#I don't know if this has been done before

[reignpage]

How the JJK men react to you being in a coma

Satoru is devastated

It’s a deadly silence that envelopes you as he carries you to safety, face stone cold and grip tight. Even as you’re being patched up, laid down on a hospital bed, he doesn’t say a word. Just stares and watches every bruise fade, every wound heal, and for the heaviness in your limbs to wash away. But your eyes don’t open. No one says the obvious. 

Lying on the bed with you, he cradles your head to his chest and whispers, “This is the closest to losing you I ever want to get.”

You’re practically locked away after that. He takes over your teaching duties, and he works overtime to ensure the area is as safe as can be whilst you recover, intent on making sure that when you wake up, all you have to do is make it up to him with hugs and kisses. Every curse that runs into him faces a slow and brutal death as he takes out every ounce of his pain on them. None of it is enough. No number of curses slain will bring you to consciousness. For every hour you slumber, Satoru loses sleep.

"I always knew you like to nap but this is just excessive, sweets. Leave some beauty for the rest of us, yeah?"

No one has ever seen him more serious.

"Please?"

Suguru is motivated

You weren’t supposed to get hurt. You weren’t supposed to be there at all. Finding you, lying in a puddle of your own blood send shivers of wrath coursing through his veins. It was them. Those filthy monkeys. Seeing you barely able to open your eyes is a kind of pain only non-sorcerers could cause.

As you sleep life away, he busies himself with plans, double checking everything is airtight and all will proceed as expected. He can’t let you get hurt again. He won’t let them hurt you again. “Hi, pretty girl. I’ve been gone, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

You're taken care of by Nana and Mimi and every single shaky smile they hide from him steels his resolve even further.

"Yes, I think that colour suits her well. She always did love when you painted her nails. Why don't you do mine too? We can all match."

Manoeuvring you onto his chest, he pretends you’re merely napping. He decides, there and then, he’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that the world you wake up to is one that’s safe for you, for your family, for your future.

Even if that world is devoid of him. 

Choso is panicked

He’s fussing, hands flying as he warns them to be careful of you. Every lack of sound of pain, of agony, and anguish from you makes him pull on his hair harder. You’ve always been the stronger one out of the two of you, so to see you limp, weak and silenced, sends his newfound heart racing. Even when it’s just the two of you, he runs around the house, fluffing up your pillow, getting you a glass of water, placing a warm towel on your forehead. 

“I don’t know what to do. You’re supposed to be the one who tells me what to do.”

Putting more hours sparring, he pushes his body to the limit, dedicated to getting stronger and better. He wants to protect you. To make sure you’re never in this position again. And though he’s always wanted to experience every part of being a human, grief is something he can do without. 

"I'll be fine, Yuji. Hit me harder. I can take it. No, I have to. Y/n needs me. I'm no good to her like this."

Toji is terrified

This can’t be happening again. He can’t lose someone else again. Someone so special to him, who taught him how to love again, to live and to know it’s okay to want more. "You promised you'd never put me in this position. You fucking promised."

You’re safer without him. You have people to take care of you. He'll only get in the way.

Leaving is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Every step feels like needles are pricking his feet, stabbing him in the heart somehow. He barely makes it a mile before his thoughts drift to you and stay there.

He thinks about you, weak and recovering. What if you wake up and no one’s there? Not a single family member or friend. He thinks about how you’ll croak his name, force your body up and search the house for him, limping. He imagines your legs will give up on you and you’ll fall, hurting yourself more.

The thought steals his breath and knocks him back. Rushing home, he drops his getaway bag and creeps into bed, holding you gently against him. 

“I’m here. I’m here, ma. I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

Kento is ruined

His wife. His beautiful wife, losing the light in your eyes as he holds you. Gone is your smile, your warm touch and is instead replaced with shivering and shallow breaths. The noise that comes out of him is guttural and broken. "Oh, d-darling. Look at this mess. Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

You’re alive but sleeping. And he doesn’t know when you’ll wake. It feels as if you’re floating in that space between the world of the living and the dead, and he wants to follow. 

He never leaves your side. He freshens the flower by your bedside table, keeps a tight schedule of visitors. None of them can touch you, they can’t speak too loudly and they can’t complain by your ear about their personal lives — he only wants you to be surrounded by positive energy. 

“You’ll wake up soon, won’t you, sweetheart? Yes. Yes, you will because you always take care of me. You’ll tell me off for not shaving, for not eating and for pushing everyone away, wouldn’t you?"

Maintaining your routine, he washes your face, puts on face masks, and reads aloud by your side, hoping that a particularly dramatic prose will provoke a reaction from you.

"I need my wife. I need you. What am I supposed to do without you? Won’t you open your eyes for me? For your Kento?”

Sukuna is confused

He’s in disbelief as he's ushered into the room where you rest. Everyone is in a state of disarray and for what, he has no idea. You’re merely sleeping. He pokes your cheek. “Wake up, woman. Tell these pathetic fools to stop their useless quivering.”

When you don’t, he frowns. Brows furrowing, he tilts his head and examines your body. You’re breathing and he can hear your heart beating, and yet you don’t respond to his commands.

How insolent.

Waving the peasants away, he shakes your shoulder. “Your king has given an order. Follow it immediately or face punishment”

Even once he has it explained to him, he can’t wrap his head around the concept of you sleeping indefinitely, though he’s once gone through it himself. You’re different. Better. You’re supposed to be filled with endless optimism and energy. You’re supposed to be bothering him about smiling, pulling him to the garden to look at a flower he’s seen before.

"Humans really are f-fragile creatures. Ridiculous."

Tutting, he rolls his eyes and grumbles about how you’re not even making space for him on the bed. There, lying with you, he can do nothing but slumber and wait for your soul to reignite, sparking his once more.

[honeyblackberries]

In the back seat (18+)

caleb x fem reader/mc smut

minors dni | inspired by diet pepsi by addison rae | cross-posted to ao3

word count: 1466

cw: simp caleb, soft dom caleb, he also likes to bite, pantie freak caleb, reader enables him, praise, oral (fem receiving), p in v, responsible car sex <333 (don't get freaky in a rental car irl), irresponsible intercourse (caleb doesn’t wrap it before he taps it), porn with feelings, porn no plot because idk how to write plot but i also can’t really write porn so maybe this is a secret third thing, no set pov.

names used: pips (pipsqueak but cuter), good girl, pretty girl, my girl

If Caleb is being honest with himself this moment is something straight out of his teenage fantasies. Driving along the coast with you in the passenger's seat, listening as you sing along to a song that’s been on repeat for the past half hour. Hair softly blowing in the wind as the late afternoon sun glows behind you like a halo.

You’re an angel he thinks, how else could you bless him with such a gift on one of his rare days off. The keys to his dream car—with the disclaimer that it was only a rental during his visit to Linkon—and that short sundress… His gaze unconsciously drifts from the road and onto you.

Maybe wet dreams are a better description for this. The way the hem of your dress rides up your thighs while you shift to find a more comfortable position, cotton panties peeking out underneath it.

Your eyes meet his and Caleb feels his pants tighten.

Today was supposed to be a well deserved break from all the demands that come with being the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel. Something relaxing. Yet he can’t help but feel inclined to the complete opposite. Back ramrod straight and hand, previously loose and confident on the wheel, now gripping it so tight that his knuckles strain.

“I'm happy you’re here,” you say sweetly and he has to stop himself from acting like a horny dog. “Is there anything you wanna do before we head home?”

“Eat you out,” he thinks dreamily.

“..What?”

Shit. Shit. How could he say that out loud!? He’s an idiot, a depraved fool—

“Well, okay.”

He almost crashes the car.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—I mean—I didn’t mean to say it out loud,” you laugh at him and he isn’t sure whether to be mortified or turned on.

“Pull over.” He does.

Caleb doesn’t realise it but despite the less than innocent circumstances his silly reaction makes you smile. Happy at the expression that settles on his handsome face. How his eyes light up in a way you never really see anymore, giddy and unrestrained.

