in an acute assessment pierced through your guarded exterior. The last sliver of resolve held onto its fleeting moments by the frown on your lips before fading away.

"Nothing I can't handle, professor."

The futile attempt sounded hollow even in your own ears, and you had a creeping suspicion that it didn't escape your perceptive teacher.

"I'm here to listen if you want to talk. My doors are always open."

Your frown deepened. How many times have you heard that sentence? One too many times, from one too many people. School counsellors, friends that didn't really mean what they said, and even your own mother. At this point, they sounded like a remix of each other, preaching the same words for the moral satisfaction of those who said it to you rather than your own good. What was the difference between them and what your Criminal Law professor had to say?

"Thank you. But like I said, everything is great."

You kept your tone light, letting the brusqueness mark the finality of this discussion.

"Is that all you wanted to discuss with me? Can I go now?"

You couldn't wait to leave this room and its confined undertone, but your professor motioned for you to stay. He opened the drawer on his right; his hand rifled over the Braille-labeled files until he eventually stopped and pulled out a slim folder. He pushed it towards you, gesturing you to open the file. You were met with your report, littered in red ink and Connor's neat handwriting, and on top of the page was a pitiful capital F.

"You failed midterm. For this reason and the fact that you have not handed in your last few assignments, I have to assign mandatory tutor sessions for you with two hours a week at the minimum. You are required to check-in with me every other Thursday during my office hours. I will reserve a time slot just for you, and I don't take absence of any reason lightly, unless it's absolutely necessary."

His stern tone sobered you, and you realized how serious your situation was. This meeting wasn't a gentle reminder but a warning of what was at risk.

"I'm sorry, but I can't afford to do that. Between school and work, I really can't."

Being one of the core staff at Sugar & Spice, your schedule was filled with classes and long hours at the bakery. The manager was too stubborn to accept that the shop needed more people, which made the job that was once easy and nice turn into a test of your patience and limit on a weekly basis. You lived close to campus, but the shop was so out of the way, making the convenient location wasn't worth it. You stayed for the above minimum wage, free food and drinks, and the hours that helped you stay afloat in this expensive city.

"Retaking classes will only cost you more financially as the faculty stated at the beginning of the semester. You will have to take summer classes if you want to catch up with your program in September, and that will only slow down your progress at Columbia."

You had to admit it; your professor was right. You dug yourself into a hole, even though it was involuntary. As much as you wanted to blame it on your circumstances, there was no point. After a few moments to calm your frantic mind and racing heart, you sighed, knowing you had no choice.

"Alright. I'll take your advice. I'll do it."

You closed the file before you, finding the red ink overwhelming your anxious state.

"Do you have any recommendation for tutors? I don't really … know anyone here."

It was hard to admit and even harder to say it out loud, but it was already out there.

"There's no need for that. I'll personally see to your progress. I willl be your tutor."

The library was crowded, a rarity for a late Friday afternoon. You eyed uneasily at the textbooks, laptops, and water bottles strewn on the tables, taking up more space than they needed to. It wasn't worth fighting for a spot with study groups that seemed to spawn nonstop. You turned to your professor, asking if he wanted to move to another area, and he was almost too eager to agree.

You took professor Murdock to the second floor, finding your familiar way to a small spot overlooking the courtyard, away from the buzzing of rustling paper and whispering people. You looked at your professor, taking in the way his body language seemed more relaxed than it was downstairs. He reached to feel the table before setting his messenger bag on it.

"It's quieter here."

The easy smile on his face made the casual assessment feel like a compliment. You nodded, getting yourself situated beside him.

"I know. I usually come here to slee– study. Study. Between classes."

Your face heated up at the terrible save. To your relief, professor Murdock didn't seem to find fault in your slip-up if the small smile and the quick raise of his brows were any indications. He simply suggested you start with your textbook alongside your failed report. Your study session began.

You worked in comfortable silence between questions and explanations. You appreciated how professor Murdock allowed you to re-explore the concepts and lectures mostly on your own with his help. The sky outside darkened as the time moved with the number of notes you had taken, which was a lot. The only reminder of time was a rumble in your stomach, which felt like thunder in the small, quiet space. You checked your phone to see that you still had about a half hour left. You would have ignored it if it wasn't for the gurgling sound, louder this time, once again reminding you that you missed lunch. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you attempted to cover the aftermath by clearing your throat. You hastily wrapped an arm around your midriff, hoping the thick layer of your sweater would muffle any impending noise. You were about to go back to your notes when your professor spoke.

"Shall we take a break?"

You shook your head, then immediately chastised yourself for being a forgetful, inconsiderate fool.

"No, sir. I'm alright. I'm on a roll right now, and I want to keep that going."

His head slightly tilted to the side, and from the new position, the dull light above and the fleeting sunset outside the window cast its dying rays over his face like a moody painting. It sharpened the angles on his face, sculpting a grimness in his features — a beautiful contrast to his softness, his kindness.

"Are you sure?"

The concern and warmth in his voice only fueled your determination to keep going. You wouldn't dare inconvenience him in the smallest way.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Turning to your notebook, you quickly picked up your train of thought and proceeded from where you had left off. Professor Murdock took that as a sign for him to go back to his papers. And you continued to work in silence.

Some time passed until a small beep sounded beside you and pulled you out of your head. Professor Murdock touched his watch and turned to you.

"Your two hours of this week are done."

You blew out a sigh. The session went by quicker than you thought and was not half as bad as expected.

"When will you be free next week?"

You flipped through your journal, disturbing some grocery and drugstore receipts until you reached the page for next week.

"Oh, shoot."

You muttered to yourself, your eyes flitting over all the reds, greens and blues filling up the week like an intense game of territory, except for one little spot after an eight-hour shift at Sugar & Spice and your check-in with him. You wanted to have the rest of the precious half of the afternoon and all night to yourself, doing nothing and maybe watching mindless content while tuning them out simultaneously. But then, the thought of the expensive and unignorable fee of retaking his class appealed to your logical side, and you grimaced, knowing that it won.

"Uhm … I have some time to spare after my office hours with you on Thursday."

You glanced at him, watching a strand of hair artfully fall on his forehead as he quickly tapped through his device.

"Is that okay?"

After a moment, he gave you a nod.

"That will do. I can give do a quick check-in, then tutor you afterwards."

"That sounds good."

You added the date to your schedule, already mentally mapping out the quickest bus route from the university to your apartment. Professor Murdock gathered his stuff, and you made no move to do the same. His hand searched for the last of his document, which sat next to your notes. You gently slid the file into his path, and he acknowledged your assistance with a small smile. When he had gathered everything, his blazer in the crook of his arm, the chair tucked neatly back to where it was, only then he realized you weren't coming. You looked at him at his lack of movement and cleared your throat.

"I'm just going to stay here a little while longer. I think I can get this part done."

His mouth opened, then closed again at the absence of an answer. He gave you an understanding nod.

"See you in class tomorrow, professor."

"I will see you. Have a good night."

You returned to your notes, tracing back to where you left off. The gentle taps of professor Murdock's cane melted into the wooden floor in soft echoes as he made his way out. Soon, it was just the rapid scratches of your pen on paper.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't pay attention to the presence of another person entering the room. When they stopped before your table and lingered within the peripheral of your vision, only then you looked up and was greeted by the unexpected sight of your Criminal Law professor.

You straightened up, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"Professor! Did you forget something?"

He shook his head, and you noticed his flustered face and the tousled hair, which looked like it was gently run through by the wispy hands of the wind.

"No! No, I didn't. I'm just here to give you this."

He held out a brown paper bag and only let go once you had a hold of it. With a peek inside the bag, you recognized the logo-patterned wax paper from the sandwich and soup shop just a little distance beyond the campus' ground. You hesitated, taken aback by the oddness of the situation.

"Is it … for me?"

He bobbed his head, confirming the obvious.

"Take a break. You've done enough for today."

Speechless and still confused, your mind scrambled for something to fill in the silence.

"Isn't food … not allowed in here?"

From the lower angle, his face tilted towards you, and the red glasses slid lower on his nose, exposing a part of his eyes. He flashed you a cheeky smile and what resembled a wink from the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

You couldn't help a cheesy smile from breaking out, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Uhm … thank you, professor Murdock."

He flicked his hand as if to say it wasn't anything.

"There's no need to thank me. And, please, call me Matt."

You swallowed, stammering to oblige his request.

"Thank you … Matt."

The soft chuckle was endearing and unexpected, like almost everything else that happened tonight.

"Have a good night. Don't stay out too late."

"I promise I won't."

With a final nod, he turned and walked away, leaving you to the brown bag and quietude once more. You rested your face in your hands before giving your flushed cheeks a few taps as if doing so could take away the embarrassment. You took out the wrapped sandwich and a small bottle of water. He must have heard the noise your stomach made. You exhaled deeply before placing the water on the table, taking out the sandwich and unwrapping it. You took a bite of the sandwich, feeling it warming you up from the inside even though the food itself was gradually getting cold.

You thought of professor Murdock while you ate, of his kindness and thoughtfulness for someone like you who was a stranger to him at the very core once you had stripped down all the social niceties. You couldn't remember the last time someone bought you food, much less take care of you like this. Maybe he felt pity for you, a failing student who couldn't look after herself, the logical part of you screamed. But a smaller yet just as persistent part of your heart whispered otherwise. He helped you because he cared about you. Maybe … you deserved that. Your eyes swelled, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You aggressively wiped it off, feeling foolish for crying over a little sandwich. You took a deep breath through your damp nose, trying to control your emotions by playing with the brown bag to distract yourself. When you piqued inside, a decent amount of napkins was at the bottom, and that, somehow, was the final stroke. He included napkins for you. You put the sandwich down and put the heels of your palms against your eyes, feeling a fresh wave of tears coming. You allowed yourself to cry a little more before finishing the sandwich and leaving for the night, your belly full and your heart warm.

Less than a week later, you found yourself, surprisingly, not spacing out during professor's Murdock lecture. Instead, you just felt sleepy. You shouldn't have stayed up so late the night before. You went from being unable to sleep to working on the homework to falling asleep at your desk just to wake up three hours later, groggy and late for class. You would have a closing shift at the bakery later today, only to return at 7 AM the next day, leaving you only an hour to travel to Columbia afterwards. You were exhausted already, and you didn't know how you would survive tomorrow through a full shift on top of your check-in and tutor session. You thought of injecting yourself with the crappy coffee they sell at the cafeteria that always made your stomach rumble in the most unpleasant way. But it worked. Perhaps all the stir from the coffee kept you bright-eyed and wide awake.

You rubbed at your eyes, hoping to clear the drowsiness that had started closing in at your waterlines. Bracing a hand on your chin, you stared your watery eyes at the big screen projector, willing your mind to read the words. But the room was warm, Matt's voice was soothing, and the boring slides with uniformed font served as visual comfort. If you were a little more awake, you would have been startled at the ease of thinking of your teacher by his first name. But for now, a little shut-eye wouldn't hurt, would it?

…

You jolted awake in your chair to a friendly face. So friendly that it alarmed you, making you jump in your seat. Your professor held his hands up, showing that he sensed, or felt, or rather, heard the screech of your chair.

"Are you alright?"

You cleared your eyes, blinking a few times to confirm that your teacher was crouching at your table, a look of concern in his expression. As a reflex, your hand shot up to touch your mouth, touching the moisture gathered at the corner. Even though you knew your professor couldn't see that, you still felt conscious enough to wipe the drool off with your sleeve.

"Class ended about ten minutes ago. Are you okay?"

Class ended. Class ended. It meant you had wasted your precious time you could have used to run to the subway to catch the train going to Greenwich Village, where your cursed job was. You looked at the time on your phone just to panic even more before hastily gathering all the contents on your desk.

"Thank you for … uhm … letting me know! I'm so sorry but I have to leave right now I'm so so late for work."

You were on the wind, and you couldn't stop, not even for a breather. Your notes and pen were shoved untidily in your bag as you hoisted the tote bag over your shoulder. You shot an apologetic tone towards your confused and concerned teacher.

"See you tomorrow, professor Murdock!"

Just like that, you took off from the awkward situation, leaving the consequences to be dealt with later.

You felt like you were already dead, arriving at your check-in with five minutes to spare. You sat on the bench outside professor Murdock's office with your head on your folded knees. You could still smell the sugar cookies woven into your hair, cinnamon hugged your clothes, and the sweet scent of everything else clung to your body. Your nail beds were decorated with flour, and you tried to pick them off. You had to stay late at the bakery for the time you missed. You barely slept before coming back to open the shop. And now, you anxiously waited in suspense about what was coming and another two hours of studying with your professor, who had been nothing but kind to you, and you had been nothing but a nuisance to him.

Speaking of which, the door opened slightly, and you could hear the tail end of a conversation that seemed to hang onto the more awkward end. A woman's voice, closer to where you were sitting, profusely thanked professor Murdock for his help, to which his smaller reply said he was only doing his job. The woman's voice increasingly affirmed that her breakthrough in last week's assignment was solely his doing. The conversation went back and forth and nowhere else until it finally settled on an overenthusiastic goodbye and "see you in class." The door finally opened fully, and a girl your age walked out. You recognized her being in the same classes as you, always sitting in the front row. Her cheeks were flushed as she walked away without paying attention to you. You were glad. Things didn't have to get even more awkward had she known you were eavesdropping, even though you weren't trying to.

You distanced yourself from the uncomfortable seat and announced your presence. Professor Murdock, standing at his desk, beckoned you to come in.

"How are you?"

He asked with genuine curiosity, making a part of you swell with delight. Your heart pounded in your chest, eager to swallow the attention he gave you whole, like a dying plant at the first drop of water after days of being abandoned.

"I'm… I'm fine. Just a little tired."

You lingered at the back of the chair, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

"I'm very sorry about falling asleep in your class yesterday. It was not my intention to do that."

He chuckled softly, dismissively waving a hand, almost as if he had already forgotten about it.

"Hey, it's okay. I know that my class can be boring. I should switch it up if I want my students to actually learn something."

Your face burned bright red with embarrassment. It burned so deep and hot that you missed the mild and casual sarcastic note in his tone. You lowered your head, feeling the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes.

"No, it's my fault. I'm very sorry. I will try not to do that again."

You willed your voice to stay steady and hoped it would fool your professor. The thought of every humiliating moment you had accumulated throughout the entirety of your relationship with him nagged at the back of your head, too stubborn to let go. Oblivious to the conflict being played repeatedly in your head, professor Murdock assured you it was okay and gestured for you to take a seat.

The check-in went better than you thought. He noted your improvements and gave you pointers on how you could improve. As you were left working on your assignment, the sound of the Braille keyboard, rustling papers, and gentle hums of air conditioning drew a small yawn from you. It seemed like you had been trapped in a misty, never-ending fatigue and functioned solely based on will and just enough sleep to make it by.

You were beyond exhausted, but you couldn't fall asleep again after the spectacle you made of yourself yesterday. Your eyes watered and blurred the sentences before you. None of the words followed the ruled lines. They were a scrawling mess of half-nonsense and whatever you could draw from your cluttered mind. You pressed a silent yawn into the palm of your hand before tapping your cheeks, making muted pats on your skin. When that didn't work, you reached for your travel mug of lukewarm coffee and welcomed the burned liquid on your tongue. You grimaced, wishing you had smelled it before taking a sip.

