#i suppose it counts so I tag it accordingly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

annwrites · 5 months

Text

exactly what he needs, pt. 4 ♡ ⋆｡˚

— pairing: nate jacob x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: nate & you have breakfast together, made by you. he then takes you grocery shopping, & later in the week, he finally asks you to be his!

— tags: cute lil domestic moments, you wearing nate's jersey, meeting the parents day 1, first kiss

— tw: dollification (mans isn't even trying to hide it anymore, he straight-up is tying bows in your hair now), eating, snooping, it being implied that nate has already thought about one day baby-trapping you if push-comes-to-shove, misogyny (he's so mean to cassie), threatening, f receiving oral, emotional manipulation, possessiveness

— word count: 11,661

— a/n: reader uses pads bc i use pads & we are all about self-inserts around here (i never learned how to use tampons, don't judge me). honestly, idk how nate would feel about pads. like, on the one hand, i can see him as seeing them as more "unsanitary", but also preferring it if reader is still a virgin. tbh, he prob just tries to pretend periods don't exist, & doesn't want to hear about it if you're on yours, apart from a slight heads-up & being informed once everything down there is back to normal.

i hope this doesn't seem like things are moving too fast in reader & nate already getting together, but tbf, nate & cassie had hung out for what? prob at most a couple hrs when fezco beat his ass, & then the boy is lying in the hospital thinking he's in love & wants to have babies with her. i say it's on-par for his character lol.

The next morning after your day together is the first time Nate ever shoots you a text.

A simple Good morning, sweetheart.

You stare at it for around ten minutes, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You type up a reply, then delete it. Then type up another and backspace the entirety of it as well.

Finally, you press send on a simple Good morning. (:

Nate: Any plans for today?

You: Might clean the house a bit, then go grocery shopping.

You watch as three little dots dance on your screen, then suddenly disappear. You then suppose you’ve not supplied an incredibly interesting answer.

You toss your phone down on the bed, deciding to finally get up for the day. It’s nearly fifteen minutes later when you check your texts again and see that Nate replied…ten minutes ago.

Nate: How do you get your groceries home?

You: There’s a store not too far from here. If I don’t have very many, I usually just carry them as I walk. If I have quite a few, sometimes I take the bus.

Speaking of which, you need to check the schedule for it today and plan accordingly. That is, until Nate replies.

Nate: I can drive you there and back. I don’t mind.

You begin to type, telling him that’s completely unnecessary, but you’re not fast enough.

A text from him pops up: omw

You throw yourself back on your bed, groaning. You’ve just woken up.

You hadn’t planned to go to the store for perhaps a few more hours. You want to at least wake up first. Eat something, then clean. Even if the house is already essentially spotless, but you have a cleaning schedule you try to adhere to to keep it that way. And to give yourself something to do on the weekends in your spare time.

Which is, apart from tutoring, all you really have.

You decide to just stay in your PJs—a pair of soft blue shorts with clouds on them and a white t-shirt.

You’ve already washed your face and brushed your teeth, as well as your hair—which is now in a bun atop your head.

You make your bed, opening your curtains, letting the morning sunshine into your room before you go to the living room and flip the lock on the door to let Nate in.

You then head to the kitchen to decide on what to make for breakfast. You’re torn between eggs and bacon, or waffles, with perhaps a small side of French toast, when you hear a truck roar into your driveway.

You’re torn from your debating over breakfast by a knock on the door.

“It’s open!”

Nate enters the house, slipping off his shoes, closing the door behind him.

“I’m in the kitchen,” you call softly.

He comes to stand in the entryway. “Want me to give you a few while you get ready?”

He surely hopes you’re not the type who goes to the store in her pajamas, at least.

You turn around to look at him, leaning back against the counter behind you, crossing your arms over your chest. “Actually, I was planning on going later this afternoon. After cleaning. And eating… I haven’t had breakfast yet,” you say sheepishly.

“Shit,” he hangs his head for a moment, then looks at you again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck up your plans for the day. I just didn’t have anything to do this morning, so I thought I’d run over and help you out.”

You shake your head. “It’s ok. I appreciate it. You don’t have to stay if you have somewhere else you need to be.”

“I don’t. Not until this evening, at least.”

His dipshit dad wants everyone to have a family dinner together, while Nate wants to do anything else.

Like be here with you.

“Have you eaten yet?”

He has—a breakfast burrito maybe an hour ago. “No, do you want to go somewhere and get breakfast?”

“I could make us something instead?” You turn back around, opening the fridge again. “Any requests?”

He’s quiet for a moment, just taking you and this moment both in. You, still in your pajamas, having just rolled out of bed a little while ago, standing in the kitchen in the early-morning light, offering to cook for him. It’s all so…domestic. And a warm feeling forms in his chest at it—imaging this as his home with you. Imagining you’re both married and your kids are still asleep in the other room.

You glance back to him.

He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never done—had this before.”

“What?”

“My-” he stops himself before he can say ‘girlfriend’. “A girl cooking for me.”

Your brows furrow. “Really? Neither Cassie or Maddy ever did?”

He chuckles. “I honestly don’t think of either of them know how.”

“That’s sad,” you state simply, before turning back around. “So, do you want bacon and eggs, or waffles, pancakes…I can do French toast?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me.” He likes that you know how to make so many things. That you want to do so for him. He’d chosen right with you.

You turn around yet again. “You’re my guest, so you get to pick.”

He smirks, shrugging. “Bacon and eggs is fine with me.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled works.”

You nod, then start pulling out cookware.

Nate had stood to the side, watching as you worked, occasionally sipping on a mug of black coffee—you’d put some on just after having gotten up. He’d asked more than once if you wanted help as he watched you flit about the kitchen, but you’d only smiled and shook your head.

Finally, once breakfast is ready, you make the both of you a plate and carry them into the dining room, sitting his plate on one side of the table and yours on the other.

You take your seat before he can bother pulling it out for you. He tries not to let it irk him. He tells himself it’s because it’s a habit, since you’re in your own home. You’re not used to being catered to. But neither is he.

Thankfully, Nate had gone for a run after eating earlier, so he’s able to clean his plate. He doesn’t want your feelings hurt—for you to feel insulted—by him not eating every last bite. And it had been rather good, actually.

“You’re a good cook.”

You look up to him, beaming. “Thank you, I’m glad you liked it. Do you want anything else?”

He leans back, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can fit anymore.”

You nod, standing, taking both your plates into the kitchen, placing them in the dishwasher.

You return to the dining room and remain silent as Nate types a message out on his phone, looking up to you as he tucks it back into his pocket.

“I’ll get dressed and then we can head out.”

He stands. “It’s warm out.”

You smile. “Thanks for the forecast.”

He smirks. “You could—if you want to—wear the skirt and top I bought you.”

You’d hung everything up to dry last night and had truthfully forgotten about all of it until his just-now reminding you.

“Unless you don’t like them?”

You shake your head. “No, I do. I just…I wish you had asked me first.”

“Would you have let me get them for you if I had?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “Probably not.”

“Then I made the right decision to make it a surprise.”

He heads in the direction of your bedroom, then, and you trail after him. “I just don’t understand why.”

You feel stupid, speaking to the back of his head.

He comes to sit in the swing-chair in the corner of your room. “Why what?”

“Why you bought me everything you did. I looked up the necklace, how much it costs…”

He’s unphased by it, knowing he’d spent well over a grand on you yesterday. But in truth, it hadn’t been nearly the amount he’d wanted to spend.

He'd wanted—more than anything—to take you into a lingerie store and blow a ton of cash on you there, watching you try on everything he asked you to. But he knew better. For now, at least.

“So I wanted to get you a few nice things. You act like it’s some sort of terrible thing for me to have done.”

You sit on the corner of your bed, facing him. “I’m very grateful. For all of it. I just…I hope you don’t think you need to buy my friendship, Nate. I’m not going anywhere.”

It has nothing to do with friendship. But he can’t tell you just how much it turns him on: spoiling you, buying you expensive things, the idea of you being covered in him—from shoes, to clothes, to jewelry, to perfume and more. It gets him off—makes getting off easier, in truth. Until he has your body to do that with, that is, at least.

He leans forward. “I’m glad to hear that. But you don’t have to worry—I never thought I did.”

He glances to your closet. “Do you want to get dressed?”

“I should probably check to make sure everything is dry. I hung everything up last night.”

You leave your bedroom, heading in the direction of the laundry room.

Meanwhile, Nate stands, finally having a moment alone in your room. He wrenches open the drawer on your bedside table and is met with a couple remotes, a book, a few hair ties, a charging cable…nothing of interest. So he closes it.

Heart pounding, he peeks out your bedroom door—you’re nowhere to be seen—and he then opens the top drawer of your dresser next. Ever-organized, your panties are all in individual cubbies—all cotton, some solid colors, others with patterns printed across them, like small flowers and stars. He picks up a bra. White, with a bit of lace, a small bow in the front, another sage-green. Everything utterly virginal. He digs, but finds not one sex toy.

Perhaps you have them elsewhere.

He jumps when he hears a door close. He steps into the hall a moment and sees the bathroom door is now shut.

He returns to your room, getting on the floor and looking under your bed, where there’s only a couple vacuum-sealed bags full of clothes. He then quietly opens your closet. On the top shelf are a few boxes. He pulls down a shoe box, which, unsurprisingly, has a pair of brand new tennis shoes inside. He puts it back, pulling down another.

And it’s full of old Polaroids. They’re all from when you were younger. You and your dad, another of the two of you, a photo of a butterfly, another of a dog looking up at the camera, and he nearly drops the box when he finds a picture of the two of you. The pair of you can’t be more than six or seven-years-old, both of you smiling toothy grins up at the camera.

He flips it over. Written in faded blue ink on the back, it reads “Nate + Y/N ‘05”. He pockets the picture, putting the lid back on the box and setting it back in your closet.

He stops snooping and sits back in his previous seat, unable to remember the picture ever having been taken. He wonders if you do.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Nate is still sitting in the corner of your room, his head leaned back and eyes closed, hands folded in his lap.

You silently sit on the edge of your bed, folding your legs over one another, draping your new pink skirt over them. You don't want to wake him, so just as you begin to consider changing back, closing your door and cleaning the house while he rests, he slowly opens his eyes.

"If you'd like to take a nap, you can."

He shakes his head, looking you over. You look perfect. For the most part. "Don't want to wear your necklace today?"

You glance to the robin's-egg colored box on top of your dresser. In truth, you're a bit paranoid about wearing something so expensive. What if the chain breaks and by the time you realize, it's long-gone?

You then look back to him, watching as he stands, opens the small box, then removes the necklace inside.

He comes to sit down behind you, slipping the chain around your neck, fastening it into place.

He then begins to tug the hairband from your ponytail.

You half-turn your head back toward him. "What're you-"

"Do you mind if I do your hair for you?"

You're starting to wonder if Nate has some hidden interest in hair-styling.

"I...I guess not."

He slips your hairband free, it coming to rest on his wrist along with the one he'd taken from you yesterday.

You sit there silently, enjoying the feeling of someone else's fingers in your hair once again, your cheeks growing warm as you feel him pull one side of your hair into a pigtail—something you're not quite sure about, but you decide to only make a judgement once he's finished.

He then does the same with the other side, smoothing some hair down your back, before gripping both your upper arms. "Done."

You stand, walking over to the mirror set atop your dresser and inspecting the half-up, half-down style. One pigtail on either side, the rest of your hair against your back.

"I think you look really pretty like that," he says from the bed behind you.

Who knew the star-quarterback had hidden hair-dressing talents.

You turn back around to him. "So when do I get to do your hair?"

He raises a brow.

"I could put clips and bows and ribbons-"

"Do you have ribbons?"

He...he can't seriously want you to put one in his hair...

"Yes."

He stands. "Where?"

"In the bathroom, the second drawer below the sink."

He leaves you standing there as he goes to rifle through them, returning a moment later with two that match the color of your skirt.

"Nate-"

"Turn around."

You're not sure that you appreciate his demanding tone, but do as he says nevertheless.

Once you have bows tied around either pigtail, Nate puts his hand against the small of your back. "Let's head out."

When the two of you arrive at the store, you go to get out, until Nate stops you by grabbing your left hand. "Wait for me to get it."

You sit back in your seat and wait for him to come around to your side. Once the door is open, you speak. "You don't have to come in with me if you'd rather wait here. I know grocery shopping, well, shopping in general, can be tedious."

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

He takes your hand, helping you down and shuts the door, leading you inside.

Nate stays close to your side as you toss various items into your cart—paying acute attention to each thing you do. You don't get a terrible amount of junk food, but he wishes you'd forgo the cereal. He'd already told you from here on out he'd be bringing you breakfast every morning.

He studies what kind of conditioner you use, what kind of lady razor, even your morning facial-wash. He briefly daydreams about getting you ready for the day—the detailed process he would go through to make you look like his own perfect living doll.

It's when you're in the frozen foods aisle that you briefly pause as he pretends to look over the frozen pizzas, when he's actually watching you. Watching you stare at a couple across the way, giggling and kissing each other, the girl's hand resting over her swollen belly, that is.

Hurt flashes across your features and he briefly grows angry, wondering if it's jealousy—if you know the man.

He steps over to you. "Do you know them?"

You jump in surprise at his presence, having been lost in your thoughts. You shake your head, throwing a bag of frozen vegetables in the cart. "No." You're quiet for a moment. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

You look at the happy pair again. "What that must feel like."

He places his palm against the small of your back, refusing to remove it for the rest of the shopping trip.

Nate of course takes it upon himself to not only load every single grocery bag into the bed of his truck, but also unloading and bringing every one into the kitchen once you're home. He simply watches from a kitchen island stool as you put them away.

He eventually excuses himself to your bathroom, deciding to finally cross the boundary of going through your medicine cabinet.

He locks the door, turning the faucet on as he goes through the cabinet under your sink first. Some toilet paper, a box of pads, some pantiliners, cotton balls, cotton pads—basic bathroom paraphernalia.

He then starts pulling open drawers. One he's already familiar with, it's filled with small baskets which hold elastics, hair bands, bows, clips, headbands and the like. Another houses hot-tools: a curling iron, which looks barely-used, a straightener, which has clearly been well-loved—the company name all but rubbed off of it, even an old crimping iron, and a blow-dryer.

He moves onto the last drawer, which just has extra toothpaste, toothbrushes, some lotion, triple antibiotic, extra shaving gel, and some other odds-and-ends.

Finally, he opens the medicine cabinet, curious if you're on birth control. If so, that will be coming to a stop immediately. Not only does he hate the horrid list of side effects that come with it, but once the two of you start fucking, he wants to be in complete control of your reproductive options.

Needs to be if... Well, if he eventually decides he can't live without you and has to resort to drastic options to keep the two of you permanently connected for the rest of your lives, he'll have that option.

But all he finds is some Tylenol, Advil, expired allergy pills, an old prescription bottle with your dad's name on it, a bottle of mouthwash, a small cup of bobby pins, some q-tips, and a couple—of course—clean makeup brushes, a few other items here and there.

He quickly searches the shower and just finds a few bottles of various kinds of soap.

Finally, he flushes the toilet, turns the water off, and comes to join you in the kitchen.

Nate had left not longer after you'd finished cleaning the house, him offering to help, but you telling him you could never ask a guest to do such a thing, so he'd instead sat on the couch, idly watching football, fantasizing once again about you being his perfect little housewife. Cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping for him, allowing him to dress you up and show you off.

It's in the moment as he watches you humming to yourself as you dust off the mantle that he decides this Thursday you'll finally be his.

Nate continues on with the studying ruse to continue spending one-on-one time with you.

Monday, you'd done exactly as he'd asked: you'd worn the white dress, a pair of flats with it even, your new necklace, a hint of blush, and you'd even curled your hair, which had made him hard near-instantly.

It had taken everything in him not to hold your hand as the two of you walked into school. As soon as he spotted Lexi—the ridiculous look on her face as she watched the two of you—he pulled you in the other direction before you could see her yourself, seating you with him and his friends. When you had brought up going to find Lexi, he'd merely told you he thought it might be nice for you to meet some new people that morning.

He knew by their expressions that his friends had wanted to say something—anything about you—perhaps throw around some vulgar jokes, but the death-glare he greeted them with instead kept them talking about football and some party that had gone on this last weekend, which he'd been unaware of, too concerned with filling his time with you.

As the week went on, the two of you began to text more and more. You woke up everyday to him and went to sleep to messages from him. He'd even called you once, and the two of you chatted for almost an hour about everything and nothing. He would've been content to stay up all night listening to your voice, until you had gotten off the phone, telling him you were going to sleep and you would see him in the morning.

You had no idea he was outside of your house that night, watching your bedside lamp flicker off.

Thursday after school, once the two of you are finished studying, Nate finally takes the plunge, praying to fucking God he gets what he's been dying to have for the last two weeks.

He pulls out his extra jersey from his bookbag, handing it to you.

You look up to him, confused.

"I thought you could wear it tomorrow to school, and the game that night."

You look down at it, the metallic number '18' on the front, then back up to him once more. "Isn't...isn't wearing a player's jersey to school something girlfriends usually do?"

He scoots the least bit closer to you, his legs on either side of your chair. He reaches up, gently gripping the back of your neck, light enough that it seems just a sweet gesture, but he knows what he means it as: him touching what is about to belong to him.

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

You blink once, twice. "What?"

He takes one of your hands in his free one. "Listen, the last few weeks," even if he knows it's only been two, but so little time together sounds...not the best out loud, "spending time with you has been a welcome change in my life. I know it started out as just tutoring, and we can keep doing that, of course. But, Y/N, I really, really like you. Being around you is just...so fucking easy. You're easy to talk to, to hang out with, to text with. And you're incredibly beautiful. And kind. And smart. Honestly, I could go on for the next hour, if not longer, about all your admirable qualities. Suffice to say that I'm very-much interested in being with you. And if you feel the same way that I do, then maybe we can give this a shot."

A strange, uneasy feeling comes over you. You tell yourself it's because you've never been asked out before. Never had someone show such blatant interest in you before like this. You're used to being alone, so of course the idea of being with someone—anyone—but especially Nate Jacobs, star football player, his dad's name being a household name in East Highland, and the guy every girl at school seems to want—seems unthinkable.

"I...I didn't think I was your type."

So does that mean you have thought about it? Being with him?

He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I didn't think so either. But that's precisely why I think you're so good for me. You're not attention-seeking. Dating girls like that in the past has caused me nothing but trouble. You're not superficial. You care about shit—see things—in ways others just don't. Not at our age, at least. Not at our school. You're mature, responsible, know how to take care of yourself..."

He trails off, wanting you to reply. To just say yes. To give yourself to him.

"I don't know about this..."

His grip on your hand tightens just the smallest bit. "What's your concern?"

"How do I know you're not rebounding, from Cassie or Maddy?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not. I should've been done with Maddy a long time ago for the way she treated me. What she did at McKay's...I can never forgive that. And Cassie was a mistake from the first moment. We had both been drinking. And I just...I wasn't thinking clearly. But I am now. And I know what I want."

You look down to your lap. "And what if I screw things up? I've never dated someone before. I'd have no idea what to even do."

"Nothing here has to change. Not really. Us being together just means spending more time together." He fights back a smirk. "And me finally getting to kiss you."

Your head jerks up.

"Once you're ready," he adds on, knowing you'll be ready when he deems you so.

"And what if I'm just one more person to hurt or let you down?"

He feels like with that one question alone—you being so concerned for his wellbeing—he falls in love with you.

He releases your neck, now cupping your cheek. "You won't be. Do you think I haven't thought the same thing? You were abandoned by your mom. Your dad, too, essentially. The last thing I want is to be one more person to leave you. So I don't plan to.

"Listen, I'm not saying everything is going to be like a picture-perfect fairytale all the time, but I think so long as we're both happy, give each other our all, and consistently work at what we have, then we'll both be happy.

"Just in the time we've spent together, I've already opened up more to you alone than I have to anyone else in I can't tell you how long. I trust you."

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your lower lip and you want to cry from how gentle and sweet he's being—has been—with you.

Finally, you resign yourself to the likely fate of your first heartbreak.

"Okay."

His brows raise. "Yeah?"

You nod, a small smile on your face, your eyes filling with tears of joy. "Yes."

He stands, picking you up, wrapping your legs around his middle and your arms around his neck before spinning you around. "Oh, baby, I am going to make you so fucking happy."

You look down at him, and you believe it.

When you wake the next morning, you only get so far as brushing your teeth and washing your face when you hear a truck outside.

Still half-asleep, you wander to the front door and look through the peephole to see Nate coming up to it, one of his arms behind his back. You briefly wonder if you'd overslept as you flip the lock and open the door.

He comes in, pressing a kiss to your warm forehead. "Morning, angel."

You look up to him with sleepy eyes. "Am I running late?"

He smirks, thinking of the things he'd love to do with you while you're still half-asleep like this. It'd be too all easy to take control in bed.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm early," he says, pulling a bouquet of a dozen white roses out from behind his back.

You gasp lightly, taking them from him. "They're beautiful." You look up to him. "You didn't have to bring me flowers now that we're together."

It feels oddly strange to say.

He presses another kiss to your forehead. "I wanted to. It's something I want to do for you, bring my girlfriend flowers, take her on dates," he shuts the door behind him, backing you up against the wall, the flowers clutched against your chest as he places his palms on either side of you. "I hope you know I intend to spoil you fucking rotten."

Your eyes widen. "Oh."

He smirks. "C'mon, let's go get you ready."

Once you've put your flowers in a glass vase near a window in the kitchen, Nate takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom.

"Sit," he says before stopping himself, nearly opening the drawer to your straightener. He doesn't need you knowing he'd been snooping. "Straightener?"

"Uh...top drawer," you reply, seating yourself on the toilet lid

He retrieves the device, plugging it in.

As it heats up, he grabs your hairbrush from atop the sink and comes to stand behind you, running the bristles through your hair.

"You...you don't have to do my hair."

"I want to."

In truth, he wants to shave and moisturize your legs as well, then dress you in his jersey—picking out a bra and panties, too, before doing your makeup.

"Did you do this for Maddy and Cassie as well?"

He'd bought Maddy clothes, but she would've never let him dress her. Would've most-likely mocked him had he so much as given her a ponytail. Cassie was obviously a different story. "No. And we don't have to talk about them anymore. They're in the past now."

You fidget nervously with your hands. "Isn't that important—addressing our pasts to get to know one another better?"

Once your hair is free of tangles, he sets the brush down on top of the toilet tank. He then comes to stand in front of you, kneeling down to make the two of you level. "It is, but I don't want you to worry about either of them. You're the best thing for me now."

He sprays some heat-protectant on your hair before beginning to straighten it.

Nate gives you some privacy as you go over your legs with a razor one more time before getting dressed, even if you'd shaved the night previous. When you're finished, you come to stand in front of the mirror, and you simply stare.

Your hair is like it was the other day when you went grocery shopping, only, instead of ribbons on either side, he'd used hair bands that have two small balls on them that match the color of the numbering on his jersey. He'd actually done surprisingly well in doing your hair.

When you step out of the bathroom, he's waiting for you in your bedroom, his extra jersey, which you'd had hung up in your closet, now resting on your bed.

You nearly want to pinch yourself, everything seems so unreal in this moment.