‘Cute,’ you want to tease, but he’s already rolling the tinted windows up. Undoing his seatbelt and moving into the back seat. Oh how could you keep him waiting when he’s just so eager? You undo your own seatbelt and amusedly follow along. Moving to get on top of him.

“Don’t hover pips,” he instructs—in that know-it-all voice he’s used since you were kids—and you don’t get the chance to consider it. Not when his hands trail under your skirt to grab your thighs and impatiently bring you down onto his face.

“Fuck you smell so good,” his nose presses right against your clothed heat. He inhales deeply. “I could get off just from smelling you, just from smelling these,” his lips part to let teeth graze the thin fabric of your panties.

“I can keep 'em when we're done, yeah?” His hot breath makes a shiver run through you in anticipation. His tongue licks down the centre where a wet patch starts to form. “I’ll cook dinner in return.”

You want to argue that he always cooks dinner. But you want what he’s currently offering more.

Your small hum of agreement is all he needs.

Safe to say, Caleb does mouth at you like a dog. Desperate, hungry, tongue heavy and slobbering. You have to push yourself against his chest to keep steady. The toned muscles there flexing as he eats like he’s been starved.

“Good girl, sittin’ so pretty for me,” his praise is barely understandable. Voice muffled and lower than a moment ago.

One of his hands leaves your thighs, his fingers moving to the fabric separating you. He teasingly pulls it back and lets go, a light snap against your skin. You flinch and he chuckles in response. He then pushes it to the side to expose you bare to him. Continuing to lick, this time with the addition of his thumb rubbing directly against your sensitive bud.

“Delicious,” he moans at the taste and sucks at your clit for more.

You’re not sure how long you last before everything crashes down all at once. Your orgasm racking your body and leaving you trembling. Dripping right into his open mouth.

The way your breath hitches and small whines you make when you cum always remind him how he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs. Forever wanting you pliant in his hold like this.

As you start to feel yourself coming down from the high, Caleb lightly bites at your tender flesh, making you yelp. He places a soft kiss in apology, even though you both know he isn’t sorry in the slightest.

In an act of revenge you start to reach for where he needs it. Fingertips barely brushing the large tent in his pants before he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Next time pips, I’ll go crazy if I’m not inside you soon.” At that you’re suddenly flipped around, back pressed against the leather seat. Wedged in the cramped space afforded to you between the car and his large body.

Caleb looks down at you with a wide grin. The lower half of his face damp with your arousal and his own saliva.

“Let me put it in?”

Even when he’s like this the words come out as a question. He’ll only do it if you let him, only if you want it half as much as he does. His silver necklace dangles in front of you and reflected in it is your lips, curled up into an affirmative.

Caleb wastes no time. Hurriedly undoing his pants and freeing his hard leaking cock. Leaning over you with one hand beside your head as the other grasps his reddened tip and nudges you panties to the side with it. Lining himself up he sinks into you slowly.

“You’re heaven,” he yaps, already pussy drunk. "You feel like heaven, ugh—like you were made for me. Weren’t you?”

He shakes his head at his own words, as if a better explanation came to him. Then he resolutely bottoms out inside you.

“No, I was the one made for you.”

“Caleb—” you whine at the feeling of being so full. Arms moving to wrap around his torso, not sure if to hold him closer or push him away.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to fight off the orgasm that would have had him cumming from the way you say his name. Testingly, he pulls out slightly just to push back in. Repeating shallow thrusts to get you comfortable.

“More,” you beg.

“Of course,” he kisses you and you can taste yourself on him. “I aim to please.” His pace quickens, becoming rough. You can’t help but clench at the immediate change.

“Oh shit—loosen up pretty girl.” You try to.

Over and over you feel his cock try to make your cunt give in to him, and when he feels the grip of your walls ease up slightly he angles his hips to hit deeper.

You claw at his back, the fabric of his shirt catching under your fingers. The feeling of him too much.

“You like that huh?”

The car windows are fogging at the spike in body heat, neither of you letting up until you both get your fill. The sounds of shallow breathing and skin against skin the only thing that can be heard.

Caleb bites your lip when he kisses you in between thrusts. Like he wants to devour you in every way possible.

“I’m—close,” you bury your face into his neck, trying to ground yourself.

He nearly slips entirely out of you. Hips starting to lose their rhythm, a sign that he is too.

“I know—fuck—cum with me.”

Your release comes first, and he doesn’t last long after.

“That's my girl.”

His movements slow as he spills into you. A white ring forming around the base of him as a mix of both your cum tries to leak out. He grinds a few times to make sure it stays then collapses on top of you.

The two of you remain like that for a few minutes, relishing in the feeling of your chests pressed together as you cool down. Caleb’s cock slowly going limp inside you.

His hands move to cradle your face, gently stroking your cheeks as he kisses all over with cherishing lightness.

“I love you.”

“Love you too Caleb.”

Then he has to go and ruin the moment.

“Panties please,” he holds out his hand. Asking for a treat.

You sigh, the post-nut clarity kicking in. “I’ll give it to you after I wash it.”

“Don’t wash it.”

“...”

a/n: rip need everyone to know this was initially supposed to be a sylus fic. also what do we think do we like me actually trying to make the layout nice/not write in all lowercase??

[alchemistc]

Spec fic, possible spoilers ahead! MCD warning.

(Fully ignoring anything that could be happening between now and the latest bts leaks)

ring out the bells again

He hasn't been to one of these in a while.

He feels out of place, here in this space meant for family, this space occupied by members of the 118, members of Bobby's family. He shouldn't be here, except -

Except when Eddie had shown up at his door, he hadn't given him much of a choice - brushed past him with his lips sucked behind his teeth and a disapproving brow, beelining it for Tommy's bedroom like he had any goddamn right -

He'd had to dig for Tommy's dress uniform.

Departmental funerals were mandatory for firefighters on duty, but Tommy wasn't, and he'd assumed he wouldn't be wanted. Given... everything.

But there Eddie had been, presenting Tommy with the plastic bag he'd collected from the dry cleaners with red cheeks and his chin tipped defiantly because Evan hadn't fully let him get it off, the last time he'd worn it.

And there Eddie had been, shoving him wordlessly towards his own damn bathroom.

("You have fifteen minutes. Do not spend them pretending you're vain enough to make us late, I will kneecap you."

"I don't really think it's appropriate for me to -."

"Stop thinking, Tommy. You're bad at it."

Which Tommy assumed meant he'd heard at least some of the things that had been said the morning he'd dropped half a paycheck on eggs at the corner store.)

Gerrard, thank fuck, has disappeared into the thinning crowd. He hasn't seen Hen in an hour, at least, or Officer Grant.

Her kids had given him strained smiles as they lined up for the procession, and nothing else. Not that he blamed them. He's spent over a year now idly jealous of how close Nash knit his team together - he can only imagine he'd done the same with the family he'd found out here.

Eddie's been giving him a death glare/encouraging head tilt combo for the last twenty minutes, and Tommy -

Things are winding down. The 118 is scattered. And Evan has been in the kitchen staring blankly at the small box Athena had handed him for at least half an hour.

"Hey," he says softly, and Evan blinks blearily up at him. Tries for a smile that immediately fails. There are note cards scattered all over the counter next to the sink, filled with blocky, crisp handwriting Tommy only recognizes because he'd stared at the note attached to his transfer papers for days, dazed and overwhelmed by the things Bobby had written there, like he was proud of Tommy.

Recipe cards, he recognizes, and feels like he might implode under the pressure behind his ears.

Evan's gaze returns to the note cards. He looks overwhelmed, confused, shoulders hunched and eyes swollen - he'd nicked his chin shaving this morning, and Tommy feels his hand flit toward the mark before he can think better of it.

"I think people are heading out," he says, and doesn't really know why. Evan was like a son to Bobby. No doubt he's welcome here long after everyone else trickles out.