Professor Murdock cleared his throat from across the table, and you shot up straight like an arrow, nervously looking at him like a student who was caught playing hooky in the washroom. He pushed the glasses up on the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes behind the red lenses.

"We can call it a day here."

You looked at your phone, seeing you still had another fifty minutes left. He fixed you with a gaze in your direction, his hands linked on the table, almost as if expecting you to comply. You translated it into displease, even though he hadn't explicitly expressed so.

"But we are not done yet. There's almost an hour left."

"I know. I thought you could use a break. You've done enough already."

How could he tell that you were tired? Was it because you were quieter? Was it because you didn't ask as many questions as last week? Did he think you were a nuisance, and that your presence was grating and unbearable? Didn't he want you around? Of course, who would? Not even your own family wanted to be around you. At that thought, you felt the familiar sting of rejection, reminding you of your past. You didn't want to relive it at this moment, so you focused on getting out of there as soon as possible. You closed your notebook harder than necessary and hastily gathered your stuff on his desk. You hated how you felt so helpless, so emotional so quickly at the most mundane thing. His gentle calls for your attention were ignored and brushed aside as if his words were only dust. You had gotten all of your stuff in, but before you could leave the way you did last week, his hand shot out to hold you in place, startling you. His touch was warm on your wrist, firm yet gentle.

"I hope you are not offended by what I suggested."

You dismissed him with a light scoff.

"Offended? No! You're right, I am a little tired, and I don't want to be a burden. I'm sure you have better things to do."

His hold on you tightened, not to the point of hurting. It was to accentuate what he had to say next, and he hoped the true meaning of his concern would get to your senses before the irrational part of you would.

"No, that's not what I meant. I thought we could stop here since you seem tired."

He took a brief pause, considering his next words.

"Did you come here after your job? At a bake shop or a cafe, perhaps?"

How did he know? You repeated your thought to him, and seeing your professor gradually turn pink was an odd sight. He scratched the back of his neck, drawing your attention to the flushed skin there.

"This, uhm, might sound creepy, but … I smelled baked goods on you. Cinnamon, sugar cookies, and coffee, too. I took a wild guess."

You blinked, surprised at his astute observation.

"You're … right. I work at a bakery. How can you tell?"

He tapped his nose with the other hand.

"I just … I have a sensitive nose. Works better than my eyes. My friend compares me to a dog, all the time."

You weren't sure if you could laugh. The broad smile and soft chuckle that brightened his feature told you it was okay. So you did, feeling the tension slowly retreat until it disappeared completely. You shook your head.

"That is … impressive. Wow! I work at Sugar & Spice in Greenwich."

"Oh! Frank raves about how fresh your bread is all the time."

"We use an actual flour mill to make our flour! It's huge, and it takes up so much space in the shop, but that's how we get fresh flour, so …"

You felt yourself inching deeper into a tangent, so you stopped yourself. Why did you have to ruin a perfectly fine moment with unnecessary comments? At the very least, your professor didn't seem to mind your rambling.

"I thought you could use some time to yourself. You seem tired, and I don't want to force you to work more than you already have."

His reason seemed rational now that you had stopped overthinking. His hold on your wrist made you want to open up, something you hadn't done in a long time.

"Can I tell you something?"

He nodded.

"I'm … it's … really embarrassing that I need one-on-one tutoring. I've always been a slow learner, and it seems like nothing has changed after … all these years."

You quickly added.

"And I do appreciate that you're doing this for me. This, all of this overthinking, is just … something I have to work on."

His hand gave another firm press.

"I mean this with all of my heart. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone needs help every once in a while. I want you to know there is strength in accepting that you need the help."

Your eyes widened, feeling the weight of his words seep into that part of your mind that had always craved the empathy you rarely allowed yourself. You sniffed dryly, suppressing the wave of emotion that threatened to break. A whisper of gratitude was all you could manage. Your professor nodded and let your wrist go, and the absence of his hand took you by surprise. You found yourself yearning for more of his warmth.

"Go home, and get some rest. Don't worry too much about the lesson."

You thanked him again, said your goodbye, and left without the weight on your shoulders when you first came in. That night, when you settled in bed with an audiobook on your headphones, your mind tuned it out. But it wasn't wandering anywhere like it usually would. You followed the path your mind was on, finding yourself lost in the memories of Matt and what happened that afternoon.

You wanted to do something nice for him, and what would be better than surprise cupcakes on no special occasion at all? Your heart pounded against its cage, and when you passed the decorated paper box to him, your hands touched. His fingers lingered on yours, and before you could truly revel in the sensation, it went away in a blink of an eye.

"Thank you for this. I can't bake to save my life, so a treat like this is rare."

"Maybe I can change that. I can bake for you."

You didn't think much of what you had just said, but your overthinking mind would agonize about that later. What exactly did you offer? It's not only baked goods, and he certainly doesn't need your companionship, you thought. You wanted to extend a part of yourself to him and the entirety of your affection that seemed to slowly but gradually get harder to ignore the more time you spent with him. It had grown so large that your mortal body could barely contain it.

"This is great! You didn't have to do this."

"I just wanted to say thank you for helping me."

His hands searched for the rim along the handle, tugging the box open, revealing the sweets inside.

"They smell heavenly."

His face brightened, and you felt your own warmed at his praise. He took one in his hand and offered it to you.

"No! They're all for you!"

"Come on. Don't let me enjoy these delicious cupcakes by myself."

He was playful, but his intention was nothing short of sincerity. How could you say no to a face like that?

You gave in, accepting it timidly, and waited until he had one in his hand. You peeled back the paper and took a bite. The softness enveloped your tongue in a warm embrace; the sweetness crashed on your taste bud like a gentle caress. You looked at your professor, whose brows shot up at the first bite. His soft moan of bliss was endearing, and you found yourself wanting to drink the sound in, hoping the resonance would stay and echo in your mind so it could keep your heart beating just a little faster like how it was now. It was the tiniest fragment of joy that warmed you, making you want to keep it close to your chest and cherish it to the best of your limited capability.

A smear of frosting lingered at the corner of his lips. With a casual passing thought of how adorable he looked, you reached across the desk, and the pad of your thumb swiped at the cream before you were fully aware of what you were doing. You slowly retreated your hand, feeling the mortification of your forwardness. You weren't the only one affected by the gesture. Matt was, too, judging by the way he swallowed hard, his lips parted to take a deep breath as if he had forgotten how to breathe. None of you dared to speak, not wanting the moment to end, but eventually, it must. Matt cleared his throat softly, and you braced yourself for the inevitable "that wasn't appropriate," but to your relief, he only smiled.

"Thank you. It would be embarrassing and unprofessional of me to walk around with frosting on my face."

"You're very welcome, Matthew."

You continued to eat your cupcake, bashful with the praises he lavished you with. The creamy frosting still lingered on your finger, and after a brief hesitation, you brought it to your lips before licking it off your thumb. You revelled in the exhilaration of your boldness. You felt like you crossed a line you weren't supposed to, but at this point, it was too late for you to turn around.

And when you tossed and turned later that night, when you couldn't deny yourself the truth any longer, you would come to the hopeless realization that you were in love with your professor. All that was left was to tell him as you so selfishly wanted him to know of your fondness for him, but you wouldn't dare shatter the fragile attachment to adhere to your selfish want.

The study sessions started not to feel like a torture device designed specifically for you as you found rhythm within each other. They had become the place where you enjoyed your time the most. Matt brought coffee to fuel you for later days that turned to nights. You bonded over the occasional pastries you brought in. It was an inconsequential thing, which quickly became an unspoken tradition. You found he particularly enjoyed the red velvet cupcakes smeared with buttercream frosting. Nevertheless, he loved whatever you brought in and never failed to show you how much he appreciated it.

It felt like the invisible veil between you was removed. Neither of you dared to take that first step forward into the other side out of respect and the delicacy your positions held. Still, it felt nice. You didn't have to put your guard up all the time, and you were weirdly okay with it — everything was within your comfort zone. There was little pressure to be someone else, no expectations you couldn't meet. Within the four walls that his presence occupied, the expectation to do well was there, but at your own pace. You didn't have to struggle. While things with Matt had been good, the other part of your life had started turning its head, gearing full speed toward a fatal end.

Your mother had stopped all types of communication. It'd been three weeks since her last request asking you to stop contacting her and many messages and emails from your end begging her for a talk. Your whole life had been a preparation for this, yet, when it came, you were left in shock, in the pain that never eased or went away. For as long as you could remember, familial love was something you never had, and you envied those who had it. Sometimes, the absence of love and care from someone you were close to dulled you, but the smallest acts of kindness hurt much worse in return. It cut you deeper than indifference did, grappling with your heart. The way Matt treated you with patience, tenderness and support filled the empty space in your chest with an ache that grew over time. To think that he was once a stranger, yet, he cared more about your well-being than your mother ever did. Matt showed you that despite your fatal flaws, you were still worthy of love.

The year came to an end, and you were relieved to see that you passed all of your classes. Your final office hour with Matt was on a rainy afternoon, the type of weather that made everything moody and drenched in sorrow, fitting for your state of mind. The meeting was a fruitless use of time since the semester was already over, but you wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. You didn't want to say goodbye yet.

The sky poured in fine droplets by the time you were done. You waited as professor Murdock locked the door and walked out together. Neither of you said anything as you stood at the edge of the building, listening to the rainfall. You didn't bring an umbrella. You turned to him, and farewell words left a bitter taste on your lips.

"I guess this is it. I'll … see you around campus."

The forced smile on your face dropped as you placed your bag over your head. You hastily took half a step before his hand shot out, stopping you before you could walk out of his reach.

"Do you have anything for the rain?"

"No, I don't. But my apartment is not too far from here."

"I'll walk you home."

He didn't even hesitate.

"No no no no, you don't have to."

"I insist. I can't let you walk home by yourself in this weather."

He pulled out a well-loved umbrella from his messenger bag. It seemed like he wouldn't take no for an answer. You sighed, nothing of annoyance, only a little breathless.

"Can I at least carry it, please?"

The soothing sound of the rain was secondary to the thunderous beat of your own heart. The walk home was quiet since you couldn't find it in yourself to properly engage in a conversation when all you could think of was the feeling of his left hand resting in the crook of your right arm, which was holding up the umbrella. His hold was delicate, and you relished in the way it made you feel. Matt didn't seem to mind the quiet as you walked through the busy streets, occasionally talking about nothing in particular.

Eventually, the familiar build of your apartment complex loomed close, but you didn't want this to end. So you walked past the building and continued onward aimlessly for what felt like a little while. Matt leaned his head close to yours; his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Your apartment is quite far away. Good thing I'm going with you, or else you would be soaking wet by now."

His casual comment made you slow to a stop, pulling him with you. A look of concern touched his slightly furrowed brows.

"Are you okay?"

You shook your head, unable to look at him. You looked down at your boot-clad feet and his worn Oxford shoes as if you could find courage on the ground you stepped on.

"No … I'm not. I'm so sorry for lying, but we walked by my place … five minutes ago."

You needed to explain yourself as the look of concern on his face deepened.

"I didn't say anything because …."

He was quiet and so still, hanging onto every single word you said.

"Because … I … I like you."

Three simple words, yet the relief of their weight was immeasurable. Now that Matt knew, you felt the rush of regret start to pour in.

"I like you. And I'm sorry I'm so selfish that I made you walk with me even though my apartment is back there. I want to make my last few minutes with you last as long as possible. I'm sorry for even saying all of this–"

Your words were cut off by the touch of his lips on yours. Matt pulled you in by the small of your back, and your heart soared on its timid wings. Your hands hovered on either side of him, unsure of their limit on the newfound territory. As if Matt could sense your hesitation, he pulled back, and all you could think of was how much you would regret it if you let him go. You tugged him back to you by the lapel of his coat with more force than you anticipated, his body crashed clumsily into yours, and you found him again with more certainty this time. His lips were soft, brushing against yours in firm strokes, affirming the reality you hadn't grasped yet. His reciprocation was real and tangible, like the touch of his fingers caressing the bare skin on your neck, holding you against him.

All of his and your emotions were poured into the kiss, albeit slightly clumsy at first, until you found your rhythm, for actions were the only thing that allowed you to express yourselves fully at this moment. Words would be saved for later, as there was only him and you and the all-consuming kiss. Your hand lowered as you dropped the umbrella to the ground so you could hold onto him. Your hand found its way to rest at the back of his head; your fingers carded through the damp, slightly curled hair. Neither of you cared about the rain or the people walking around you as you were lost in the ardent embrace, letting the intensity pull loose at the thread of your longing for each other.

You broke away first, letting out a soft gasp for air. Your eyes were wide open, taking in Matt's swollen lips as you caught your breath. He looked as dishevelled as how you felt, and the small smile on his lips only made your already frantic heart beat faster.

"I like you too—more than you could possibly know. I didn't want to say anything because I thought you wouldn't reciprocate."

Hearing those words from him gave you an immense sense of relief.

"Besides, it's hardly appropriate."

You chuckled at the irony that was your situation. You absentmindedly brushed away the droplets on Matt's face despite the rain still descending upon you.

"Was. I'm not your student anymore, remember?"

His smile broadened at your reminder. His head dipped slightly, and you could see his eyes crinkled in the corners in the most endearing way through the rims of his glasses. He leaned into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm before gently pulling you in by your jaw for another kiss. This time, it was softer, with all the sense of indulgence the two of you had. After all, you had all the time in the world for each other.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!*

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bqstqnbruin · 9 months

Text

See You Again

I'm actually posting a fic for the first time in seven months aka the first fic I've finished in seven months peace love teaching

anyway, I wrote this for the lovely @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange! I got to write for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten but I've never written for Nico before, so I hope you like this (I was fully inspired by my own mess of a life)

Edit since I’m a dumbass thank you to @kat-hearts for reading this first and being amazing ily 😭

One of the characters, Nat is nonbinary, and I did my best to make the reader gender netural, which I haven't done before on either account, so I hope I did it justice (if something is glaringly wrong, please let me know!)

Warnings: I was mean with the ending? A little? Also, some swearing, drinking, almost physical fighting

Word Count: almost 2.8k

_______________________________________

“When was the last time you saw him?”

You tried to shift through your memory to figure that out. In person, the last time was sometime in the first week of December about two years ago. Thinking about him, which thankfully didn’t count, would involve you giving a much more recent answer, way more recent than you would really like to admit. “I don’t remember.”

“Well,” your roommate Nat says, looking down at their phone. “I have bad news.”

“Fucking hell,” you moan, tilting your head to hit the back of the seat of the Uber. You knew what they were going to say before the words even started to come out of their mouth.

“Nico is going to be there tonight. With all the guys.” You let out another groan, the Uber driver giving you a scowl through the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry! Jack didn’t know he was coming, or he would have told us way before we got ready.”

You stare out the window, trying to think of all the ways that you could get out of this situation. You already paid for the Uber and didn’t want to pay for another one. You weren’t about to go somewhere by yourself, especially since the bar you were heading towards wasn’t within a reasonable walking distance if you were to go somewhere by yourself, and no way was Nat going to leave with you without Jack, and Jack, of course, wasn't going to leave without his teammates.