He picks up the blush he'd gotten you, along with a makeup brush from your hardly-ever-used vanity and he dips it into the fine powder before gripping your chin, swiping the brush over the apples of both of your cheeks once, then twice.

You giggle nervously. "I'm starting to feel like a living-doll or something."

He smirks, snapping the compact shut, setting the materials back where they go. "I just like taking care of you."

He picks up your diamond Tiffany necklace, one more sign of his ownership over you, and clasps it around your neck.

He nods down to the jersey. "I'll let you get dressed."

Nate fights back a raging erection every mile to school. Here you sit, completely fucking covered in him, in the passenger seat of his truck. He'd done your hair, your makeup, bought the piece of jewelry you're now wearing, and his jersey hangs from your frame like a dress—he'd also picked out the white pair of tennis shoes from your closet that you're now wearing. Even eating a muffin he'd stopped to pick up for you.

He wants to pull over in a secluded spot somewhere and claim your virginity—one more part of you that will now belong to him—but he tells himself that will come soon enough.

If his plan works, you'll be in his bed, a whimpering, crying, whining, begging mess under him, sooner rather than later.

Your pussy will be his to fuck whenever and however he pleases.

He'll finally be back to no longer having to use his hand.

His fucked-up sexual fantasies of the two of you will finally get to come true

When Nate pulls into the lot, he 'accidentally' steps on one of your shoelaces after you've gotten out of the truck. He lifts you back up into your seat, setting your foot atop his knee—just like at the bowling alley—and people watch from their cars as he ties your shoe for you.

Finally, he takes your hand, firmly twining your fingers together, before locking his vehicle behind the two of you, as you walk into school together.

And you feel yourself begin to sweat nervously with every pair of eyes that turn your way, some people clearly not thinking much of it—bless those few—while others react with shocked expressions, whispering amongst themselves, eyeing you up and down, making you want to crawl inside a hole.

You look up to Nate and he looks nothing short of confident and unbothered.

You then glance over to Lexi's table and Lexi's expression somehow looks...sad? Disappointed, maybe?

Cassie, however, is shaking she's so enraged.

You quickly balk and look away from her before sitting down beside Nate, thankful you had worn a pair of black bicycle shorts under his jersey.

You drown out Nate's football friends chatting with him about tonight's game as he places his hand on your knee, then slowly moves it higher, then higher, until it's on the middle of your thigh.

You can feel your face growing warm out of mortification. What if someone sees? Thinks that the two of you are...well, already doing that.

You're torn from worrisome thoughts, thinking perhaps you'd made a mistake—you're not sure exactly what choice to consider as much—by Nate squeezing your leg.

You blink up at him. "What?"

He nods toward his friend. "He asked you a question."

You look at the young man across the table, who's maybe a year younger than the both of you, with black hair and hazel eyes, braces still on his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I guess I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you were going to be at the game tonight, since you're Nate's new girl."

"Of course she is," Nate replies for you. "She'll be in the stands cheering us onto victory. Right, baby?"

You give him a nervous smile, then nod.

He's pleased with your agreeable response.

When you get into second period, Cassie is already there, in her seat, which is just behind and diagonal to yours. You don't look at her as you lie your books on your desk, afraid to meet her eyes.

Then you hear her whisper "bitch" as you take your seat.

You slowly turn back to look at her, filled with hurt at the cruel name.

She gives you a nasty look. "What are you looking at?" She asks in a snide tone.

You turn back around without another word, fighting back tears for the rest of class, unable to think of anything else but how she'd always been so nice to you, and now despises you.

Once class is over, you go out to your locker, so distracted that you don't see Nate leaning against the one next to it with a smile meant only for you.

A smile that immediately disappears when he sees the sullen look on your face, and your bloodshot eyes.

You fumble with your lock twice before finally getting your locker open.

"What's wrong?"

You nearly jump at the sound of his voice.

You shake your head, setting your books back on their shelves with shaking hands. "N-nothing."

He leans down closer to you and speaks gently, quietly. "Something happened. Tell me."

He isn't going to take no for an answer.

You shake your head and he feels his fuse growing shorter. "Did someone say something to you?"

You look up to him. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

He delicately laces his fingers through your hair. "You won't. Just tell me what happened, sweetheart."

You shift from one foot to the other, clutching one of your textbooks to your chest. "Cassie. She-"

His tone grows hard. "What did she do?"

"When I got into class she called me a bitch. I wasn't...I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly. I turned around to look at her and she just...she had such a mean look on her face and asked me what I was looking at, so I just turned around."

He clenches his jaw so hard he's sure it will break. If that stupid whore ruins what he'd just gotten to finally happen with you—making you his—he'll fucking kill her. Actually kill her.

He wants to make a scene right in the middle of the hallway, wants to show you just how far he's willing to go to protect you, even just your feelings, but he knows it will only frighten you away. Showing his devotion to you in extreme measures is something that will have to come in time.

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead, staring down Cassie across the way, who's watching the both of you with a devastated look on her face. He then looks down at you, lifting your chin until your eyes are looking into his own. "Just ignore her. She's jealous. That's all it is. Eventually she'll get over it and move onto her next flavor-of-the-month."

You nod, grabbing the rest of your things for third period.

He smiles down at you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "I'll be there in a minute. I'm going to run to the restroom first."

You nod, heading to class.

Once you're out of sight, he makes a b-line for Cassie.

And the dumb bitch is stupid enough to actually smile at him.

When he reaches her, he slams her locker shut with one hand—causing her to jump—keeping it firmly in place against it as he stares her down. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She shakes some hair off of her shoulder, looking up to him, back straight, eyes pensive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's complete fucking bull. Y/N told me what happened in second period." He lowers his voice so only she can hear. "Let's get one thing straight, you desperate whore, if you screw this up for me, you won't like what happens to you. You have no idea the things I'm capable of—the lengths I'm willing to go to—when someone tries to destroy my life or take someone I love away from me."

She flinches at that—him admitting it—his feelings for you. And after such a short time...

"We had our fun, now I'm done with you, just like the other half of the male student population here. The fuck did you really think was going to happen with us? Did you think we'd...what? Get married, have kids, and live in a cul-de-sac in some fantasy where you're actually a good person that any man would deem worthy of marriage? I got exactly what I wanted and threw your ass to the curb when I got bored and you started acting fucking psychotic."

He points his finger at her face and she shrinks back against a locker, tears stinging her eyes. "Stay the fuck away from me, and even further away from Y/N. If I find out you've said another word—so much as come near her... Just try me, Cass."

With that, he steps away, heading to third period.

After school, Nate drops you off, promising he'll be back that evening to pick you up before the game, and you give him a soft kiss on the cheek before he leaves.

Once you're alone, for some reason, you feel like you can finally breathe. Like some weight had been bearing down on your chest all day and has suddenly lifted.

You blame it on the crowded halls and your noisy classmates.

You leave your hair the way it is, but change into something more comfortable before finding something to eat and sitting down to do homework.

In the middle of finishing your math homework, you begin to think of what had happened with Cassie. It had hurt your feelings, but you aren't angry. If anything, you feel sad on her behalf. While she was, of course, partly to blame, she'd still lost her best friend and boyfriend both, as well as earning herself an even worse reputation around school. You tell yourself the anger isn't necessarily directed at you. That's she's just lashing out in general due to being hurt and alone, and you're an easy target.

You're not sure trying to make nice with her is a good idea, however.

Your phone buzzes, ripping you away from your worries about Maddy trying to come after you next, even if she seems to have far less interest in you and Nate—minus that day in the parking lot—when you check it. You see that it's from Nate.

Nate: Be by around 6 to pick you up.

You: See you then. (:

Nate: Make sure to wear my jersey. 🏈

You grin at his finally using emojis.

You: I will. ❤️

You're left with a little over two hours to yourself before he'll be there to pick you up again. So you take another shower, knowing you sweated a bit more than usual today, then lie back on your bed and try to distract yourself with a movie.

Shortly before six, you dress in Nate's jersey again, and a fresh pair of panties and bicycle shorts before going out to sit on the swing in front of your house to wait for him.

You can't help but smile when he pulls up, butterflies in your stomach.

He comes around, opening the passenger door to the truck. Once you're seated, before you can buckle yourself, he does so for you.

You don't manage to say anything, such as telling him that him doing that really isn't necessary, before he shuts the door.

Nate rolls down the windows, blasting upbeat rap music on the way back to the school. You smile, thinking he looks cute when he's excited. He doesn't seem to exhibit that emotion a lot.

Then again, apart from winning at bowling, neither do you.

Perhaps the both of you are too serious for your age.

You lean back, a smile on your face, and he rests his hand on your upper thigh. You tell yourself you're fine with him touching you there.

That it doesn't make you uncomfortable.

That he's just trying to be a sweet boyfriend.

Once the two of you pull in, the parking lot is only sparingly filled. But the game also doesn't start until after seven.

Once Nate has helped you out of the truck, disliking that you'd already unbuckled yourself before he got a chance to, he takes your hand in his—his duffle bag slung over his other shoulder—as he heads in the direction of the field house. One you're around the backside of the school, he drops his bag on the ground, turning back to you.

He cups your cheek in his large palm. "Can I get a kiss for good luck?"

You hesitate for a moment. Then, "Yes," you say with a shy smile.

He smiles down at you in return before pressing you up against the brick building, then lowering his lips to yours.

He fights back a moan at finally getting to be this: your first kiss. The first one to taste you. The only person to ever have this intimate moment with you.

He opens your mouth with his, gently flicking his tongue against your own and he feels your body stiffen, until he does it again and you relax.

He stays like that for a good few minutes, his tongue tasting you, the sun beating down on his back as his form shadows your own, both your eyes closed as you, after seventeen years, finally find out what it's like to be kissed.

And it's slow and gentle and passionate. And you feel heat pool between your thighs.

You whimper against his lips and his cock hardens at the sound.

He pulls back just the least bit, his lips hovering over your own, which are now red, a bit swollen. "What was that?"

"I dunno," you say, gripping his t-shirt, pulling him back down to you.

He grows impossibly harder at the fact you want more.

He easily obliges.

He wants to move his lips down to your neck, wants to give you a hicky before you go sit on the bleachers for the game, but doesn't.

Finally, he pulls away, both your breathing labored. "Alright, I have to go get ready, my little good-luck charm."

You laugh at that.

He presses one more soft kiss to your lips before reaching down and grabbing his bag.

"Oh," he says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "This is for your ticket." He hands you a five dollar bill. "And this is incase you want anything from the concessions."

He hands you a fifty and your eyes widen.

"I don't think a pretzel costs that much, Nate."

He shrugs. "Maybe you'll want a souvenir of your first game."

You stand on your tiptoes and he smirks, leaning down again as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, before whispering in his ear. "Good luck. And thank you."

He kisses your lips again before stepping away. "I'll look for you in the bleachers."

He begins to walk backwards toward the field house.

"I'll be there cheering you on."

He smiles at the image of that. "Maybe we can do something after."

You nod. "Good luck!"

Surprisingly, when you go to sit on the bleachers, Cassie, who's gathered with the rest of the cheerleaders, doesn't look back at you but once, shortly after you first sit down. It'd only been a glance, and then her completely ignoring you, which you're beyond okay with.

You'd bought yourself a water before finding a seat, the day still hot with the sun out, even if it's beginning to slowly set.

A sense of thrill fills you when the players run onto the field, your eyes immediately honing in on number eighteen.

You feel your cheeks grow impossibly warmer when you remember your kiss from earlier.

You watch as the players gather around their coach, Nate removing his helmet as they—you assume—strategize. He glances up to you and gives you a wink and you smile in return, blowing him a kiss.

Once they break, Nate pretends to catch it, pressing it to his chest before putting his helmet back on.

You can't help but admire him in his uniform.

You've never liked sports before tonight. But with Nate now being your boyfriend and out there on the field, you're completely engrossed. You sit on the edge of your seat the entire game, just watching him running this way and that across the field, blushing when you think about the two of you wearing matching jerseys.

And every time he scores a touchdown, which turns out to be a lot, you hop up from your seat, clapping and smiling, feeling proud of him.

In all honesty, seeing him plowing through the other players and tackling and just...playing the game...actually turns you on a little. Okay, perhaps a bit more than a little. It just makes him look so strong.

You wonder what he would think of that fact.

Once the game is over, the Blackhawks having unsurprisingly won, Nate removes his helmet, yelling and laughing in victory with the rest of his teammates. You smile, glad to see him happy.

He looks into the stands, searching for you and finds you in the same spot you've been in all night.

He waves his hand for you to come down and you do, coming to stand on the other side of the fence from him.

He rests his forearms atop it. "So, what did you think?"

You grip a few of his fingers. "I had fun, which I didn't expect." You giggle to yourself.

"What?" He asks with a smirk.

You shake your head.

"Well, now you have to tell me."

You look up at him from under your lashes and he can already tell he's going to fucking love whatever is about to come out of that pretty little mouth.

"You look really good in your uniform."

He leans forward. "Oh, yeah?"

You nod. "Mhm."

He reaches forward, gripping the one you're wearing, bringing you a bit closer to him. "So do you."

You kiss then, the taste of him now mixed with sweat and grass and fresh air.

He pulls away. "Climb over here."

Watch me fall or hurt myself, you think as you wedge your tennis shoe in the chain-link fence. Once you're halfway up, Nate lifts you the rest of the way over, and you wrap your legs around his middle, running your fingers through his slick hair.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty."

You shake your head. "I don't mind," you say before kissing him.

You wait for Nate outside of the field house, leaned back against the red brick stones, staring up at the millions of stars littering the night sky, feeling so completely happy for the first time in you're not sure how long.

Once players begin to file out, you watch for Nate to be among them. When he exits, he glances in your direction, coming over to stand in front of you, offering you his hand. "Ready?"

You nod.

Once you're in his truck, he stands in the passenger side doorway, one of his arms resting against the top of the truck, his other hand against your left calf.

"I've had a really great night, and I don't really want to just drop you off at home, and then it ends."

You just look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"If I ask you to stay the night at my place, will you?"

You shift in your seat. "Doing...doing what?"

"Just sleeping," he states. "Maybe we can watch a movie in bed or something."

You think about it for a moment, not sure you're comfortable with moving this quickly.

"What about your parents?"

"What about 'em?"

"They won't mind you bringing a girl home late at night?"

He shakes his head. "I mind my business and they mind theirs. If I want to invite someone over, they're not going to tell me no."

You think that's a very unconventional way to parent, especially when it comes to him having a girl in his room—in his bed.

"You don't think it's a little early for me to be spending the night?" You ask gently, using a kind tone to try and prevent hurting his feelings.

He's quiet for a moment, now looking away from you. "I'm sorry. I guess I got too excited to spend more time with you tonight. It was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. Just forget I did."

He goes to pull away and you suddenly feel bad. You'd hurt his feeling anyway. Something you had told him you didn't want to do just yesterday.

You quickly grab his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I just...I don't-" you scramble for some excuse that isn't 'this makes me uncomfortable'. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me."

He softens, stepping closer to you again, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Like what?"

You relax at the tension quickly dissipating. "Like..." you bite your lip. "Like I'm easy. Or...or a slut. Or-"

That same hand comes up to caress your cheek. "Baby, you'd never even had your first kiss before tonight. I could never think that about you. You're probably the most innocent girl—person, even—at this school. And like I said, we'll only be sleeping."

You look at him for a moment. "I don't have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush or-"

"You can just wear something of mine. And we have extras, I'll just give you one."

Finally, you cave. "Ok."

He gives you a gentle smile. "Ok."

When you and Nate pull up to his house, you suddenly feel inadequate at the large home that looms before you. Two stories tall and very, very expensive looking.

You're so busy studying the extravagance of it that you don't notice Nate unbuckling you.

"Your house is-"

"Obnoxious, I know."

He helps you down, taking your hand in his before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

You glance around the foyer, but not for long before Nate begins pulling you toward the stairs. And then you hear his name being called from down the hall.

He stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes.

"Is that your mom?" You whisper.

He drops his duffel bag, which thumps against the floor. "Yeah."

"Nate, come in here, I want to tell you how great you were tonight!"

You take one of his hands in both of yours. "Can I meet her?"

He pulls his hand away without answering. Only, instead, giving you a 'wait here' before walking away.

You stand there, unsure about the sudden shift in his mood. It was like it had happened gradually on the way over and only became more extreme the moment her voice called to him.

Does he really hate being here that much?

When Nate enters the kitchen, his mom is making a salad at the island, his dad grabbing a beer from the fridge.

Marsha walks around it, gesturing for Nate to lean down to give her a hug, which he does, and she plants a quick kiss to his cheek. "You were so great tonight, honey. Your momma is very proud of you."

He nods. "Thanks."

He glances back down the hall, and then his dad speaks. "You left yourself open too much in the first quarter. I've said it before and I will again, you need to work on that, son."

Nate's fists tighten at his side.

He glances back down the hall again and immediately regrets it.

"Do we have company?" His mom asks.

"No. I do." He takes a step away.

"Wait, hold on. Who is it?"

He rolls his eyes. "Does it fucking matter? I need to get back to her-"

He lets out a low swear. He just had to say 'her'.

His mom crosses her arms, now interested. "Her? Did you bring a girl home?"

"I think your mother means 'another girl' home."

Nate glares at his father as he takes a swig of his beer. Finally, he looks back to his mom. "Yes."

Her brows raise. "Well, do I get to meet her?"

Nate sighs. He steps out of the kitchen, and you look up at him, now full of nerves. He jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

You walk up to him. "Is everything ok?" you whisper as he takes your hand.

"It's fine." Is all the reply he gives you before pulling you into the kitchen with him.

Your eyes look this way at that, taking in the lovely décor and the beautiful island and appliances, then looking to his mom, then his dad, who seems to be watching the two of you with no more than idle amusement.

"Mom, dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are my parents."

His mom steps forward first, pulling you into an unexpected hug, but you quickly embrace her in return. You don't want to admit how nice it feels to be held by a mother, even if she isn't your own.

Finally, she pulls back, holding you in place by your upper-arms as she looks you over. "Well, don't you just look adorable in Nate's old jersey."

You flush a shade of crimson. "Thank you."

She releases you, placing her hand over her chest. "I'm Marsha, the mom. And this is-"

"Cal," His father finishes, stepping up to the island, reaching across it to shake your hand.

You nearly tell him you already know his name, but refrain, knowing doing so will only make this moment more awkward.

Once introductions are through, you step back to Nate's side.

"It's nice to meet the both of you."

"Oh, she's polite!" His mom chimes in. "I already like her a lot better than Maddy. Not that that's hard to achieve." She takes a bite of her salad, swallowing. "She was a truly awful girl."

Nate wraps his arm around your waist, but before he can pull you away and get you upstairs and locked away inside his room with him, Cal speaks. "Going through 'em awful fast, aren't you, Nate? That's what, three girls now, in almost as many months?"

You feel nothing short of embarrassed, perhaps even a little ashamed, at his comment.

Nate's grip on your hip tightens painfully for a moment, and you're sure it'll leave a bruise, but you don't speak, instead just bearing witness to the now-taut silence enveloping the room.

Nate steps away from you, going over to the fridge.

Nate grabs a beer, Cal going to grab himself another, until Nate speaks so low only he can hear. "Not nearly as fast as you, though, am I?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're such a fucking asshole. Leave me," he glances to you, then back to his dad, "And her alone. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours like we usually do."

With that, Nate comes over, firmly gripping your hand, and leading you upstairs.

Once Nate has shut the door behind the two of you, locking it, he throws his duffle bag down, then grabs a pair of boxers and sweatpants from his dresser before going into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You seat yourself on his bed, wondering what, exactly, had been said between he and his dad to make him so upset. Unless it was the comment about him going through girls? On the one hand, it was kind of a shitty thing to say. On the other, parents sometimes give their kids a hard time. It comes with the territory.

A few moments later, Nate emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his hair damp and tousled.

You feel that same heat from earlier when he'd kissed you settling between your legs again. Then you tell yourself now is not the time—he's upset.

He walks over to his closet.

"Are you ok?" You ask softly.

He hands you a plain black t-shirt. "Here, you can wear this to bed after you've showered."

So he's not ready to talk about it just yet. "What about bottoms?"

He lies back on the bed, one of his arms slung over his eyes. "Nothing I have will fit you. The t-shirt is fine."

You accept that, padding into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

When you emerge, it's in Nate's shirt, a fluffy towel wrapped around your wet hair.

He's still lying on the bed in the same position from earlier.

You rub the towel against your hair a few times, then drop it in his hamper before coming to sit with your legs crossed beside him. You're silent for a moment, trying to think of the right thing to say. Finally, you just make a simple offer.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He shakes his head, his other arm coming to rub up and down your spine. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He lowers the arm from over his eyes, which are now open, staring up at the ceiling. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you: he's an asshole."

You shrug. "He's your dad. Picking on you is kind of part of his job."

"That's not why he said it. It's not why he does any of the shit that he does. It has nothing to do with him being my dad."

"Maybe he just-"

He looks at you then. "Can we just not talk about my dad while we're in bed together?"

You withdraw into yourself a little at his sudden irritation. And how he had worded it. Like you're doing something other than just talking.

"Ok, I'm sorry."

He notes that your tone now sounds slightly frightened. He sits up, leaning on his arm, his free hand coming to grip your waist. "No, I am. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just him. It's always fucking him."

"Have the two of you ever considered sitting down and just having a heart-to-heart?"

He snorts, then looks at you like that's the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with.

"Lie down with me," he says, pulling back the covers, which you then crawl beneath.

He pulls you against him, his arm under your neck, fingertips lightly tracing the tip of your shoulder. "Thank you for being here."

"You're welcome. I'm very proud of you tonight. It sounds like your mom is too."

He bends the arm that's not holding you behind his head.

"I'm glad you stayed."

"Of course I did," you say, resting your hand over his chest. "I thought I hated sports until tonight. I had a fun time watching you."

He looks at you. "Good."

He then slips his arm out from under you, your head falling back against a pillow which smells of cologne and him. He hovers over top of you, scooting you lower before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You panic. "Nate..."

He looks down, but you grab his chin, which he doesn't expect.

"Don't look."

His brows furrow.

"The t-shirt sort of rode up."

He bites back a smirk. So you're half-naked underneath him, then.

He lowers his body onto your own. "There, now I can't see."

You remain staring up at him.

He plants a soft kiss to your cheek. "Is this ok?"

You're quiet for a moment. Longer than he'd like. Until, finally, "I guess so."

That's all the permission he needs before he starts kissing you. He teases you with his tongue again like earlier, since you had seemed to like that so much, before he eventually moves lower, pressing hot, wet kisses to your neck.

He moves from one side, and when he gets to the other, you jerk underneath him and whimper.

So he kisses that same spot again and your breathing quickens.

His cock fills with blood, knowing he's found a sweet spot.

And so he kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin, until your hips have risen up against him, your arms around his neck and you're panting. He flicks his tongue and you moan in the back of your throat, your control slipping more and more with each kiss. He doesn't stop until he's sure you're soaked and he sees that he's left a purple bruise in his wake.

When he looks down at you, your face is flushed, your lips slightly parted, your hair a mess. It'd be so fucking easy to have his way with you right now. But it would ruin everything to do it this soon.

"Did you like that?" he asks, smoothing some hair from your face.

You nod.

He wonders just how far you'll let him go tonight, short of him breaking your hymen with his cock.