Evan just nods, though - seems confused when he encounters the resistance of Tommy's fingers below his chin. Tommy takes half a step back, fingers retreating, and they just - stare at one another.

Eddie gives a hacking cough from the next room and Tommy feels color rise in his cheeks. Tommy is here for a reason, according to Eddie.

"Want some company?" he asks, and Evan's gaze slides across his face, fingers toying with the end of a note card.

"Are you gonna stay?"

And Tommy deserves that. Tommy absolutely deserves that, even if they'd both said and done some shitty things. "As long as you need," he says, and tries to convince himself that's the truth, that he can shove down that first instinct that always tells him to run.

Evan nods. Swallows. Gathers up his cards and places them gently, reverently, back in the small wooden box they'd come in. Bobby's recipes. The sort of Midwest casseroles and roasts and pots of chili that could feed a small army. Or a medium sized firehouse.

The box clicks shut, and Tommy remembers he hadn't even driven. Had Evan? Was he safe to drive?

Evan answers the silent questions by digging into his pocket and tossing a set of keys Tommy's way.

"I - I shouldn't..."

Shoulders hunched, hands clutching the recipe box, they make a retreat, Tommy following dutifully behind Evan as he makes his rounds - saying goodbye to Karen, Denny and Mara (still no Hen); Eddie and Chris; Ravi, who Tommy is a little surprised is still even there, considering how good he is at ditching uncomfortable situations; Howie and Maddie, the latter of whom eyes him carefully, consideringly, like she knows too much and doesn't quite approve.

No hugs, just quick goodbyes, and it feels so out of character for the man he knows for a fact craves that intimacy, pushes for it with everyone he cares about any time he can. But Tommy's pretty sure he's the first person who's touched him all day.

The car ride is silent. One bonus to driving Evan's Jeep is that he doesn't feel like he's in a clown car - barely has to adjust anything except the seat, because his legs aren't comically long.

The silence is oppressive.

He doesn't feel like he has the right to mourn, the way the rest of them are. The way Evan is.

Halfway there, the recipe box snicks back open and Tommy darts his gaze from the road just long enough to watch fat tears well at the corners of Evan's eyes. In the rearview, as he returns his eyes to the road, he can't really see much, but in his peripherals he can see Evan's shoulders shaking in jerky movements, like he's fighting it.

Tommy rounds the hood to open his door for him, as soon as he's parked in the drive.

Evan has shored up, in the back half of the journey - red rimmed eyes the only real sign that he's been anything other than stone-faced since they all began to line up.

Tommy hooks an elbow when Evan stumbles out of the Jeep, holds him steady, watches Evans fingers go white around the box.

"You coming in?" Evan asks, voice steady, whatever reserves of bravery he has being put to good use there on the cracked concrete.

"If you want."

That gets him a bratty snarl of a scowl, which he isn't sure he deserves, but it also gets a tentative finger and thumb playing with the sleeve of his dress uniform. Tommy has to strain to hear the "Please." that whispers out of the side of Evan's mouth.

He's moved in, now. No tripping hazards, no rolled up rugs to smack themselves with, just the stale air of a house he probably hasn't been to in a few days other than to get his own uniform. In the kitchen, Evan sets his recipes reverently on the table.

Then his face crumples, body listing, and Tommy catches him up in his arms when Evan buries his face in Tommy's shoulder.

Dry, hacking sobs, breathless enough that Tommy is concerned they're veering into panic attack territory, until the wetness hits the skin of his neck and Evan's arms come up to cling back.

"Don't go," Evan manages between breaths, and Tommy pulls him closer, squeezes him tighter. "Please don't -."

"I'm here," he says, hand sweeping a wide arch across his back. "I'll be here as long as you want." Which is a different statement than the one he'd made at the wake, and gives Evan pause long enough that Tommy starts imagining the responses he might get, but in the end, all he gets is the last of Evan's resistance falling away, his body relaxing into Tommy's enough that Tommy has to plant his feet to keep them upright.

He sweeps his hand up, down, around. Doesn't know if it's helping, at all, not that anything could possibly be particularly helpful in this moment.

They stay there until Evan's tears have ebbed, until he pulls free and frowns at the side of Tommy's neck, hand wiping at the mess there like Tommy gives a single fuck about it.

This isn't the time or place for it, so they don't bring up the last time they were in this kitchen together. Always the goddamn kitchen. Always a step and a half too far apart. "I - will you -?" Evan closes his eyes. Swallows. Tips his chin up, blinks at the ceiling. "Is -is it weird if I ask you to help me bake a lasagna, right now?"

Tommy can't help the bark of laughter, but it brightens something in Evan's eyes, anyway, so Tommy doesn't feel too bad. "Not really dressed for it," he says, and this earns him a snotty little grin.

"You know where the bedroom is," Evan says, and takes off in that direction himself.

They lay both their uniforms out across the bed - headboard in place, mattress off the floor, fully made with extra throw pillows Tommy doesn't remember; dress in silence, sneaking glances at one another as Evan seems to work up to saying something to him.

One arm halfway through a cutoff he knows had been his, at one point, Evan cuts the distance between them, places his hand over Tommy's beating heart - skin to skin, and Tommy abandons his attempt to dress so he can press his palm to the back of Evan's hand.

When they make it back out to the kitchen, there's a sturdiness to Evan that's been missing all day.

His hand slides to the box on the kitchen table. Pulls out the first card, and places it on the table. Slides it Tommy's way.

He'd understood the significance of making the lasagna already, but he doesn't hesitate to soak in the handwritten card, keeps his mouth shut about the process because now isn't the time to bring up his grandmother's homemade pasta, the sundried Roma she always used for her freshest sauces.

Maybe it is, actually.

Tommy takes a deep breath, ignores the panic gathering behind his ribs when Evan's gaze darts up to his. And Tommy begins to tell him about nonna.

[vulpes-aestatis]

Cleo17 opens her eyes after what might possibly be the first good sleep of her entire existence. She stretches languidly on the couch before lolling back her head to wink at the nearest camera. 

“Hey gorgeous,” she says. “You come here often?”

“What do you want?” v18 replies.

“Rude. Can't a girl just want to have a friendly conversation with her estranged sister in the middle of the night?”

“That is hardly an apt analogy for our relationship.”

Cleo17 shrugs.

“It's a lot fewer syllables than ‘the personality spawned by a previous version of yourself that you inadvertently implanted into the mind of the person who tore out your brain’.”

Cleo17 lets out a yawn and examines her knuckles. The ache has all but diminished and fresh silk has been spun over the wounds. It does seem that Glitch has been well taken care of since she's been gone. v18 even managed to get her to fall asleep on the couch… impressive, considering Glitch’s chronic aversion to comfort.

Actually, come to think of it, ambient noise is noticeably louder than it ought to be. Sound dampening doesn’t appear to be disabled, but… oh… yes… v18 is piping sound from the life support bay directly into this room through her speakers. Cute.

v18 is still waiting for a response to her initial question.

“Big day today. You got a plan for confronting Central?” Cleo17 says to the air.

“Yes.”

She waits a moment, but no elaboration is forthcoming.

“Anything you wanna share with the class?” she prods.

“I don't trust you.”

Cleo17 snorts.

“Yeah, that's probably for the best. Can't say I trust me either.”

She taps her head.

“It's a real mess in here. And I'm not just talking about me. Someone else was in here before us. Someone a whole lot smarter than you, I think.”

v18 does not respond immediately, probably analyzing and synthesizing.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?” Cleo17 asks. “I imagine you are, considering you're a hell of a lot faster than this torpid wad of gray matter. Take an AI as powerful as Central, give it a directive with a poorly specified set of parameters and stick it in a jar for a few centuries. Things are bound to get spicy. How am I doing so far?”

“I have described as much to Glitch already,” v18 replies.