“We can go back right now and I’ll tell Jack to have fun with his team instead,” Nat tells you as if they could read your mind. They put their hand over yours, trying to give you any sense of calm that was setting into your panic. “We do not have to be around Nico.”

“What kind of person tells someone they like them but not enough to date them?” you mutter, knowing you and Nat have had this conversation many times on your kitchen floor, drunk and crying together at 2 in the morning. They had introduced you to Nico one night after a game when the team went out to celebrate. They had been dating Jack for about a year at that point, meeting him through his brother at Michigan and reconnecting when they both realized they were going to be in New Jersey together. Quinn had used the reasoning of, “he won’t know anyone in the state,” only for everyone to realize later that he knew Jack had been smitten with Nat since they met. If only you had been so lucky.

You had known of Nico, obviously. How could you not? He was the captain of the Devils, the team you grew up surrounded by, the number one draft pick in the sport your roommate never shut up about. He covered your social media feeds without you really wanting them to and everyone you knew talked about what a great game he had the night before. You couldn’t escape the idea of him, no matter where you went.

When you met him that night a few years back, there was something about him in person that you were drawn to. He had been just an idea to you, not someone you could think about as being real. You spent that entire night with him, your friends either wandering off or you too enthralled with Nico to notice that they were there. Nat and Jack were heading back to your place before last call, and you were left knowing that you had to see Nico again.

He asked if he could kiss you, making you melt as his hand gently snaked its way to your cheek, pulling you close when you said yes and covering your mouth with his. You waited for his text the next day, anxiously checking your phone until he finally did after 3 pm. From then on, you told each other everything, texting each other whenever you could, him calling you and heading over to your apartment whenever he didn’t have an obligation to the team. You fell hard for him and you had believed that he felt the same about you.

“The kind of person who doesn’t know what they have until it’s gone,” Nat tells you, trying to pep you up. “Hey, we can find you a guy that is just as hot as Nico tonight.”

“I’m gonna move to Ireland and isolate myself with the spuds.”

“Act like you can be away from me for that long,” they tease, earning a laugh from you. “I’m serious, though. Tell me what you want to do, or who you want to do, and Jack and I will make it happen.”

You didn’t want someone just as hot as Nico, you wanted Nico. You hated the fact that there was more than one time that you had pulled up his messages on your phone, part of you unable to delete that conversation thread even though you knew it would be the healthy thing to do. But you weren’t known amongst your friends for doing what was best for your mental wellbeing, so you kept them, going back through the conversations you had in the four months you were seeing him. The last text was what haunted you the most, him telling you that he was going to be back in Switzerland for the summer and that he ‘didn’t want you tied down to one person’ while he was gone.

He said he would text you when he was back.

He never did.

There were multiple times when you wanted to text him, but you never did, either.

“Yeah,” you manage to choke out. “Let’s do it.”

You spend the rest of the ride in silence, trying to think of where in the bar you would be able to hide from Nico so that he wouldn’t see you. The guys were already inside, Jack telling Nat about 10 minutes ago that they went to start drinking as fast as they could.

The bar was somehow muggy inside, as if the beer itself hung in the air rather than the sweat of the nearly one hundred drunk people that were crowding every square inch of the floor. Jack was easy to spot for Nat, his five foot eleven frame not the largest of his teammates, but still distinct enough that your roommate had left your side within seconds of entering to be with their partner.

So much for finding you someone tonight.

You tried to stay away from him, closer to Nat and Jack as best as you could, but they kept wandering off from you. The last thing you wanted to do was go with them when they were both on their way to drunk and have a history of doing slightly illegal things in the bathrooms at bars.

You had to find someone to talk to. Any person who looked interesting. Any other guy on the team who you were friends with, but that was really only Jack, and that was really only because he’s dating Nat. Your phone was your only comfort, finding a table that had been pushed up against the wall and hoping that there was something you could doom scroll on that would distract you from looking towards Nico.

He had the right to do what he wanted at the bar with his teammates. You weren’t together.

“You ok?” you hear during a lull in the music, pulling you away from your phone for a moment. You didn’t know who was standing in front of you, one of the newer guys from the trade deadline that Nat definitely hadn’t introduced you to. He was waiting for you to respond, looking like he had wanted to sit down with you.

“Yeah, just, not a big ‘going out’ person.”

He lets out a nervous laugh, a smile that sends a jolt through your system that you hadn’t felt in a while. Since Nico, if you were really willing to be honest with yourself. “Me neither, honestly. I’m just here because I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“I got dragged here with my roommate so they can be with their boyfriend,” you tell him, gesturing to Nat and Jack trying their best to sneak out of the bathroom, Jack’s shirt buttoned wrong, both of their previously neatly styled hair in a mess that you only saw after hearing them the night before.

“So that’s the infamous Nat,” he says, taking the seat beside you. You nod as he continues, “Jack never shuts up about them. Not that Jack shuts up about anything or anyone, ever, but especially not Nat.”

“I always knew he was a good one,” you tell him, introducing yourself so he knew you as more than just, ‘his teammate's partner’s roommate.’

“I’m Timo.”

You spent the rest of the night bouncing between the table and the bar with Timo, him buying you every drink you wanted. There was something about him that was different, but you couldn’t focus all of your attention on him.

He was talking about his time in San Jose while you were waiting for your next round of drinks. You couldn’t focus on a word he was saying, Nico within your line of sight talking to a girl. A really attractive girl, you might add. You felt your heart drop, feeling a lump in your throat forming faster than you could lie to yourself about that scene having no effect on you. Naturally, Nico would talk to other people. You hadn’t talked to him in two years, let alone seen him in person. Just because you couldn’t get over him, no matter how hard you tried, that didn’t mean he didn’t get over you.

“And then I got traded here, and I love it, so far,” you tune back into Timo, who is suddenly much closer than you remember. It’s just because the bar is loud, people are starting to crowd for drinks, and, fuck, you have to admit, he’s pretty hot.

Nico was still watching.

Timo took your hand, leading you off to the table where you were before, the drinks in your hand probably not ones that you needed to begin with. His free hand snaked its way to your waist, pulling you close to him. You could feel your heart racing faster with every inch he got closer to you. You wanted him to kiss you.

You thought you did.

“I’m sorry,” you pull away right as his lips were about to meet yours, tears starting to form in your eyes, leaving the drink he bought you in his hands as you ran from him. Your breath catches in your throat while you try to find Nat and Jack, just praying that they weren’t back in the bathroom or too intoxicated in general to help out.

You heard Timo calling after you, somehow, through the volume of the music and your own drunkenness, breaking through and getting to you. You didn’t want Timo calling your name, you wanted it to be Nico.

You needed it to be Nico.

“Hey, hey,” you hear, feeling a familiar hand gently place itself on your arm. You turn around, Nico’s face a mixture of concern and fury. ��What did he do?”

“He, he,” you stammer, the tears falling faster the more you looked at him, every memory you had with him suddenly rushing back into your mind. “He didn’t do anything. You did.”

You yank your arm from him, trying to find anywhere to be in the building that didn’t have one of Nico’s teammates looking at you causing a scene. You knew he was following you, calling your name again and again over the music. People were starting to stare, but no part of you cared, trying harder to not let the tears that were burning your eyes fall down your cheeks.

Nat and Jack were nowhere to be seen, the rest of Nico’s teammates trying to figure out what was going on when you burst through the front door of the bar, the cold fall air hitting your face as soon as you did. You let out a sob, trying to steady yourself against the wall of the building, sliding down to the ground while people waiting to get in tried to figure out if they should help you or if you were just another drunk person having some sort of meltdown that was none of their business.

“Hey,” you hear, a soft voice coming from above you. “I’m so sorry if I did something wrong.” Timo slid down next to you. “I read the situation wrong, I thought you were also into me.”

“I am, I just,” you start, trying to think of what to say.

“Hey, what the fuck did you do?” Nico yells, pulling Timo off the ground. “What did he do to make you cry?”

“Nico, stop,” you let out, Timo looking both confused and terrified by his new captain’s hand on his shirt collar. “He didn’t do anything.”

“What the fuck did I miss?” Timo asked, slowly trying to back away from Nico staring you down.

“Why can you talk to other people and I can’t?” you ask him, feeling your sadness turn into anger. “You had no issue not talking to me for the last two years.”

“I’m gonna go,” Timo lets out, barely loud enough for the two of you to hear and sneaking away before you could notice.

“You didn’t want to talk to me,” Nico counters, taking a step towards you. “But you wanted to talk to TImo instead?”

“Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

“You never texted me. You’ve spent the entire night avoiding me. You think I didn’t see you when you were by yourself on your phone?”

“You were in Sweden. And you could have come up to me and talked to me, what was stopping you? Oh, that’s right, your new girlfriend.”

“Switzerland. And she’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t seen anyone in ages.”

“Wherever you were, you weren’t here,” you tell him, your back against the wall. How long had it been since he had last seen someone? There was no way you had been the last person he was with. “You told me you didn’t want to be tied down while you were back home. You didn’t even want to talk to me, because if you did, you would have.”

“You’re joking,” he scoffs. “You think I didn’t want to talk to you? Every fucking day I have thought about how our conversations would go when I saw you after you get home from work. I would think about you telling me about your day, about everything you would tell Nat, or whoever you were seeing at the time. Every single person I saw in the last two years, I wanted them to be you.”

You didn’t know what to say, letting Nico’s words sink in. “Then why didn’t you text me when you came back from Switzerland?”

Nico took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to the sky. “Because I thought there was no way someone else wouldn’t have realized how amazing you are. There was no way I could be someone who you thought was worth waiting for.”

Nico takes a step towards you, his hand gently taking yours. This was a moment you had been thinking about since he left for Switzerland two years ago. You knew he was going to kiss you, having you pinned against the wall of the building. His free hand cupped your cheek.

“There you guys are!” Nat interrupts, them and Jack clearly having just finished up doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Nico steps away from you, clearing his throat, the red in his cheeks so noticeable there was no way even your roommate wouldn’t comment on it later. “We’ve been looking for you, for um.”

“Long enough,” Jack finishes their sentence, a stupid smile covering his face. You knew he was lying, but no part of your brain was letting you focus on that. Nico leaned against the building, his arm up over your head. “The uber’s almost here. Are you ready to go?”

No. “Yes.”

The three of you leave Nico standing there by himself, Nat and Jack falling asleep in the Uber as soon as it gets on the highway.

You check your phone for the first time in a while, a lone notification popping up on your phone that hadn’t been there in almost two years.

‘Nico, iMessage.’

#nico hischier #nico hischier fic #new jersey devils #devils #new jersey devils fic #devils ic #summer fic exchange 2023

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Text

Convenience Store

Yandere Goddess x G.N Reader

Genre/Tags: Comedic Horror, Yandere| Mentions of blood and death

Word count: 1k

She's late again.

This is the sixth time in a row that your coworker has shown up late for work. You both work in a crappy convenience store in the middle of nowhere, where you and her are the only employees; aside from constantly changing your manager whom you never hear from unless they're screaming into the telephone.

Ding - Ding

The sliding doors' sensor alerts you to a new arrival with a friendly jingle. You know it could only be one person - since you never actually got any customers. The woman pulls off her coat and baseball cap with the line of "People fear me, Fish want me" crudely drawn on with a marker, and sits both on the floor by the coat rack. She coincidentally happens to be wearing a shirt with the same line and poor penmanship.

She strolls over to the frozen drink machine; creating a concoction of each flavor - and a bottle of an energy supplement. She, at least, makes her way to the counter; finishing the drink in a few gulps. She grins at you, eyes hidden behind red riffs of hair.

"Heya, Y/n. How's my favorite cashier?"

"Hey, Salem."

She scoffs at the nickname. "I told you that's not my name. You know what it is."

You really didn't. She never told you what it was or wore her badge. You started calling her that due to the brand of cigarettes she smoked, and created quite the tab on. You didn't care much either way, especially since you had plans after work.

"Can you hurry up and clock in? I'll be late to my appointment so they can take off this cast."

A day before your first shift, you got into an accident that broke your right arm. They still made you come in the next day, bit Salem was nice enough to draw a skull as well as write her phone number on it. Over the phone your doctor informed you that today was the day. You hope you'll be able to find the hospital in time.

Salem wiping a blood stain off the counter before she leabs against it. "Yeah, it's about that time. I made sure to give the guy who did it an extra swing before I threw him in the woodchipper."

"Thanks?"

She sighs. "I'm gonna miss all this?"

"Are you quiting or something?"

"No, but you are in a way. You're finally waking up."

"What are you talking about?"

Salem pulls out a lighter, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from behind you. "There's something I gotta tell you, Y/n."

"Okay?"

"You're dead."

"...o...kay"

"You were sacrificed by a cult to awake a being of unspeakable power. One they believed could gift them that same power, but it doesn't want that. It just wants to destroy. Been doing that for quite some time now."

"Alright."

"I'm that being, Y/n. I've kept you in this limbo for what feels like months, but has only been 48 hours. It took me a while to figure out how put you back together. It was like working with wet play-doh that kept falling apart and had bones."

"I sorta figured that out by now."

"Right. What you probably haven't figured out is that I'm in love with you. I've done this little song and dance before, but there's something about you that I can shake from my mind. I'm not even technically that God. I'm one of its meals that took over after it was killed. That's how its immortally works. Pretty vicious cycle."

Salem lights her cigarette, taking a long drag as she pats you on the back. "I'm only telling you this as a caution for what you're about to see. It ain't pretty, and I'm not either - but I don't have any plans of letting you go. I've decided to turn a new leaf. Peace and love, and all that. Less someone tries to take ya from me again.. See you in a few, Y/n."

She finally clocks in. You head to the store's exit, a white light beyond its reach. You had questions, but they would have to be left to another time as your body moves on its own. The door chimes once more as you take your final exit.

You wake on the floor of a large cabin; a foul stench in the area and piles of bodies around you. An outstretched arm lies in front of you - and nothing more. A familiar jacket is thrown over your body; your own clothes sticky and cold from the puddles of blood around you - one centering from right beneath you. You slowly sit up, remembering what happened before you died.

You were on your way home from work and had to take a side road due to construction. While making your way, a truck plowed into your car; knocking you out cold. You woke back up right before they slit your throat.

A frightened scream draws your attention to the front of the room; the alter where your life was stolen. A cult member is held in the large fist of a near indescribable figure. Its head scraps the ceiling; back turned so all you can see is the tail coat of its attire and the edge of the mask that hides its upper face. The pinkish tendrils that flow from its head weave together in what you could best describe as a lion's mane. It pulls back the mask that covers its face, a multitude of black tongues sweeping across the cult member's face before separate pairs of jaws are clamp around their body. It drops what's left of the corpse like a discarded rag; turning its head upon you.

It steps forward, a mist enveloping its body as it moves. As the fog shrinks and clears, you're left staring at your old coworker who greets you with a wide grin - fixing her cap on her head as she holds out her arms.

"Welcome back, baby! Gathered a welcoming party just for ya!"

Salem walks over, taking her jacket from your lap and putting it on before offering you her hand.

"Hope you don't forget everything I told you. Let's go get something to eat, I'm starving."