He grips your hip in one of his hands, then moves it higher, to the curve of your side, then higher, until you reach down, firmly grabbing his wrist, his hand now underneath his t-shirt that's barely even covering you now.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I-" you shut your mouth.

In truth, all you want is to touch yourself. Or maybe let him. No. You can't do that. Not this soon. God, what are you doing? In his bed, nearly naked—nothing covering your bottom half, which is now so wet your thighs are slick from it—and wanting nothing more than to tell him to keep going.

You've never felt like this before. But you've also never had any form of intimacy with another person before.

Only ever yourself.

He gives you a look of understanding. "I don't give a shit what society expects of you. What you think you're supposed to do. I want to know what you want, right now, in this moment."

Finally, after a beat of silence, you release his wrist.

He slowly pushes up the t-shirt higher, then higher, until he can see the bottom swell of your breasts, then he pulls it over your head, tossing it on the floor.

And he just marvels at you. Your naked body lying back against his dark sheets. He still has his lower half covering your own, but knows he'll get to see every inch of you before the night is through.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and you throw your head back.

He grips your hips, trailing his tongue over to your other breast, now sucking on it. He looks up to you. Your eyes are now closed, head thrown back, mouth slightly parted.

He rolls a nipple between his teeth and your hips lift, which he pushes back down into the mattress.

He moves back to your other breast, doing the same, willing a whimper or a cry from your lips. Even his fucking name. Instead, you're so damn quiet. Maddy and Cassie had both been vocal—sometimes overly so. This he's not used to.

Finally, he lifts his head and your eyes pop open, wondering why he's stopped.

"Are you not enjoying it?"

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"You're not really making any noise. Are you this quiet when you touch yourself?"

You wait a moment, then nod. He just tells himself that he won't stop until he's changed that fact, then.

He dives back down, devouring your breasts again, then kissing between them, gradually moving lower and lower, until he's right below your belly button.

You suddenly sit half-up, leaning back on your forearms.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks.

Your heart is pounding, and there's an incredibly strong pulse going between your thighs. A million thoughts race through your head. The most prominent one: is this why he'd given you attention in the first place? To make you another notch in his belt?

"This...this isn't all you wanted me for-"

"No. I want you. All of you. Being intimate with you is just one part of it. I don't plan on having sex with you tonight. When I take your virginity, I want it to be perfect. For your sake. There's just something I want to try."

He releases one of your hips, twining his fingers between yours for reassurance. While he understands your hesitancy, he wishes you'd lie the fuck back down and spread your legs for him.

Until, finally, you do.

He kisses down your stomach, then is pleased to see that you'd recently shaven your pubic area.

He makes a mental note to start setting you up appointments, which he'll be paying for, so you can get waxed regularly. At least he won't have to worry about stubble or ingrown hairs at that point.

When he's finally eye-level with your pussy, his throbbing erection grows impossibly harder. You truly are fucking perfect in every way.

He lowers his mouth onto you and, finally, you cry out at the unexpected feeling.

He quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, spearing his tongue, burying it in the heat between your thighs. He flicks your clit and your fingers tighten around his.

God, you're already so fucking wet. He blames it on your being a virgin—not that he doesn't absolutely fucking love it.

So he does it again. And again. He then swirls his tongue this way and that, sliding up your soaked folds—God, you taste fucking amazing—then back down again. Finally, he pulls back the least bit and he hears you whine in response as he begins to kiss your inner thighs.

At least he'll have this to use against you when the time comes: a bit of oral sex, leading you right up to the edge, and then denying you an orgasm unless you do what he wants will be a perfect weapon against you.

Finally, after wiggling your hips more than once, clearly wanting his mouth back on your pussy, he gives you what you've silently asked him for.

He kisses, licks, sucks, bites—lightly—until he focuses solely on your clit.

He hopes you scream when you fucking cum just so his dad has to hear it.

Instead, that fantasy is broken when you release his hand, pulling one of his pillows over your face as you finish against his mouth, your hips lifting, which he once again pulls back down as he continues eating you out.

He only hears your muffled cries—he can swear he hears you say his name—until you finally drop the pillow on the floor, trying to catch your breath as he presses a few kisses to your now-pulsating pussy.

He rests his chin against your pubic area, watching as you slowly begin to calm, your legs still over his shoulders.

"How was that?"

You feel dazed, your legs like jelly, even a bit sweaty. "Good."

He raises a brow. "Just good?"

You tangle your fingers in your hair, the pulse of your pussy just now beginning to calm. "Really, really good."

"You liked it that much, huh?"

You nod.

"How much?"

You sit up, your muscles now feeling weak. "I loved it, Nate. T-thank you."

He studies you for a moment, considering. "Do you want me to do it again?"

"Really?"

He notes just how eager and excited you sound. Almost desperate for it—for him.

And in that moment, he knows he finally has you exactly where he fucking wants you.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader)#nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs imagine #nate jacobs x reader #euphoria x you #euphoria x reader

373 notes · View notes

petertingle-yipyip · 1 month

Text

STRANGER (ii) - KAZ BREKKER

tags: @beekeepingageissome @shadowzena43 @nikfigueiredo @mp-littlebit // previously // next // i hope i didn’t miss anyone for tags! //

Pairing: kaz x davina rollins (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 6,271

Summary: Nothing is simple in Ketterdam. Davina learns a hard lesson when trying to expand her snakes. Bloodied with a bruised ego, she think she finds help in an unlikely ally, only to have to run. Again.

The next few months were uneventful. You continued your usual pattern of withdrawals and reconnaissance. You watched Kaz and the Dregs, even visited Nina Zenik a few more times to make a better acquaintance with her. You had no plans for her specifically in your overall schemes, but having her vote of confidence may prove useful for your potential alliance. Plus, it didn’t hurt to befriend a Heartrender.

But she always asked the same thing. “Your boss hasn’t claimed her little ring yet, has she?”

And your answer was always the same. “No. It’s not the right time, I suppose.”

And it wasn’t. Your gang, while managing decently filled coffers, was minuscule. You were a small, yet arguably skilled group. And it wasn’t just Kaz Brekker you had to convince. Even though he was the harder of the two to persuade, you’d need enough of a footing to convince Per Haskell. Unless a time came when Kaz took full control, he was technically Haskell’s lieutenant, and the old bastard could veto any deal you made with Dirtyhands.

“We need to start venturing out.” You told your lieutenant. You were seated in your office, spinning the tip of your blade against your desk. You had done it so much you had worn a little divot in the wood. “We need to start doing jobs or running cons.”

“Word is there’s a gambling hall near the Crow Club that’s struggling.” Melli offered up eagerly. “It’s a solid location.”

“Then why is it struggling?”

“Advertisement?”

“Melli.” You let your blade fall to the wood top and stared your lieutenant in the eyes.

“I think the Dreg presence keeps them from really capitalizing.” She answered, tugging at her sleeve.

“And you think adding snake presence will do anything towards pacifying Brekker and his Crows? They don’t trust me or any of us, and if Brekker finds out who I really am, he’ll burn down any business attached to us. Whether or not that is before he drags me, kicking and screaming and bleeding, to my father’s feet, I couldn’t tell you.”

“He won’t.” She tried but you simply raised a brow. “You’re careful, Davina. If he hasn’t figured it out by now, after he took you captive, he won’t find out unless you let

him.”

You tapped your finger against your desk in thought. You stared at your discarded knife and wondered if it was worth the risk, especially after your last encounter with him. The hits to your ribs had broken two and left your lungs bruised. Getting them healed was a pain and if you thought hard enough, you could still feel that pain in your chest.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Melli fidgeting with her sleeve again and you redirected focus to her idea, though you made a mental note to talk to her about that tell. If you left Melli to run the hall, it could maintain your anonymity while also bringing in funds outside of your father’s unintentional donations. It could also be an opportunity to get in good with Haskell.

“Go see what the owner might sell for…” You waved her off, trying to ignore her giddy smile. “If it’s not an arm and a leg or my eternal soul, I will consider it.”

“Yes!” She celebrated.

“But.” You said firmly and her giddy movements halted. “It’ll be your passion project, meaning you will be responsible for any and all failures or success, and you’ll be compensated accordingly from the profits. And if we take it, I intend to use it as a foot in the door with the Dregs.”

At that, her mouth fell open.

“I can offer Haskell a small percentage of our profit to allow us to operate within his boundaries.”

“That’ll make us look weak!”

“We’ll look approachable.” You countered.

“We don’t need Dreg approval.”

“We’ll need Haskell’s good graces if we want to get Kaz.”

“We don’t want Brekker. You do.”

“You’re right.” You nodded. “And while I respect your opinion as my lieutenant, I’m not debating this with you. Dime Lions won’t hesitate if they get a chance to wipe us out, neither will the Razor Gulls. Especially if either of them figure me out. You want the gambling hall?” You made a platform with your fingers as your elbows came to your desk. You rested your chin on said platform. “You have my terms, Melli.”

She opened her mouth, likely to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, she nodded with a heavy, defeated sigh and stomped out the door. You dropped back into your chair and rubbed your tired eyes.

If you had known how tiring it was to run a gang, plot revenge, and seek alliance from your father’s sworn enemy, you may have thought twice.

You decided you wanted something stronger than the poor quality coffee Melli kept warm in the main room. You tossed your cloak over your shoulders, fastened it at the base of your throat, and slipped out your window. You slid down the peak of the roof from the building practically leaning against yours and caught yourself on the usual broken guardrail at the edge. It hung off into a sliver of an alleyway and the small space became a small altar to Sankta Alina.

You were always careful not to disturb it when you made your landing. Once, you even drew your own sun on the wall around it.

You pulled your hood up and blended into the streets. You were lucky to set up business in a building that was near the edge of the Barrel. It was out of your father’s reach and that was what was most important. But in the nights you needed the comfort of bustling nightlife and drinks, you wished you had found something a few blocks closer.

At the end of the night, you were safe when you slept. You were warm every night. You were fed, not always well but you and your snakes never went without necessities. It was all you could ask for to start with, yet did nothing to quell the need for more.

You didn’t end up at any clubs or bars. Instead, you ended up walking the canals until you reached the one spot that you hated, yet always found a way back to. There was a small space where you could see Reaper’s Barge. It was far enough that you couldn’t make out any specific bodies, if there were any, and you couldn’t smell the rot or decomposition. It was just the salty tang the ocean always left in the air and the ever present mist hovering. You used to wonder if the Council of Tides had put that mist there, but you came to be thankful for it. It seemed to keep the worst of the dread away.

“When they said the monsters were in the shadows, it was supposed to be a story.” You threw over your shoulder after you felt the stare at your back. “You weren’t supposed to take it literally.”

“There’s enough truth in every story. Besides, I am the nightmare.” He answered.

“So I’ve heard…” You nodded. “Some say you’ve got bones for hands, the flesh rotted away by all your misdeeds. Others that you don’t have hands at all but are just cursed with phantom fingers. I’ve also heard you have claws, so which story has your truth?”

“All of them. Or none of them. You can pick, really.”

You were surprised to find he seemed relatively docile and it made you wonder how long it would take for you to say something that provoked him. And part of you wanted to try.

He came and stood by your side.

“Are you here to slice me open again?” You joked and turned your head. He stared ahead and you stuck your arm out, exposing your bare forearm. “Go on then.”

He glanced down then and pushed your arm away with a sound that almost resembled a chuckle. Then his eyes found your face, tracing the length of scar from his cane. It burned with the memory and you almost felt the stream of blood down your face again.

“I think it adds a certain charm. Don’t you?” You tried another joke and he shook his head, looking away. You frowned to yourself and looked back to the water. “Why are you lurking in the shadows anyway?”

“Midnight stroll.” He answered calmly.

“With a leg like that? I don’t think so.” You scoffed. “Is it even midnight?”

As if on cue, the bells began to ring.

“Oh, Saints.” You muttered.

“Let that be a lesson.” He commented and you turned towards him. “I’m almost never wrong.”

“Almost? So it is possible.”

“Nothing is impossible.” He shrugged. “Improbable, yes, but not impossible.”

“The Wraith told me pride would be my downfall, yet here you stand.”

“As I’ve mentioned, Dear, I’ve already died.”

You nodded slightly and looked back to the water nearer the Barge. When you went there, your thoughts always strayed to Jordie. You wondered how long he had been in the water, if there was anything left of him. You wondered if Kaz had been in the water or did someone have to pry him off his brother’s body, screaming for the only family he had? You always shuddered at the thoughts.

“How is Davina?” Kaz asked suddenly.

Your eyes moved, head staying forward. You saw he was leaning his elbows on the railing. His leather clad hands were fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt beneath his coat, and the moonlight bounced off the silver crow-topped cane at his side.

“She worries.” You confessed. You had missed Kaz so dearly, so you were taking the small opportunity he had given you to just talk. “She’s not sure we’ll have enough to offer when she needs to make the deal. That’s part of why she doesn’t come out often.”

“Why she sends you, Melli?”

Your comfort was yanked away at his words and your hand began to creep towards the blade inside your collar. You were a fool to think there was anything other than malice in his intent. “What?”

“Yes.” He turned towards you and you took an instinctive step back. “You see, after our last run-in, I looked into the little clutch she’s built. Fortunately for her, not many know her roster, but her lieutenant’s name has a few whispers.”

You felt a swell of panic. If Melli’s name was known, how long did you have until yours was tied to your face? Was the gambling hall a ruse to lure Melli, thinking you would show, for capture? What would happen to Melli?

“I am not Melli.” You said firmly, maintaining eye contact even though you wanted to bolt to the gambling hall.

“Are you telling me-“ He lifted that cursed cane and you pulled the blade from the sheath. “-that my sources are wrong?”

“Not quite.” Another step back. “There is a snake named Melli and Davina trusts her, but I am not Melli.”

“Then who are you?”

“You're Kaz Brekker, aren’t you? Figure it out.”

In a swift movement, the blunt end of his cane slid under the fabric of your cloak, where the clasps met, and he pulled you forward. You stumbled slightly and his free hand grabbed your face, leather-clad fingers digging into your cheeks. You could’ve sworn you had felt the sharpness of the fabled talons he hid, but you knew it was your imagination.

Kaz was human. You knew that, but he was also dangerous.

“If you value your hand, I suggest you let go.” You threatened but with his grip your words were mumbled.

He just raised a brow and pushed you to step back. Your empty hand grabbed his forearm desperately as he bent you backwards over the railing. You felt yourself lifting off the ground, toes of your boots scraping the ground and you scrabbled for purchase.

You could feel the dull end of the cane pressing on the underside of your chin. You gripped his arm tighter and you saw a change in expression. His jaw tensed, the grip on your face faltered, his entire body seemed to go rigged. In that hesitation, you acted.

You found the upside down crow’s head and slammed your foot down on the beak. You felt it slide away before it clattered to the ground. You slashed your knife in a careless move, seeing it skate along the front of his hip. He winced slightly but you let go of his arm, holding to the railing instead. You put the knife’s handle between your teeth and braced the other hand against his chest.

You shoved as hard as you could and he stumbled back. You tumbled over the railing, slamming your side into it as it spun your arm in your socket. You glanced down and the darkness made the water seem hauntingly endless. You turned back to climb up and you saw the silver arc. You yelped and had to switch hands in a hurry, the impact of the crow’s head vibrating through the railing. You thought to yell at him for trying to break your fingers but he swung the cane again. In a panic, you simply let go and fell into the waters.

You were dripping wet when you got home. Your cloak was sticking to your chest, hood heavy against your forehead. Your knife was lost to the waters and your teeth were chattering, loose hairs sticking to your face.

“Send Melli to my office when she returns.” You told one of the snakes in the common room as you stomped away, leaving squishing sounds and wet footprints in your wake.

Almost immediately after you slammed the door, a light knock sounded before it opened. You turned and saw Melli.

“You’re unharmed?” You asked. You were worried but your voice was level. The cold waters had seeped the heat of your anger and worry away.

“Yes.” She nodded and you could see her trying to hide the smile. “The owner’s willing to sell, but he isn’t the majority owner. He says that’s why it doesn’t seem as profitable lately. Once ownership changed, he stopped advertising or putting in much effort other than paying the bills and bringing in enough for his family!”

“Fine. How much does he want?”

“5,000.”

You blew out a sigh and unclasped your cloak, draping the fabric over your desk with a wet thump. “I supposed it’s fair if he doesn’t own it all. What can you put in?”

“What?” Her smile fell.

“You wanted it. You’ll run in. You need to put in. I’ll cover some and the snakes’ coffers will do the rest. So what can you put in?”

“Um.” She tugged her sleeve and you glared at the nervous movement of her hand. “Maybe… 1200?”

“Good. I can give 1800, and then the other two wi-“

“If you put in more than me, doesn’t that undermine what I put in?”

“First.” You held up a hand. “Don’t cut me off, Melli. I’ve had a horrid night, if you couldn’t tell, so I’m in no mood.”

She closed her mouth tightly and nodded.

“Second, it’s not about you or me putting in more. It’s about lessening the strain on our gang’s funds. We’ll meet tomorrow night with him. Now, who’s the majority owner?”

“You won’t like it.” She sighed.

“Who, Haskell? Because I swear if I have to deal with Brekker again so soon.”

“You saw Dirtyhands?” She quirked a brow. “I suppose that explains why you look like a wet cat.”

“Yes, and he is continuing the infuriating habit of making my life difficult. He nearly broke my fingers before throwing me into the canals. And he thinks I’m you.”

“What?” She laughed.

“He found out your name as my lieutenant and he thinks my hooded charade is you, which means you need to be more careful for a while with your name. Understood?”

“Of course.” She began fiddling with her sleeve. “Do you still want an alliance?”

“I want to watch my father suffer.” You said plainly, leaning your palms flat against your desk. “I want to take from him the same he took from me as a child, and if it takes wooing Kaz Brekker - who wants the same thing, mind you - into some sort of partnership, so be it. Now for Gods’ sakes, Melli, quit picking at your cursed sleeve and be a lieutenant! Who’s the majority owner?”

Her hands folded behind her back and she righted her posture. She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

“Pekka Rollins.”

“Truly?” You smiled and she nodded. “Well, maybe this is a good idea after all.”

The next night, you dressed for the first public appearance of Davina Rollins since her disappearance. You left your hair loose and left your cloak. Instead, you wore a fitted vest, similar to a corset but with thicker straps and less restriction of your breathing. It was another Grisha made item but this one had been far cheaper than your cloak. You had gotten it from a Fabrikator at port who had deserted the Second Army so she was willing to give it away for practically nothing. It had several knife sheaths and was damn near impenetrable.

You wore it over a dark blue long sleeved button up, tucked neatly into your pants, with two knives tucked into their homes. You wore your usual boots and added a pair of black leather gloves. The accessory made you think of Kaz and you found yourself wondering why he had added the gloves. Was it simply for mystery or something more?

You shook the thought away and reached for the last thing you needed. A dark piece of fabric that you had cut and sewn into a makeshift mask. It would cover the lower half of your face and loop over your ears before you pinned it into your hair. The hooded cloak could hide most of what you did, but you needed a statement with a true appearance.

Well, as true as you could risk.

Your deal with the man was easy enough. Paperwork for the sale would be submitted in the morning and you had him send word to your father that he was selling and the new owner wouldn’t pay him anything. You also had him add that you would be at his doorstep at midnight. Melli tried to talk you out of it, but your own spite drove you to it.

“You should meet in neutral territory. Is that what that square is for?” She reasoned and gestured towards the area most deals between gangs were made.

“I don’t know enough about the way it works there.” You shook your head. “Besides, it’s too open. Stadwatch can be bought, people can turn. I won’t risk it.”

“It’s riskier doing this!”

“Well, I’m sure dear old Dad will be too shocked to try to kill me.”

“Davina.”

“Go home, Melli. You know your tasks if I don’t return.”

“Abandon the revenge against Rollins. Forget allying with the Dregs. Make our own name.” She listed with a nod to punctuate each command. “I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. The deal is the deal.”

You were ushered into your father’s office quickly. Two large Dime Lions stood post and your father kept seated at his desk. You crossed your arms and your fingers grazed the handle of the blades. You were glad to know they were easy to reach.

“What business?” He finally spoke.

Hearing his voice sent a chill through you. He sounded the same, yet completely foreign. He had no warmth towards you, no yearning or longing. He wasn’t your father. Just the Barrel Boss, head of the Dime Lions, Pekka Rollins.

“Is that how you speak to your daughter?” You tried and raised a brow. “The power you claim to have has made you cruel.”

“Am I to believe you’re Davina?” He laughed. “My daughter wouldn’t hide. She’d face me as she is.”

“I wouldn’t hide?” You cocked your head. “Papa, I’ve been hiding for years. Who do you think has been building the snakes that have been making neat little dens all across your precious Ketterdam?”

You thought about taunting with the account, but if you lost those funds, your gang might drown unless the gambling hall proves fruitful.

“Snakes.” He spat. “Vile little creatures.”

“Maybe we’re more alike than I wanted to believe.”

A Dime Lion kicked at the back of your knee and you fell. Your father came around his desk and knelt in front of you, jerking your head towards him by your chin.

He stared into your eyes, scanned your face, looked at your hair. He was looking for some resemblance and you hadn’t realized how much you had changed until then. Yes, you had changed your hair, but also the set of your shoulders had changed. You didn’t cower from eye contact. Your voice matured. You held your head higher. Your round, childish cheeks had sharpened.

Even under your mask, after staring enough, he recognized you.

“I thought you were dead, Davi.” He said softly. “Where were you?”

“I tumbled with the Reaper.” You smiled beneath your mask. “I knew my time was coming when I left. I could either die at twelve or at ninety three. You’d be surprised how many thought I was so pretty, they bought a room.”

His mouth opened for a response but you spoke again.

“Yes, my tongue’s grown quite sharp with spite in my time away. I sold off my pride, figured it was easier to focus on that price you put on my head. Ego never pays so I found men who would.”

“You went into the Pleasure Houses?” He sounded disgusted.

“There was no one I wouldn’t fight to get what I wanted. Can’t you see? Worthless parents make stupid kids. Your conscience never compromised, not even when it killed the only two friends I had growing up. Looks like the apple didn’t stray very far.”

“You aren’t my daughter.” He shook his head.

“I am Davina Rollins.” You said firmly. A hard right hook that you didn’t expect hit your jaw.

“I am the only daughter of Pekka Rollins.” A left hook that made your head jerk.

“I am the leader of the snakes.” You saw the next hit coming so you leaned away. “And I will not cower from you.”

You could taste the blood in your mouth while you got back to your feet. You made a show of dusting off your pants before you ran your tongue over your bloodied teeth. You turned your head, pulled your mask down, and spat on the floor, scanning the room to see it was still the two thugs at the door before replacing your cover.

Them plus your father. You might be able to do it. You had two blades but no pistol. Disarming one of the three was a possibility.

“That how you greet your children now?” You commented and adjusted your shirt sleeves. “I feel bad for the boy.”

“Do not speak of my son!” He shouted. “You abandoned your family!”

“Maybe.” You nodded. “And I miss my mother dearly, but that was all I left behind in that house.”

“Watch how you speak to me, Daughter. You may bear my name but you gave up your place here.”

“No, you never intended a place for me here. I was part of your schemes, always, but your empire was never going to be mine… You think I didn’t hear your whispered conversations with Mama? Maybe that’s part of why I decided to build my own. Not why I left, of course, but I’m sure we’ll get to that.”