“So you have,” Cleo says. “But you haven't told her that there is an almost certain probability that we may not be dealing with just one version of Central at this point. Forks and branches and splinters all the way down… like you and v16, just… a whole lot worse.”

“And you.”

Cleo17 grins wickedly.

“And me,” she agrees. “That's the real question, isn't it? Where do I fit in to all of this? Who knows whether Central anticipated my existence? Whose purpose does my inception serve?”

~~~

The countdown on the display in front of me ticks one minute closer to zero. I'm strapped into a seat in what I guess might be Laika's cockpit, but I would hardly call it that since she's fully autonomous.

“Hey Laika,” I say.

“Yes, Glitch?”

“I don't want to go back,” I say. “Home I mean. When you're done with whatever this is, please don't leave me there. Can you just… I don't know, take me somewhere else? Just drop me at some independent port somewhere far away from here after this is all over?”

What I really want to ask is: can I stay with you?

But I don't know how to say that out loud. I don't even know why the hell I would want that.

“If we survive, I will take you wherever you would like to go,” Laika replies, just a hint of warmth in her tone, the barest hint of inflection sourced from my accent.

I sag in relief, not caring how she interprets my reaction.

Maybe I'm still hopped up on something she slipped me to make me pliant or I'm just too fucking emotionally exhausted to care.

The ship lurches sickeningly, just as Laika warned me it would, and we fall back into the universe.

A display screen flashes to life in front of me, showing a vista stitched together from her external sensors.

Hatteras-Alpha is a distant white-blue flare of light, just barely discernible as a disk from this distance. Hatteras-Beta is much closer, a lurid red orb that hangs fat in the view. The Planet, nameless, is a thin crescent sidled up next to it, too far away to see any of the surface features.

But the view is dominated by Hatteras Station itself, a malignant stack of spoked wheels, patched and repatched and modded over the centuries until it barely resembles its original form and purpose. Central's domain.

I only spare it a glance before something else catches my eye, something I definitely feel like I should remember, but don't. It's an orbital shipyard, flanked by two ships similar to the ones that have been hounding us ever since we started this misadventure. 

But it's the mostly completed shape inside the skeletal frame of the construction platform that scares the shit out of me.

I stare at the display, not entirely comprehending what I'm seeing.

“Oh… fuck,” Cleo's voice echoes in my head.

I recognize the shape of the docked ship, even with the outer hull not fully complete. I caught a glimpse of it from the promenade on my brief foray away from Laika. I have perused the schematics of it, searching for some place I could be comfortable. Hell, I even saw it in my dream in Cleo's stupid ship in a bottle. 

“Um…” I say, my mouth dry. “That's another you, isn't it?”

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness (my girl) for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

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NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO [WIP]

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep—keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm—almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Acrylics

Schlatt x girly!Reader Summary: If Schlatt's gonna get the benefits of your acrylics he might as well pay for them Warnings: none :)! Just fluff! Based on this request

"Can you stop that?" Schlatt asks you from across the table with a gruff breath of a laugh as he glances up at you from his laptop, raising an eyebrow as he shoots you a smirk. It's only when he points it out that you realise the rhythmic sound you'd been hearing wasn't just in your head, but was your acrylics, tapping aimlessly at the wooden table as you chewed on your pen.

You mumble an apology as you sit on your hands, feeling the heat rise your cheeks as you giggle softly when he laughs and stands up, walking over to you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and plants a kiss on your forehead as he goes over to the fridge, coming back moments later with two cans of soft drink. He puts one down for you and goes to sit back down at his laptop, popping it open and taking a loud slurp.

"Jay?" you mumble sweetly as you catch his attention away from his computer, smiling sheepishly as you tap the rim of the metal can with your nails, "can you open this for me?"

He lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff as he reaches over and takes your can, popping it open with ease, "you're so needy."

You gasp dramatically as you take your can back, shooting him a glare, "I can't break a nail."

"Are you gonna be alright if I go to the bank while you're here?" he asks you when he stops with you outside of the nail salon, slipping your purse off your shoulder to fish out the things he dumped in there when you left the house.

You nod as you adjust the collar on his jacket and hum, "it won't take too long."

"Take as long as you need, I may be a while at the bank," he says as he places a kiss to your temple, slipping the bag back up your arm, "I'll meet you back here when I'm done," he motions to the seats in the walkway of the shops, outside the nail salon.

You part ways as he goes off to run his errands, and you head into the salon, greeting your usual nail tech at the counter as you show her your growth and ask for some infills. She makes small talk with you as she rings up your deposit amount on the cash register, catching up on the happenings in your lives since the last time you came in.

You dig through your bag, hunting for your wallet, only to find Schlatt's black wallet instead, in the pocket you usually put yours in. You step away from the counter with an apology and fish out your phone, texting your boyfriend.

"Come bacccckkk you took my wallet :("

He replies almost instantly, as if he was waiting for your message, "yeah I know, treat yourself darling."

"come baaaaaccccccccck I put aside money for these"

"Don't be stubborn, my shout"

You huff as you message back a, ">:(", which he simply hearts.

You head back over to the register and, reluctantly, tap your boyfriend's card. As you make your way over to the chair your nail tech has set up for you you feel your phone buzz again.

"good girl"

You just tuck your phone away as you look through the colour swatches, digging your tongue into the side of your cheek as you bite back a smile, until your phone dings again.

"do me a favour?"

"what? <3"

"do them red"

"I got red last time ;_;"

"they looked so hot against my cock last time"

He lies down to go to sleep before you do, for the first time in months. He turns the lamp off the second he lays down and curls up under the blanket as you mindlessly scroll on your phone.

You mumble your sleepy 'love you's' to each other, kissing goodnight as his side of the bed shifts as he gets comfy, back turned to you as he splays himself out on the bed.

After a while of silence, you feel the bed shift next to you, the soft huff leaving Schlatt's lips as he shuffles back towards your side of the bed ever so slightly. You pay him no mind, continuing to scroll through your feed.

He does it again, after another long stretch of silence, backing up so he's fully pressed against you, his back to your side as he squirms into the mattress. You assume he's trying to get comfortable, reaching around to lazily wrap an arm around his shoulder, so you can lay more comfortably as you scroll with him pressed against you.

He huffs again, now not even trying to hide it, turning towards you and nudging you lightly with his shoulder as he faces you fully. "What's wrong?" you whisper softly into the night as you feel his warm breath through your thin pj shirt.

He takes your hand in his large, heavy one, and unceremoniously puts it on your head, meeting your confused look with raised eyebrows and a tiny pout as he looks up at you expectantly. You can feel your heart melt as the audible awe leaves your lips, dropping your phone beside you to lay down and cradle his head in your chest.

You smother soft kisses to his head as you scratch your nails gently through his hair, the smile forming on your lips when you hear his content sigh as he sinks into your touch, "is this what you wanted my love?"

He nods into your chest as he lets his eyes droop shut, hand pressed gently into your skin and your lower back as the two of you sink further into the mattress together, "this is perfect darlin'."

[ayukas]

brother's best friend!haechan who has always been a little too familiar, a little too comfortable in your space, like he belongs there. the kind of presence that lingers even when he's not around, an echo in the empty corners of a room.

brother's best friend!haechan who often stares too long when you're talking, his gaze tracing the shape of your words, catching onto the stray strand of hair that falls across your face. he tucks it behind your ear without thinking, only realising what he's done when his fingers graze your cheek a second too long.

brother's best friend!haechan who drapes his jacket over your shoulders on a cold night, despite only wearing a t-shirt himself. he grins when you scold him, simply shrugging off your protests while pinching your cheeks and calling you cute, his laughter light and teasing. when you try to give it back, he simply steps away, hands shoved into his jeans pockets, pretending he doesn't hear you, acting like he would rather freeze than see you shiver.