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #yandere x reader #yandere teratophilia #female yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere god #yandere monster #tw yandere #yandere writing #yandere drabble

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coldshrugs · 2 months

Text

tiebreaker

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau setting: modern AU rating: explicit - there are a few mature scenes near the end word count: 6.1k

It's strange to be home.

Stranger still to try to define where exactly home is now that Io has two. Two beds, two sets of friends, two time zones to keep up with… Home is supposed to be a place, or, if she allows the geography to have a softer edge, a series of places and the routines formed around them. The familiar haunts one returns to again and again, seeking the comfort of nostalgia.

Three months didn't feel that long while she lived them; the new place is nice, the people are great, and she loves her work. She calls it home when she is there.

But is it? Home used to hold her mother's voice, her siblings' laughter, her father's snoring. She can't go back to any of those things. 'Home' died six years ago, and Io has been trying to claw back some essence of it ever since.

There was only one thing she was sure she missed from this place, one person. But then she stood in the kitchen with the sunset light painting half the cabinets in late summer's orange, and one thing turned into everything. Puzzle pieces of scent and sight that make her long for more of them tomorrow and every day after—the pack of cigarettes on the already open window to their fire escape; the knowledge that she can hide away in the safety of her room, surrounded by all her favorite things, if the inevitable tide of her anxiety rises high enough to drown her; and especially the smell of Estinien—of both of them—burrowed bone-deep into every room.

But the apartment is not exactly as it was when she left. It's cleaner. The blankets on the couch are neatly folded. There are no dishes in the sink. Not a shred of old mail on the table by the door. The only object even slightly out of place is one of the red plastic chairs at the small table between the kitchen and living room, stolen from their former support group when they aged out.

It's almost uncanny, before she remembers he cleans when he's stressed…

Hm.

They haven't talked about the kiss.

They haven't talked about much of anything so far.

Not when Estinien picked her up from the airport. Not back in their apartment as they readied for Y'shotla’s birthday party. Not even when they stepped out of their rooms, facing each other in the mirrored doorways, and his eyes blew wide at the sight of her dressed in the simple sundress and sneakers.

"You, uh, look really nice," he'd said. Straight forward tone and broad shoulders drawn up to his full height. But he didn't say anything else, so maybe they're leaving it where it lies.

Io has learned to live with this contactless friction. An ever-present static at the boundary of what they mean to each other. Sometimes, the hum is so quiet that she swears she is over him. Then there are times like now, in the back of their Uber, when the unspoken question churns in the space between them, fuzzy and electric, and Io reminds herself that even a hum is noise.

She has to break the ice.

"How's work going? How are the kids this year?"

"It's alright. A ton of rebellious little shits in my classes this semester, especially this set of twins."

"Are you allowed to call them that?"

It takes them a moment to find their footing, but then they can't seem to stop—

"Only when I like them. How's it going with your roommates—what are their names again?"

"Hien and Yugiri. They're sweet. Fun to hang out with. They're tidiness sticklers though, so that's kind of killing me."

"Did you watch that show I said you'd like?"

"Did you remember to water my plants?"

—And on and on until she whispers:

"I miss you. You thought I wouldn't."

Silence again, besides the pop song quietly spilling from the speakers. The driver's eyes flash in the rearview mirror before they turn the volume up, like some sound-based privacy curtain, but that is where it ends. Estinien turns his gaze to the darkening skyline around them, lips drawn up at the corner facing her.

It's hard to be disappointed when simply sitting beside him again is a comfort.

Sure, they text daily, but there is no replacement for his deadpan cadence or playfully disgruntled tone. No emoji could substitute the curves of his smiles, from the small and shy ones he tries to hide (the kind he wears now, squeezing at her heart) to the wide ones that come with an open-mouth laugh—

Her thoughts spin to the kiss. Nervous and unfinished, broken too soon because their drunk friends apparently cannot resist throwing glass bottles at the call of "beer me!" That's why she didn't get to kiss him longer, not that it would matter in the long run.

Estinien doesn't do long distance.

He told Vic as much. He cared about Vic. They dated long enough for it to matter, but in the end, Vic moved hours away, and Estinien decided they should break things off. And despite what anyone says about how he might feel about her, she's stationed on the other side of the country for the next nine months.

But he kissed her back. Oh, the way he kissed her back…

She shoots him the occasional furtive glance while his attention is elsewhere, and god, he looks good. Loose, perfectly messy hair hangs past his shoulders and softens the more severe angles of his face. His t-shirt wrinkles against the line of his well-worn jeans. Hems she has long dreamed of running her hands under…

Io's thick swallow is loud in her ears (she hopes he didn't hear it, too), and her fingers twitch on the leather seat between them. That does make a sound. A little scratch.

Estinien slides his hand across the seat, and—the static sizzles and snaps—his fingers curl into hers. He doesn't look away from the window, but he squeezes.

Her heartbeat almost hurts. She squeezes back.

Another 10 minutes and they pull up to the usual watering hole, one of those extensions of home, Redbills.

He lets go as they climb out of the car on his side, deciding to shove both his hands into his pockets. Cool.

(He's still wearing that little smile as they walk inside.)

Now, this is a place that's frozen in time. Dim light punched through with neon, an out-of-place song being played too loud, ratty stools lining the bar, and well-kept pool tables dotting the back wall. And that's to say nothing of the people.

Her friends (the first set, the ones as close as family) are scattered around the bar. Lucia and Thancred are already locked in a game of pool, and there's real money on the corner of the table. G'raha carries two colorful cocktails to a standing table, where he and Urianger are chatting with Krile, on her tall barstool, of course. Aymeric is at the bar, laughing loudly with Leofard, and Leo's pouring a massive round of shots.

Estinien sways awkwardly on the spot before turning to Io. He jerks his head in Aymeric’s direction, letting her know where he'll be, before walking backward toward him. He's gone for now, then.

Yep, very cool.

Tataru (already flushed a deep shade of pink) gestures chaotically as she rambles to the birthday girl sitting at the end of the bar. Shtola is nodding along without looking, one arm thrown over the back of her metal stool tied with black and purple balloons speckled with glitter. Her other hand holds an e-reader and, holy shit, she is deeply engrossed in a book at her own party.

In fact, she only looks up when her glasses begin to slide down her nose, and that's when her pale eyes fall on Io. She is up in a flash. "You came!"

Shtola isn't one for lengthy displays. The hug is brief, but she wraps her arms tightly around Io and allows her to return it fully before pulling away.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it," Io says. They walk arm in arm towards her decorated seat, where Tataru's tipsy little squeak alerts everyone else to her arrival, and then the party begins.

The night happens in a rush. A round of shots as they sing happy birthday, followed by a round of beers on the house because Io is back in town. She isn't allowed to be a wallflower tonight, tugged from huddle to huddle to share stories of her new orchestra gig or listen to someone else's big news that happened to slip through the cracks of the group chat.

Despite the company and constant meandering around the room, his static prickles on the back of her neck. Estinien hovers in the margins. Much like his blind reach for her hand in the car, she doesn't need to see him to know he's around. It is a phantom sensation, some missing part of her that she swears she can move if only she tries hard enough.

A quick glance to the side and she finds him effortlessly. He leans against the wall, speaking with Ayms in hushed voices. Estinien's eyes cut a sharp path to her, too; Aymeric's gaze follows, and a deviously knowing smile spreads across his face. Io purses her lips politely and smiles back, lifting her hand to wave. Aymeric waves back as he leans to whisper something to Estinien, who shakes his head and takes a long swallow from his beer. His posture tenses.

He pushes off the wall and walks outside, placing his empty bottle on the bar as he goes.

"Hold that thought," Io says as she breaks away from Thancred. "Just grabbing some air."

He's even easier to find on the sidewalk. A lone figure with his shoulder pressed into the brick, head tilted skyward. He's facing the door, as if he's waiting for someone.

"What's wrong?" Io takes a cautious step toward him, fighting the pull to go to him immediately

He shrugs but doesn't look at her. His brows knot, and she can't name the look he wears. It's frustrating not knowing what he's feeling. Disappointment? Defeat? Finally, he asks, "We're just not going to talk about it?"

Oh.

"Estinien, you've been distant most of the day, except for a compliment and holding my hand in the car… I didn't think you wanted to talk about it."

And that makes him look. His head rolls in her direction, hair bunched against the wall and his stare burning through her. "Be serious. Of course I want to. I just… don't know how to start."

"Neither do I." Io inhales and lets the warm night air soothe her nerves. Here she fucking goes. "We kissed. Barely—"

"'Barely.'" The word leaves him in a little huff of incensed laughter. He shakes his head.

"—And it was wrong to leave that up in the air for so long, but I guess it's easier not to know? Maybe it's, I don't know, kinder to slip back into how we were before that. If that's what you want."

"Kinder? Fuck off." Compared to his previous interruption, his tone has cooled, and his expression softened. He's not actually mad. If anything, he seems confused that he's being asked what he wants, as if it's obvious. "Did you mean what you said that night I called you?"

She moves to his side, still careful, still slow. But it's for her own benefit now. What on earth is he talking about?

He asked to call her a couple of weeks ago, the first time that's happened since she's been away. They talked through the night, and there was something close about it, closer than usual. The end of the conversation is fuzzy. She only remembers waking up with her phone pressed to her cheek.

Her shoulder meets the wall, mirroring his lean from a foot away. "...What did I say?"

"You love me." He spits it out quickly and gives no further explanation.

But it doesn't need any, does it? It's a simple yes or no. And it's now that she realizes Alberic—and everyone else—was right: he needs her to go first. He can't move until she does.

"Yeah…" Io shifts her weight against the brick, dragging her gaze from the grime-covered sidewalk to his gray eyes shining softly in the night. He deserves that, because she loves him. "I meant it. But listen, I'm not expecting anything. My job alone makes me a walking deal-breaker so—"

A few people stumble out of the bar, cackling loudly, and they both look to make sure it's no one they know. Just a group of strangers, so their attention refocuses. Io takes another breath, but Estinien speaks first.

"Since you left, I only sit in your chair." The streetlight overhead harshes the shadows falling across his face, but it does not obscure the reddening tips of his ears. "It felt stupid at first. For a while, I pretended it wasn't a conscious thing. Just a convenient one; it's closer to the door or whatever. But it's a choice, I realize that now… I think I've been keeping myself from it since you wrote on them. At some point, I couldn't tell the difference. But that became a choice, too."

It trails off a bit as he loses his own thread, but Io isn't lost. No, it makes perfect sense. This is him explaining every moment passed between them in the half-decade they've shared.

"You're rambling." She tries not to laugh. It's not funny. It's just what he does; he doesn't know what to say, so he says more than he should, and the familiar habit fills her chest with a fluttering warmth. His gaze moves to her smile. "I mean, you don't have to stop. I like when you get going."

She marvels at the way his eyes roll, annoyed and amused all at once. How he tries to be just one plain thing but can't help being more than that.

"The point is, I only sit in your chair."

Estinien's hands leave his pockets. She thinks he might be reaching for his cigarettes. She could use one, too. But they shoot towards her instead, his fingers wrapping into the embroidered edges of her jacket. He holds her like that, thumbs tracing the fabric while his eyes dart across her face, softening by the second. They dilate to a ring of dark silver.

Io reminds herself to breathe.

He pulls her closer.

Closer than that.

"I love you. I don't know how long it's been, just that I do." And he waits, all quickened breath and pleading eyes silently asking her to say it again.

"I love you too."

His hands wind around her, shifting her across the final gap between them, chest to warm chest. When Io lifts her hands to his face, his heartbeat gives him away. Pressed close like this, she feels the echo of every agonizing thump. His darkened eyes flash to her lips.

He moves.

They are careful at first, almost precious about it. But careful gives way to something else, just like it started to three months ago on the fire escape. His softness grows urgent, the kind of thing that begs to become another, deeper kiss. Io waits for the shoe to drop, the glass to shatter, but it doesn't come. Estinien's hands travel to the small of her back, one moves under her jacket, fingers skimming between the straps tying the back of her dress, and there is no interruption this time.

Every thought, every dream she's had about this does not compare to the way his lips seem to drag hers with him as he pulls back. His breathless whisper falls into the space between them.

"Should we get out of here, just go home? I just want to be with you tonight."

Io nods against his forehead, maybe too eagerly, but his smile is worth it. "Yeah, um, just let me say bye to everyone first. I hate to bail, but the party isn't the only reason I'm here."

He releases her as a smug grin pulls new shadows across his face. When they re-enter together, Aymeric approaches from the bar.

"You two were gone for a while." His words are ripe with accusation. Io shifts her weight and pulls her jacket closed, hoping he doesn't notice how rumpled it is.

Estinien leans against the wall by the entrance, looking as casual as ever. "And we're leaving again. Are you meeting everyone for breakfast tomorrow?"

Aymeric balks, "First of all, it's brunch, not breakfast; we're drinking again. Second, yes, I'll be there."

"Then we'll see you there."

"Wait, why are you leaving?"

Io takes the opportunity to slip away and find Y'shtola, who is once again seated at the bar, talking to Leo over the largest fishbowl of sangria she's ever seen. It's half-empty.

She slides into the seat next to her. "Hey… please don't kill me."

Shtola squints in Io's direction with surprisingly clear eyes. There is a silent question in them.

"Can I be here for this?" Leo props an elbow on the bar as if that might bolster his chances.

"No," they say in unison, refusing to glance his way.

"Fine," he says, no worse for wear. "I'm taking five, I need to piss anyway."

Shtola takes a deep sip of her drink until he's in the back. "Let me guess: you've decided to leave your best friend's birthday in the loud, crowded bar when we've been here less than two hours? Io, don't think I didn't expect that."

Io might be offended if there were any malice in the words, but Y'shtola brought her fucking kindle. She's probably planning her own escape soon.

"I'm awful, I'm sorry—" She throws her gaze over her shoulder and Shtola's head turns too. Estinien is still waiting by the door with Aymeric, but he's focused intently on her. "—but there's been a development…"

Bubbles sputter in her drink and she comes away coughing. "Are you serious? Finally? Not the half-assed, 'this is a goodbye forever, I'm giving up on you' kiss?"

"Finally." Her grin is embarrassing, but if anyone knows how long she's held out for this moment, it's Shtola. "Like, no bullshit, for real. Feelings talk and all, so I… really need to go."

Shtola shakes her head, one hand waving Io off the barstool and towards the exit. "No, no, breaking the pattern of platonic codependency and making a new, probably worse pattern is the perfect birthday gift. For the love of god, text me and let me know what happens."

"See you tomorrow." Io squeezes in one more hug and snags a sip of her drink before all but running for the door.

She gives Aymeric a little wave and a smile before passing through the door with Estinien's hand on her back again. A car is already waiting, and after they clamber inside, he doesn't cease his contact. An arm as far around her as he can manage, his fingers grazing her neck, and he can't take his eyes off her.

It doesn't matter that this is all the drive will allow. Desire sparks along her skin, originating from his touch and simmering between them, silent but shameless. The ride feels like an eternity.

When they're finally outside their building, the car is barely out of view before Estinien kisses her again. He walks them backward to the alcove housing the locked glass doors and the keypad. She laughs against his lips as she struggles to reach the buttons. He moves them closer. The first attempt lights the unit in red.

They'll get locked out at this rate.

Io pulls free of his lips with a hummed whine so she can see what she's doing. He moves to her cheek instead, then her jaw… Another red try.