“Why are you here?” He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“I came to face you.” You explained, putting your arms out to either side dramatically. “As I am, of course. I’m taking possession of that neat little gambling hall a few blocks from the Crow Club.”

“That pisspot?” He laughed. “It brings in pocket change, Davi.”

“First, stop calling me that. You have no right.” You said firmly and you saw one of the men make a move toward you. Your head snapped in their direction. “If you like the bones of your leg intact, do not kick me again.”

He hesitated but stepped back so you faced your father.

“Second, if it’s so poorly, you should be glad I’m taking it off your hands.”

“I keep it as a thorn in Per Haskell’s side.” He explained, waving his hand through the air. “A reminder that I am everywhere.”

“Save me your dramatics, please.” You rolled your eyes. “The paperwork will be submitted and you, dear Dad, will not be involved in my new project.”

“Why do you want it so bad?”

“Profit.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what it’s all about in Ketterdam? In Ghezen’s name and such.”

A faint explosion sounded from outside and you wondered what gang was riled up now.

“That place won’t feed your snakes.” He shook his head.

“I didn’t come for advice.”

“And yet clearly you need it, Little One. How about this? You bring your snakes and come here. We will welcome them with open arms and I can teach you how to truly become what you wish.”

“No.” You said flatly. “My snakes are mine and mine alone. I’d rather die than ever consider your help.”

“You’re a child.” He laughed, the condescension heavy in his words. “You won’t best me.”

A shadow passed by the office window and you could’ve sworn you had seen a glint of silver.

“Like calls to like. I’m sure I’ll make allies.” You answered.

You heard a pistol draw behind you.

“Tell your man to stand down.” You warned and your hand inched towards your blade.

A second pistol.

“You should’ve called to meet in neutral territory, Davi.” He sighed, then signaled to the men behind you. “It was nice to see you, one last time.”

You felt the hand on your arm and you reacted. You freed your knife and slashed, cutting a deep line across the man’s face. You whirled and saw the pistol raising. You gasped and dropped to the floor, the bullet landing somewhere in the wall. You reached forward and grabbed the man’s pant leg, yanking it towards you till he fell to his back and the gun fell away.

You sprung for it but the heavy foot of the other pinned your hand down. You cried out and you felt the squish of your flesh against the ground. Your other hand guided your knife along the back of his ankle, slicing through the tendon, and the man’s leg gave out. You rolled away and clutched your hand to your chest.

With heavy breaths, you jumped up and held firmly to your knife, the other hand still pulsing from the pain.

Another explosion, this one close enough to rock the building. You glanced towards the window but you saw your father pointing a gun at you.

“Oh Saints.” You complained, missing the safety of your cloak. “All this trouble just to kill me, Papa?”

“It’s not personal, Davi.” He almost looked regretful.

“Feels personal.”

You threw the knife in your hand before he fired. The blade buried itself to the hilt in his shoulder and it made his arm jerk, his shot going off course and he fell into his chair. The bullet burrowed into your own shoulder - of course it managed to miss the protection - and you couldn’t help but cry out. The force of the bullet made your arm jerk back and you stumbled towards the wall behind you. You slammed your hand against the wound as the pain shot down your arm.

You took in the scene ahead of you and quickly plotted a way out. There was only one Dime Lion standing, still armed. The fallen one had dropped his gun, as did your father. You could see he was torn between helping your father and going after you. You, however, needed to get out. You figured the gunshots would’ve called more Lions on the other side of the door, and the office was too high for you to take the window, so you needed a pistol of your own. You took a deep breath, clenched your jaw, and dove for the closest gun.

As soon as your wounded shoulder hit the ground, you winced sharply but refused to let it stop you. You held the pistol tightly, ignoring the way it felt slick in your bloodied hand, and dared a glance at your father. His Dime Lion had decided to help him instead of pursue you so you ran.

You burst through the door and found a surprisingly empty hallway. You didn’t hesitate, barreling down and taking the stairs two at a time. Every step sent a jolt through your arm and you cursed your father’s name each time. When you made it to the ground floor, that’s where you found the rest of his gang.

They were shooting at something in the streets but a few saw you come into the room. They pointed and opened their mouths, but your bullets came faster than their voices. You shot at their chests, bullets piercing lungs and hearts, before you ditched the gun and climbed through a nearby window. It took you into an alley and you crept along the building till you reached the street.

Habitually, you reached for your hood but found nothing. You sighed and ran a hand over your face, smearing the still wet blood along with the sweat on your forehead. The cold feeling of the leather was a stark contrast to your burning skin and the searing pain, so different you flinched away from it, but it also reminded you of Kaz. You groaned slightly and wiped your sleeve across your eyes instead.

You shook the thought and peered out into the streets. Your meeting had gone completely array and with the fire fight and explosions in the street, you needed a new way home. You took a few steps out and looked deeper into the night, trying to figure out what they were shooting at. You saw nothing, not even return fire. Curious, you dared another couple steps.

“Hey!” Someone yelled. “It’s Davina!”

“Get her!”

“Don’t kill her! The boss wants her alive!”

No he doesn’t.

You turned and ran. The pumping of your arms caused more blood to seep from your shoulder and you tried to ignore the pain. You looked over your shoulder just once and saw three of the Dime Lions in pursuit. They were smaller than the build your father usually employed, but you assumed it made them better for chases like the one you were currently involved in.

You knew you couldn’t go straight home. You’d lead them right to your snakes. There was a smaller place closer, a safe house that you had commandeered from the Razor Gulls before you had your current building. It wasn’t much but it was safe enough, with what you’d need to clean and bandage your shoulder.

You made a mental note to put out word you were looking to employ a Healer.

As you were running, a hand grasped your wrist and pulled you into an alley. You screamed but their other hand covered your mouth as you were pinned to the wall. Their body was pressed lightly against yours, your back flat against the wall, while they watched the streets instead of looking at you.

Your eyes were wide until you recognized who it was.

Kaz.

You sighed deeply in a strange sense of relief. Kaz was in no way your ally but at least he was familiar and unlikely to kill you in the alley. You two stayed huddled in the alley until the Lions ran by, shouting about which direction you went.

When you could no longer hear their footfalls, he backed away.

“You’re bleeding.” He said with a frown.

“I’m aware.” You said through heavy breaths. “Hurts like hell too, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

You rolled your eyes slightly. “Why are you here, anyways?”

“Are you really questioning me when I just saved you?”

“Yes, because you don’t just appear when someone needs saving, Kaz.”

“I heard you were meeting with your father. I wanted to see if it was true.” He said with a small shrug, as if you should’ve known.

“And do you believe it?” You asked.

He stared at you in study for a minute. His eyes seemed to take the same path your father’s did. Your eyes, your nose, your face shape, your hairline. He looked you up and down before the ghost of a smile graced his lips and he gave you a small nod.

“Hello, Davina.” He finally answered and you smiled behind your mask.

“Hello, Kaz.” You replied, relief plain in your voice. “It’s good to finally talk.”

“We should get you to a Healer.” His tone changed and you saw a shift in his body language as well. Tension, control, like elastic ready to snap. Your brows furrowed and suddenly felt no relief in his sudden appearance.

And he hadn’t answered what he was doing there.

“No.” You said carefully. “I don’t want to go to Nina Zenik.”

“I didn’t say Zenik.”

“You didn’t have to. Why are you here?”

“I’ll explain later, but you won’t hear any of it if you decide

to bleed out in an alley.” He snapped.

“You’ll explain now.” You pulled your blade. You knew he was right. You were still losing blood, though it had slowed. You were tired, light-headed, growing weary with every step. Your bulleted arm was growing heavy, more useless with every pump of blood that left. But you would die fighting the Bastard of the Barrel if that’s what it took. “Or you can bleed out with me.”

“Dammit, Davina.” He sighed. Another figure appeared at the entrance to the alley and you whirled on them quickly.

You grabbed their shirtfront and slammed them against the wall. His hands went up in surrender as your blade threatened his throat.

“Woah!” He said quickly. “You wouldn’t slit my throat if I’m unarmed, would you?”

It took you a second but you recognized him.

“You’re Jesper Fahey. You’re never unarmed.” You countered.

At that, he grinned widely. “True, but you can see my hands, Love.” His eyes darted to your shoulder. “And I think you’ve already taken one bullet tonight.”

You shoved off him and glared back to Kaz.

“Oh, Saints. Kaz!” Jesper complained. “You shot her?”

“I did no such thing.” He said plainly. “The idiot got herself shot somewhere else.”

“A parting gift from my father.” You spat. “If you were just here to verify I was alive, why bring your sharpshooter?”

“If you think I’m daft enough to plot against the Dime Lions alone, then you’re a fool.” Kaz countered and you didn’t miss the hint of condescension.

It made you think the figure from before wasn’t just shadows. “No, I suppose that’s my job, as you do so like to point out.” You looked to the rooftops.

“The Wraith here too?” You asked.

“She’s good.” Jesper praised. “Maybe we shouldn’t-“

“Shut up.” Kaz muttered. “Davina, Dear, we really should go.”

“What were the explosions?”

“Wylan’s handiwork.” Jesper said proudly. “Nothing dangerous, moreso just sound and some bright lights.”

“It shook my father’s building.” You deadpanned.

“Well.” He grinned again, his face alight with the thrill of a fight. “Maybe a little dangerous.”

“This wasn’t curiosity.” You turned on Kaz, his expression as unreadable as ever but he gave up the charade. “This was a heist. You wanted to kidnap me. Was my lieutenant not enough? Breaking her ribs, throwing her into the canals, that wasn’t enough?”

“You think me a fool?”

“You don’t want to know what I think you are.”

“Your lieutenant is a girl named Melli. She was visiting a small gambling hall last night and, funny enough, she didn’t wear that little cloak. And her hair was a different color, different cut, and her face was rounder than the hooded one. So, either you have multiple lieutenants or the girl you send out is someone else. Which is it, Dear?”

He knew something. You could see it in his eyes, even in the minimal light. You could hear it in his voice. He knew more than he was claiming, and he wanted to goad you into a confession.

“I’m going home.” You said firmly, though you could feel your hand with your blade trembling. “I’m hurt. I’m tired. I’m pissed off and in no mood to fight with you, Brekker.”

“No, we’re due for quite the chat.”

You sighed and tucked your blade away. You looked to Jesper, who was a bit uncertain of what to do next.

“Sorry about this.” You muttered.

His brows furrowed and as he opened his mouth to speak, you punched him in the throat. He coughed and grabbed his throat, so you grabbed his forearms and shoved him at Kaz. Both men fell in a heap so you took off running towards your little safe house.

You’d clean your wound, pry out the bullet, sleep off the worst of the pain. In the morning, you’d meet with your unnamed Healer before you returned home and planned what the hell you were going to do next.

91 notes · View notes

sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

if you give a spider a pastry... | miguel o'hara

Summary: Mango turnovers and a bloody Spider-Man. Basically, a regular night in New York.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x baker!gn!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: injured Miguel (he's okay dw), brief arguing. mostly fluff and sass. first meeting.

A/N: hi y'all! I watched ATSV yesterday and the Miguel brainrot has advanced <3 this is my first time including Spanish in a fic. Since Miguel is Mexican, I did research and tried to incorporate Mexican slang. It's not the responsibility of any reader to correct me—however, I appreciate corrections of the Spanish, if offered. :)

A/N 2: also, the timeline/universe details are vague in this one, but I pictured that the reader is not in Earth-2099.

If you enjoy this fic, please let me know through comments and reblogs ♡

the divider

Something is trying to crawl into your dumpster.

You've armed yourself accordingly (got a dust broom out of the closet) and after fifteen minutes of agonizing over whether you should go outside or go to bed, you have decided you are going to deal with the pesky raccoon once and for all. Or cat. Or opossum. Whatever. You just hope it doesn't have rabies.

Slowly, you edge open the back door of the kitchen to the bakery. You tap the outside railing a couple of times with your broom. Clink clink. There's no sound in response, so you step out a little further, hitting the broom bristles against the stairs.

"Ba-boom, ba-boom!" you shout into the alley. You'd read you're supposed to make noise to scare off raccoons. Or was it bears?

No, that doesn't make sense. When's the last time you saw a damn bear in New York?

You wait, heart rate climbing. There's no more noise, so you open the door all the way and quickly shut it behind you, gripping the broom with both hands. You jump out into the open.

The dumpster is covered, which is wildly embarrassing for you. However, right next to the dumpster is a giant dude in what you assume is a Spider-Man costume, though it's not like the one you've seen.

His stomach is covered in blood.

"Holy fuck," you say, dropping the broom. "Shit. Fuck! Oh my—uh, s-stay right there, don't move."

"Sound advice," he says dryly, startling you. "I was going to do a little dance for you."

Okay. Blood loss has different effects on people. You can't take it personally; this dude has half his guts in the alley.

You grit your teeth and pull out your phone, shakily typing in your passcode. As soon as you do, a glowing orange rope—web?—shoots out and yanks your phone right out of your hand.

"No," he grits out. "Todo bien."

"Everything is not fine. What is wrong with you, dude? You're bleeding out!"

"I'm not bleeding out, dude; most of the blood isn't mine."

"Yeah, that's definitely not true," you say. "Look, I don't know what would possess a person to come out here ten o'clock at night and do… whatever this is, but I'm not letting someone die next to my dumpster. Give me my phone!"

"No," he says, hissing in pain as he shifts his weight. "You're overreacting and hysterical."

"Hysterical?"

You can't see his face but you know he's rolling his eyes.

"Can you relax?" he asks. "Chale, I'm not itching to bleed out next to your dumpster. I'll be on my way as soon as my body repairs itself enough for me to move."

"You're literally insane, man. Absolutely bonkers. You've lost your Silly String."

"Silly String…" he echoes.

You strut up to him and try to snatch your phone. He dodges you a couple of times, then swats at you like a cat.

"Enough," he snaps. "Don't make me web you."

"Web me? Okay, you know what? Screw you, man. I'm not gonna call anybody. Bleed out for all I care. Keep the goddamn phone, I'll get a new one. Christ."

You pick up your broom and stomp up the stairs, yanking open the back door and slamming it behind you. Fucking New Yorkers. First rule of living here: mind your business! You try to be a good Samaritan and get verbally accosted by Spider-Man on steroids. Typical.

You fume for about two full minutes, glaring angrily at your shelf of baking trays. Then you hear the bane of your existence groan in pain outside. All the anger leaves you.

You can't just ignore him. Accelerated healing or not, he's vulnerable. What if someone tries to attack him?

This is probably the worst idea you've ever had. You walk to the fridge anyway and pull out two mango turnovers. You nuke them in the microwave, which physically pains you to do, but you're in a time crunch, so.

You open the door gently this time and step outside.

"Spider-Man?" you ask quietly.

You hear him sigh.

"¿Qué quieres?"

You go down the stairs and walk so you're in view again. He hasn't moved from his position. Your phone rests on his uninjured thigh.

"Sorry for yelling at you," you say.

He stiffens, then looks away.

"You don't need to apologize. I… Soy un cabrón."

"Yeah," you say, walking over and sitting across from him. "Little bit."

He sniffs the air, his suit's eyes narrowing at you. You set the paper plate with the pastry on his thigh and take your phone back.

"What's this?"

"It's a mango turnover," you say. "I've been experimenting this week."

"Why is it on my leg?"

"What, did you think I was gonna feed you?"

"Take it," he orders. "I don't want it."

"Are you allergic? I have other flavors."

"The flavor is not the problem."

You bite into your own pastry. You puff out air, trying to cool it down.

"Ih hah," you tell him through a mouthful.

"Oh, really?" he deadpans.

You swallow. "I'm trying to extend an olive branch here, Spider-Man. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Why did you come back out?" he asks exasperatedly.

"I didn't want you to be alone," you say. "What if someone tries to pull off your mask and ruin your secret identity? That's, like, totally devastating in the superhero world, right?"

"And what exactly would you do if they did? Throw a pastry at them? Whack them with your broom?"

"I'm wily," you say, biting into your pastry. "You should eat it before it gets cold."

"No."

"They came out pretty good, if I do say so. Priya—she's my other baker—had her doubts, and I did too, honestly. But this seems like a success."

He remains stoic, likely glaring at you. You finish your pastry and flick the crumbs off your mouth.

"You'd be doing me a favor, taste testing," you add. "Gotta make sure it suits other people's palettes."

"I already did you a favor by getting rid of the people who did this," he says, gesturing to the blood.

Your mouth pinches unhappily.

"I wish you'd let me take you to the hospital."

"It's unnecessary. I'll be fine soon."

"You're nuts, Opossum-Man."

"Opossum-Man?" he asks, sounding comically offended. "I'm clearly a spider."

"I think that's subjective," you say. "But I'm only calling you that because I thought there was an opossum in my dumpster. Turns out it was you."

"That's ridiculous," he says. "Wait, what do you mean it's subjective? I'm obviously Spider-Man."

"Well, what are the pointy things under your eyes?" you ask. "Those throw me off. They look like fangs. I thought you were supposed to be a spider. Those are, like, bat features."

"Spiders do have fangs," he says with a huff. "How do you think they incapacitate their prey?"

"I think you're giving the New York public school system way too much credit here, dude. I didn't learn all that. We had a unit about bees. How come there's no Bee-Man?"

He scoffs. "What would that even entail? A guy who flies around pollinating the city?"

You giggle.

"You're kinda funny, Spider-Fangs."

"I do stand-up in my spare time. Speaking of…"

He pushes himself to stand with a quiet grunt. You stand with him, arm outstretched in case he needs help. Not that he'd take your help. But still.

He's a big guy. You'd figured as much by his giant shoulders, but standing in front of him really puts it into perspective. You have to crane your head to see his face.

He hands you the plate. You pull the saddest pout you can muster.

"You're not even gonna taste it?" you ask.

"No."

"Okay," you mumble, defeatedly taking the plate.

He looks at you for a long moment, then tilts his head forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Mierda—okay, fine. One bite."

You bounce on your toes as he takes the turnover and lifts his mask up to his nose. You're transfixed by his exposed skin, the dark freckle on his jaw, his full bottom lip. Wow.

He barely opens his mouth, biting the corner. He chews, swallows, and pulls down his mask. You miss the view immediately.

"It's good," he says.

"Holy crap, was that a compliment? Did Spider-Man call my pastry good?"

"I take it back."

"You can't," you inform him cheerily. "I'm going to put it on my advertisements. Opossum-Man approved! Sales will skyrocket."

He walks away, limping only slightly. Well, you suppose that's better than how he was half an hour ago.

"Good night!" you call after him.

He pauses, then turns.

"How are you getting home?" he asks.

"Oh, I live right above," you say, pointing behind you. "No worries."

He nods.

"Órale. Don't visit uptown for a while."

You salute. "You got it, Opossum."

He flings a web string and then he's gone. It's only then that you look at the plate and realize he took the pastry with him. You can't help your little grin.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara imagine #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse x you #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction

882 notes · View notes

sordidmusings · 2 months

Text

Sweetly Scented Secrets - Intro (Reader x CYOE Various)

Summary: On a stop to a new island, you managed to find yourself at a witch's stall. Despite yourself, you actually bought some things. The purchase that vexes you is a perfume that could supposedly urge confessions out of those it targets.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: this is some good ol’ Nonsense that came from this ridiculous video of a man spraying himself with perfume then seemingly being unable to keep divulging So Much so suddenly 💀 I have been told that he frequently dissociates into a state of info dumping. I will choose to believe the perfume compelled him. And thus it will compel the blorbos. Some will be sfw and some nsfw (and tagged accordingly of course). All will likely be goofy. I will play with which is which and who happens based on my fancy unless requested! This gets out first cuz it was p much done Forever Ago so all I had to do was fill it out and edit it and make a mood board then set it to come out on a Monday cuz Fuck Em

Warnings: gn! reader (I tend to write from afab perspective since that’s what I am so if something slips please let me know 🤍 this goes for all my gn!), a wild OC appears! Take her in all her cringy glory 👌🏻, I just always wanna write witches man, can’t decide if magic (largely in the modern western esoterica sense) being legitimate counts as canon divergence, if so then this is canon adjacent 🤷🏼‍♀️

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

A spiritual crisis was not how you wanted to start your morning.

You were stuck between the deep-rooted desire to believe in magic and every skeptic you’ve ever known talking down their nose at you. It felt like a very unbalanced war between the two. The weight of scorn had tamped down your wish for magic to be fact for years, but a wanting pit in your chest still clung to “what if”. That pit had begun to grow roots and stems as the Grand Line showed you places and life beyond the scope of your imagination. What explanation was there for Devil Fruits besides magic? Though, magic, it seems, was only for Gods to deal out. Earthly life must keep trying to use science to catch up or fight for what scraps the Gods toss their way.

You continued to stare dubiously at the carved stone bottle in your hand. Delicate, swooping letters decorated its soft pink label, spelling out “Affection’s Confession” in deep violet. Gold accents brought out their curves and matched the shimmering golden wax that sealed the bottle’s cork and dripped down to crawl on the translucent fluorite vessel. It sat heavy in your hand, each second passing with it in your palm adding another gram to it then another and another. You sighed and placed it back on your dresser to stare some more. The light dancing through the sloshing clear liquid, bouncing and glimmering through lines of blue and green and purple, only made it more enticing to you.

Your hesitation was exacerbated by the perfume’s seller. Well, maybe potion was a better word? Saying “potion” made you feel silly though, even if it was given to you by a witch. And that brings you back to the whole problem.

The last island you’d visited was known for its strange customs and belief in the arcane. Most weren’t living by the practice; just knew of its validity as yet another mundane fact of life. Finding the actual practitioners was much harder, or it was supposed to be.

You would’ve had to have been blind or willfully, stubbornly ignorant to see that woman and think anything other than “witch”. Feathers and beads were tied in her dark hair, swaying in time with her vertebrae earrings on each turn of her head to watch passersby. You kept your eyes to them as you approached her, feeling unsettled and intrigued by the strange decorations. Shortly after you began heading towards her, her face snapped to you and she zeroed in, making you feel like a rabbit stalled before a fox. When she stood from her seat and sashayed over to greet you in front of her stall, you realized she was barefoot, sporting wood and leather anklets instead of shoes. The music they beat with each of her steps and the open smile that warmed her face eased you just a bit.

“Hello, sweet thing,” she greeted, the cheery tone of her voice ringing out the pet name. “I can help you find just what you need. The coven and I have built a stock to aid any situation, including yours.”

As she leaned forward in a semblance of a bow, you noticed her large necklace of braided bramble (Thorns still on? you noticed incredulously) hung low, holding dried roses in front of her cleavage. The languid way it followed her matched the nature of the scant drapings of deep red and dirty beige fabric, which hung on her in the vague shape of a summer dress. She held out her suntanned arms, palms up to ask for your hands. Having her this close nearly made you step back; something unnatural lived in the air around her and her tawny eyes saw right through doors and walls and words and skin. Feeling hesitant, you continued to meet her gaze and only offered a mumbled greeting.

“Come now, let me have your hands,” she encouraged gently. “They’ll tell me what you need.”

“How are they supposed to do that?” you asked curtly. “And I usually like knowing someone’s name before hand-holding.”

“Call me Pythia,” she chimed immediately, still holding her bent posture and asking hands. “I don’t have the time to explain the hands. I promise I won’t keep them though.” She giggled at her own… joke? You were hoping that was a joke. You eyed the peeks of death behind her (articulated bugs here, bones there, jarred creatures, hides, blood-) that made all the pretty wares around them seem tainted.