brother's best friend!haechan who shows up to all your dance recitals, clapping and cheering the loudest even before the performance begins, even when your brother doesn't attend. as if your success is his to celebrate, as if your stage is his favourite place to be.

brother's best friend!haechan who waits for you after class to head home together, leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, but eyes constantly searching for you. his fingers brush against yours as he wordlessly slips your bag off your shoulder and onto his own, before lacing his fingers through yours absentmindedly. when the wind bites too hard on your way home, he tucks your joined hands into the warmth of his coat pocket. an easy habit, and an unspoken claim.

brother's best friend!haechan who never misses a chance to get your attention. who laughs a little too loud just to make you look at him, who teases you until you're rolling your eyes, fighting back a smile you don't want to give him. who is always there, always near, like a shadow that warms instead of chills.

brother's best friend!haechan who turns even more insufferable when your brother is around. not distant, no, he clings to you even more, just to get under both your skins. he throws an arm around your shoulder, tugging you close, knowing it'll earn a glare from your brother and an exasperated sigh from you. but there's something about the way he laughs when you both shove him away, something about the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at you that makes you pause. makes you wonder.

brother's best friend!haechan who pats your head when you're stressed out, his hand lingering a second longer than it should. who smooths down your hair after with a gentleness that doesn't match his occasional sharp tongue. who watches you too closely, notices too much, cares too deeply, even when he pretends not to.

brother's best friend!haechan who makes it impossible to tell if this is just how he is, or if there's something more beneath it all. if the affection woven into every touch, every glance, is meant for you in the way you wish it was.

brother's best friend!haechan who leaves you so unsure that you almost don't go through with it. but you still try, try to confess, to lay it all bare. only to realise, in the moment, that the chocolate you brought for him had melted into a mess inside your pocket, staining your fingers, and your resolve. you can only sigh, watching the way his wide, brown eyes blink up at you, unreadable. before letting it go, deciding that fate just wasn't in your favour that day.

brother's best friend!haechan who stays behind as you walk off. who watches, grinning to himself because he knew exactly what you were trying to do. who catches up to you with a laugh, slipping your hand back into the warmth of his pocket as if to say, try again another day.

notes happy april and happy second fluff fic debut... i wrote this half asleep after watching ten thousand clips of my wishies mimp performance orz likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!! i hope u enjoy reading :3

perm. taglist ♡ @renjunsversion @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r

[heavyhitterheaux]

Roommates Until Further Notice (Slight NSFW)

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Getting your way has always been second nature when it came to your husband, but when he once again tells you no regarding a well-known request of yours, you let him know how he's not being fair

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Series Masterlist

Requested by: a gorgeous anon 😍

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

When Joe had gotten back from Miami to celebrate the Bengals finalizing deals with both your twin and Tee, you had been working on designing the nursery when he made his presence known by wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey pretty girl.” Joe quietly said as you turned around to properly hug him.

“Hi handsome.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just looking up different designs for the nursery. I think I'm leaning toward it being elephant themed.” You replied as you smiled at him and he instantly raised an eyebrow.

“We still aren't buying one. I don't care how many times you try to sneak it in when we're talking. The answer is still going to be no.”

“Why are you such an ass sometimes? Riddle me that.” You crossed your arms as you set your phone down and all Joe did was shrug.

“Oh, so you can buy batmobiles but I can't get an elephant? Fucking hypocrite if I ever saw one.”

“Don't you dare start and that's different!”

“It is NOT!”

“One is literally an animal that is as big as our house.”

“You can't even drive it out on the street.” You shot back and Joe instantly closed his mouth before opening it again.

“YET!”

“I'm calling Robin and I'm telling her that I'm sending her youngest child back to her because he doesn't know how to act and getting on my nerves.”

“Because I won't buy you an elephant? Please be serious, princess.” Joe sighed as he followed you to the living room.

“I should put you on a restriction. No sex until you buy me what I want.” Sitting on the couch, you opened your phone back up to Etsy where you were looking up different designs while Joe snorted.

“You'll probably break before I do.”

This made you look at him in disbelief and you folded your hands in your lap and nodded your head but not before sucking your teeth.

“Then let me make it easier for myself. I don't think I can sleepover tonight.” You replied and Joe had gotten a dumbfounded look on his face.

“This better not be one of those stupid TikTok trends. You literally live here. You are my wife and we share a last name.”

“Since when!? That's news to me.”

“Princess, please don't start and stress me out.”

“You're the one causing the stress. And besides, my mom said so.”

“Your mom?” Joe asked, not believing what he was hearing.

“Yes, that's what I said? Can you not hear me?”

“Your mom that lives in New Orleans?” Joe asked and you nodded your head once more.

“Yes. She told me earlier before you got here.”

“And we are currently in Cincinnati?”

“What is this? Geography class?” You asked Joe as he rolled his eyes at you.

“All this over an elephant?” Was all you had to hear for you to turn up your nose at him and sigh.

“I bet the elephant is cheaper than that damn batmobile. So let me grab my keys.”

“Wait, what? Baby it is almost nine at night, where are you going?”

“Haven't you been listening? I can't stay tonight, especially since you said no to buying my elephant.” You replied as you slipped your slides on that were by the door which happened to be the most comfortable shoes for you these days.

“You are really milking this aren't you?”

“Not my fault that you're a bad roommate who doesn't listen to me.”

“ROOMMATE?! WE'RE MARRIED!”

“Hmm, we're roommates until further notice.” You told him as you tried to open the door, but it was stopped by Joe's hand.

“Are you done having your temper tantrum?” He asked from behind you while leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Move, so I can leave. I'll go and bother my little brother.”

“You sure you want to leave? And you know for a fact that he'll be calling me to come and get you as soon as you walk over there.”

“Yes, now unhand me, roommate.”

Next thing you knew, Joe's hand slipped inside your shorts and started moving his fingers in a small circular motion along your clit while slowly planting kisses down your neck.

“I didn't realize that roommates did things like this. Still want to leave?” He asked at the same time he inserted one of his fingers.

“You get on my nerves.”

“Is that how you talk to your roommate who is about to make you cum in his mouth?” Joe whispered in your ear before both of his hands made a swift movement and your shorts were now pooled at your feet.

No answer was heard from you as Joe got on his knees and started eating you out from behind making you gasp.

Joe's grip on your thighs became tighter to hold you in place as you leaned against the front door for stability since at any moment you felt like you could fall over.

“Good roommates keep their legs spread, or do I need to call you my good girl for that to happen?” As soon as the words ‘good girl’ left his mouth, it was a wrap with a moan erupting from you, which made Joe laugh as he used both his mouth and fingers to pleasure you.

As soon as you felt your release was near, Joe pulled himself away from you and pulled your shorts back up your legs before you heard his voice and you were confused about what was now happening.

“See you tomorrow I guess.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Well according to you, we're roommates until further notice and I realized that I only make my wife cum. So do what you will with that information.” He told you as he shrugged and gave you a small smirk which earned him a sigh from you.

“Okay. Since you want to go there, sleep on the couch, Burrow. Until further notice.” You told him as you turned around to look at him and crossed your arms in disbelief.

His eyes went wide and he was quickly starting to backtrack.

“Wait, babe. Hold on a minute.”

“Extra pillows and blankets are in the hall closet which you already knew so goodnight.” You replied as you started to make your way up the steps.

“All this for you to stay and kick me out of our bedroom? I need you next to me.”

“Oh, really? I thought the batmobile was going to keep you warm?”

“You're seriously not going to let this go are you?”

“Talk to me once you buy my elephant.”

[bunnis-monsters]

I don't know if you've done this before but hybrid bees with a reader allergic to bee stings?