"Estinien," she breathes.

His throaty laugh vibrates against her skin. "You've got it."

Fuck it. If this doesn't work, they can break their necks on the fire escape. 7-9-1-3-5. It blinks green, and the locked doors click open.

They only waste a little time in the stairwell, a quick kiss every other landing or so, when one can't resist grabbing the other, softly passing laughter between mouths before running up the next flight. It doesn't feel real. It lasts all the way to their door.

They go inside, hand in hand, and this is when it sets in.

Sure, it's a bit too clean, but the only new thing here is them. They kick off their shoes and navigate the path to Estinien's room in the dark, carefully dodging jutting furniture corners and stepping over the edges of rugs as their eyes adjust to the lack of light. A strange muscle memory when the context of the journey is so different.

In his room, Io pulls the chain on his bedside lamp, flooding the space with soft, warm light. She knows his room; the scattered sports and music posters, his baseball trophies and metals, and the long unused skateboard. His bed sits in the center of the far wall, flanked by a table on each side; one holds the lamp she just turned on, and the other is where his keys, wallet, and phone usually go. She's had to grab them more than once as they rushed out of this place.

"Is that okay?" she asks.

He nods, pulling her in again, prying her jacket off. It falls to the floor in a crumpled heap as his hands trail back up her arms. One settles lightly against the back of her neck. She runs a shaking hand over his stomach until it rests on his chest.

He inhales, forehead falling to hers for the second time tonight. "I'm kind of nervous."

"Me too." She swallows, trying to keep her voice even. "It feels silly, right?"

"Yeah." Estinien's rumbled laugh sounds in the quiet. "The reason I shouldn't be is the reason I am."

Io pulls her head away, asking why with furrowed brows.

"Because it's you."

What steals her breath seems to give his confidence a second wind. He tugs a strap off her shoulder and presses a kiss to the freckled skin beneath, lips moving slowly, reverently, until her head tips back and her arms snake around his waist. He catches the hem of the dress, looking to Io briefly for approval, lifting it over her head after she nods.

He pauses, drinking in the sight of her standing in his most private space, wearing only her underwear, and for a second Io wonders if his drinks have caught up with him.

He pulls his own shirt off, ruffling his hair in the process. His skin catches the lamplight on one side and moonlight on the other. His beauty is uncomplicated, as direct as he is, but right now it threatens to overwhelm her. Io reaches for him, runs her hands across soft muscle and the small, knotted scar on his left shoulder.

She leans forward, brushing her lips over his, almost content to feel him breathing against them and nothing more. Almost. Estinien's knuckles skim her waist, ghost over the side of her breast, across her back, where his hold solidifies before tipping them onto the bed.

Each touch speaks the assurance they've never needed to voice—I'll take care of you, I'm the one who always takes care of you. This is not so different, not when they get down to it. Estinien drags his lips across her throat and that is just as intimate as his texts reminding her to take her anxiety medication; Io's hands slipping beneath his waistband are the same hands that spread his favorite blanket over him when he falls asleep on their couch. I made you coffee shares DNA with please kiss me again, and both are prerequisites to the soft grip of his hand under her chin, leading her mouth to his.

What's one more way to love each other?

Between needy touches and heated moans, they peel away the last of their layers. There is nothing else they can bare.

Estinien moves down her body, nose trailing against her skin, stopping along the way to place soft, searing kisses to places that certainly never existed before now. The tip of her collarbone, the underside of her breasts, the sensitive skin over her ribs, and she shivers as he brings each one to life in the soft heat of his mouth. His hands follow, creating a pattern of kiss and caress, and Io is never without some part of him in contact with her skin.

He settles between her legs, and she feels the hot rush of his breath, coming just that much faster as he anticipates the next action. Io can hardly bear to look at him—flushed cheek pressed against her thigh and his eyes growing darker when she bites her lip—but she cannot look away.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Estinien kisses her thigh, then whispers low in a voice Io doesn't recognize, "Do you want me to?"

His fingers trace a tantalizing pattern on her leg as he stares up at her, waiting for the answer.

How can she tell him what he's doing to her before he even begins? "Please" is the only word she can articulate as she runs a hand through his hair, gently urging him to go on. "Please."

He dips his head, and words don't matter. She couldn't form them if she tried. Her eyes squeeze shut as she falls against the pillow. There is only shapeless sound, her body tense and twisting, the combination of her slick heat and his mouth,

his mouth,

his mouth.

She's at the edge before she knows it, and the feel of his lips changes, lightens, as he pushes her over. He's smiling—pleased with himself, pleased at her reaction. It remains in place as he lifts himself and kisses his way back to her lips.

Estinien covers her, skin to skin, and Io pulls away from his lips just to look at him for a moment. His silver hair catching bits of the city lights through the window. The shine of her still worn on his lips. Io cups his cheek and sweeps her thumb across them, observing the way they yield for even this touch. His blush spreads to the tips of his ears, down his neck.

"I feel so stupid. You've been looking at me that way for years, and I…" The thought hangs between them: 'What if?' He shakes his head above her, his hair grazing her shoulders.

"Yeah," Io whispers. "But you've been looking at me too. I wasn't in a rush."

She smiles into the next kiss, feels his own spread against her lips. Of all the things they've done tonight, the things they will do, this is the one she wants to keep most. She lets it linger, lets him deepen it when he's ready, asking for more when his tongue slides over hers and he shifts between her thighs.

Io stifles a moan and presses her hands into his back. She needs him closer.

One more shift, and they gasp through a broken kiss. There is only a second of pause, a quick word to check in, then Estinien drives forward again. They find a rhythm. Io moves with him. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, his voice is a tight rasp as he curses or mutters her name into the crook of her neck.

He leans back, resting on his knees, lifting Io with him so she sits on his angled lap. "I wanna see you like this," he says in a shredded whisper. "I keep thinking about it."

It's easy to give him what he wants when he looks at her like this, when he asks for her like he needs her. Io works her hips against him while Estinein does his best to explore, to touch, but his focus shatters in a guttural rumble as he pulls free and guides their fall back to the bed.

There is breath to catch and mess to clean. They alternate trips to the bathroom, then settle into his bed in a yawning heap.

They stay close afterward, liking the way their limbs have tangled and the heaviness of his body relaxing against hers. Io runs her fingers through his hair, unwilling to stop touching him like this now that she has no reason to hold back, and relishes the soft breath washing over her chest. Estinien is still, besides the occasional lazy roll of his head, to kiss her where he can. From the opposite side of the bed, the lamp's glow brightens his edges, the sharp line of his jaw, his nose, and his lips gently pulled into the sweetest smile Io's ever seen him wear.

She could watch him like this forever.

The city doesn't slow around them. Flashes of sound and color leak into the dim room, painting the wall in shifting light that disappears between drowsy blinks. Io wonders how all those passersby in taxis and on the street can go on like before, unaware a faultline has moved under their feet. Don't they know? Didn't they feel it?

The quiet breaks abruptly.

"Io, I'm not,"—his rough voice wavers. He pauses. She can almost see him turning over the words in his mind—"very romantic, if I'm honest, but I could be good to you."

His head on her chest is the only thing keeping her in orbit.

"You've always been good to me. If you're asking me for something…"

"I'm asking."

"You just wanna hear me say it?" And she laughs at his sleepy little nod, heartsick at the way he looks up at her, pupils wide even with their desire temporarily quenched. He wants more than light. She gives it to him. She'd give him anything. "Then yeah, I want to be with you, if you're willing to deal with the distance."

"I don't mind the distance if it's with you." His eyes close, his breathing deepens. She holds him like that until sleep takes her, too.

Io wakes slowly. The room is still gray and dark, with the exception of a single line of early sunlight fighting its way through his blackout curtains. It falls across her side of the bed, a reminder that something exists beyond the bliss of being tucked into this specific set of sheets.

Estinien is already awake. His hand moves down her side, warm and soothing, and then makes the return journey upward, over and over, until she half-rolls to see his face.

"Hey," his voice is even more rough than usual, but it's sweeter, too. He lifts onto his arm, smiling down at her. His messy hair hangs in his eyes. Witnessing this side of him… it always felt so out of reach.

"Hi," she whispers back, adjusting the sheet so there's no barrier between them. "Why are you awake?"

His knuckles roll over her neck, up to her cheek. "Just wanted to look at you. You're all I can think about, and now you're here so… is that weird?"

Io shakes her head against his pillow. "I don't think it's weird. I think I'd do the same."

"Good." He leans in, but pauses before their lips meet. "Wouldn't stop me if it was."

He kisses her slowly, pulls her back flush to his chest so he can touch her. The urgency and nerves of last night are gone. His hands move, unhurried, over the twist of her body, more interested in coaxing little sounds of need from her while her voice still wears shades of sleep. When he fills her this time, his thrusts are soft, almost lazy. And when he's finished, Estinien tells her he loves her again.

She will never tire of hearing it.

They are late to brunch. It's a wonder they show up at all.

No comments when they stroll to the table hand in hand, or when Estinien throws his arm around Io's chair, and not even when she leans into him to rest her head against his cheek after the third mimosa. This is how it should've been all along. They were the only people blocking the way.

The day passes in patches of sunlight and bright laughter, that of their friends and, later on, just theirs. They walk their favorite paths and visit the places Io missed most. The park on the way to her former library job, the library itself, the bakery with specialty cupcakes, and the taco joint she's been craving. But he is a magnet for her hands and, in truth, the place she misses most is their apartment…

They make good use of the short time. No room is too sacred, no surface too precious, until they make it so. By the end of the weekend, they have a pretty good handle on what works. Estinien is a quick study; he remembers what makes her smile, what causes a gasp or a moan.

They learn other things too.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," Io requests on that final evening.

Estinien lies on his back, head angled toward the tv that drones quietly in front of them. He's not watching; his eyes are half closed and his hand tangles in her hair. It's the most focus he can spare right now.

"I thought it was called 'duck tape' for too long. Aymeric pulled me aside in freshman year. Embarrassing as fuck," he says. "Your turn."

Io commits to being a quiet observer, biting back the giggle in the back of her throat.

She lies across his waist with one arm folded under her chin. Her fingers skate over his torso, leaving little trails of puckered skin in their wake. She pockets every tiny reaction (the soft hitch in his breath at a touch near the lower rungs of his ribs, or barely audible sigh when she passes just below his navel), but these are the only interruptions to the otherwise steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm allergic to bee stings."

"What?"

"Yeah, I should've mentioned it before," she says. "You're my emergency contact, so you should know what might take me out."

He laughs, a full belly laugh that shakes both of them on the couch. The sound digs into the marrow of her bones. It can't replace the voices she misses, but she can make more space for him in the part of her heart that longs to hear them.

The quiet after his laughter is just as tender, both of them content with this simple closeness.

"I don't want you to go," he says after some time. "One more day."

"Estinien, my flight—"

"Fuck your flight." His drowsy smile is tempting. "Stay with me."

She says no by pressing her lips against the soft, fuzzy patch of skin beneath his navel, and his exhale barely restrains a shudder. Does she truly do this to him so easily?

"Stay," Estinien repeats.

"You know I can't." Io kisses him again, shifting her head, preparing to focus her attention a little lower…

A long exhale stutters out of him. "I know."

She tugs on the hem of his boxers and he lifts his hips to make it easier for her to move them down his thighs. Io bites her lip at the sight of him, his ready willingness to share himself with her, the way he wants her. She brushes her lips against his length.

"I can come back next month." She trades lips for tongue, adores the way his head rolls back against the sofa. "We'll talk every day, like we always do."

"Next month," he whispers as she takes him into her mouth. His voice strains. "Only nine more to go."

It's noon on Monday when they leave for the airport.

Estinien drives them. Io takes in the view from the passenger seat, branding the feel of his hand on her knee into her mind. And then the pressure of his arms around her when he pulls her back for another hug, the nervous blush when he kisses her openly at the gate. His straight-backed reassurance of "I love you. Come home soon."

Home can be a place, as simple as four walls, or the scent of minty body wash, the voices that soothe just by proximity, and it can be a shared bad habit. The picturesque scenes of a small and beautiful life. Home can be the boy you watch grow into a man, the friend you wait for until you don't care about the waiting, and the partner stoking butterflies or comfort with a look. Home isn't home the first time—it demands a return.

"I will. I'll be back before you know it. And I love you too."

Home requires memory.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #otwr au #my GOD i am so glad this is finished sdlkgjfd #i don't even have commentary i just love them #i love them in this setting. i love how committed they are to each other even when they think it's unrequited #bye

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bramble-scramble · 10 months

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Oooh now you got me thinking!! What if in SoH Rabbid Peach was able to grow her hair to a short length so she still wears the wig for the time until she reaches her desired length

HIYA, this is like three months old but I was going through asks because I knew there were some still in there I wanted to draw-

For those who don't know/remember, at one point we were talking about a headcanon that between Kingdom Battle and Sparks of Hope, Rabbid Peach was able to grow her hair (with a little help from Peach and her magic/knowledge!) intead of using a wig.

So yeah, here she's happy with her progress even if she probably won't show anyone yet except her best friends :3 I just wanted to draw our girly with short hair especially since I haven't drawn her in a while!

#mario rpgs #mario plus rabbids #mario + rabbids #alter answers #doodles #rabbid peach

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yanderes-galore · 10 months

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Alright. It's a Rojka 'Kasaan (Halo: Envoy) scenario, with the reader being an envoy/diplomat he meets after becoming one himself. Romantic, could lean platonic too.

Sure! I haven't finished the book but I do know the plot as I watched a really good summary twice. I love the views this book shows in Halo lore so I tried my best to keep him in character! One of my favorites for sure! If something is wrong, please help me figure out how to make him more in character! :) Warning, this is lengthy and NOT proofread, I apologize in advance.

I SUGGEST THIS BOOK A TON- Thank you so much for the request :) Here's a summary for those who need some background!

Spoilers for Halo: Envoy (Loose AU after the end of the book)

Fresh Start

Yandere! Rojka 'Kasaan Scenario (Halo: Envoy)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Human/Sangheili pairing, Obsession, Rojka is getting used to more civilian/envoy life, Dubious companionship, Death mention, Grief, Inner turmoil, Mentions of violence, Possessive thoughts, Dubious relationship, Tame yandere due to the time period (Could probably try to make him worse, idk-), Manipulation mention.

The title of Envoy was much different from his previous title of Kaidon. Rojka didn't mind too much as Melody had shown him how influential the role is in a place like Carrow. Especially if you are still trying to smooth over previous conflicts between two cities.

Rojka had struggled with the less hectic lifestyle at first. Sangheili were not used to negotiations but Rojka had learned a lot. After the whole Carrow Conflict he'd learned there was benefits to working with humans.

He used to hate the species for his homeworld... but vengeance had long since left his mind after working with the Spartans....

His new title as Envoy has taught Rojka how to speak with Sangheili and humans alike. Some were still hesitant about making deals with the other, but some had favored the idea. Rojka wondered if Melody had felt like this with him or any others....

This new job and title had allowed Rojka to meet new people. He became less aggressive when acknowledging others and even met fellow diplomats. Meetings between Suraka and Rak for negotiations were frequent after the whole civil war.