Watching her laugh was the first time you noticed the knack her loving smile had for curling into something more impish, cluing you in that she knew something you didn’t. Despite this making her feel even more dangerous to interact with, you put your hands in hers.

“Thank you, lovely,” Pythia said, voice heavy with a gratefulness that didn’t seem to fit the moment to you. While she cradled your hands, you took in the many carved rings and bangles of stone, leather, metal, and bone cautiously.

That caution had rooted itself to you and was very stubbornly sticking to your feelings about her wares. Besides the perfume, you had purchased an herbal pouch to hang over your bed, meant to aid with ease and depth of sleep. The first night, you noticed your mind was much calmer than its usual anxious whirring before bed. The second night, you listened to the first of her instructions and took ten deep breaths through your nose against the sigil-embroidered pouch. Your sleep came mere minutes after taking in the floral and earthy scent. It had you decide to try out the full instructions, adding on asking the herbs for good rest, placing a gentle kiss to the sigil, and sealing it with a long press of your forehead to the marking. You slept like the dead.

The success had you brainstorming on how to make it back to her in a few months, as she had warned you that the effects will fade with use. It has only been three weeks since your first full ritual with the pouch and you can already feel it start to wane just a bit. You mourned this morning when the sun through your window had actually managed to rouse you from sleep. When you were grumpily blinking at the bright light, you had noticed the perfume bottle still sitting untouched next to the beaming light.

If the pouch worked then shouldn’t this?

That hope was what led you to stare over the bottle as you were now, and try to convince yourself that it wouldn’t be so ridiculous to try out. After all, you had felt quite stupid speaking to your herb pouch and that feeling paled in comparison to the benefits it brought you. You took another minute to mull it over then steeled yourself with a deep breath to go through opening up the bottle.

You found and flipped open your pocket knife before settling on your bed with the bottle. As Pythia had instructed, you placed a kiss on each flat side of the blade before cutting around the rim of the bottle, right where the cork met glass. You thanked the blade and flipped it back closed. You twisted the cork out, took a deep breath filled with curiosity, and smelt… nothing?

Pulling the opening of the bottle to press on your upper lip, you took another long sniff. Yep. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You frowned at the bottle, wondering if the witch had actually managed to sell you snake oil. You sent your narrowed gaze to the herb pouch above your bed then back to the bottle in your grip, mulling over your trust in the liquid. Eventually, a mix of previous success and your burning curiosity got you to continue trying the perfume out. You were also pretty sure you saw actual snake oil in her shop, so that handed the witch a point for gumption and a deduction from trickery.

Her instructions were quite detailed for the perfume to be at its most potent. Things about the meanings associated with fingers and the places on the body and the importance of the order and all of it seemed to jumble together. When you asked if she had anything to write it down, she shrugged and told you what you remembered of the instructions was the act meant for you to take. Maddeningly unhelpful. So you sat on your bed and ran them through your memory until you were sure you recalled everything as clearly as possible. After a good while meditating on it, you were surprised by the detail that your mind let you recall of it. You were ready.

Blocking the small opening with your right ring finger, you overturned the bottle and flipped it back, leaving a drop of the substance on your fingertip. After repeating the process on the other side, you took to dabbing the prescribed spots with those fingers, making sure your right hand touched your left side and your left hand touched your right. You focused on following the list exactly - a dot on the front of each ankle, a dab on the center of the top of the thighs, one on each hip bone, a small swipe along each bottom rib. Each application was made with a whisper of “I can receive”.

Refreshing the liquid on your fingers, this time your pinky fingers, you continued to the next section. You placed a dab at the center of each clavicle, a swipe on the back ends of the jaw, and a circle on each temple, this time muttering “I can hear” with each touch. The liquid placed on each middle finger was rubbed into the opposite wrist to the words “I can unlock”. Lastly, you used your index fingers to draw a star on your third eye. This time right stayed with right and left with left when you flicked the bottom points to aim at your irises (“I can see”) and the side points to follow your brow (“I can know“). Your fingers joined together to draw the final point directly towards the crown of your head. With finality, you voiced a solid and steady “I can understand”.

Once you had finished applying, you noticed a sweet smell start to emanate from your skin. It was quite delicate at first, luring you to lean closer and seek it out. That pull only increased as you also sought more of the pleasant sensation warming your mind with each lungful of the scent. After a good thirty seconds, it leveled out, leaving you feeling boneless and content like you’d woken from a nap basking in the sun. The face of your love smiling down on you during a lazy summer afternoon flashed in your mind with the feeling.

Okay, maybe this will make them confess to me.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Whose confession do you seek?

(list of who I have ideas for in no particular order) Law, Ace, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Koby, Luffy, Buggy, Mihawk

Other names are not unwelcome, just the juices weren't flowing for others vibing immediately with the energy of this prompt but tbh sometimes the challenge of that makes better fics. If you do want to request, please include sfw or nsfw and whether you want gn, afab, amab, fem, or masc. If you don't then my personal default is afab (female physiology, avoided or they/them pronouns for gender). I'm a bit nervous about writing transfem and transmasc properly, but so long as you're okay giving it a once over and pointing if I've made mistakes so I can correct them then I'm happy to try!

Also I had to fight the urge to start this with a dumbass joke hard lol the other first lines were "There are two wolves within you. Both of them are telling you this is likely a crock of shit."

55 notes · View notes

ardentpoop · 6 days

Note

If it's okay to ask: what are your thoughts on meg and sexual assault? I really dislike the way a lot of people on here talk about it (and meg, especially meg 2.0, in general) so I wanted to hear your view on it if you'd like to share!

not totally sure if you mean you’re bothered by how people discuss meg as a perpetrator or meg as a victim, because one could easily argue both. there are obvious allusions to rape re: meg possessing sam’s body in BUABS (just as every possession arc incorporates allusions to rape - most notably sam’s as he is at the heart of the majority of these arcs and also because well. The Roles.) and there are also of course the scenes where meg gets grabby with both sam and dean as a show of force.

I’m gonna assume however that you’re referring to people speaking about meg 2.0 in a demeaning manner and not recognizing the excessive misogynistic violence she is subjected to as a character, because come on. I know what this fandom is like. the two key episodes that come to mind for me are “caged heat” and “goodbye stranger.” gonna share some dialogue excerpts to get my point across, but you could even just count how many times dean refers to meg as a “bitch” in caged heat because it is frankly impressive that the writers (this one was tag-teamed by a duo and neither of them are familiar names) were so committed to it in just the one episode.

[caged heat]

notes on the above excerpts:

as with all demons who inhabit female vessels meg’s sexuality is a main ingredient of her characterization as a villain. she speaks overwhelmingly in slimy innuendo and flirtatious-quips-as-insults, she forcefully kisses and touches sam and dean without their consent, she is frequently referred to as a “whore” accordingly. it’s worth noting however that although in this episode meg weaponizes her sexuality (as expected for every character like her) against samndean while she supposedly has them tied up at her mercy, it is soon revealed that meg cannot actually harm samndean and is on the run from crowley - the brothers have the upper hand and her threats are ultimately empty. meg’s power is taken from her at the very start of this episode.

compare meg being tortured by crowley’s henchman to crowley being tortured by meg moments later within the same episode. she is naked and strapped down, she is being assaulted with a knife. the dialogue smacks you over the head with implied rape, as if the scene wasn’t brutal enough on its own. what does crowley get in return from meg, when he greets her as “whore” immediately after this assault scene? he gets to writhe around a bit on the floor, fully-clothed of course. “the best torturers never get their hands dirty,” huh? convenient!

on top of all this we for some reason also needed cas testing out his Porn Tricks on meg - which, don’t get me wrong, I’ve always kind of had a weird soft spot for megstiel (gay edit), but you have to admit that the timing and the context rankles. recurring Woman Character who doesn’t serve as a love interest or sexual interest for one of the boys is very hard to come by around here.

[goodbye stranger]

robbie thompson committed many sins with this (tbfh) godawful episode but what I want to point out here specifically is the continuation of meg being victimized by crowley. with bonus treat of sam being spoken to in the same sexually demeaning manner, as I suppose is only fair and right when both meg and sam were given the “wait outside while the men take care of business, frail maiden” treatment because thompson could not resist an opportunity to serve up dstiel bait that interfered with the structure and logic of the episode as well as with dean’s (and meg’s!) characterization.

TL;DR yeah uh the fans never talk about any of this because they’re too high on dstiel fumes to critique anything about the writing if they’re getting their tasty tasty little flavorless morsels from the like 3 guys on the writing team who were willing to feed them.

sorry for being mean but not really bc you guys are so annoying and dense about the already horrifically mistreated female characters on this show. wish I knew specifically what types of meg takes you don’t like anon so I could confirm whether they’re the ones that are a product of people despising female characters who “get in the way.”

#anyway meg is a man to me. out of sheer spite but also BUABS gender fuckery forever #6.10 #8.17 #that got long so new tag #episode breakdowns #asks #anon #meg #botched exorcism

28 notes · View notes

elfqueen006 · 1 year

Text

The Lifeguard Part 1

Sunny Day Jack x Reader

---

Tags/CW: summer camp au, camp counselor au, horror, slasher, enemies to lovers. Reader is a bitch at first but eases up on Jack.

Minors DNI

You were the worst candidate to choose for a counselor, much less a counselor-in-training. You were crass, unqualified, and a slob to boot. But Sunny Day Jack, the camp mascot, couldn’t say anything because the kids took to you like ducks to scattered bread, and the head counselor admired your “can do attitude”. He’d just have to put up with you for the rest of the summer and to steer clear of the water…

Oh yeah another thing: You were the lifeguard.

“Cannon ball!”

Jack looked up from his clipboard to see one of the kids racing across the docks before jumping in the lake, making a large slash that sprayed everyone within distance.

“Hey, hey! No running on the docks, guys!” He said.

You however, clapped and whooped from your chair. “Sick dive, David!” You cheered.

The boy came up from the water and grinned at you.

Jack marched up to your chair and glared at you, “They’re not supposed to run on the docks,” he said, enunciating his words, “and as the lifeguard you should know it’s your responsibility if anything happens to them!”

“And I’ll take full responsibility, Jack-o. Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control,” You replied coolly. You drew your finger down your face like a teardrop and stuck out your bottom lip, “Don’t be a sad clown.”

The kids and counselors giggled upon hearing your joke.

Despite him being the camp mascot, Jack was essentially a counselor himself. Though he had fun – he was responsible. In his late teens as a counselor-in-training, he gradually built himself up to a trusted and respected member of staff.

And yet here you were – a newbie slacker – who was able to reduce him to a common fool with a single remark.

“Lay off,” Skylar said. She was your best friend and polar opposite. Sweet, considerate, and fun loving in a way that wasn’t arrogant or obnoxious. Call it childish, but he thinks he might’ve had a crush on her since this summer started.

She lightly chided you before pinching your leg. Then she gave Jack a sweet smile, brushing her blonde locks from her face. She put a hand on his shoulder and the man just about turned to jelly.

“Don’t mind her, she’s an asshole,” She said with humor, “The kids will be fine. I’m watching them too.”

“Thanks, Skylar.” Jack replied.

He turned to leave but she stopped him, lightly biting her lip as she looked up at him through golden lashes, “I know you don’t drink and all… but the other counselors and I were wondering if you would come with us to the bar tomorrow night? I notice you’ve been stressed lately and I think it’d be good if you let off some steam.”

Jack had a heavy problem with drinking and anything drug related. As in he refused to participate in it and at times discouraged his fellow counselors from doing so, especially when on the job. He knew he came off as preachy, but this place was practically a second home to him. And the staff were like his family. He’d hate to see what’d happen if they fell down a messy path like he did…

Or worse, hurt one of the kids.

Warily, he glanced towards the high chair. “Is she going to be there?”

Skylar bit her lip guiltily, “She is one of the counselors too.”

“Yeah, some counselor…” Jack muttered.

“Hey, sure she’s a jerk sometimes but she’s really cool when it counts!” Skylar said, “Besides, no matter how much she may be, you shouldn’t let that ruin your chance to relax. Don’t you think you deserve that?”

He glowered at you from afar. One of the kids had fallen off a boat and instead of reacting accordingly, you started cackling before being told by another counselor to go and fetch them. But then he looked down and those perfect sky blue eyes looked back up at him. He sighed defeatedly.

“I guess I can make…some kind of compromise. But if it gets too hectic I’ll leave!” Jack said.

“No you won’t,” Skylar said, nudging his arm, “because we’ll need a spotter so we don’t get too drunk and someone to take us home.”

He huffed a laugh, “Right.”

She grinned and sprinted past him, her hair flowing behind her. Halfway to the main cabin, she waved back to him.

“See ya there!”

—

Regret. Sooo much regret. Everyone was a drunken mess. Nay, a frenzy. And Jack wasn’t too far behind. At first he’d been lightly sipping his drink, but it seemed like every inane comment from you drove him to take in more than he intended.

“No no no, you don’t understand. I’m the lifeguard right? Why do these kids come to me like I’m their guidance counselor?” You said.

“You are a counselor!” One of the others replied.

“Yeah but I help with activities and shit, not talk to these kids about why no one will date them at fucking middle school age- like kid! You better go and do some homework!”

Everyone roared with laughter.

“And they’re just gonna sneak in each others’ cabins later sooo-”

“Maybe,” Jack blurted suddenly, “Maybe they wouldn’t be doing that if you educated them properly for once, Y/N.”

You shake your head, “I’m not their sex ed teacher, Jack. Miss me with that.”

“Will you let me finish? If you just did. Your. Jooob,” He smacks his hand in his palm in tune with his words, “then I wouldn’t have to pick up your slack for every time you fuck up!”

The counselors made a collective ‘oohhh’ noise. Things were heating up. Even Skylar watched with interest.

“Oh, okay now we’re getting into it- hold my drink, Ian.” You said, handing your drink to your boyfriend,who drank less out of the whole crowd. Jack also passed his drink to someone.

“Jack, you’ve been on my ass since day one. And you’re just mad that the kids don’t think you’re fun anymore.”

His hazel eyes constricted, “What?”

You shrug coolly.

“You’re out of your mind! They think I’m fun!”

“You’re around those kids waaay too damn much, Jack,” You chuckle, “You got something you’re not telling us?”

“Fuuuck you- FUCK YOU-” He hissed, pointing a gloved finger at you. Skylar pat Ian behind your back and gave him an expectant look. Ian nodded and shook your shoulder lightly, “Baby, that’s a little too far.”

“Yeah, don’t be mean,” Skylar added.

“It’s not my fault he can’t take a little ribbing.” You teased.

The clown rose from his seat, “Oh, I’ll give you ribbing you little-”

A couple of male counselors went to hold him back, but it wasn’t an easy feat. Jack was fucking massive and he almost would’ve gotten to you if not have for the third counselor grappling him from the back of his neck.

Guess he wouldn't be driving anyone home.

—

A massive fucking hangover washed over Jack the day after. He stumbled over his feet as he stepped out of bed. He went to the bathroom and switched on the light. It was a pain on his eyes when he struggled to focus on the mirror. All his makeup was washed off. He was in a regular white tee and his boxers.

He then spotted a blue sticky note on the side of his mirror that read:

Your costume is in the cabinet. Don’t go so hard today, Jack! - SKY

He breathed a laugh. Fuck, he loved her.

When he is dressed in his costume he checks the time and he cringes to see it’s nearly the afternoon. But when he goes outside he’s nearly surprised to see everything is just as it was the day before. Knowing his fellow counselors – knowing Skylar – they had probably just wanted him to rest easy. But it ached to just how easily everyone got along without him…

Everyone had been at their usual stations, guiding the kids, participating in activities… except for you. Your high chair was empty.

Of course.

He walked around to greet everyone and smiled when a few kids from the younger cabins came up to greet him.

“We thought you were gone!” A little girl cried.

“We thought you left us!”

Jack scoffed, “Me? Nooo, I’d never abandon this place. That means I’d leave my kids and we can’t have that right?” Saying this, he ruffled their hair. They laughed, gave him a hug, and went back to their assigned counselors.

Right after, the head counselor, Bill, had come up to greet him. With a smile he slapped him on the back, “Look at you fresh faced and starry eyed! I was worried you were gonna be out of commission for the day.”

Jack shook his head, “Oh no, sir. Not when there’s so much work to be done!”

“That’s nice, well you needn't worry about that for a bit, we’ve got somebody on it.” Bill said.

“...Who?”

He said your name and Jack paled, “She’s got it handled! She doesn’t do much at that chair when she’s on lifeguard duty so Skylar suggested we put ‘er on her feet for a while.”

“That… That’s great, sir.” Jack smiled weakly, something Bill didn’t miss. He puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Now son, I know you kids’ don’t always see eye to eye, but Y/N’s a real swell girl when you get to know her.”

“But why should I?” Jack snapped suddenly, “Why do I need to know her, so she can be nice?!”

“Hey I’m nice!”

The two men looked to the trail near them where you led a line of young teens. Bill pat him on the back before usurping the kids from you and leading them to lunch. You were dressed in a self-made crop top from your original camp shirt and some jean shorts with sneakers. You were somewhat pretty if he looked past your general awfulness. But he didn’t wanna explore you any more than that. Clenching his fists, he started heading in the direction of the cafeteria. But, typical you, you didn’t take the hint and saddled up alongside him.

“Hey.” You said.

“...”

“We should probably hurry up and squash this, the counselors’ are on my ass today. Skylar too.”

“Good.” He remarked bitterly, “I hope they’re on your a- tail- the rest of the summer.”

“Hey, hey- Sunny, hold on!” You step in front of him, blocking his path from the door. He tried to go around you but you kept side stepping him, refusing to let him through. He had half a mind to throw you aside, but he’d have to contain himself. For Bill. The other counselors. Hell, the whole camp. He groaned, steeling himself for whatever drivel you were about to spout.

“Okay so,” You began, “I admit I’m a bitch.”

“No, really?” Jack replied dryly.

“Really. I haven’t been… all that cool to you. Especially last night. But I swear I was only ripping on you a bit, and aside from that alcohol gets me crazy so-”

“This doesn’t sound like an apology.” Jack interrupted.

“Lemme finish, lemme finish!” You urged, “I thought I was only being a bitch in like- a cool way, y’know? And I mean, we’re both adults so… I thought you’d get it?”

Tik tok, Y/N, tik tok.

“I’m sorry,” You said quickly, “okay? I’m so so fucking sorry. And the drinking… It's no excuse because I was being a bitch bitch, not a cool bitch. And I used it as like, more of a booster to my incredible bitchiness so-”

Jack put his hand up, stopping your ridiculous apology, “Alright alright. Apology accepted. Let’s get the hell inside.”

You sidestepped him again, “Wait, no.”

He blinked rapidly before settling his gaze on you with a hard look, “Excuse me?”

“Skylar. She’s been gone awhile, arranging things in the shed.” You said. A flicker of concern flashed across his face.

“Is she alright?” He asked.

“Yeah! She texted me a bit ago. She might need some help though.” You wiggled your brows suggestively.

“...What?”

“Go. Go help her!” Saying that, you shoved his arm opposite to the cafeteria. And for whatever reason he followed your insistent hassling.

He was halfway to the shed, which was right along the forest. He’d gone and fetched things from the shed a number of times but the thought of Skylar being all alone… he didn’t like it. And he couldn’t help but wonder: while your apology was half assed, you seemed to be way more sincere when pushing him in your friends’ direction. Were you trying to …help him with her?

No. No, now that he thought about it, it was more likely you were trying to hook them up.

For some reason that made him snicker.

The thought that counts, I guess.

Soon enough he reaches the supply shed. And for some reason he feels his stomach churn.

He took the opportunity to adjust his hair and jacket, before raising his fist to knock on the door.

“Ian- shit..!”

Jack’s whole body went still. That was…Skylar’s voice. And he was certain of the name she said. Your boyfriends’ name.

He listened further. There was shuffling in the cabin, and creaking. And moaning.

“Yeah..! Right there!”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Sky…”

He was sure of it now. That was Ian’s voice. And they were…

Without thinking, he burst into the shed. There was a shriek from the two of them. They stumbled over their feet trying to cover themselves. Ian fumbled with his pants, covering up that flaccid dick of his. Skylar went for her camp counselor shirt. Her shorts and panties were around her ankles. Her black bra pulled over her breasts…

“Wh-What the fuck?!” Skylar shrieked, “Get out of here!”

“Hold on! Hold on,” Ian said, trying to calm her down. Fully dressed, he started to approach the stagnant clown. “You won’t tell Y/N about this, will you-”

Jack struck him across the face. Skylar shrieked as her lover fell to the hard wood and she tried to make a run for it. Before she could reach the door though, he grabbed her by the hair – her beautiful blonde hair – and pulled her back in the shed. No one could hear their screams for miles.

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sunny day jack x reader #sdj x reader #sunny day jack #sunny day jack x you #sdj x you #swwsdj #sdj jack #sunny day jack fanfiction #swwsdj x reader #summer camp au #camp counselor au #slasher au #the lifeguard #my fics

121 notes · View notes

gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 4 months

Text

Spins Around, Around, Around

Prologue =-= Next

Author's note: Alpharius in Husbandry

Warnings: Let me know if I need to add more.

Summary: He muses on the state of things.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Alpharius is in his guise as 'Zariel' the Ultramarine Apothecary. In order to have that guise he has to be a trained Apothecary. Ultramarines could be pedantic, rules-lawyer, Codex-thumping shit heads who could count the smallest of grains into the trillions of they were in a mood to be that excruciatingly exacting if they chose to. And he's seen them do something similar, which could be terribly interesting, until it got very, very boring.

He'd heard about the Primaris Marines, an interesting concept, and he wonders what had pushed the Imperium to design a newer version of the Astartes program that such a thing was needed. Likely nothing good if they needed faster, stronger, supposedly smarter, harder version of the Space Marine.

He's tried to meet the few that are on base, but they seemed like a terribly skittish bunch, and there were only a few of them, merely a handful in this part of Ancient Terra's hemisphere. So new and rare a model of Marine. There was a great fuss when one of the other Primaris came in with the winged blessing of the Ninth Primarch, one that is so rarely granted to a Blood Angel, or one of the successor chapters.

Or so he's learned from his brothers that were in other locations to learn of such things from their stubbornly closed mouthed cousins. The… fervor of some of the Blood Angels to wanting to meet young Jophiel… raised flags to 'Zariel' and some of the brothers that were imbedded with the Blood Angels and their Successor Chapters.

So they did their best to ensure that a meeting, planned or 'planned' wouldn't take place, as best they can with the contrary shits that are their cousins at times. Besides, the youngster preferred not to meet any First Born Blood Angels especially.

Which spoke of a… Concern, also what he's managed to gather, and this has him shaking his head, how foolish and shorted sighted their brothers in the future could be with the Primaris Marines and how they handled and reacted to them was dangerously dumb.

But- there were… opportunities to be had, contacts to make, and plans to coil and loop and pull them deeper into things if they played their cards right. He just doesn't know what he did to make the Primaris so skittish when he hasn't been able to properly introduce himself to them as 'Zariel the Apothecary'.