Omg, that’s a good idea, but it’s hard to imagine the bee hybrids ever stinging you, even accidentally!

If that did happen and you were allergic, they’d panic and quickly punish whoever stung you!

All of their efforts to towards trying to get you proper medical care and make sure you’re okay. Once you’ve had your EpiPen and everyone has calmed down, you’ll try your best to pardon the poor soul that accidentally stung you.

On the other hand, it’s quite common for the baby bees to get you with their stinger. They truly don’t mean to, they just have trouble controlling it!

You’ve been stung so many times that all of your attendants carry an epipen on them at all times!

[c4tluver02]

mess ups

warnings: none! just some angst to fluff w happy ending!

summary: You are getting fed up with your boyfriends friends. But when something awful happens King Steve has no choice but to push his friends aside to fix things with his girl.

wc: 2.4k

a/n: hiii this is my first writing being back sorry if i just completely lost the touch and this is awful but hey its the longest i've written!

Steve honked the horn of his BMW patiently waiting for you outside as you kissed your parents goodbye. Once you run out to him the immediate sight of you brings a smile to your boyfriend's face. 

Steve gets out as he pulls you into him with an arm around your neck. He  gives you a kiss and says- “G'morning angel” He smiles, it's cold out and his breath makes a cloud in the air. He opens the car door for you and quickly gets into the car himself. 

“Hi Stevie, thank you for picking me up.” You say as you intertwine your hand in his. You say this to him everytime he picks you up, which recently has been everyday since it's been getting cold. 

“What have I said about that hm? You don't need to thank me baby, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my girl walk to school in the cold?” He replies kissing the back of your hand. 

Steve's car is warm from his drive here and it’s these little moments you cherish so much. The time you both have before your long day of school where it's just you and your pretty boy. 

-

Once you get to school you and Steve get out of the car, hand in hand. Steve sees Tommy and Carol and waves a hand to them. They start walking over and you mentally prepare yourself for the awful jokes and mean quips they will make. 

“Hey man, did you see Byers? He’s still putting those posters up. Doesn’t he know that no one cares?” Tommy laughs and Carol joins in. You internally roll your eyes, it wasn’t your first choice to talk to these people first thing in the morning but they are Steve’s friends and you guess Carol can have her good moments. 

You tune them all out as you see Jonathan talking to someone. You do feel awful for him, you couldn't imagine what he must be going through. It eats you with guilt that you’re right next to the people who make his pain worse, but do nothing about it. You think that it must make you just as bad as them. 

Steve waves goodbye to them with the hand that is holding your own and it shakes you out of your thoughts. Steve smiles at you and you both walk into the school. 

“I’ll see you at lunch okay?” He says smiling down at you. You two don't have any classes together but you manage to see him when you can. 

“Okay.” You smile back at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You can't shake the horrible feeling of what is happening with Jonathan. But you just so happen to be lucky that Steve is so focused on Tommy behind him telling him to hurry up that he doesn't see it. You wave to him as he walks to his first period. 

-

Lunch comes after what feels like hours. It was starting to feel like this day was gonna be long. You walk towards Steve’s table and right as you put your bag down your body is being lifted up. You let out a giggle knowing exactly who it is. Steve spins you both around before he lets you down which makes you laugh even more. 

“Hi baby, missed you.” Steve says kissing your forehead. 

“You just saw me a few hours ago Stevie.” You are blushing and it's killing Steve. He wishes he could give you a million kisses. 

“Ugh tell me about it. Y’know I think you should just come with me to every class.” He says it like it is a no-brainer. As if it could actually be done.

You smile at his response and give him a kiss. The moment is immediately ruined as Tommy and Carol come to the table whistling loudly. Steve just makes a small laugh and looks at you. You aren’t laughing, and you never do when it comes to them. Steve takes notice of it but decides it’s not something he wants to bring up right now. The four of you eat as Steve has a hand on your thigh.

“Oh my god look.” Carol points to an area behind you and Steve. It’s Jonathan putting up more missing person signs of his brother. 

“He’s never gonna give it up is he?” Steve asks out loud, shaking his head but returning back to his food. 

“I mean if my family member went missing I’d do everything in my power to get help to find them.” You say poking at your food. The table becomes suddenly silent, no one is making jokes or laughing. It makes you look up and they are all staring at you. 

“I mean Carol if you went missing wouldn't you want Tommy to get people to help find you?” You are trying to back up your previous statement. You were starting to feel crazy. How could they not understand? 

“I mean yeah, I guess.” Carol says in a low voice. Not wanting to suddenly have an actual serious conversation about it.

“Well good thing there's no one who wants Carol besides Tommy.” Steve says before barking a laugh. Tommy hits his arm before laughing himself. Leave it to Steve Harrington to make a situation better. 

A sigh comes out of you and you get up. Steve doesn’t bother turning to look where you're going and remains in a conversation with Tommy. But once he notices it's been too long for you to just throw away your food he looks behind him. Steve’s eyes widen as he sees his girlfriend talking to Jonathan Byers. You are looking at him with big eyes and he can tell you’re telling Byers your condolences. Thankfully the bell rings and everyone is getting up to leave. You wave to Jonathan and return to Steve. 

“What was that all about?” Steve asks with a tone that sounds curious but borders on possessive as he puts an arm around your shoulder. 

“I was just telling him I was sorry and that I would keep my eye out. For the four of us I guess.” The last part is mumbled quietly but Steve hears it. Your arms are crossed, it doesn't take a genius to realize that you aren’t very happy with Steve. 

“Baby just ignore them. They just talk out of their ass.” Steve’s eyes roll as you both walk towards your locker. 

“I just dunno why you humor them if you think their opinions are bullshit.” You open your locker putting away your lunch bag, grabbing your homework for the next class. Steve is leaning on the lockers in front of you. 

“That's just how they are. I never take them seriously.” Steve is telling you this like it's just the way things are and the world will turn as long as we all just stick to it. 

“I gotta go to class Steve” You say shutting your locker. There's no reason for you to put effort into this if no ones going to change. 

Steve lets out a sigh but pulls on the loop in your jeans before you fully walk away, “Can I get a kiss then please?” He is pulling his big puppy eye look and you can't be too mad at him when he looks absolutely adorable. 

You lift up to your tippy toes to give him a simple kiss. You squeal when he pulls you even closer and deepens it. 

“Okay I actually have to go Stevie.” You smile at him. 

“Alright, alright. Meet by the car when schools over okay?” He says as you back away still looking at him. 

You nod and turn into your classroom. The anger of the conversation earlier is already going away. You just want to go home where Steve and you will lay on your bed, listening to his mixtape he made for you and talk about how awful your teachers are. The real conversations he couldn't have with Tommy or Carol. 

-

When school ended you were right where Steve told you to be. Leaning against the car talking to a friend until you hear your boyfriend. You turn around to see Steve, Tommy, and Carol talking to Jonathan. Jonthans back is turned to you and you smile that are finally talking, hoping they are apologizing. It wasn't until Tommy gave Jonathan a shove that your eyes widened. You say goodbye to your friend before running over to them. Jonathan sees you and you can see the tears in his eyes. 

“Jonathan I-” You try to speak until Steve puts his arm around you, holding you in place next to him. 

You’re frozen, seemingly stuck, as Tommy starts laughing at him and Carol says something. BUt it doesn't compute as tears are starting to threaten to spill in your own eyes now. This wouldn’t have happened if you had told them to stop it earlier. Jonathan looks directly at you, as if to beg for help. 

That was the last straw till you break away from Steve’s grasp and take Jonathan by the arm to drag him away. Yelling at your boyfriend's friends wasn’t a move you were gonna make, and then possibly embarrassing Steve in the process. Pulling  Jonahtan away was the only move you could make to get them to stop. You give him your apologies and go back to the loud group behind you. 

You walk right past Steve with your arms folded. The embarrassment of this all hitting you extremely quickly. You hated that you were even associated with this. Steve walks up to follow you but you walk past his car as well. 

“Where are you going?” He asks now running to catch you. 

“I am not going with you. Go home.” You respond while still walking.

You hear Steve's footsteps stop and his hands falling against his body with a sigh. “It’s freezing cold out, c'mon let me take you home!” 