Most of them felt plain to Rojka. Humans and Sangheili speaking amongst each other over political affairs between the two cities. Various topics such as shipments and repairs.

Then Rojka met you, another Envoy sent to oversee these meetings and bring up issues. The Sangheili Envoy was both intrigued about this human yet hesitant. Even months after the conflict he still struggles with his opinions of humans.

Although he did enjoy them more than he did prior due to Melody explaining the similarities of the two species and their issues.

You were human, like most of the diplomats. There were some other Sangheili diplomats but not many. As said before, not all Sangheili preferred negotiations on Carrow.

Despite you being human Rojka found himself drawn to you. The way you held yourself and spoke with authority impressed him despite you being so much smaller than him. You may not be a fighter... but your voice could make many turn heads.

He was initially a bit anxious about how you'd treat him, which was strange for him. Yet when you spoke with him, cranking your neck upwards to meet his gaze, you treated him as you would any other. Negotiations were negotiations, at least in the eyes of politics you were friends.

Rojka could never manage to pry his eyes away from the outfit you wore as an Envoy. He himself wore different armor from his Kaidon days, his head now adorned with a grey crest on his helmet. He wasn't sure why his eyes kept flicking to your outfit....

As diplomats to humanity, Rojka actually talked to you a lot. Most of which was related to your titles and jobs. Occasionally conversation within Suraka between you two would shift to more casual.

Rojka would have issues trying to make his speech more suited for human understanding. You both spoke Sangheili due to the job but sometimes phrasing came off more aggressive than intended. He learned that when he made an offer with Melody... one that put her off for a moment according to her actions.

Rojka never imagined he'd be so interested in a human such as you. Even with Melody he never thought to ask about a human's life. He wasn't expecting you to ask about his.

Luckily you respected him enough not to pry into his history... something he respected. You respected him, too... you liked his motive of peace. He even remembered your words when he told you his purpose for joining as an Envoy.

"I admire that you want best for your people. As an Envoy, it's our goal to maintain such peace times. You made a great choice."

Such simple words from your mouth... but something about how you said it made it stick with him. Rojka learned to observe the similarities and differences between you when he became an Envoy. When it came to you... it made him even more interested.

Part of Rojka hoped that you two could set aside the sins of your species collectively to grow closer. He wasn't sure why he wanted to be so close to you.... It was actually quite the foreign thought of Sangheili and humans being as close as the two of you.

Rojka liked that you two could be considered more than allies. In your words you considered him a "friend". When you said that it made the Sangheili a bit warm.

He liked that you trusted him as not only a fellow diplomat, but a friend. Trust... he always found it hard to come by during the Sangheili civil war on Carrow. Even now he originally struggled with it.

But having such a bond is important to being an Envoy.

Melody and you had opened him up to trust again. It had made him grow into his new title. He... felt very attached to the two humans.

He held Melody in high regard due to her role in the Carrow Conflict. Although you were the human who managed to make him feel... odd. It wasn't just respect he felt towards you.

His feelings felt more akin to how he'd feel towards another of his own. You may be smaller, weaker, softer... that didn't matter to him. He just wish he knew how deep this connection went.

Did he like you like a warrior? Perhaps the feeling was more similar to that of a mate? The thought perplexed him but for a moment it was considered.

Rojka felt inner turmoil when his eyes flicked to you. The Sangheili knew he enjoyed your presence despite not knowing how. He found himself making an effort to appeal to you at times, too.

It was little things. Things that he didn't notice at first. Like when he lowered himself to meet you at eye level or offered to accompany you on diplomatic trips to Rak. At first he thought it was done out of respect, you are small and he knows Rak more than you.

Then the thought of him caring came to mind again.

Was it really that farfetched? He'd always yearned for somewhere to belong, a homeworld to live on... and comrades to care for. After the death of Thars, the traitor, and many others... it wasn't too hard to think he wanted another connection.

You brought out something in him. An urge that drove the Envoy to come closer. Something made him want to... how does he describe it?

The Envoy wasn't sure. Each time you came up to him he felt like he wanted to hold you. Such an action was not common in his species but he had seen other humans do it to show care.

Even as an Envoy the Sangheili showed a desire to defend. Being a diplomat held dangers, like assassins or arguments. Such threats made his mandibles twitch when they were aimed towards you.

While diplomats are not typically armed, he still knew physical contact. It's surprising how fast the Sangheili would shoot from his seat to stand beside you if you were threatened. His thoughts were clear in these moments, he still had a fighting spirit harnessed to defend you.

As a Sangheili it was hard to drop his past of violence. It's in his nature to get a bit hostile towards situations. As a result, Rojka would be on edge if someone mentioned you.

Murder, dishonorable killing, has been something he's refused. But the idea of killing others around you has flashed across his mind more than once. He's kept such thoughts to himself, but seeing other's speak to you makes him grimace.

Rojka wishes he could figure you out. Why do you spark urges within him? You make him yearn for duels and bloodshed in your name... you make him want to pledge himself to you.

While Rojka deals with his emotions you only ever notice his silence. When you do, you take him by the large hand and call his name. Such an act pulls him back into the conversation, yet his gaze is now on the hand engulfed by his own.

Rojka does not regret meeting you. Not in the slightest. You may spark conflicting thoughts within him as a human but he could not bear to let you go. No... Rojka wants you to know you and him are destined.

Someday, Rojka hopes to explore his care for you more. He hopes to never part from you as an Envoy. He hopes he'll never have to give you up, ever, like the most of his brethren.

The thought of his homeworld still brings pain...

"Rojka." Your voice cuts through his thoughts like an Energy Blade. How long had be been... reminiscing?

"...yes?"

"Another moment caught in your thoughts?"

Rojka pauses. Why should he think of any of this now? All that matter now is here and now. All that matters is you...

Oh how he hopes to keep you....

"Yes."

"Care to talk about it in private?"

His mandibles twitch. He couldn't tell you any of this- How would you perceive such emotions? Surely you would be put off by his... obsessive and possessive intentions as of late?

"No..."

"I understand. I do not wish to pry. I am just concerned is all. I can leave you to it if you wish?"

Rojka says nothing. Those words make his thoughts bubble again but he says nothing. All he wants to do is stare.

Clearly... he admires you in some way. He doesn't care how as of now. He slowly begins to accept the fact he likes the idea of you. He likes the idea of being around you. He even tosses around the idea of keeping you to himself someday....

You pull away a bit only for Rojka to reach out and grasp your arm. You pause, looking at his grip. Your eyes then trail up to the face of the Sangheili.

"Stay."

He utters a brief phrase and you comply. You may make him feel complex but he doesn't want to drive you away. In fact... he takes his chance and pulls you close beside his armored body.

He doesn't want you to leave ever, actually...

It's cruel to think but Rojka thinks of ways he can make such thoughts happen. You both have power but he may have more with his connections. If he did want something with you he could always pull a few strings.

The thought makes him a bit sick. How dishonorable. How could he think of such a thing? Why did he want to isolate you? Why did he want to force you to stay with him?

His thoughts are knocked loose again when you shuffle against him. He freezes when he sees you look up and smile. Did he... make you feel similarly?

Yes... this was why he wanted to keep you. You'd make a great alliance. This was why he wanted you to himself.

He doesn't notice himself wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. No one should bother asking what you're doing. He'll silence them.

It's decided... Rojka will do whatever it takes to make you his own.

Even if it means returning to his past of bloodshed... he'll keep up the peace, yet he's keeping you too.

#yandere halo books #yandere halo #yandere halo envoy #yandere sangheili #yandere alien/human #yandere rojka kassan

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theallegedbird · 4 months

Text

2023 art summary but i try ridiculously hard to make it look like i haven't almost exclusively drawn tma since march

now for mandatory end of year reflection cheesiness <3

really proud of how far i’ve come this year, my arts got to a point i’m really happy with what i’m making, hoping i continue to learn and improve next year!!

also pretty proud of how far i’ve come in general, i haven’t exactly had the best track record when it comes to mental health and was in a really bad place when it came to my depression and anxiety last year and the start of this one, and while it’s had its struggles, including doing gcses and finishing high school as well as other personal matters, overall i’ve been well. a lot happier

i finally came out to my family after what like. two years, and while they still don’t really get it, they’re trying, and that’s a start. i went to a new school for many reasons, i’ve got new friends who share my same shitty taste of humour which is what has led to about 7+ pieces of questionable pale man fanart, i’m doing subjects i’m actually passionate about and for the first time since i was 10 i actually enjoy going to school. and for the last 2 months i’ve been cleaning, tidying and redecorating my room, which to me, many others i’m sure will understand, is a big deal, it’s something i’ve tried and failed to do for so long, and it felt great

sorry for rambling on what i’m trying to say is thank you, might seem dumb but this silly little podcast and its fandom has helped a lot, motivating me art wise especially

every single kind word and has meant the absolute world to me and your support has been phenomenal, i may be just a silly little guy drawing silly little gay people on the internet but i mean it truly

as of posting this it just turned midnight, happy new year!! :D

#id in alt #art summary 2023 #art summary #avery rambles #art #happy new year

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onboardsorasora · 2 months

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'I dunno what this is' - my usual trope lmao but I'm just happy to have written something. this week was great emotionally but also exhausting and a drag so this may not be the greatest but I'm happy about it. As always, idk where this is going or if its even going anywhere. also as always, I haven't read it over lol we are working with vibes over here. I had this idea last night so theres that at least

Lewis stares at the guy who is supposed to be replacing Seb for the summer break, while he goes off on a well needed family vacation. Originally Lewis hadn’t needed a supplemental security guy, but then he’d started getting an increased amount of hate mail again ever since he eclipsed Max and Charles to be P1 in the championship standings again.

It was a great feeling, being P1. Even if the trade off sometimes meant that people took out their pitchforks.

Either way, he didn’t think this new guy would make the cut. He was cute, but he needed more than a pretty face to keep him safe. Didn’t matter if he came by Seb's personal request.

He was cute in a douchey Italian way, with his grown in facial hair and kinda wild curls. Lewis watched him as Seb gave him the run down, he was listening attentively at least and nodding along. Finally they joined Lewis out on the terrace, Seb looking as stern as ever and the new guy looking chill as if they were here for lunch.

“Lewis, this is Daniel Ricciardo, the guy I told you about.” Seb introduced, Daniel leaned forward to shake Lewis’ hand with a smile. Lewis looked him up and down, trying to place the military training that Seb claimed they had together. He didn’t see it, but he trusted his guy.

“Enchante.” Daniel grinned.

“You look like you were out partying last night, man.” Lewis said with a grin. Daniel laughed and his face got maybe ten times prettier.

“Yeah nah that's just my face. I can't help my dashing his looks.” Daniel shrugged carelessly. “I've been told it's quite punchable but what can you do, eh?”

That startled a laugh out of Lewis which in turn made Daniel grin even more. Lewis wanted to amend his previous impression of him, he was dangerous.

“So Seb says you’ve had an uptick in threatening DMs?” Daniel’s face became more focused, brows drawn in. it was Lewis’ turn to be blaise.

“No more than usual.” Lewis shrugged, he saw Seb shift from his periphery and Daniel raised a brow.

Daniel made a clicking sound with his tongue before turning to Seb. “Yeah, I’ll just stay, those kinda threats can go left pretty fast.” He was motioning with his hands and Lewis couldn’t stop looking at his fingers. His hands looked strong, steady. He had a tattoo on his wrist but his long sleeves prevented Lewis from seeing much else.

“Ah, bet.” Seb was saying. “And Lew is vegan, like I told you. That won’t be a problem I assume?”

Lewis wanted to roll his eyes, as if he would force anyone to become vegan to work for him. Daniel grinned again and Lewis was drawn to his face.

“Oh yeah I'm cool with being vegan for the next month or so.” Then he laughed, a wild but fun sound, “I had a fried chicken burger this morning as a send off anyway.”

“For breakfast?” Lewis asked dubiously.

“For brekkie. With an oat milk latte.” Daniel crossed his heart as if he was attempting to be a boy scout. Lewis was horrified with himself to find out that it was endearing him to the unserious man.

“Alright perfect. Thanks man, you really are doing me a solid.” Seb looked relieved that Daniel seemed to have passed some test. Lewis hadn’t realized any of them were being tested, but he trusted that Seb knew what he was looking for.

“No sweat mate, call us even for Ibiza.” Daniel grinned a squinty eyed grin when Seb threw his head back and cackled. Lewis looked on confused but content to let it go, he would have more than enough time in the next few weeks to try to get information out of Daniel. Especially information about how Seb was when they were younger.

Daniel eventually left with a spare key, saying he would go pack a bag and be back in an hour. It was just Lewis and Seb.

“You sure about this guy?” Lewis asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and staring into his friend’s blue blue eyes.

“100% I trust him with my life. Just.. keep your regular schedule, he’ll blend in an you’ll forget he’s even here.” Seb shrugged, Lewis looked at him dubiously.

“Yeah fine. If you say so.”

They walked to the door together, Seb would be heading back to Switzerland tonight. Seb looked at him assessing for a moment.

“Be truthful with me, if you’re uncomfortable with the situation we can figure something out.”

“No, Seb it’s fine. Go, have fun with Kimi and the kids. We’ll be fine here.” Lewis rolled his eyes.

“Fine fine. Sure sure. Just promise me something?”

“What’s that?”

Seb’s eyes became teasing. “Don’t fuck him, yeah?” Then he cackled all the way out the door, leaving Lewis stunned.

#im just happy to be here lol #dewis #lewis/daniel #and seb is also there #bodyguard daniel #i guess??

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toast-tales · 10 months

Text

I Lava You, Chapter 1: Temptation

Cover art by @luckyshotwrites!

This short story takes place after P39 of ITWOM and as such, contains minor spoilers for ITWOM - read at your own risk!

June is a little slime boy who finds themselves in an unfamiliar, giant world. By chance, he crosses paths with Sam, a giant who hasn't eaten a human for three months and thinks they've gotten incredibly lucky to have one just...show up on their doorstep. Not only that, but they want to be...friends? The catch: June thinks Sam is a human, and therefore, he has to hide his identity as a slime. Sam, lucky for June, doesn't know a lot about humans. This can only go well.

This story is cowritten with the amazing, fantastic @luckyshotwrites and uses the minor character June from their ongoing vore story What I'd Do For A Livable Income. It's chock full of monsters, magic, goofs, and absolutely fantastic worldbuilding and characters. Give it a shot if you haven't yet!

Contains: references to g/t soft, safe vore and language. About 2700 words.

Chapter 1: Temptation

June had finally made it to the giant windowsill. He’d climbed from below, able to change his exterior to be sticky enough to scale the building. He shimmied closer to the window.

Luckily, the curtains weren’t drawn. He could see the giant playing a video game.

Is that human very big, or am I very small? The house was huge too, but he could have also been shrunk.

June’s eyes then locked on to another object in the back of the room. Its vibrant, gooey colors that moved inside the lamp grabbed his attention. He pressed his face to the glass to watch it.

Thirty minutes passed by where June remained mesmerized, eyes glued to the fascinating display on the giant’s shelf. The only reason his attention was redirected once more was the giant shifting in their seat.

Okay June. I gotta get serious. I need directions back to work to see everyone again, so I gotta get the human’s attention.