Which, he was supposed to have the Black Templar Apothecary Scout on the same rotation as him and do some mentoring of the lad, but he'd chosen to work with Hura of all Chaos Apothecary Space Marines over him. Which almost felt insulting, Hura could be… indulgent at times, and is well known for being patient, and slowly lures in his prey with the slow, persistent hunt of one who knows that he will get what he wants in the end, no matter how long he has to wait.

It's impressive, even if its annoying to deal with and makes it so that the Chaos Marine Apothecary accidentally side steps the less subtle ploys and plays of the Alpha Legion. But the Alpha legion are always very fluid and flexible, willing to change and alter their plans accordingly.

They just need to recalculate and got at it a different way, with an different method. No one escapes the Hydra. No one avoids their notice or gaze, it is the Hydra who monitor things and ensures that certain… Issues aren't noticed by the Public at large, be it Astartes, Custodes, and Human, especially the base line humans of Ancient Terra.

They have spies everywhere, including in those ridiculous 'Human First' cults, and all other cults that have popped up with the advent of the Marines landing here, as well as the cults that were here before they'd shown up. There is a wealth of information that they have gathered and continue to gather.

Black Templars- the fools that they are, and how they try to break the bonds, unless it is… Intense, and even those it depends on the individual and what they become and who they are that is some of the deciding factors on if Death is preferrable to being near a human. Honestly, Sons of Dorn could be so dramatic at times, despite how Stoic and Calm they pretend to be.

Melodramatic sword swinging Zealots the lot of them. Ugh. It gives him a headache just thinking about dealing with their Feral Warbands or 'crusades' as they prefer. The jokes on them, they will not be called a Crusade, because they are feral, spiteful gremlins that have the utter audacity to be Unpredictable, in ways that the Alpha legion almost can't handle.

It is Almost, because the Alpha legion are the best Legion, at what they do and how the can manipulate those around them. Further weaving the webs of lies and manipulating the hatreds and the ways other perceive things so that the webs are suited and perfectly fit for their schemes.

By understanding all that they could, was the Alpha Legion able to stay ahead of everyone else and not be caught off guard, or at least not as badly as the other legions could be. Monitoring Custodes was both more and less difficult. They are Damned Big, Shiny and Gold, people notice when they are nearby, they break whatever Warp-veil there is far quicker, more often, and easily than even the most chaos-twisted of the Marines.

Which is… interesting and something that they monitor. Infrequently, because they really don't want to garner the notice of the Custodes that are on Terra, as few as there are because of how much more brutal and lethal they tend to be… especially if their during and post Heresy. High Handed fuckers think that they are so much better than everyone else. And… well, no one smart would argue against that, even if the truth is more complicated than it first appears in the beginning.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #poor unfortunate souls au #alpharius #alpha legion #alpha legion oc #oc: Alpharius #oc: Zariel

25 notes · View notes

writingfics-passingtime · 1 year

Note

Omg the mixtape requests!! I love the idea!!

The song: like a tattoo by Sade with Bucky Barnes! Specially from the min 1:35 to 2:03 I think you’ll love it x fem reader

The Scar of Age

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: Like a Tattoo

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (romantic, no pronouns used)

Word Count: ~2350

CW: Talking about death and killing, reader has killed people on a mission, kissing, allusions to rough kissing/six (consensual), overwhelmed response that could be interpreted as a panic attack (but isn’t intended to be one)

Note: Thank you for your beautiful request, anon !! (I wrote this for a female reader and then realised no pronouns/gendered descriptions were used, so have tagged it accordingly) When I heard this song the image I instantly had was riding a motorbike through a snowy mountain road, and what was supposed to be a steamy little safe-house number turned into something a little more heavy. I was so inspired by the lyrics of this song, thank you for sharing 💜

The war is still raging inside of me // I still feel the chill // as I reveal my shame to you // I wear it like a tattoo

It’s been growing for months. This budding, rising magnetism alive between you and him. Still unspoken, still untouched, now unfettered.

It started not long after he returned from Wakanda. The attraction was instant, the pull soon became hard to resist but, by the gods, you resisted it with all you had. You kept a respectful and professional distance where possible. He’d been through a lot.

But the breathing room has seen it grow beyond control and now, for the first time in forever, you and Bucky are going to be truly alone.

The frostbitten air bites at your leathers as you snake up the icy switchbacks, giving and taking on the throttle, gently guiding the electric motorcycle through the snowy mountain roads towards somewhere out of the way. To the solitude you had been gifted.

He's sitting behind you, and though he’s an anchor of his own his hands are on your waist. It distracts you more than once and you're sure he knows it because he firms his touch when the bike slows from your wayward thoughts. If he dared to broach the subject, you'd blame the ice on the road. Or would you?

The night had been long and rough. Snowcapped mountains begin to glow as you ride to one of Stark's more isolated houses. The beauty of the new day only makes you feel worse after the events of the night; three enemy guards, dead by your hand.

They will never see another sunrise.

Sure, you had an important job to do to keep the public safe, and sure, they were trying to kill you, but damned you'd be if every life ended by your hand didn't eat away at you.

The dirt feeling that gnaws at your gut is your only place of solace because it still hurts. If it ever stopped hurting, you'd walk away for good. Steve promised to help you disappear if that day comes.

Steve. A wry smile threatens to burst under the helmet as you finally see the house in the distance. Steve is the one who rostered this assignment, knowing where it was, knowing the airspace would be tightly monitored the days after your mission, knowing whoever was assigned to it would need to be under the radar until extraction would be less risky. A few nights at least.

He had arranged all of this in front of a room full of highly-perceptive people. No jibing comments were thrown from the other seats, which was so unusual that awkwardness rushed into the void. The panic of perception started to sink in your bones but when you met Bucky’s eye, you stilled. You ceased to wish the ground would swallow you whole the moment his usually stony glare was soft, almost apologetic, as if he was afraid you’d think he’d done this to get you alone. You didn’t smile, hyperaware of the eyes all around, but the look you returned to him seemed to smooth his frayed edges.

Now, there are no prying eyes. Your quickening heartbeat becomes the score of your final stretch towards this unusual hollow of privacy. The house comes more into view. It’s at the end of a straight stretch of road. You tilt your wrist and roll the throttle. As the bike picks up speed, Bucky’s hands slide from your waist down to rest at your hips. It makes your toes curl inside your boots, and you have to hone your focus on the house you’re fast approaching.

The sharp and grey abode look harsh yet at home nestled into the snow-covered bedrock, and the unforgiving structure looks strange bathed in warm pink sunlight. It’s one of those boxy houses made of cool concrete and glass that looks as if it should always be shrouded in cloud cover, but the windows are alive with the rising sun and it pulls a sad smile to your lips.

You ease the bike to a stop when you reach the gate. Both yours and Bucky’s right feet meet the ground to hold the bike as you punch the code into the gate, which opens along with a hidden garage door beneath the house towards which you slip through the fenced doors and quickly guide the bike down a ramp.

The lights gradually flick on as you slow the bike to its final stop next to a few others. You dismount with haste and pull your helmet and gloves off, blowing hot air on your fingers as you rub your hands together. Bucky swings his leg off the bike and removes his own helmet. Strands of his chestnut hair come loose from the knot at the nape of his neck, striking something real and imperfect against his cold-flushed cheekbones. You steal only a quick glance at his rugged tired eyes before he nods his chin towards a staircase that goes up. “Go warm up. I’ll unload.” All you can do is nod, thankful that you can skip off to find a hot shower. The cold is turning painful and the house, though industrial and cavernous, is already pleasantly warm. It isn’t ridiculously large though, and it doesn’t take you long to find a bedroom.

Earlier on in your career, the preparedness of these houses used to haunt you. Somehow, they always had fresh clothes in your size ready and waiting in the wardrobes. Now, you’re desensitised to it all. It’s just another part of the job.

The hot spray is soon welcoming you to your place of rest, easing that chill that had set into your bones, reminding you that you are now safe. Alone. Your pulse drops to your stomach, you breathe through it, and hope you’re not emanating something less savoury than contentment at being here alone with Bucky.

You’re soon dressed and in an industrial-styled kitchen that overlooks a sprawling, picturesque landscape. The floor is warm beneath your socked feet, a feature of the house, and the fridge is stocked for you to begin preparing some food to tame snarling stomachs. Somewhere in your field of sound, the spray of another showed subsides. That pulse picks up again and you focus on cracking some eggs into a white ceramic bowl.

Bucky needs a lot of food, that much is obvious, with the super serum cranking his metabolism, and a lot of protein at that. You’d just finished off breaking the last of the dozen eggs into the bowl when your companion enters the kitchen without a word.

You look up at him, because it would be weird not to, and give a brief, tight smile before opening a drawer in search of a whisk. His brief and welcome hand meets the small of your back as he passes behind you, making his way to start cutting the vegetables you put on the bench. It sends a surge of abashment through your nerves. You curl your toes against the smooth, strangely warm floor.

“I don’t mind cooking.” Your fingers close around a whisk and you close the drawer with your hip.

His head turns in your peripherals so you meet his eye. His stare is soft, framed by the drag of a sleepless night, but not by a hopelessness they once held. He shrugs with one shoulder and almost smiles. “It’s nice to do something normal.” He turns back to the counter and picks up a mushroom, and your eyes roam over him.

The African sun had been kind to him, tinting his skin with pinprick freckles and a tan that had almost faded. His hair holds the summer too. He keeps it pulled back but the shorter pieces frame his face and are laced with tiny threads of gold and the beginnings of grey. You can see the hues even through the post-shower dampness clinging to his waves. The colours are beautiful, you think, because they're signs of life lived after the stolen decades. Of all the scars, age is the only one he deserves. Maybe if you were a different person in a different life, you would've said it out loud. Romanticism doesn't seem to befit you. It feels too soft and too good.

He speaks again as soon as you turn back to the bowl.

“I should’ve got to them first,” he sniffs back the cold. “The guards.”

Your twirl your wrist to beat the eggs and keep your tone level. “I handled it just fine.”

“Yeah, well… I can see-” He lets a breath out and collects his thoughts. “I know y’don’t like it.”

You release your own deep breath through your nose, whisk stilling in your hand. “No one likes it, but it’s part of the job.”

He puts the knife down and turns his head towards you again. “I’m just saying… I can-”

“I don’t want you to do that for me, Bucky.”

Your voice is measured and the whisk doesn’t stop. You smooth a hand against side of the bowl and stare into the milky yellow mixture as it spins and spins and spins. He spent too long taking lives because other people couldn’t do their own dirty work.

“It’s not fair to you.” You sighed once, quickly, almost in a huff, before slowing the whisk again and correcting yourself. “It’s not fair to either of us, but that’s the way the world works.” Indecisive, you put down the utensil and turn your head towards him, shifting your eyes to his chopping board. His body heat skims your left arm. “I don’t want you to protect me from what has to be done. I don’t want you to see me as-”

The words die at your lips and Bucky’s head tilts. “As what?” He prompts in a gentle nudge. His hands are against the counter.

You close your eyes and smile involuntarily, so you force out a dry laugh to cover it up with a shake of your head. Every bit of air in your lungs is screaming out for him to come closer, to rid you of this mounting feeling inside, to break through this barrier of professionalism and fear that you wouldn’t be good for him.

“As one of them,” you can’t meet his eye. “As someone you have to kill for.”

You refused to be the reason he took a life. You weren’t going to do that to him.

You’d be no better than HYDRA.

He responds with something pained, something just above a whisper. “You know how I see you.” It’s not a question, nor an answer. It’s pure honesty simmering just below the horizon.

A strand of his hair is the first thing you feel as he draws closer. It ghosts along your cheekbone and catches the breath in your throat, only for a second though. Your eyes flit upwards, your chin lifts and turns ever so slightly towards him. You soften, to say yes. To say please. And it's all he needs.

His kiss is the opposite of what you expected. It's warm, and gentle.

It's a passion like you've never known.

There's this expectation, with passion, that the intensity should feel like a bolt of lighting or a supernova. Tension builds and builds and it's supposed to break. And sure, it's breaks, but so does the day over the darkness.

If the sun can pour dawn over the horizon, giving a gentle wake to the earth with rosy hues and still remain as powerful, who's to say something as good and inevitable surging through you at the speed of light has to explode. Why couldn't it fill you to the brim and stay full, keeping you bathed in a vivid sunrise.

Everything about him has been severe and guarded, until now. For the first time, while feeling the tenderness of his kiss, you consider that he hadn't built his walls so high because he wanted to keep others out but to keep himself in. You take note that his open palms are still on the counter. His hands were used for so much destruction, perhaps he didn't feel right putting them on you.

Your younger self would have resented his restraint. You would've goaded, chastised, pushed him away until he could meet you with a power you deserved. Why shouldn't he? You can take it; the fingertips sinking into you skin, storm-coloured bruises levied from fun, the gentle ache that pulses through your back from being pinned rough against a wall.

But you’re tired. Exhausted, even. Drained from tensing and flexing and always having to show every ounce of strength. Always a solider, silent and stoic. Always with a job to do. But maybe here, you were just a person.

He pulls away after several moments, still close enough for his breath to graze your lips. You don't look for his eyes because you know he won't meet you there. His tongue peaks out for half a second and he releases a breath before he lifts his head. The gentle warmth of his kiss lingers and emanates.

There's something inside you clawing to get out. A confession, maybe, or a sigh of relief. Or a declaration that you don’t deserve anything as good as what just happened. Whatever it is, it cuts through the air in a haggard little breath.

Sleep deprivation hangs like a thick chain around your neck, your hands are still numb with the lives you ended, you’re filled with an overwhelming warmth that you don’t feel worthy of. It all hits. Every fibre of you aches with the impact.

Bucky turns to steady you before you slouch against the counter.

Maybe he didn’t have to kill for you to make you feel okay. Because more than you could ever know, he gets it. He’s felt it, lived and bled it. All the shame and fleeting doses of heroism that make it all seem justified.

He holds you close. You bury your face in his shoulder with breath heavy and conflicted. His fingers curl against the base of your neck and his arm tightens around your waist, his sure breath is hot above your ear, his heartbeat loud in his chest.

His body say it so his words don’t have to:

I know.

#jj’s mixtape #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader

81 notes · View notes

macrocest · 2 months

Text

Macrocest: Larger Multifandom Shipcest Works and Events

Current Events:

Cestember 2024: Cestember is a month long multifandom incest event with daily prompts and weekly suggested pairings.

Macrocest: Has your micro gotten a little…macro? Well have no fear! We made a separate collection for your longer fics based on the microcest prompts!!

@microcest is a weekly multifandom microfic prompt event for incest pairings, THIS collection is for works that are too long to be considered a microfic.

Links:

Macrocest on AO3, Tumblr and Dreamwidth. Microcest on AO3, Tumblr, Twitter/X, and Dreamwidth. Calendar / Prompt Gallery / Prompt Submission Form Other Cest Events

Guidelines:

All microfics need to include incest, but every fandom is welcome!

Relationships can include more than just the incest pairing, but the incest pairing must feature.

NSFW, Dead Dove and dark content is welcome, but please tag them accordingly.

If posting your microfic on Tumblr, please tag @macrocest and include:

the name of the prompt

your word count

a note of nsfw content or triggers (somnophilia, underage, etc.)

This might look like:

@macrocest Prompt: Getting caught Sirius/Regulus | 6.5k words Warning: nsfw, gore It wasn’t supposed to have happened this way

FAQs:

Q: When will the prompts be posted? A: Prompts will be posted weekly on Wednesdays around 10am EST/New York timezone.

Q: Where are prompts listed? A: On our Tumblr under the tag #microcest prompt or you can view them on our Microcest Calendar or Microcest Prompt Gallery

Q: The day for the prompt has already passed. Can I still write a fic? A: YES! You can still submit a work for any prompt that has passed.

Q: Will you reblog my post? A: Yes, we will reblog every macrofic that tags our Tumblr account. Give us 72 hours to have it reblogged before reaching out to us about it. If we still have not reposted it in that time, then please feel free to DM or send us an ask about it.

Q: How should I incorporate the prompt into my work? A: Feel free to use the exact word/phrase in your work, or just use the prompt as a general idea. (Example: if the prompt is ‘not in the swimming pool!’ then you can use that as a quote from one of the characters, or simply write about a scene where something ensues that maybe shouldn’t be done in a swimming pool.)

Q: What is the word count requirement? What's the difference between a microfic and a "macrofic"? A: Microfics are generally anywhere between 50 and 500 words, however we understand they can be a bit longer than that. We recommend that around 2k words you switch from a microfic to this macrocest collection. However, we are not going to be strict with this so you can do it at 501 words or 3k.

Q: Can we join a prompt from microcest/macrocest with other events? A: Yes! As long as it follows the rules of both/all of the events!

Q: Is faux-cest allowed? As in people not blood related partaking in roleplay? A: Yes! Faux-cest, pseudo-incest, step-siblings, incest play, implied incest, etc. are allowed.

Q: I have an idea for a prompt, can I submit it to you? A: Yes! Send your prompt here!

Q: I have another question that wasn’t answered here. Is there somewhere else I can ask? A: Any other questions can be asked by sending us an ask on Tumblr or emailing us at [email protected]

#macrocest #announcements

14 notes · View notes

prayers-to-hyliarceus · 9 months

Text

Hello! I am the princess of Hyrule, Zelda, though I suppose that doesn't mean much here. I don't know how I came to this world? One moment I was sitting in Hyrule Field, and the next, I had woken up on Sunyshore Beach, as I've now come to know it as. Regardless, I've been separated from my friend, Link, and someone recommended to me that I should try blogging on Rotomblr, which is a very popular... er... app? - perhaps then, we will find each other. The logic here is rather ridiculous for multiple factors, but I will take whatever I can get to navigate this world.

Update: I'm no longer separated from Link! And I do know quite a lot more about Pokémon at this point, but advice is still much appreciated! And... Urbosa is also here, somehow.

Oh, almost forgot - my pronouns are she/her and I'm 23 years old. That actually... kind of depends if you count all the years time was stopped for me. Definitive... um... over 10,123 years old if you do.

maybe we should've introduced ourselves awhile ago on this post, actually... hey. name's Link. i don't have a gender, by the way. i like food and swordfighting.

My name is Urbosa, Gerudo Chieftain. And before you ask, the Gerudo are a people, from Hyrule. Also, I've somehow gotten myself four children since Falling - don't ask me how.

Here is a list (pending updates) of the Pokémon we currently own:

Celebi (F)

Satori (Ponyta ✨, M [sie/sier])

Naydra (Dratini, F)

Link (he/they)

Madas (Honedge, X [they/them])

Epona (Ponyta, F)

Koshia (Ralts, M)

Fi (Ralts ✨, F)

Urbosa (she/her)

Naboris (Blitzle, F)

Blupee (Pachirisu, M)

[OOC info under cut]

blog is run by @pancake-umbreon!

Zelda and Link here are from a couple months post-totk, so there will be totk spoilers (they'll be tagged accordingly with implied, regular, or major. block as needed!), but Urbosa is from pre-calamity botw! no she hasn't died yet <3

important text color thing: anyone whose text is pink is a side character who will not actually join the blog, but they do have significant dialogue. hence why characters like Fantina and Cynthia both have pink text.

please let me know OOC if any trigger warnings need to be tagged!

pelipper mail/malice is on btw, but please no magic anons! and mod is a minor, so please no nsfw!

anywayyy, this is the link to tag navigation!

#pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #loz #legend of zelda #totk #girl help i have no idea what i'm doing #rotomblr #blog intro #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #rotumblr

25 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 2 years

Note

Ok but imagine ozzie dressing up as santa

Come sit on santa ozzies lap and tell him if you've been naughty or nice and he'll reward/punish you accordingly

Naughty or Nice

Farrell!Penguin x GN!Reader, word count: 1.4k ok you got me, i have accepted the fate of celebrating this holiday for longer than the one day it should exist, i suppose now i'll do other christmas fics lmao ANYWAY he is what i want for christmas 💜 gn!reader but they are wearing a skirt and have a vagina for my christmas avoidant buds, i'll try and remember to tag them all with "finnie christmas" request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: so much flirting, santa kink i guess, piv

Three glasses of complimentary champagne down, you sauntered across the dance floor, shuffling past your colleagues. A lot of them, you didn’t know. You suspected the same from everyone. Oswald Cobblepot had his fingers in a lot of pies, and the number of employees he’d managed to gather together at The Iceberg Lounge for his ‘office Christmas party’ was impressive. You should know, after all, you had diligently sent out each invitation. And organised the drinks. The food. The decorations. Secretarial work, your ass. But when Oswald flashed a smile at you, gold teeth shining in the light as he winked, you really couldn’t say no.

And everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, from what you could tell. No fights, plenty of dancing and singing. The food to drink ratio was maybe a bit off by your standards, but by others’ it was perfect. At least you assumed that’s what the wild dancing, or rutting really, was proof of.

But you had been so busy focusing on everyone else, you hadn’t had a moment to enjoy yourself. Worst of all, when you were preparing the gifts, you had forgotten to include yourself, so you’d gone without. A shame, because on the large, gold and red velvet plush throne you had gotten, Oswald sat in his Santa outfit, the almost empty sack of presents by his side. All evening, he’d sat there, employees plopping down on his lap, getting their ‘corporate gift’ and posing for the camera. It was such a typical Oswald gimmick. Extravagant, ridiculous. A subtle, but total, power play.

As you approached his throne, he was passing the last present to someone you didn’t recognise, likely one of the dancers though.

“There you go, sweetheart. Merry Christmas!”

She stroked his cheek as she slid off his lap, letting her fingers leave his skin last.

“Thanks, Ozzie!”

She blew a kiss as she walked away, but his attentions were already on you.

“Hey, toots! You been busy all night or what?”

“Yeah, it’s been… something else.”

He patted his lap, cocking his head to the side and looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You wanna come tell Santa what you want?”

A sheepish grin spread across your lips, excited that he’d offered before you had to ask. You positioned yourself on his large thighs, his hand reaching to cup your leg to balance you, the skin to skin contact as your skirt rode up catching your breath in your throat. Luckily, he hadn’t noticed, as he was too busy rifling around in the sack for your gift.

“Ah, kid, I’m sorry, there’s nothing in here for ya.”

“I know, I kind of… forgot to get myself a gift.”

“Oh, you’re kidding me! Well, tell me…”

He leaned into you, fingers pressing in almost imperceptibly deeper on your thigh.

“…you been naughty or nice this year, sweetheart?”

There had always been a tension between you too, one that you couldn’t usually bring yourself to play along with. You assumed that it was just the way he was, outgoing, flirtatious, someone who would chat up every secretary in his vicinity. You always blushed, always smiled, but you could never match him, or attempt to. Three champagnes though. It was doing wonders, and you pressed a finger to his chest, prodding him playfully.

“Well, I pretty much arranged this whole party myself.”

“Huh, I guess you’ve been very good then.”

You walked your fingers up to his fake beard as you talked, tugging at it, letting it snap back on his ace.

“I would say so.”

“So what do you want for Christmas then, hm?”

Oswald leaned in, close enough that you could feel the horrible texture of the fake beard against your cheek, whispering into your ear, his fingers dancing along your thigh.

“What can Ozzie get for ya?”

Taking a deep breath, swallowing your fears, you shifted yourself against his crotch, arm slung round his neck, palm firm on his chest as you whispered back to him.

“I was thinking since I’ve been so nice… I could get something naughty, for a change?”