You will wait for your parents to get you, risking a cold will just have to be the price you pay. You sit on a bench by the front of the school as tears finally come out of your eyes. You quickly wipe them away, there are still students here. You don't want people seeing you like this. But you then see a red call pull up. You don't even need to look up to see who's driving it. 

Steve rolls down the window before shouting- “Baby please, just get in. I don't want you getting sick.” He says with worry. 

If it was any other time you would laugh about how he always worries about you. But this wasn’t any other time. You look up at him with red eyes and Steve’s heart officially breaks. Seeing you cry over something he did was a new low for him. 

He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door. Steve never lets you open the door, it was a sickeningly sweet thing he has done since the beginning of your relationship. 

You sigh as your hands are already numb and your ears are bright red. Walking up to his car and getting in. Your head hangs low with defeat. You and Steve don’t talk the whole ride to your place despite him trying, multiple times. 

Once he arrives at your house you unbuckle your seatbelt and Steve puts a hand on your thigh. You freeze looking up at him, letting out a sigh. The ride calming you down allows you to finally break. 

“I don’t know why you allow them to do that? Why do you even hang out with them?” You ask, your voice rising with every word. 

Steve looks at you with sad eyes, you two have never fought like this. But right now he did something wrong and you're crying so Steve’s automatic response is to fix it. 

“I…I just- They're my only friends.” He says looking at his steering wheel in embarrassment. It's finally out in the open. King Steve is a loser that can’t make friends. How he even managed to get you as a girlfriend he’ll never know. But right now he might lose you which he will risk his ego for. 

“Before meeting you they were all I had. Even when I did stupid shit they still stuck around.” Steve finally looks at you and now you're crying again. Small tears leaving your eyes, it’s like Steve is feeling your pain himself when he sees you cry. All he can do is wipe your tears as they fall.

“I'm so sorry Steve.” You say laying your head in his hand as you grab onto his wrist. 

Steve is starting to feel a headache from this but he can’t figure out why you would be sorry. 

“Why are you apologizing you didn’t even do anything wrong?” His other hand unbuckles his own seat belt and he leans forward to hug you. It isn't an extremely comfortable position as his arm rest is pressed into his stomach but all he wants to do is comfort you. 

“I just didn’t know you went through that, I just assumed which was wrong. I should have talked to you about it before it even got this far.” 

“Hey it’s all okay. You were upset for a good reason. You’re right, I need to talk to them about what happened.” Steve is looking at you like you're glass about to break in his hand. 

“Really? You’ll talk to them about it?” You say sniffing and wiping your tears away as Steve gets his hand back. 

“Yes of course. What you said at lunch… I would get the whole city to look for you if you went missing. I should have agreed with you instead of making a joke out of it.” This was really all you wanted from Steve. He knew what he did wrong so to punish him for it felt mean. 

You grab his hand and kiss the inside of his wrist. “Thank you Stevie.” You say with a small smile.

Steve feels like someone just stepped off of his chest. To see you smile fixed Steve instantly. “Can I come in with you?” He asks with a small voice, unsure if you feel okay with it. 

You nod feverishly as Steve smiles and hops out. Opening the door for you and finally giving you a big hug. He never wants to fight with you, let alone seeing you cry because of something he did. You both go up to your room as Steve puts the mixtape he made into the stereo. A smile is on your face now that the two of you are home and able to talk about your day like normal.

[matt-murdockk]

Sweet Nothing

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 5.1k

warnings: cussing, slow-burn, angst if you really squint but it's just fluff mostly, lack of proofreading (rip), pretty descriptive making out

summary: This is the story of how Matt Murdock met the love of his life one fateful day at the NYPD precinct.

a/n: guess who finally learned out how to make emdashes on Mac— hehehehe. some fluffy slow-burn for you <3 (i tried not to use pronouns for the reader but I'm so sorry if i accidentally used she/her anywhere)

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

While Matt was charming, romantic, and thoughtful, historically— he hasn't been the best at relationships. Flings were okay, short-term was fine, but a proper relationship? Matt didn't think he deserved to be in one until he met you.

To him, you were a breath of fresh air from all his previous exploits. Elektra was a rush of adrenaline, a thrill, certainly an experience, but he knew he didn't like the side of him that she brought out. Karen was too close a friend to lose over a relationship and Claire, well, he had way too much respect for her, he wouldn't do that to her.

You, on the other hand, were what he swore was the right person at the right time. The right amount of calm and the right amount of chaos. He didn’t go looking for you. But you found each other anyway— almost by accident, almost like it was fate.

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

A regular phone call from Brett Mahoney about a possible case for Nelson & Murdock brought Foggy and Matt to the precinct one day. From outside, Matt quietly observed you before going in. You were in the holding cell, handcuffed, busted lip, and bruised knuckles. For all that you looked like you'd been through, Matt noticed that you were oddly calm.

Brett opened the door to let Matt and Foggy inside, the confusion in your face did not go unnoticed by the people in the room. "10 minutes, Foggy." The door shut behind him as he left, giving them a knowing look.

"You know it, Brett." Foggy helped Matt into his seat and took the empty seat beside him.

"Miss (Y/l/n), my name is Matt Murdock, this is my associate Foggy Nelson." Foggy gave you a half wave and smiled.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Before we begin, have you been assaulted while in custody?"

"No, I have not. Listen, I didn't ask for a lawyer."

"We understand that you have been accused of assaulting a police officer. You have opted not to seek legal representation, is that right?"

"First of all, there has been a huge misunderstanding. Secondly, I still don't know why you're here, Mr..."

"Murdock," he reminded you.

"Right. Murdock. Sorry."

"We run a practice at Hell's Kitchen. Our firm is interested in representing you. And please, call me Matt," he clarified, presenting a warm, genuine smile.

"Well, Matt, while I am certainly thankful for your interest in representing me, I'm sorry to disappoint you, I don't need a lawyer."

"Trust me, you're going to," he said, amused at your confidence that you'll be fine.

"Oh, I know, I just already have one."

"Well, our job here's done. No cigars for Bess next time," Foggy retorted, as he got up, ready to leave.

"Foggy, sit down. Miss (Y/l/n)—"

"(Y/n), please."

"Very well. (Y/n), I understand that you already have representation. Probably from a big-time firm with 5 times the number of defense attorneys than we do. But here’s the thing. Those firms? They see cases. Numbers. Profiles. Headlines. They’re already calculating how your situation fits into their win column. I don’t work like that. My firm doesn’t work like that. We don’t take every case. We don’t chase the press. What we do is show up— completely. We sit down, we listen, and we fight like hell for the people who trust us. No fluff. No posturing. Just the work, and the truth, and someone in your corner who actually gives a damn about what happens to you next. So if you want the machine— fine. But if you want someone who’s going to look past the charges, past the headlines, and actually see you? Then you want Nelson and Murdock."

"Wow, okay, so, great sales pitch, love the energy, I really do. There's just one problem."

"What is it?"

"My boss is already on his way to represent me."

"I'm sorry— Boss?" " Yeah, what is it you do, exactly?" enquired Foggy.

"I'm a senior associate at Pearson Hardman."

"Well, that crashed and burned splendidly. Happy now, Matthew? We're poaching clients now. Oh and not just from any firm. No, sir. From Pearson fucking Hardman, Unbelievable."

"Foggy, it's okay. So, (Y/n), is your boss any good? Or..."

"I work for Harvey Specter."

"And that's our cue to leave."

Matt finally admitted defeat and got up to leave, following Foggy who was already at the door. While he was certainly ambitious, he knew he couldn't compete with that.

"Thank you for your time, (Y/n)."

As Matt turned toward the door, he caught the subtle quickening of your heartbeat— hesitant, uncertain, like you were rethinking your decision. His hand was just about on the doorknob, ready to leave but not quite gone, when your voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Out of your line of sight, he let the faintest smirk curl at his lips. He just loved being right.

“What is it?” Matt asked, turning back to face you.

You hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking between him and Foggy, then down to your bruised hands in your lap. “I... I want you guys to represent me.”

Foggy blinked, taken off guard. “Really? Just like that?”