He removed his face from the glass and tapped on it. As expected, though, the inhabitant of the room didn’t hear, especially given the fact that they were wearing a headset.

And then, an idea popped into his head—the giant was in range of his “voice.” He tried to send the tapping noise to the giant’s head directly, by doing a mimicry of it. Of course, June looked no different than a normal human, so the giant wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Right?

Sam nearly jumped out of their seat at the sudden knocking noise, given that they were in a part of their game where they were attempting to be stealthy. This, of course, led to their cover being blown and a “Game Over” screen greeting them in return.

“Dang it!” They swiveled their head around to try and find where the source of the noise had come from. They swore it came from the game, somehow, but that couldn’t have been right.

They didn’t have to look around for long, though. Because right outside their window, next to their desk…was a human. Staring right at them.

Did a HUMAN knock that loudly? It wasn’t a question they decided was important to figure out. They were much more interested in this new development of the night. Something stuck out about this human, but they couldn’t put their finger on what it was.

“Holy shit.” There’s a human right outside my window. What kind of luck is this? Sam had been largely unsuccessful in looking for humans in the wild themselves, in the past three months since Christopher had quit dealing them. They told themselves they weren’t actually addicted to humans. But they could feel the craving inside of them now, making them rather excited that they’d actually get a taste for the first time in months.

Seeing Sam looking back at them, June bounced up and down excitedly. That was pretty smart! He thought to himself, not realizing that a lot of people would probably be freaked out if they heard sounds in their head like that. Not only that, but if Sam was a “regular-sized human” like June assumed, seeing a tiny June would likely be terrifying for them.

Sam opened the window hurriedly, but as they did, they finally realized what had been bugging them about the human. “...glasses?” they said aloud—not as a question to the human, but as an observation. They’d never seen a human with glasses before.

This observation was about all that kept them from grabbing the human immediately.

“I do wear glasses, and you don’t wear glasses.” June’s smile was warm and chipper—he didn’t appear to be fearful of Sam’s height. In fact, he was amazed by it—it was clear from the glimmer in his eyes.

The slime didn’t move any closer yet. You should never go into someone’s house uninvited. He didn’t want to be rude.

Oh god, they’re talking to me. Sam still wasn’t familiar with the concept of humans making conversation with them. I mean, Chris’s got that weird human, but—

“And hi, I’m June!” the slime said, putting out a tiny hand. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m a little lost, so if you have time, can you help me? If not, I can wait here.” June got ready to plop down if needed. “It seems like it might be a nice night.”

Sam either didn’t see the human’s tiny hand stuck out to greet them, didn’t pay attention, or didn’t care. June couldn’t be sure. Sam picked them up—not roughly, but perhaps not as gently as they should have. They held June up close to their face to get a better look at the human they’d caught.

The giant’s stomach grumbled.

I mean…I should have dinner first, but…

It was incredibly tempting to taste the human now. The smell was…well, the smell was actually a little different than most of the humans they were used to. It wasn’t as strong, and a bit…strange. Sam couldn’t put their finger on what it was, though. It didn’t matter too much—they weren’t picky, certainly not after three months.

Wait wait wait. Chris’s human talks to them all the time, and she’s—

Sam began to connect dots and make assumptions that would be, to anyone who had access into their mind, wildly incorrect. This human is talking to me…so maybe if I…is this one of those WILLING ones?

Wildly incorrect assumptions aside, this at least spurred Sam to try something new. A wide smile crossed their face—friendly enough, though the excitement probably seemed unwarranted to June. “Hey there, little human. I’m Sam.” The rest of what the human had said kind of skipped Sam’s mind. Or maybe they had just spaced out when they’d caught the human’s scent.

June cast a glance into the room past Sam. His eyes locked onto his previous target, his beloved—the lava lamp. But Sam’s voice caught his attention.

“Little human? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.” Realizing his mistake, he quickly tried to recover. He couldn’t let this human know he wasn’t human! “The little part.” Nailed it.

He made sure to commit the giant’s name to memory. “Sam, thank you for the…nickname?” He guessed that Sam had decided to give him a nickname instead of using his actual name. In that case, he was glad that the nickname described what he was disguising himself as perfectly. That meant that he was doing a good job, and if anyone else met him, they’d be none the wiser.

Sam still wasn’t quite listening to June, running over what their plans for the evening would entail. “You can…stay here…for now…” God, I just want a taste. Just a little taste. What the hell do I SAY this is so WEIRD.

This really caught June off guard. “Stay here?” He giddily bounced a bit in Sam’s grip. “Like a sleepover?” He stopped himself. Be cool, June! This will be my first human sleepover. Or—giant human sleepover?

“I mean, um, if you were offering a sleepover…to be friends…I wouldn’t say no…” Sam’s grip prevented June from tapping his pointer fingers together in a pleading manner. “But, if you’re offering until I get my bearings together, that’s fine too!”

Oh my god. They ARE one of those willing ones. Sam leapt to the incorrect conclusion with all the confidence of a seasoned trapeze artist. Yet, something about what the human said made them pause again. They want to be…friends?

I would save so much money if I had a human stay with me. Sam’s cravings directed their train of thought away from the previous track, though that small sentiment didn’t leave completely. Their grin widened. “You can stay as long as you want, little buddy.” They didn’t think to ask June about whether or not they were, indeed, willing to be eaten, as they just sort of assumed all humans knew what they were in for with giants.

Buddy?!? June latched onto that word. It was official. He’d made another new friend. Much like Sam, June was vastly misinterpreting his situation.

He nodded his head enthusiastically. “Thank you, thank you, Sam!”

He wondered how it’d be to have a sleepover with a human. Is it any different with the giant ones?

Sam swallowed some of the saliva that had begun pooling in their mouth, with June so close to their face. It was so, so tempting. No no no. If I wait until after dinner, I can eat it before bed and sleep on it. Yeah.

But if I don’t eat it now, then…Sam looked around their room for a temporary human-sized containment unit, coming up short. They gave the strange human a curious look, full of a…naive sort of trust. “So. Um. If I uh…leave you here for a bit, you’re not going to run off, right?”

June raised his shoulders—Sam had released their grip just enough for them to wiggle their arms out. He looked at the lava lamp again. There it was—his chance. I can’t, no…I…I’ll just look!

He nodded, very sure of himself now. “No, I would never run from a buddy, I promise. Besides, you seem nice,” he replied honestly. “And, uh…” his honesty gave way to what he considered his “devious” side. He glanced at the lamp, pointing towards it. “You can leave me there so I can watch it while I wait for you!” June looked up at Sam with big, innocent eyes—a perfect imitation of a puppy dog.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question June’s willingness to stay put. “Oookay then.”

They looked to where the human was pointing—the lava lamp on a shelf on the other side of their room. “Uh, that?” They walked over and set June down next to it. Oh, this is perfect, actually. They can’t get down from the shelf. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?

They found themselves chuckling at how fascinated this human seemed to be with their lamp. I think I got this thing from the clearance section at the thrift store or something. “Oh, you think that’s cool, huh? Check this out.” They hit a button on the power cord, and the lights started cycling through different colors slowly.

June’s eyes shone brightly upon seeing the lava lamp as he admired it with the biggest of smiles. But when Sam hit the button and the beautiful color lit up, his eyes got even brighter. “WHOA!” He looked back at Sam pointing to it. “Do you see this?” Then he chuckled. “Of course you do. It’s so cool! It’s like a giant glow stick, but—” he kept looking back and forth between the lamp and his new friend Sam.

He was too erratic for words, reduced to little bouncy expressions at the color changes as he kept looking back to the giant every so often to make sure his new friend didn’t miss them.

Sam, without realizing it, found themselves amused by the little human’s bubbly and over-the-top excitement. And for just a moment—the briefest of moments—they forgot about how hungry they were. “You like glowy things, huh, little dude?” Wait’ll they see the RGB lighting on my PC. They’d been playing on their handheld earlier, not their PC, so June would be in for a big surprise later.

June peered back and nodded. “Yeah, I love things that glow! I have a ton of glow sticks at home.” Though I ate most of them. “But nothing like this!” He wore the widest grin imaginable. “I couldn’t see things without my glasses—” he put a finger to the frames. “I have really bad sight. So now when I have them I can see all kinds of stuff, and I love the glowy stuff the best.” He then gestured to the tattoos on Sam’s arms. “Or pretty art like that.”

He almost wanted to copy them on his own arms to match, but he refrained. He had to be a human.

Sam’s grin widened as the human pointed out their tattoos. They were particularly proud of the relatively fresh one they’d gotten about a week ago—not being able to buy humans did provide them with a bit of extra spending money. “You’ve got good taste, little buddy.” Taste. Fuck. They’d almost forgotten about making dinner. “Okay, listen. You, uh…stay here. I’m gonna eat dinner. Then I’ll be right back.”

June gave the giant a thumbs-up. “I will keep your seat safe—” he almost forgot that they weren’t the same height. “I mean view!”

He laughed a little as Sam rushed out to make dinner.

And then…June was alone with a very pretty, glowy object of beautiful colors that June would never, ever, not in a million years, think of trying to consume…

The slime, perfectly disguised as a human, stared at the lamp longingly. He pursed his lips together and turned his head away. Look somewhere else, June. Sam seems to like this thing, too. He tried to ignore it, but the quiet hum called him like a bug to a zapper.

After a few minutes, he couldn’t help himself. He had to try and open it up and try some. Just a little. Sam wouldn’t notice if I ate a tiny bit.

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

Sam didn’t have any fancy dinner plans. They made a beeline for the package of instant ramen in their pantry, impatiently tapping their foot as they waited for the microwave to finish. They could still smell the human from here, and it just made their stomach clench with hunger even more.

The three-minute silence left Sam little to do but be occupied by their own thoughts. For a human, they seem pretty cool, actually. This was a bit of a first for Sam. The only human they’d ever had anything close to a conversation with was Chris’s human. Daisy? Annie? Whatever her name was.

And now, they’d managed to find a human that was not only unafraid of them, but seemed to want to be their…friend?

It was weird. But…well, Chris seemed to have a pretty sweet deal going on. Without all the screaming and crying and running in terror, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try making friends with a human. I mean, I get to eat them either way, right?

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

June had successfully made his hands grippy enough to get the cap off of the top of the lava lamp, and slowly climbed back down to lower the cap onto the shelf without making any noise.

And now…to climb back up for his tiny sip.

He leaned himself over the edge to taste some. He could feel the warmth of the glass and the strange liquid in himself as he absorbed it.

He had to force his body to cool quickly so he could take it in. He tipped further and further forward as he drank it, before he fell completely into the warm mixture of wax and chemicals.

Oh no! Ah! It’s hot! He had to quickly force his body to “drink” it, past his work uniform. He was increasing in height as he did so, though he made sure to keep his body’s color the same and not transparent.

He tried to get to the sides to pull himself out. He didn’t know how long Sam would take.

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

Sam was rather blissfully unaware of the lava lamp carnage that was occurring in their room at this time. They were instead looking down at their bowl of instant ramen, and for some reason, they could feel Christopher’s disappointment with their meal choices.

Sigh. Fine. They dropped an egg into the bowl and stirred it a bit, then sprinkled some seasoning on top. They figured the red pepper flakes would give it some color, at least. It was like…well, the addition of ingredients seemed to only highlight the sadness of the meal, but at least it was probably healthier now. Though they couldn’t remember if they were supposed to cook the egg first, or—

Eh. YOLO. The ramen at least took the edge off of their hunger. If they ate quickly, they could probably eat the human in two hours or so.

They headed back to their room, bowl in hand, hoping the human hadn’t, like, fallen off the shelf or something.

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

Chapter 2 ->

Yes, this story WILL continue! What kind of hijinks await these two? Will June be able to lie his way out of this one? Stay tuned!

And thank you for reading! < 3

#g/t vore story #g/t vore #gt vore #safe vore #sfw vore #vore writing #vore stories #i lava you #widfalitwom #widfali #itwom #oc sam #widfali june #nonsexual vore

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tired-teacher-blog · 2 years

Note

Hi! ❤️ If it isnt too much to ask, could I request the Scarlet Witch s/o idea you wrote before, but with Dabi, Shinso, and Aizawa? If not, that's ok! I hope you're doing well and take care of yourself C:

It's not too much to ask sweetie, your guys'requests give me happiness (even though I'm terribly slow) so I'm really grateful you sent this, and so sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you're doing wonderful and please watch out for yourself babe.

Title : Mha boys with a Scarlet Witch S/O

Characters : Dabi/ Shinsou/ Aizawa/ Gender neutral reader

Genre : mostly fluffy/ a little angsty/ headcanons

Y/n's Quirk : Warping, teleportation, telekinesis, flight

Weakness : using your powers for extended periods of time without rest affects your mental status.

Note : Please keep in mind that Scarlet Witch is from a different universe which means that in order for y/n to possess similar powers, some changes need to be done to keep things as natural as possible. This is why I picked some of the original Witch's powers which can go together harmoniously without seeming like you have more than one quirk, and at the same time to reserve the originality of your character.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist

First part I did a few months ago with the Origin Trio

Dabi :

Growing up, you tried your hardest to make friends but were always shunned because of your unique quirk. No one accepted you or even bothered to check on you, but as time went on, you grew to recognize the reality you were pushed into.

Your friends in the league were the only ones who acknowledged and treated you like a normal human being. That being said, you wished you didn't have to join their side since all you ever wanted was to live a peaceful life. However, and same as most of the members, your quirk gave you no chance at a normal existence.

Even though you felt safe with them, you were still reserved and detached from everyone except during missions when you were 'forced' to communicate.

Touya was the sole exception, and for some reason you found yourself drawn to him.

Same as you, he was quiet most of the time, kept to himself and never intervened in the others' shenanigans.

You were the one who approached him first, you wanted a little closeness, a little intimacy, and so did he.

He admires your quirk and makes sure to remind you of your value everytime you start doubting yourself since he knows first hand what it means to be pushed to the side and deemed unworthy.

And it's vice versa, as you've always pulled him out of the pit when he was consumed with rage.

Things haven't changed much when you two became a couple, except for his -now-too-obvious-worry about your well being. He knows you're strong and capable of watching over yourself, but he can't help being overprotective of the person he loves, especially during missions when the unchecked use of your quirk triggers your emotional instability.

During such times, and no matter the station he's assigned to, he would leave everything behind and come for you.

He's never been good with words, so what he does is remove you from the scene and to a quieter one where he pulls you close to his chest until you feel better.

Being with Touya has taught you to finally be grateful for your quirk, not only because he's helped you see how amazing it is, but also because thanks to your power, you're able to perceive and diminish his constant distress, even if he's too stubborn to ask for help. When something like that occurs, you wordlessly invite him between your arms before whispering reassuring words and kissing everywhere your lips can reach until he finally relaxes in your hold, but even then, you don't let go and neither does he.

He is to you what you are to him; family, best friend, and true love. Neither one of you will ever need more than that.

Shinsou :

You and Hitoshi share more than you thought you did. Both of you are introverted, misunderstood, and possess a magnificent quirk that makes life unbearable sometimes.

You've known each other for a really long time before one had finally exchanged words with the other, and even when that happened it was during a mission you two were assigned to work on.

However, that short conversation meant the difference between unfamiliarity and friendship as you two started spending more time together.