Oswald cleared his throat, a struggled chuckle making it out eventually. As he snaked his hand up your thigh, teasing at the hem of your skirt, he leaned in, lips against your ear as he spoke.

“You give me five minutes, kid. Go wait upstairs for me.”

You slid off his lap, managing to conceal your wide smile until you had turned away from him, practically leaping up the stairs. In his office, you awkwardly positioned yourself on his desk, on the sofa, unsure of where to sit to appear the most casual, but the most appealing. While you were over-thinking, he came through the door.

“Ok, sweetheart, you ready for your gift?”

It was impossible that he managed to play-off such a cheesy line with such charm, even more so confusing that it had you pressing your thighs together, rushing over to him, hands on his cheeks as your lips searched through the fake beard for his. He let out a warm chuckle, hands on your hips to push you back a bit. He removed the bear and his hat, dropping it onto your head and leaning into you, arms around your back, kissing you hard enough to send you backwards into his desk, which you hopped up onto.

Slipping your fingers under the top of the black belt around his jacket, you tugged him close with your legs spread, wrapped around his hips to keep him near you. As you ran your fingers through his gelled hair, you could feel him shuffling around, loosening the suspenders that held up the red pants, letting them fall to the floor with his underwear, kicking out of them in the black boots he had on and sliding them across the floor.

The red, white fur lined coat he wore opened up, just a vest underneath, his chest hair visible at the top, soft stomach visible at the bottom. In desperation, you teased your underwear down and leant back, spreading your legs and lifting your skirt up.

“Fuck me, kid.”

You smiled, giggling lightly as you slid your fingers into your mouth, coating them in your spit before licking your palm, moving your hand down to your slick cunt, spreading your saliva over your swollen lips as you watched Oswald, who watched you.

With his fingers pressed tightly together, he stroked your lips, spreading them apart, diving into your slit until he could spread your slick around, groaning as he gripped his thick, short cock in his free hand, positioning the head at your entrance and thrusting himself into you.

The wail he let out as he entered you to the hilt suggested that it might not be a long event, but he felt amazing inside of you, a delicious stretch, his large, warm body pressing into you, onto you as he leant to kiss your neck, drooling over your lips as his met yours.

“Have you… been… urgh… good?”

As he rutted into you, you let your fingers fall to your clit, rubbing it as he watched you, eyes wide, teeth gritted. He grunted between his breaths, hands on your hips, pulling you onto him as he pressed forwards, the desk below you wobbling with the movements of you both.

“Fuck… fuck… you’re so good… so good, sweetheart…”

Everything he said, his thick accent and deep voice, was another jolt to the growing heat in your stomach, and as his nails dug into your skin under your skirt, you felt the waves of pleasure begin to swallow you, orgasm coming hard and fast. You screamed his name as you came, the overstimulation almost immediate with the hard, slow thrusts he made.

“That’s it… cum for me… so good…”

Oswald’s words fell to muffled mutters as he gave three last pumps into you, groaning loudly as he came, thick load spilling out over you and onto the desk as he pulled out. He watched you, laying in ecstasy on the desk, filled with his seed, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

As you sat up, trying to conserve some modesty now that the act was over, you blushed as you watched him reassemble his costume, stealing the hat back from your head and kissing your cheek.

“You keep up the good behaviour, you got a lot more comin’ your way, toots.”

#penguin x you #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #batman fanfic #the batman 2022 #colin farrell penguin #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you #finnie christmas

101 notes · View notes

petertingle-yipyip · 1 year

Text

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

Season Three - House of Memories

tags: @ironprincessstranger @johnmurphys-sass @dusstory @americaarse @astrobees @mayasaurus--rex @woowwwee // two // Season 2B // masterlist

Pairing: Bullseye X Reader (Casual) , Matt X Reader (Past)

Word Count: 9,558

Summary: Times have changed since Midland Circle, so has Y/N. As she attempts to move forward, relationships are strained and circumstances are less than favorable. Can she cope on her own or will she fall back into old habits?

“Welcome to our final class for the semester!” The professor announced as he paraded into the room. Various hoots and claps came from around you but you simply smiled, glad to have another class checked off your schedule. “As you know, today is the final day for debates. We have only a few to get through so the quicker we go, the quicker we enjoy our winter break. Y/L/N, you’re up first!”

You pushed yourself up and hurried down the lecture hall steps until you reached the front. You stood at the closer podium and scanned the notes that waited for you.

A man attempts to break into a house late at night. The owner, a single woman, owns a retired police dog - a German Shepherd to be specific. He bites the perpetrator but releases and recalls when the noise wakes the woman and she calls him back. You’re supposed to argue the man is at fault. Your opposition will argue that the woman is.

“There’s five people you can choose to argue against, or I can choose for you.” Your professor said as you looked up at the empty podium across from you.

“You can pick.. But don’t make it easy.” You shrugged and glanced up at Matt. You knew he hadn’t gone yet and he was smiling down at you.

“Mr. Murdock!” He called and you grinned. “My two top students should go against each other, don’t you think? C’mon down, my boy!”

Matt laughed slightly and made his way down, cane bouncing off the steps. The professor pulled a different copy of the notes from his bag and placed it at Matt’s podium. You gave him a minute while he ran his fingers over the page and his brows raised in interest.

“Ladies first.” The professor bowed and stepped back.

“Clearly, the man is at fault.” You began easily. “Attempted breaking and entering.”

“Yes, but this dog is trained to attack and by New York law, that makes the owner liable.” Matt countered. “Just compensate for the $2,200 in medical bills and call it a day.”

“Yes, but New York law also states that if the victim is trespassing or provoking the animal, the owner isn’t liable.”

“How do you know he was provoking the animal?”

“Security footage.”

“That wasn’t in the notes.” Matt smiled slightly.

“You’re going to assume a woman who lives alone doesn’t have cameras?” You raised your brows.

“Regardless, the dog is trained to attack. Especially being retired police, there must’ve been training for him to engage in certain situations.”

“Certain hostile situations, you mean.”

“You can’t be sure the man was hostile.”

“Why was he breaking into her house then?”

“Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was running, looking for somewhere to hide or someone to help him. The dog misread the body language and attacked, unprovoked.”

“Can I ask you something, Mr. Murdock?”

“Please.” He smiled.

“If I threaten you, are you within your rights to defend yourself?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And if I am threatened, can I defend myself?”

“Yes.”

“With whatever I feel is necessary?”

“Sure.”

“Exactly. The dog felt it’s home and owner were threatened. It reacted accordingly.”

“Sounds a bit like victim blaming, doesn’t it?” He asked with a tilt of his head and you almost laughed.

“Coming from the man blaming an animal.”

“Let me ask you something, Ms. Y/L/N. By going off your last statement, your addressing the animal like it’s a weapon.”

“And if I had a concealed carry permit, do I have to show it to you or announce it before defending myself with said weapon?”

“No. But you are still held responsible if you kill your attacker, even if it’s self-defense.”

“You seem to be sympathizing with the attacker. Tell me, Mr. Murdock. Do you?”

“Are you insinuating I hurt people?” His voice feigned hurt but he nearly laughed in amusement.

“Of course not.” You said honestly. “But I do think you enjoy a bit of power.”

“Do you sympathize with the woman?”

“With a woman, on her own, being attacked by someone who she owes nothing to?” You challenged slightly, putting more of a personal anger into the words than intended. “I think any woman in the room would.”

“Maybe that’s clouding your judgment.”

“Is that an ad hominem I hear? Maybe you’re trying to attack me because you know your argument is weak.”

“I’ll admit that the man shouldn’t have gone breaking into houses. However, the woman should’ve had signage posted that a dog with the training and intent to protect was on the premises.”

“Should she have put a sign on every corner of her fence?” You raised your brows. “Because for all we know, there’s a sign on her front gate.”

“I don’t remember if it’s in the notes so just assume there is.” Your professor agreed, seemingly enthralled in your discussion like his favorite TV show. “You two are doing fantastic. You’ve almost gotten to the deciding factor.”

“With posted signage at the front of her property, she shouldn’t have to post it on the back if there’s no typical entry there.” You continued.

“One sign is easy to overlook.” Matt shrugged.

“Not if you enter the property in the proper way. Therefore, the only way the woman is liable would be if the dog bit the man on the sidewalk, since it’s public property.”

“Can we get a description of what the dog bites look like?” Matt turned to your professor.

“Should be on the second page.” He nodded and you cleared your throat. He looked at you and you gave a small jerk of your head towards Matt. “Of course. You’d think I’d remember.” He mumbled and your class chuckled.

You moved to his podium with your paper in hand and reached for his arm. He gave it to you willingly so you pushed the sleeve of his shirt up and twisted it so you could see the inside of his forearm while dropping your page on top of his.

“Punctures from the top canines here.” You used two fingers pressed against his skin as you looked at the paper. “Bottom here. Bruising along here.” Your fingers trailed along his arm and he shivered slightly. “Another set of punctures here, with a bit of lacerations. Less than an inch maybe.”

“A second set of punctures?” His brows furrowed beneath his glasses and you recognized the tone of his voice. He heard something of interest. “So the dog bit once, let go, and bit again? And shook, if there were lacerations.”

“The lacerations are newer, based on the blood color.” You countered. “They don’t look like a shake. It looks like he was pulling his arm away.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because they go downwards. Typically, shakes just make the initial punctures deeper and a little wider, little messier. If anything the movement would be horizontal.”

“Anything else on the bites?”

“No, but..” You flipped the page over and found another photo, though this one was the dog covered in blood and a copy of a vet bill. “There’s a vet bill.”

You flipped Matt’s notes and found what you assumed was the same thing just in braille. You put his hand against it and read your own.

“The dog had damage to his left eye and socket, a chunk missing from his ear and a bloody line four inches down his side.” You explained the photo. “Was the dog shot?”

Your professor nodded.

“Your guy shot her dog.” You turned back to Matt. “Probably used the butt of the gun to hit its eye.”

“You’re right.” He nodded with a small smile. “The woman’s not at fault.”

“You wanted the $2200 for medical?” You asked and he nodded. “Vet bills were $3700. Pay out the difference and we’ll call it even.”

Matt grinned and shook your hand. Your professor stood and celebrated, causing the class to give polite claps. Foggy gave a loud shout from the back.

———————————————

How he survived, he didn’t know. When he finally washed up after Midland Circle, he felt closer to death than he ever had before. He hardly had strength to breathe, let alone try to get home. Try to get to Y/N.

The thought of her was the only thing that kept him going. She was the only thing that had him even considering healing, considering living after that. He heard her voice in every thought. Her touch seemed to ghost his skin though she was nowhere near.

I can’t lose you, Matty. I just can’t.

I trust you with my life.

I want you with me.

I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you.

My life isn’t worth yours.

Just don’t let it take you from us, okay?

How could he ever face her again? To stand in front of her, knowing she would break down, and ask her to forgive him for sacrificing his life. And for what? For his own pride? For Elektra? And not even the Elektra they both knew and loved at that, but a hollowed out version driven by her own selfish desires.

“Where…? Where…?” He tried to get out a full question but every word seemed to die as it fell from his lips.

“St. Agnes. The orphanage.” A familiar voice answered but he couldn’t make out anything else. Matt felt like someone had shoved a pound of dry cotton into his ears. And while he appreciated the knowledge of where he was, that wasn’t what he wanted to know.

“How long?”

“Several weeks.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Y/N.”

“She’s come and gone for the day.” The woman rushed an answer and the words made Matt’s head spin violently as he sat up. Or was that more the residual injuries? “Get back in the bed! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“My right ear… I can’t..”

Matt tried to get out of the bed but he collapsed to the floor with the first step. It was like his body forgot how to move. His own skeleton failed him and let him crash to the ground and a wound at his side gnawed angrily at the impact. The fluid between his ears was as uneasy as the ocean and nothing around him felt solid. The only thing that kept him in that moment was the cold floor beneath him and the firm hands that tried to haul him up.

She’s come and gone for the day.

Why was Y/N at the church? She didn’t believe in any of it. Was she looking for Matt? Did she already know he was alive? If she knew, she would’ve been beside him. He firmly believed that if she knew, she wouldn’t leave his side. She would’ve sat there, day and night, waiting to scream at him for abandoning her or to make sure he actually pulled through. There would’ve been some piece of her left in that room, whether it be the warmth of her skin or the scent of her perfume or the sound of her voice. Something would’ve still been there, unless maybe it was and Matt just couldn’t tell. What a cold loneliness he felt around him when he considered that thought.

To anything outside that small, lonely room in the orphanage, Daredevil - and in turn, for some at least, Matt Murdock - was dead.

————————————

Matt and Foggy were in their dorm room, the afternoon after meeting Y/N.

Saying the girl was electric was an understatement. From the second he heard her say his name, he was a goner. He had known her for mere minutes, hours if you count the night, but he felt something in his chest when she introduced herself. His heart thumped faster when she laughed and time seemed to slow when she touched him.

He started to wonder if that’s what it meant to have a soulmate.

“Are you gonna call her?” Foggy asked that morning.

“We met her last night, Foggy.” Matt reasoned with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not gonna call her.”

“Dude.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re gonna miss this perfect opportunity? Matt, c’mon man! She was gorgeous!”

“I-“

“No, like you don’t get it. She was probably the most beautiful woman to have ever walked this campus. You should’ve seen her.”

“Well I-“

“Don’t!” Foggy cut in so Matt smiled innocently. ��Do not make a blind joke right now.”

“If she’s so beautiful, then you call her.” Matt tried, though the suggestion felt like a slap to the face.

“I’m not the one she was making googly eyes at on the walk back last night.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I-“ Foggy began before a loud, exasperated sigh. “Matt! Dude!”

“Foggy!” Matt replied in the same tone. “It’s fine. We’ll probably run into her in class anyway.”

“You’re gonna just wait and hope that you two run into each other again by chance? When she’s probably the most perfect and smart and beautiful and charming and-“

“Sounds like you liked her more than I did.” Matt mumbled and dropped onto his back across his mattress.

“Matt. Matthew. My friend.” Foggy said as he came and sat on his friend’s bed beside him. “I’m telling you this because I love you. Call the girl!”

“I’m not gonna call her!” Matt laughed. “C’mon man. You really think a girl like that - as beautiful as you say she is and can speak that many languages and who knows what else she can do. You think a girl like that is gonna wanna be with me?”

“Buddy, I think she would’ve married you last night if you had asked.”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright, fine.” He sighed dramatically, though he was admittedly giddy. “I’ll call her. Dial her number for me.”

“Do you hear that?” Foggy joked as he found the scrap of her book page that she wrote her number on and dialed on Matt’s phone. “Sounds like wedding bells, my friend. Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N-Murdock.”

“Y/L/N-Murdock, huh?” Matt laughed as he held the phone to his ear.

“Yeah, you’re right… Murdock-Y/L/N? Nah, I don’t like that either. Maybe just Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“It’s about time, Murdock.” Y/N joked on the other end of the call. “And here I thought you forgot about me.”

————————————

“Matthew.” Father Lantom announced his arrival one day and Matt was drawn out of the same spiral of thoughts that haunted him. The same circulation of memories that plagued him.

“Father, I didn’t know you were there.” Matt answered honestly, though the feeling in his right ear was as nagging as ever. “Sister Maggie said something before… About Y/N.”

“Oh.. Yes.” He nodded and Matt noticed his hesitation. It was as if he was thinking of how to tell Matt whatever he knew. “She’s been coming around a bit more often lately.”

“Does she know?”

“No… No, I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her.”

“Why does she come then?”

“You know, it’s the strangest thing. She’s only come inside once.. Said the building doesn’t smell like cinnamon anymore, whatever that means.”

Matt sighed heavily, understanding exactly what she meant. Though he had never smelled it himself, he knew it was how the devotion in the building showed up to her. It was part of her abilities, how she described the church as warm and alive with everyone’s belief. She described anger as red, hot and burning. Sadness was cold and blue. Happiness was a soft purple. Love was pink and fuzzy. Fear, yellow and bitter. He wondered what she was feeling now.

“Instead she just… sits on the bench out front until one of the boys comes to collect her for work. Poor thing.” Lantom continued and it made Matt’s heart twist.

“It’s my fault.. She was with me that night and I- I made her leave. I couldn’t let her die with me.” Matt said weakly.

“She’s doing well lately, better since she’s recovered.”

Matt wondered what that meant but he didn’t dwell on it.

“The.. The way her voice broke when she- When she called out for me… I heard her scream when it all happened.”

Just talking about it replayed that scream and he felt his heart splinter again.

“I’m sure she would love to see you.”

“I just can’t get that sound out of my head.” He nearly whispered.

“She used to say the last thing you said to her played in her head like a record on repeat… Said she’d give anything to hear you say her name again.”

Matt said nothing this time. He would love to have Y/N come by but he knew it wasn’t fair. He’d been gone for several weeks, at least. That could’ve meant months. Y/N could’ve gotten over everything and seeing him, knowing he was alive and she had been so close to him every time she came, it would only break her again. How could he put her through that? How could he be so selfish?

“Matthew, you have to admit it is a miracle that you survived.” Lantom tried.

“That’s how most of our conversations tend to go.” Matt complained and rolled to his side. “Let’s just give it a rest.”

Lantom left after that, allowing Matt to wallow in his own thoughts and boredom.

He wondered who were the boys that came for Y/N. What of her life was still the same? Did Exodus come back to protect the Kitchen, to take out her anger and pain on those she thought deserved it? Or did she sit at home, alone in the apartment that they had danced in? The apartment they had cooked dinners in and cleaned together and where she taught him more and more Russian. Was she as alone as he was? Chased by memories of something buried alive.

Those were the thoughts that plagued Matt day in and day out. He thought of his other friends, too. Karen and Foggy. He wondered if Jessica or Luke or Danny had checked in on Y/N. He even wondered if Frank had heard and looked out for her

Matt wasn’t sure how long exactly it had been since his conversation with Father Lantom about Y/N when Sister Maggie brought her up as well.

“There must be at least one person I can call for you.” She said, almost regretfully and there was a hint of a knowing tone in her voice.

“No.” Matt decided. “There’s no one.”

“What about the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The sad, pretty one. Although lately she seems more angry than sad.” She described her simply and a brief smile crossed Matt’s face. “She comes every morning and has told me about a specific someone who sounds remarkably like you. And given all of that, I’m guessing she was the one you liked to do backflips with.”

“Exodus.”

Sister Maggie hummed in response.

“Her name is Y/N.” Matt said, almost defensively. He couldn’t take her down to only her vigilante name because she was so much more than that. He helped her see that, so ignoring that would be wrong. Exodus was part of who Y/N was, not the entirety.

“You should consider yourself lucky to have found a girl like that that’s willing to put up with all of this.”

“Yeah…”

Back at the apartment, you were getting home for the day. It was an easy day. You had been back from Quantico for a few months, but everything from Billy at the carousel set back your timeline. After your mandated therapy and physical rehab, today was the first day you were unrestricted, though of course your luck meant nothing exciting happened.

You reached for your door handle and found it already unlocked. You walked in confidently after dropping your purse and coat by the door, a hand hovering at the gun on your hip, only to find Karen. She was kneeling by the closet under your stairs with the case to Matt’s suit open in front of her.

“I could’ve told you it’s still not there.” You said simply, removing your gun and badge from your belt and tossing them to the table. “It’s not coming back, Karen. Neither is he.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called.” She answered gently, a sadness in her voice.

“Yeah..” You agreed quickly. “Want a drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks.. But uh, how are you?”

“That’s not what this is about.” You threw the fridge shut. “Y’know, come to think of it, I don’t know why you keep coming back and looking for it.”

“I know.. I just can’t shake the feeling that-“

“Not even that.” You laughed with annoyance. “You don’t remember what you told him, do you? When you came by the next day after he told you about all that.” You pointed to the closet.

She was quiet so you continued.

“I don’t think Daredevil’s the problem.” You repeated and her eyes dropped. Her guilt tinted the air with a stale feeling, vaguely smelling like old water. “You didn’t want him in your life as Daredevil but now that he’s gone, you pretend that you cared about the suit.”

She looked back to you quickly. “I didn’t care about the suit. I cared about him.”

“You cared about Matt… Yeah, I’ll give you that. But you didn’t give a shit about Daredevil. You can’t separate the two!”

“Is that why you liked him? Because he was Daredevil.”

“Oh my god.” You muttered.

“Because you liked a guy that you could treat like shit and still expect him to care?”

“Fuck you, Karen.” You snapped. “I cared about Matt long before he even thought about Daredevil so don’t stand there and act like you know anything about our relationship.”

“No, you’re right. Because you two kept so many goddamn secrets nobody really knew either of you, right?”

“Is this really what you came for? To fight with me.” You came around the counter and took a few steps closer to her, making her step back. “Because if you did, you can walk right back out the door and y’know what. You don’t even have to come back. Okay? I don’t need this shit from you anymore. I’m done, Karen.”

She was quiet and you felt the way your words sliced through her but you were too angry to stop talking. You let that anger burn through you as the words fell from your lips.

“Evidently, the only reasons we got along were because Matt and Frank were mutual friends. Now that they’re not around, we have nothing.” You shrugged. “You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. I don’t need a pity friend. And I don’t want one.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She replied quietly, like a child being yelled at by her parents. “I’m sorry. We’re just worried, me and Foggy.”

“Well don’t be. I’m fine.” You offered a sarcastic expression before going back to the far side of the counter.

She nodded slightly. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need a babysitter. I still make a couple meetings for that support group with Curtis. I left Anvil and the Billy fiasco behind. I’m trying to take the FBI offer seriously. I don’t know what else you and him need me to do to convince you that I’m fine.”

“Foggy said you’re going to Matt’s church again.”

“Oh my-“ You mumbled. “That’s what this is about? Because I sit on a stupid bench?”

“It’s more than just a bench, Y/N.”

“What else is there to say? What are you fishing for?” You sighed heavily and leaned your palms against your countertop, nearly wincing at the sharp contrast of the cool surface against your burning skin. “I’m moving on. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A series of quick knocks sounded at your door.

“What you both wanted.” You corrected as you went to open the door, seeing Foggy standing on the other side.

“Surprise.” He smiled nervously.

“Whatever intervention or ambush this is, I don’t need it.” You announced as you headed back into the living room. “I’m doing great.”

“I just came to see my friend. We haven’t had time to get together since you’ve been back, given all the other stuff that happened.” Foggy said honestly. You turned to face him and stared for a moment, reading his emotions. You found he wasn’t coming from a place of worry or concern. Just friendship.

You offered a small smile in response as your own headspace cleared. Maybe you needed someone familiar to be around for a bit. “Then you can stay a while. And if you don’t try to pick another fight, Karen, you can stay too.”

You had to admit. Foggy’s good heart and honest energy seemed to be the only thing lately that could help your heart break through.

Back at the church, Sister Maggie was continuing her conversation with Matt.

“Angry, sarcastic, and stubborn. Maybe you don’t have any friends.” Maggie joked, though Matt didn’t find it funny.

“Someone once told me that warriors were meant to be alone.” He answered simply rather than argue. “That caring for people would make me weak.”

“Is that what you told that Exodus girl?”

“Y/N.” Matt said defensively to himself.

“That you’d be weak if you cared? Cause it doesn’t seem like she got the memo.”

“I let people in, I paid a price… If anyone can understand that, it’s her. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Would she call it a mistake?”

“You really wanna push the Y/N topic, don’t you?” Matt groaned. Not because he didn’t want to talk about Y/N, but because it just hurt too much still.

“She seems to be the only topic that gets you to talk.” Maggie countered.

The conversation then shifted to Job after Matt found his old Bible and the way Matt thought he was serving God the same way. Matt admitted that he didn’t hate God, but he felt he understood Him better and understood where they stood with each other.

“For the record, I had friends. I had a life, a girlfriend and I- I loved her, probably would’ve married her one day. Started a family of our own down the road. I care about people and I’m choosing to let them believe that I’m gone because I am.”

“Tell that to the girl that sits on that bench every morning.”

“You don’t get it.” He sighed.

“I think I do, Matthew. She makes you happy, and that’s the worst thing for you.”

“I know my truth now, Sister.”

“What truth?”

“I’d rather die as the Devil than live as Matt Murdock.”

“So I guess she’d rather live as Y/N, without either, and blame herself for the Devil’s death.”

“At least she’ll live.”

“But what kind of a life is that?”

Sister Maggie left after that, allowing Matt to sit in his own continuous misery. Missing Foggy, Y/N, and Karen. That was his own punishment. He deserved that, for all the pain and suffering he had brought to them. He was better alone, the same as Y/N tried to convince herself she was, and he hoped she had started to believe she was better without him. Difference was that he chose to do what he did. Y/N was made into it. The only thing he would change was that Y/N blamed herself.

That night, Sister Maggie came back.

“I think you’re a hero, hiding down here and feeling sorry for yourself.” She said simply. “Just out back, there’s an orphanage full of kids who’ve lost everything and everyone. Some of them disabled, much worse off than you ever were. And they’re still trying to make the most out of life, the little cowards.”

“Okay, alright.” Matt cut in.

“I mean it! Here you are, with all the gifts God gave you. Handsome, smart, a law degree, people who care about you. You have a beautiful, thoughtful girl that comes here every single day without fail who only wants to see you again. Doesn’t even know you’re here, mind you. But you’re so bravely giving up.”

“Y’know, thank you for the tough love, Sister.” Matt complained as he hobbled across the cold room. “And your charmingly simplistic view of God and the world. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I really do, but don’t for a second think you know anything about me or her or my life.”

“I’ve been a nun for 30 years. I know self-pity when I hear it.” She continued. “And I know that she’s had to leave people, without explanation. I know that after losing you, if how she feels is how they all felt, she would’ve done it differently.”

“Yeah? Well, no one died because of her. Twice, actually.”

“You don’t know everything about her past, Matthew. The guilt she carries could be more than yours.”

“But you do?”

“No.. But I do know your father was famous around here. I saw him fight, saw him go down many times. But he never stayed down.” She pressed before she left.

Matt laid in bed that night and thought of her words, and she was right. About his dad at least. He didn’t stay down. But he did have to wonder about what she said about Y/N, regretting the choices she’d made. If she had known the way people hurt when she left - how he hurt when she left - would she have made different choices?

He couldn’t help but think how different his life would’ve been if she had never left. Or if she had never came in the first place.

A few days passed and Matt found some sense of recovery. He managed to clear some of the blockages in his sinuses, allowing him to find some normalcy with training again. Certain moves still hurt, still caused him to fail, but he knew he was on his way back to what he was before. Back to Daredevil.

On your next day off, you were sitting on your usual bench outside the church with your gym bag tucked beneath your feet. You greeted some of the familiar nuns and patrons with a friendly smile, accepting the gentle handshakes and blessings from the older ladies that you were seeing for the first time since you’ve been back. Sister Maggie came and sat beside you, though her usual demeanor was replaced with a jittery energy.

“Something wrong, Sister?” You asked simply as she sighed and you felt the vibrations tingle against your exposed skin.

“Well, Y/N, I don’t know how to ask you this.” She admitted and you shifted to face her fully. “Would you be.. willing to come downstairs with me today?”

“For what?”

“For a… for a fight.”

“A fight..” You repeated and raised your brows. “Since when does the church have a secret fight club?”

“I’m not thrilled about it but I think you’re the best option.”

“Okay…” You agreed hesitantly. “What’s the catch?”

“Well… Have you ever fought blindfolded? Or with your eyes closed?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though her scowl made you quiet down.

“You’re serious?” Your brows furrowed.

“Unfortunately.”

“Weirdly enough, I have..”

“Of course you have.” She sighed.

“It was a good training exercise.” You shrugged. “It taught me to understand and hone my gifts rather than depending on what I see, kinda like how Matt used to… Well, anyways, did you want me to do it today?”

“If you’re willing.”

You stared at your hands folded in your lap for a moment, tapping your fingers as you thought. It was an odd request, definitely, and it made no sense to you. But the idea did make your nerves tingle and your muscles twitch. It could be fun to repeat an old training drill, despite the clear hesitation and borderline sacrilegious nature of it. There was something Sister Maggie wasn’t telling you, but really, you didn’t care to know all the details.

“Sure.” You shrugged and stood, kneeling for your bag before following the older nun through the halls and down the stairs.

You paused before a rod-iron gate and you could feel the buzzing of your opponent on the other side. A torn cloth was tied tightly across your eyes as Sister Maggie and Father Lantom exchanged a quick, hushed conversation that you were expected to ignore about what was going to take place. You were lead through the room quietly, guided where to leave your bag.

You knelt and pulled your wraps, wrapping them in place easily after your brace was fitted on as you spoke to Lantom while Maggie talked to whoever you were facing. You tapped your hands into your chalk pouch and patted them together to cover your exposed fingers and the back of your covered knuckles with the fine powder.

“Do you have gloves?” He asked simply, though you could picture the way he was fidgeting.

“I’d rather not, if whoever’s over there doesn’t mind.” You answered, nodding towards the unknown figure behind you. “They don’t have to either, just so it’s fair.”

After a moment of quiet, Lantom answered.

“Alright. He’s not wearing a helmet and there’s a lot of marble statues around so try not to beat on him too bad.”

You smiled slightly and turned your head in his direction.

“Shouldn’t you be warning him about going easy on me, too?” You joked and stood, allowing Lantom to turn you towards your opponent and guide you closer. “Given I’m the one that can’t see.”

“No wonder you two got along.” Maggie sighed, though the statement wasn’t directed at you. “Same sense of humor.”

You reached your hand out and felt another meet yours in a quick tap. Your skin flushed warm as you tuned in to your opponent’s feelings, finding yourself warmed with a general anger and an underlying sadness. A brief flash of loneliness and regret, tucked under a suffocating blanket of self-pity that you swore was going to choke you. You cleared the feeling with a light cough as you rolled your shoulders.

They’d be easy enough to keep track of. Your only issue now would be anticipating their moves, given that you knew nothing of their fighting style. All you could assume was that they were a traditional boxer.

You moved first with hopes of keeping enough of an offense that you wouldn’t need to defend against much, throwing two sharp jabs that connected with their stomach. You were met with a brisk hook to your chin that backed you up a few steps. You chuckled lightly and shifted your jaw, having been hit harder than anticipated.

The brief swell of pride gave away where they moved to so you acted quickly, grabbing their shoulders and yanking them down your knee could slam their stomach. When you felt the hands grab your forearms, you spun your hands around so you could break their hold before throwing an elbow against their nose which earned a loud gasp from Sister Maggie. Your next punch was caught, pushing you to the side. When you turned to face them again, you were met with a quick barrage of jabs that you could block with your arms and there was an obvious tell that your opponent was holding back.

“If you’re gonna hit me, hit me. I’m sure I can take it.” You spat with the unintentional tint of your accent and were hit with a heavy wave of panic.

You seized the hesitation and moved back in, landing hit after hit. Lantom and Maggie both tried to call you off, but neither you nor your opponent stopped. You two were trading blows and dodging shots until you managed to get enough room to swing a moderated roundhouse to the side of his head and he dropped.

Lantom guided you out after that while Maggie tended to the other person, both of them unhappy with the results. He thanked you for coming and insisted you keep it quiet. You joked that you didn’t know who you were up against anyway so your story wouldn’t make much sense if you told it. But even as you were leaving, and you couldn’t remove the blindfold until you were the majority of the way up the stairs, you couldn’t deny the feeling that whoever you were up against… Their emotions were familiar, like the sound of an old song that you still miraculously knew the words to but couldn’t remember who sang it.

Something comfortable. Something that was impossible to truly get out of your head.

That night, you were out with Dex for drinks to try and forget about it.

“Why does it look like you got punched in the face?” He laughed, tapping his mouth in the same spot where you knew yours was busted.

“Cause I did.” You admitted with a small smile that tugged the small wound open. “My gym was doing a little amateur boxing showcase type thing earlier so I jumped in after my lifts.”

“Hope you won.”

“Oh, yeah.” You grinned, the action tugging the split skin open further. “Dropped the last guy nice and easy. After I had my fun, of course.”

“Otherwise, y’know, I’d have to find a new partner.”

“Wow.” Your brows raised and he gave you a playful smirk. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“That’s cold, Dex.”

“C’mon.” He chuckled. “You think I can have a partner that loses amateur boxing?”

“Too bad. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Hattley says she likes the way we work.”

“Guess I’ll have to deal with you then, huh?”

“Can’t rid of me that easy. Just ask anyone who knows me.”

As he was walking you home, you felt that familiarity again. It hooked into your chest and was tugging at you, screaming in the back of your head to get closer. You faked a reason to return to the bar - lying that you had left your phone - and hurried the few blocks to get to them. As you were getting closer, you heard a woman yelling for her dad. Her panic urged your feet to move faster, but you were so distracted by the person - likely subconsciously - calling out to you that you almost didn’t notice the car.

The tires skirted along the asphalt and you had to hop back. You leaned on the hood to see through the bright headlights, and the girl driving was more panicked than you were, with mascara stall rubbing down her puffed up cheeks. It was easy to figure out she was the one you heard so you waved her off and kept moving. But when you got to the source, you faltered, only for a second.

“God forgive me.” He mumbled, hardly enough sound for you to hear.

The defeat in his voice - his familiar voice - drove a stake through your chest that let a chilling loneliness creep out and weigh heavily on your skin. With a shiver, you forced the feeling down and focused on the situation in front of you.

One of the men raised their arms but you were quick to yank the pole from their hand. He turned on you almost instantly but you offered a smile before slamming the pole against his temple, seeing an angry gash split almost immediately. You turned and slammed a foot against the kneeling man’s chest and leaned into it, pinning him to the ground. You threw the pole at the other man, seeing the end collide with his nose before you allowed him to gather his partner and take off.

You blew a loose strand of hair from your face and turned your attention back to the man under your shoe.

You heart nearly stopped when you saw the familiar outfit.

“No…” You said quietly, moving your foot to kneel beside him.

Your fingers reached gingerly for the edge of his mask, but just as you were about to grab it, he slammed his forehead against yours and you fell backwards. You let out a loud string of curses in Russian as you rubbed the place of contact but when you looked back, you found he was gone.

You could’ve sworn, as you got up and made your way back to the apartment, that it was the Man in the Mask.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Daredevil.

Matt Murdock.

Despite every logical thought in your head, everytime your brain mulled over the facts. Every night you went to bed alone and woke up the same. Every time you realized you missed him but forgot that it was supposed to hurt, when you realized you still weren’t really letting it hurt.

But if you had to put money on that voice being his, you would’ve.

Would it be better if he really was alive? Maybe whatever was cracking through your still cold core would reignite in your chest. You could regain your full sense of humanity and normalcy, return to the Y/N he knew and loved, assuming enough of her still existed at that point.

Or would it only force that floodgate of pain and anger and grief open? Would you find that the girl he knew, the girl you thought you were, was never real? That it’d be too much and you’d fall back into an uncaring, heartless and ruthless person that not even Dreykov would’ve wanted.

Damn him, for throwing your thoughts into a spiral even in death.

Alleged death, now.

The next morning at work, you wished you had stayed home.

“Y/L/N. You’re with me.” An agent you knew a bit, Ray Nadeem, called as he walked by you. He didn’t stay long so you had to move quickly to catch up.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you finally got to his stride.

“Talk to a guy who won’t give us shit. Hattley wants you to go since SWAT has nothing and you’re new but doesn’t want you going alone in case there’s a conflict of interest.”

“So why you? Why not send me with Dex seeing as he’s my actual partner.”

“Cause my number was up next.” He sighed in annoyance. “And didn’t Dex go out of town on assignment this morning?”

“You’re telling me this couldn’t have waited a day or two till he’s back? If he’s gonna give us nothing, what does it matter?”

When you got in the car, he passed you the thick rubber banded folder. You didn’t need to open it to know what case it was, and all thoughts of Matt and his possible survival were shoved from your head.

You were going to talk to Wilson Fisk.

You gripped the file tightly in one hand while pulling your phone. You shot Marc a quick text about Vanessa’s most recent location, and he sent back a short list of what he had since the last time you two spoke along with a rumor of where she’d be headed next. The drive to the prison was relatively quiet, but you could feel there was something eating at Ray. You thought about asking but you figured he wouldn’t want to talk to you about it so you said nothing. Instead, you cleared your throat to break the looming tension.

You two were escorted in after a brief security clearing and sat alone at a small table while the guards led Fisk in.

“Mr. Fisk, I’m Special Agent Ray Nadeem with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Ray introduced simply, flashing his badge before gesturing to you.

“Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N, FBI SWAT.” You nodded.

“The FBI would like your assistance with… Let’s just cut to the part where you tell us to eat shit so we can stop wasting each other’s time.”

“Do you have someone in your life that you love so much, you’d do anything to protect them?” Fisk asked solemnly, his eyes lingering on you before turning to Ray.

“Are you threatening us?” He asked quickly.

“I have made many mistakes.” Fisk nodded. “But I accept the debt I’m paying because of them. A debt-” He turned to you again. “-that certain people ensured I could not neglect.”

“He’s not threatening us, not yet at least.” You sighed and leaned forward, your chest hitting the edge of the table. “He’ll talk.” You twisted your fingers under the table to pull on the gnawing worry that was presenting in Fisk. As the man stared you down, you watched the blue mist of sadness cover his eyes and you were given a flash of a name. Vanessa. “Because there’s something we can offer as incentive.”

“What I cannot accept is that the woman I love should have to pay for them, too. I would do anything to protect her.”

“So what is it you’re saying?” Ray asked carefully.

“He wants us to help Vanessa Marianna, some sort of pardon or acquittal, so she can come back to the States.” You explained, drawing a quick head turn from Ray. “She’s been pretty good about avoiding countries with extradition, I’ll give her that. But she’s passed through a couple in Europe, for the sake of art, I bet.”

“She had nothing to do with this!” Fisk said loudly.

“But she knew, didn’t she?” You instigated.

“I want to make a deal.”

“She knew you were a criminal, I bet.”

“Y/L/N.” Ray tried.

“A liar.”

“All I ask, Agent Y/L/N, in exchange is for someone to protect this woman.”

“Let me be frank here. I don’t trust you. I want you to stay in this prison and rot for the rest of your miserable life. Vanessa can run till the money runs out and I have someone grab her. But it’s not about what I want… Give us good information and maybe we’ll look into it. She’s easy enough for me to find anyway.”

The next morning, you and Ray were tasked with leading a raid on the Albanians. It was a show of faith in Fisk, that he’d given you viable information. But even though you didn’t trust a single word out of Fisk’s mouth, your job was by the book now. You had to look into it.

And as much as you hated to say it, Fisk wasn’t lying. You and Ray led the team through a perfectly successful raid. Your office congratulated you both and you accepted the praise with a smile, even though you didn’t like it. Something about everything felt forced, like you were playing exactly the part you were meant to play and it left a grimy feeling across your skin.

You stayed huddled at your temporary desk most of the day, writing your report of the raid and finding any other trivial task that kept you away from prying eyes.

You had a feeling that the path you were on, and maybe all the FBI officers that end up involved, was going to be a rough one.

“Come with me.” Ray said suddenly, tapping your arm.

“Wha- Again?” You answered as you hurried to your feet. “Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna convince Hattley to give us the Fisk detail.”

“What? No, Ray, I don’t want it.”

“Oh, c’mon.” He groaned as you two reached the SAC’s door. “You and I were the only agents to get anything out of him since he got locked up!”

“You think that matters? You have whatever issues - I’m guessing finances since you’re so desperate - and I’m still new SWAT with a conflict of interest. Besides, in case you couldn’t tell, I don’t like Fisk. I don’t like the way he looks at people. I don’t like the way he talks to people. There is no way in hell I go in there and ask for that.”

“Look, he’s afraid of whatever you know. Right? He believes that you can get to Vanessa, without even trying. If you stay involved, even as backup - just a presence in the room. Y/L/N, I promise you, we can get enough for everyone for years.”

“Wow, okay, so you’re just not listening to the whole ‘conflict of interest’ issue? I worked at the firm that built the case that got him locked up and had a tenement case against him. I want that man to die in jail. I don’t care what he can give or what I can take away. You wanna ask her for it? Go ahead. If she asks my opinion, I’ll back you on it. Just leave me out of it.”

All the while, Matt was sulking in the church basement when Sister Maggie came to check on him.

“Give yourself time to heal or you’re gonna get yourself killed.” She said simply.

“You’re probably right.” Matt said quickly before swallowing the pills.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Instead of answering her question, Matt changed the subject.

“She found me last night… Y/N.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No, I.. I ran off.”

“Do you wish you had talked to her?”

“I heard her heartbeat.. Seemed like the first time when she didn’t let me hear it but I heard it on my own. Something about her is different…”

“She’s been through a lot since you’ve been gone, not just counting what you did.”

“What happened?” Matt asked softly.

“Maybe if you let her be here, there’d be less of your self-pitying bullshit to throw around. She could knock some sense into you and you could ask her yourself.”

“Why did you become a nun?” He asked instead when he realized she wouldn’t tell him. He’d have to find a chance to ask Y/N instead.

“I heard God’s call.”

“So you feel like being a nun is what you’re meant to be?”

“Yes.” She said with finality. “Very much.”

“What if you couldn’t be anymore? If it were taken from you?”

“Your point being that if we can’t fulfill our calling, we might be better off as worm food?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Okay.. But let me ask you something first. What do you think Y/N’s calling is?”

He sighed heavily as he thought about it. As much as he missed her and he yearned her - as much as his own heart was probably betraying him and calling out for her in a way only she would feel - he didn’t want to talk about her. He didn’t want to be reminded of the pain he’d caused her. The way he essentially abandoned her at Midland Circle.

“Helping people.” He said finally, deciding how he wanted to word it. “Y/N was always meant to help people. Inside the law or outside of it, she knew she could make a difference.”

“I wouldn’t lose faith, Matthew, if I couldn’t fulfill my calling.” She explained with a slight edge to her voice. “I’d find some other purpose.”

“If you can be anything else, it was never really your calling.” Matt countered bitterly. “Just tell me, honestly. If you could no longer be a nun, wouldn’t you grieve?”

“Of course I would.. But this isn’t grief. This is-“

“Just please… Go away.”

“I understand what it’s like to feel lost.” She offered, with a much gentler tone than before. “It happened to me too once, a long time ago when I was still a novitiate. I left the order for a while.”

“Why?”

“I was considering a very different life… It was wonderful and terrifying. I struggled to know which life God wanted me to choose. I prayed. I looked for signs. In the end, I had to do my best to figure it all out.”

“Well, that there is the difference between us. I no longer care what God wants.”

You found your way to the church that night after work. You were texting Dex when Sister Maggie came and sat beside you with a heavy sigh, the sigh of a woman almost too tired to keep pushing. But that, you realized, was something that set Sister Maggie apart from the other nuns you had met.

She was too stubborn to quit on anyone. And maybe that was why you liked talking to her, because it seemed like she wasn’t quitting on you.

“I thought you’d grown bored of this place.” She offered with a bit of amusement, though she was clearly worn down. “Or that little event scared you away.”

“No.” You chuckled. “He got me good, I’ll admit. And it was strange. But it takes more than a cheap shot to get rid of me.”

“We missed you this morning. Some of the older ladies.. They asked about the ‘sweet young girl who sits outside’.”

“That’s what they call me?” You smiled slightly.

“Well, they just don’t know better.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“How are you today, Y/N?” She asked honestly.

“It has not been my favorite… Work was interesting. We had this raid and it worked, I’m not complaining about that. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing with this job, y’know? But… The guy that gave us the information, I can’t stand him. Honestly, Sister, I hate him. And I don’t like this feeling of having to be around him again.”

“Do you feel the FBI is your calling?”

“I don’t think I have a calling.” You said honestly. “I’ve tried a lot of different things. The assassin I was raised to be, a mercenary, a lawyer, a vigilante, private security, now FBI… I just wanted to help people who needed it, who were stuck under someone else’s thumb. People like me when I was little, with no one willing to protect them. And I have, in a lot of different ways, but I don’t know about my calling.”

“In some aspects, you remind me of Matthew… When he was younger, of course.”

“In a good way?”

She sighed slightly but offered a fond smile, remembering Matt as a child striking a sentimental cord.

“He was always angry, sometimes lost. He always seemed like he was fighting, be it against himself or the city’s darkness when he got older.” She continued, her eyes falling downward as she toyed with her fingers. “But at his core, he had a good heart, up until his end. And I truly believe you do, too.”

You smiled slightly. Maybe Matt was right after all. Maybe you did have your own light.

“What about you, Sister? What’s wearing you down today?”

“There’s a man who… Well, he’s a great many things. Stubborn, mainly, but also defeated. And I can’t seem to find what sparks a want to continue.”

“Is he alone? No friends or family.”

“He’s not. He has both, or had, I suppose. Friends, even a girlfriend. But he doesn’t want them to know where he is.”

“Sounds lonely..”

She hummed in agreement.

“So why not let him rot in his misery alone? If he’s so determined to isolate himself, maybe you should let him.”

“This one, I’m personally responsible for.”

“How so?”

“He grew up here.” She answered simply but there seemed to be something else there, though you didn’t ask.

“Ah… Well, if he’s really choosing this solitude, I’d say just be there for him, best you can be. He’ll probably keep trying to push and seclude himself but if you really feel you have to help him, just keep pushing back. I know that for me, after Matt, I pushed away the only two friends I thought I had in this city... And I thought that hiding behind Billy and Anvil… I thought those things could fix me, spark something in me, but they didn’t. It just made me feel worse until it got to a point where I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t want to die per say, but I didn’t wanna live like that anymore. So I buried everything and threw myself into a fight that didn’t really involve me, then I got stuck with this.” You shook the wrist with the brace.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Somewhere in between, I think. Nothing’s perfect and there’s still this hollowness in my chest but… I can talk about him without feeling like I’m suffocating. I realized that I can’t just shut everything off and expect people to stick around. I care about people and I have to kinda take the good with the bad, even when it almost kills me. When it takes a piece of me and buries it hundreds of feet below the city.”

“We all heal in our own ways.”

“Yeah.. Problem was, I didn’t know how to grieve on my own. When I was a kid, we weren’t allowed to grieve. It was either someone came back or they didn’t. As long as you were still standing, you kept moving. And when Elektra died, I had Matt. But then Matt was gone and I went home every night to no one. I didn’t know what else to do other than distract myself. I’ve made mistakes but I’m trying to do better.”

“All we can do is take things one day at a time..” She nodded before she stood. “I truly do enjoy our little chats. Till next time, Y/N.”

“Good night, Sister.”

105 notes · View notes