You quickly opened up to each other and shared the reasons for your distress. You learned that he too was almost pushed to join the wrong side as everyone joked about him possessing a villainous quirk with no regard for his feelings.

Gradually, and with help from one another, you started seeing your strengths and values until fully accepting your quirks at last.

You were each other's best friend and biggest supporter, and soon enough, you realized that your sentiments for one another grew to something greater.

You were aware of your mutual feelings thanks to your quirk, but never possessed the courage to confess first. Which is why you were thankful when he finally did.

If he wasn't exceedingly protective of you before, then he certainly is now. He never allows you out of his sight during missions, and constantly checks on you in case you overuse your quirk.

You never complain when he does though, since it's his way of showing love and you enjoy it. You're even the same way with him, in that you watch over him and promptly interfere if you see him struggling.

There were times when he was forced to use his quirk on you to make you take a step back or leave the fight all together.

Such conduct undeniably leads to necessary explanations most of the times, but essentially to Hitoshi apologizing profusely for his behavior. He hates manipulating and forcing you to act a certain way, even more so when he sees the look of shock and confusion upon your features after he releases his quirk. Having to use it on the person he loves reminds him of the reason people dubbed him as a potential villain.

At times like these, it's up to you to soothe and pull him back to you, offering him reassuring smiles and gentle kisses: "Hitoshi, I trust you with my life so I'm never worried when you use your quirk on me, you did what you did to save me, and for that I am grateful." is what you whisper as you hold him close and allow him to hide his face in the crook of your neck for as long as he needs. You two are soulmates, and will forever walk side by side and hand in hand.

Aizawa :

Shōta has always been supportive of you, ever since you've met all those years ago. But at first he was only trying to help you through tough times, just the way he learned to do from his late best friend Shirakumo.

You were grateful regardless, even if you meant nothing more than a "charity case" to him, at the end of the day, he still checked on you and that was enough.

Nevertheless, you kept following him around like a shadow and trying to be near him every chance you had. He was the closest thing you had to a friend after all, and even if he didn't think of you as such, it was fine.

Him on the other hand, found you a bit overwhelming. He's a private person who likes to have his space and to him, you were similar to a lost kitten.

But he came to learn soon enough that the lively and frisky side of you only existed thanks to him, as you were never that way with anyone else. Therefore, what he once thought of as an uncontrollable side of you, became a comforting reminder that you were doing well.

Your feelings for Shōta started to grow and develop as soon as you learned that you were no longer a person he needed to help, but rather, an important part of his life.

It all happened one day after long tedious hours of work chasing one particular powerful villain. It was a solo mission that you successfully accomplished but at the expense of your peace of mind.

Shōta knew— even without you saying a word, that you were experiencing one of your quirk's downsides, and him showing up on your doorstep unannounced was enough proof.

"You disappeared right after handing over your mission report, today's assignment must've been hard on you." his words might seem like nothing to rave about to an onlooker, but to you it was the little nudge you needed to finally realize and admit your true feelings.

Thanks to your quirk, you weren't surprised to learn that he felt the same way about you. However, his reaction to your confession was a different story. The cool, stoic, composed man latched onto your body as soon as you finished talking, wrapping his arms around you with no intention to let go, "yeah, I love you too." That night you two shared your first kiss.

His way of treating you remained the same when in public, as he has always been protective of you anyway— and using his quirk on you when things get intense is one way of doing it, but once you two are alone, he shows you a softer side that only you have the right to witness.

Now that you're a couple, you're also able to see him at his worst, and get to take care of him just the way he does you. His once messy sleeping schedule and constant nightmares of the past are now alleviated thanks to you.

Being in each other's presence, entangled in sweet rare moments of peace is all you could ask for.

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 3 months

Text

We'll Save You (3/4)

----

Janus has a bad day and finds himself in the library. Things can only go up from there..

----

| <- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter -> |

TWs: No explicit tws for this chapter I dont think - but as per the fic there are vague references to past trauma.

Word Count: 2349

Notes: Hey look, it's me updating a fic I haven't updated in six and a half months!!!

I got inspiration to finish writing this third chapter after an ask game on tumblr - sooooo that's cool!

I don't know what I'll write for the final chapter, I do hope to do something, but it might be another six months, unfortunately.

----

Janus was having a horrible day.

He knew it the moment he woke up that today just wasn't going to be good, as days sometimes were. He'd woken up feeling phantom bruises on his arms and legs. His breakfast had tasted like dirt when Anxiety brought it - he'd seemed to notice Janus' mood and left quickly with a small reassuring smile. He’d taken extra care to brush his hair over the left of his face today, seeing the scales made him feel sick.

He'd eaten quickly and changed into a comfortable set of clothes from the wardrobe that Prince had been steadily filling. He couldn't help how he felt a little guilty putting on such soft, lovely clothes. Such things were meant for people who had earned them. Janus was sure he'd done no such thing.

He'd snuck from his room, attempting to stay out of sight from anyone who he might cross paths with - any servants and especially Prince or Anxiety. He really didn't feel like talking right now.

Somehow, he'd managed to find his way back to the library he'd found a short while before. He hadn't quite found the time to visit it since. When he found it, though, he quickly worked out that no-one seemed to be inside. It was quiet, as libraries should be.

For a moment, Janus considered that he had no idea how he was supposed to find a book that he wanted to read in this library. It was so huge with so many shelves, so many isles and nooks and crannies - which was perfect with him wanting to hide, but did make things a little difficult.

Somehow, though, when Janus thought about what he wanted to read, his instincts seemed to start pulling him in a certain direction - toward a certain shelf.

Eventually he found the place the library seemed to be leading him to - a shelf of books about… mortals. Reading the covers led him to believe they were fictional - mortal written stories about… romance.

He picked out one that seemed to be more interesting and then - once he had the book firmly in hand - the library seemed to begin pulling him in another direction, this time leading him to a small nook that sat off of the main library, featuring a plush red rug over hardwood floor and a wonderfully soft looking sofa across from a roaring fireplace.

The curtains over the windows on one side of the room were drawn, only letting slivers of sunlight through where they hadn't quite been closed properly. Janus smiled, it was cozy, the room was comfortably warm and when he tentatively took a seat on the sofa he found it just as wonderful as it looked.

He didn't know how long he had sat there reading, but it must have been a long time, because he had nearly finished the book when he noticed that any time had passed at all. The nook the library had led him to was the perfect place to hide from the fear and guilt that still plagued him about everything. The perfect place to get lost and forget how everything felt so wrong. How every moment he wondered when the second shoe would drop, how he feared the moment they'd force him to attempt some impossible task just to punish him for failing..

Janus tried to clamp down on those thoughts, attempting to focus his brain back onto the words he was seeing on the page before him. The main character was part way through screaming at her previous partner for 'cheating' on her at the beginning of the book, and Janus was interested to see whether she would be punished for such a thing.

But then most of this book didn't make sense. It was mortal written, the labels on the shelves had said so, and supposedly reflected reality, but Janus found it mentioned many things he didn't know or hadn't heard of before. The female characters were working jobs and standing up to their partners without being hurt or worse. The world described in this book was nothing like the one he had known.

Thinking about just how much time he must have missed only served to make his bad mood worse. So he kept reading. Regardless of the confusion he faced, he hoped the story ended well. Maybe he'd try the fantasy section next - at least there was no expectation for him to understand the world there.

"Why hello Deceit!" Said a cheerful voice that had Janus' eyes snapping up from his book - he was only a chapter away from finishing. Prince stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the opening with a thick book tucked under his arm. He was wearing a less extravagant outfit today than usual, a simple loose shirt with a plain corset and trousers. He wasn't even wearing shoes. Somehow despite his overall casual look, Prince still looked somewhow… tense.

Janus really didn't feel like talking much today, not with anyone, and Prince's peppiness only served to make him feel worse about his own bad mood, so he simply waved.

"Ah, bad day?" Prince asked, Janus nodded, "May I sit?"

He just shrugged and went back to reading, unable to help the way his eyes wondered to Prince just about every time he paused. He had sat down on the opposite end of the couch, wings draped over the armrest and feet tucked up in front of him, only just not getting in Janus' space.

"What are you reading?" Prince asked eventually, wings rustling. Janus showed him the book cover and he nodded in what must be approval, *Marian Keyes? Good choice."

Minutes later, Janus realised that he was pretty sure Roman hadn't turned a page the entire time he'd been sat here. He sighed, finishing the last few pages before setting down the book on a side table and going to stand up. He almost missed the way Prince's expression turned near distraught when he left the sofa, though when he looked back over he was back to frowning at the same page.

Did Prince want him to stay? What was going on?

Carefully, he settled back down with a glance at Prince, who didn't look up but visually relaxed just a little all the same.

"Are… you olright?" Janus asked eventually, unable to get the off feeling out of his head. Prince looked up in surprise, before sighing.

"You really are an observant one, aren't you?" Prince said softly.

Janus frowned, unsure of what Prince really meant. Was that bad?

"I suppose I'm not having the best day," Prince continued, "But I wouldn't want to concern you with my problems when you still have so many of your own to deal with."

"I appreciate that," Janus said eventually, before taking a deep breath, "But I did ask, what's wrong?"

"I-" Roman started, before letting out a breath of air from his nose, his feathers drooping, "I will be okay, today just seems to not be on my side."

Janus nods slowly, "I think I'm having the same problem, can I… .help?"

"How would you help?" Prince asked, raising an eyebrow. Janus frowned.

"A hug?" Janus suggested anyway, glad he'd gotten the word for what Anxiety had done with him from the book he'd read, "Anxiety said you like them when you're upset."

"They did?* Prince asked, before smiling, "Of course they did."

Prince shifted, placing down his book and sitting up properly before opening his arms - Inviting Janus for a hug.

He hesitated for a moment, before shifting down the sofa and wrapped his arms around Prince, careful not to touch his wings - he wasn't sure quite how private they were, before attempting to relax against him

Prince sighed, squeezing him gently and leaning forward to rest his chin atop Janus' hair as he ran a hand through the curling strands. Janus couldn't help but relax too, relishing in the more gentle touches. This wasn't something he was used to, and the way Prince's hand felt in his hair was new and gentle and felt simply wonderful.

"I may also be hiding," Prince admitted quietly, voice muffled by Janus' hair.

"From what?" Janus asked, just as quiet, he worried that if he spoke any louder it would ruin the peace.

"Vee," Prince admitted with a small chuckle, "I ate the last slice of his cake."

Janus couldn't help the way he tensed, though Prince seemed to notice, gently running his fingers down his back, somehow drawing the tension from his shoulders.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Prince said, "It's nothing serious, a little playful squabbling at best."

"He won't hurt you, right?" Janus asked, frowning into Prince's shoulder. He liked Prince - and Anxiety too, though it was taking a little more to warm up to them. He didn't want either of them to hurt each other, especially not over something like a cake.

Prince shook his head, "Most certainly not, it's all in good fun, they know I'm not having a good day, so it's all light-hearted."

"Okay," Janus said, eventually settling down in Prince's arms again. This felt like it was lasting longer than the 'hug' in his book had, and the one Anxiety gave him too, and those hadn't involved quite so much contact, but Janus was comfortable here. He found he didn't want to move, and Prince seemed quite content to hold onto him and play with his hair too, so Janus felt it maybe wasn't so bad.

—

“Ah, so this is where you’ve been hiding?”

The peace in the library room was broken by another voice. Janus found now that he was startled into wakefulness that he’d been dozing off cuddled up to Prince’s chest. He looked up to see Anxiety standing in the doorway, arms crossed, though their expression softened a little when their eyes fell on Janus. Prince looked a little worried, but he was still smiling.

“Hello sweetie, what’re you doing in here?” Anxiety asked, tilting their head a little.

“Um..” Janus said awkwardly - suddenly wondering if they’d be upset that Janus had been actively cuddling their partner.

Coming to his rescue, Prince answered for him, “I found Deceit reading in here, he noticed I was upset and offered a hug - I suppose I got a little carried away...”

Anxiety laughed, a small sound that they covered their mouth with a hand to hide, “Cute,” They said, “Are you okay with being cuddled like a pillow, sweetie?”

“Yes,” Janus said too quickly for his own liking - but it was still true, “It’s - it’s kind of… nice?”

“Awwe,” Prince cooed, sitting up a little and pulling Janus back into his chest.

Chuckling, Anxiety looked at them both for a moment, “You two look adorable, mind if I join you?”

“Of course, my darling,” Prince said, reaching out for him, “As long as the little cutie is okay with it?”

It took Janus an embarrassingly long time to realise that Roman was referring to him with that cute nickname, but with cheeks flushed red, Janus nodded. He wouldn’t mind Anxiety joining them. Nodding, Anxiety walked over, perching on the edge of the sofa next to them until Prince used one of his wings to pull them closer.

Eventually, after a little bit of shifting around in order to get comfortable, Janus found himself sandwiched between the two faeries, Prince was comfortably warm while Anxiety balanced out that warmth with their gentle coolness. Prince’s wings were wrapped neatly around them and Anxiety was gently carding their fingers through the primary feathers whilst they rested their head on Janus’ shoulder. Janus couldn’t help but notice the way Prince shivered with every stroke of Anxiety’s slender fingers - those feathers looked so soft, though.

“Would you like to try?” Anxiety asked, looking passively at Janus as he paused in running his hands through the feathers. Blushing, Janus ducked his head before looking up at Prince for permission. The faerie in question was looking serenely at them both - as if totally at peace.

“Of course, little one, go ahead,” Prince said softly, running his fingers through Janus’ hair once more, “Vee will show you where not to touch.”

And so began a lengthy explanation of the parts of Prince’s wings and which parts were more sensitive or intimate to touch. Janus felt he was right to avoid touching them earlier. It seemed the fluffy feathers nearest where his wings joined his back were sensitive, as well as some other spots where there were apparently glands. Anxiety assured him that the tops of the wings and primary feathers were the safest spots to touch if he ever wanted to.

The explanation ended with Anxiety holding Janus’ hand against theirs to guide his fingers through the soft feathers - they were just as soft as they looked. Prince let out a soft, happy sigh.

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Anxiety asked him a little while later after Prince’s soft breaths had evened out and he’d fallen asleep holding Janus against him with his nose buried in his hair.

“Yes,” Janus agreed, before covering his mouth as he let a yawn slip out.

“Why don’t you fall asleep too?” Anxiety said gently, “I think you both need it, and I think he’d appreciate you being there.”

Janus yawned again, settling in with a happy sigh - he really did felt like he could fall asleep right here, and maybe Anxiety is right, he probably did need the rest.

“Will you stay here too?” He said, not sure why moments afterwards. Normally he wanted to be around Anxiety especially as little as possible when he wasn’t feeling his best. Anxiety seemed just as surprised as he did.

“Of course,” They said regardless, “Of course I’ll stay - we’ll both be here when you wake up.”

Leaning forward, Anxiety pressed a gentle kiss to Janus’ forehead, making him feel a little like he was burning - like sitting by a fire after you’d just come in from a freezing winter.

Easily, Janus allowed himself to drift off to sleep, somehow feeling safe sandwiched between these two faeries.

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

#sanders sides #anaroceit #sanders sides fanfiction #janus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #ts janus #fanfic #fanfiction #rowans writings

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