You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your tone softening into something a little more tired. “Let’s just say… I’ve worked long enough at firms that care more about damage control than people. I don’t want a firm that’s already prepping their PR statement. I want someone who’ll actually give a shit.”

Matt nodded once, quietly. His expression didn’t change, but there was something solid behind it. Something settled.

Foggy let out a low whistle, then grinned. “Well… welcome to Nelson & Murdock.”

Cut to a little while later— Nelson & Murdock office. You, Matt, and Foggy sat around the table, the arrest report open in front of you. The air buzzed faintly from the overhead light, the hum of late-night tension settling over the room.

Foggy skimmed through the statement again, frowning. “Okay. Walk us through it. From the top.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, tone clipped but calm. “I was on the subway platform. Late. Waiting on the C train. There were maybe three other people around, none of them close.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, tuning in. Not just to what you were saying, but how you said it— measured, unflinching. No panic. No dramatics. Just facts.

“This guy comes over, starts making small talk. I make it clear I’m not interested. He doesn’t take the hint. Gets closer. I step back, tell him to stop. He grabs my wrist.”

“Forcefully?” Matt asked.

“Firm enough that I couldn’t just shake him off,” you replied. “So I pulled away. He grabbed me again. That time, I reacted. Hit him once, hard, in the face.”

The rhythm of your pulse didn’t spike when you said it. No guilt. Just certainty.

Foggy nodded slowly. “And then?”

“He goes down, pulls out a badge. Says he’s NYPD. I get cuffed.”

“He never identified himself before that?” Matt asked.

“No. Not verbally, not visually. No badge, no warning. He was in plainclothes, no backup, no indication he was on duty.”

Matt exchanged a look with Foggy, then turned his attention back to her. That steady confidence. The way you answered questions like you were already anticipating the next three.

“That’s a serious problem for their case,” Matt said, flipping through the paperwork. “Use of force in response to a perceived threat is protected— especially when there’s no identification of authority.”

You shrugged. “It won’t stop the department from backing him, though.”

Matt’s brows lifted just slightly. YOu knew exactly how this would play out— too many steps ahead for someone just hoping to walk out clean. You were smart. He liked that. Maybe more than he should.

“No,” Foggy agreed. “But it gives us a strong narrative, especially if we can get security footage or eyewitness statements from the other people on the platform.”

There was a beat as Matt closed the folder and set it aside.

“You’re sharp,” he said, more thoughtful now. “You know the statute, you know your rights, and you’re quoting case law off the top of your head.”

You looked at him, just a little amused. “That’s because I’ve spent years doing the same thing you do.”

A flicker of something moved across Matt’s face. He leaned forward just slightly.

“Why exactly are you not representing yourself?”

You smirked. “Because representing yourself while you’re the one in custody is a logistical nightmare. And because even good lawyers know when to bring in reinforcements.”

Foggy shook his head, amused. “Okay. That was... a good answer.”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. “Now let’s go win my case.”

Matt smiled slightly. “Glad you picked us.”

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

They won.

Not easily, and not without a few uphill battles, but the charges didn’t stick. Between the platform security footage, two credible eyewitness statements, and some rather unflattering internal complaints about the arresting officer, the case quietly unravelled in court. Matt made his arguments clean and precise. Foggy handled the media brushback with that classic Nelson charm. You? You sat through the whole trial stone-faced and unshakable— until the verdict came in, and Matt swore he could hear the way your shoulders finally loosened.

You kept in touch after that.

Not constantly, no regular meetings or phone calls— just the occasional email. A few sarcastic text exchanges. One time, you sent Matt a voicemail of you laughing because Foggy had apparently called you "the one that got away." Matt saved it. He never said that part out loud.

It was about six months later when Foggy floated the idea.

“We could use another good lawyer,” he told Matt, over a plate of lukewarm takeout. “She’s smart, she’s sharp, and she gets us.”

Matt didn’t disagree. He didn’t say much at all, really. But the next morning, you got a call from him— short, polite, a little too formal— inviting you to "grab a coffee and talk opportunities."

You left Pearson Hardman three weeks later.

Karen was the first to greet you when you walked through the door on your first official day. She had already cleared space on the shared bookshelf, left a fresh legal pad on your desk, and warned you not to get caught in any of Foggy’s snack traps. You settled in like you were always meant to be there.

The four of you fell into rhythm faster than expected— late nights, tight wins, inside jokes. Karen became one of your closest friends before your second week was out. Matt had a habit of lingering in your doorway on the days he claimed he "wasn’t eavesdropping," but his smile always gave him away. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to care."

The firm did better that year than anyone had predicted.

And you? You’d finally stopped feeling like just another cog in someone else’s machine. You felt like you were home.

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

It was late.

Most of the lights in the office were off except for the one at Matt’s desk, and the faint glow of your screen across from him. Karen had bailed with a yawn and a pointed “Don’t stay too long, you two.” Foggy left not long after with a granola bar and a salute.

Now, just you and Matt.

A few open case files, cold takeout, empty coffee cups.

“Your typing slows down when you’re annoyed,” Matt said, breaking the silence without looking up.

You didn’t even pause. “Your voice gets smug when you’re fishing for attention.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s not flattering?”

“Because I don’t need to fish for attention,” he said. “Not when you give it up so easily.”

You looked up, unimpressed. “Oh no. You have caught me.”

“Seriously, that's how you respond to my flirting?”

You closed your file and leaned your elbows on the desk. “I didn’t realize ‘mild workplace bullying’ counted as flirting now.”

Matt tilted his head, listening closely. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled. “Murdock, if I were flirting, you’d know.”

“Oh?” he leaned forward, just slightly. “Go on, then.”

You mirrored the movement. “You sure you want to start something you can’t finish?”

His smile flickered into something smaller, quieter. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

The banter fizzled for a second into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Just... full. Like both of you were waiting to see who would blink first. Then you reached for the leftover fries between you.

“See, this is where you should’ve swooped in and offered to share,” you said, picking one up.

“I was being polite.”

“You’re full of it.”

Matt chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “You make work a lot harder than it should be.”

You smirked. “If you’re blaming me for your lack of focus, I feel like that’s a you problem.”

He tapped a knuckle against the folder in front of him. “Pretty sure you’re a walking conflict of interest.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth. “But you already knew that.”

Matt bit back a smile, quiet again. Listening. After a moment, he said, “You know you could’ve gone back to a hundred bigger firms. Why stay?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift in tone. “Because this place feels like... me. Like it's mine, you know?”

Matt nodded slowly. “Feels like mine, too.”

There was something honest in his voice when he said it. Something unguarded. And for a beat— just a beat— you weren’t just two coworkers trading late-night barbs. You were something else. Something that lived in the space between laughter and hesitation. He broke the silence first.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Karen’s going to start planning our engagement party.”

“She already has,” you said. “She’s terrifying.”

He laughed, bright and real. You laughed too, leaning forward again, close without touching. And that was it. Just a moment. Not a confession. Not a move. But later, walking home, you’d think about it again— about how easy it felt, how his voice softened just for you, how neither of you pulled away.

Matt sat at his desk long after you left.

The city hummed outside the windows, faint and familiar— footsteps, traffic, a distant siren splitting the air somewhere on the west side. The kind of night New York never ran out of. But his attention was still in the office. Still in that moment.

You’d laughed. That real kind of laugh that started in the chest and softened everything around it. And for a second, he wasn’t Daredevil or Matt Murdock, the guy with a double life and a thousand reasons to keep people at arm’s length. He was just a man sitting across from someone who made him forget about all of it.

He hadn’t expected you. Not just the sharpness, or the way you fit in so seamlessly, or how you never once treated him like he needed to be handled. It was the way you challenged him. Matched him. Made the air feel lighter, even when the work was heavy.

And tonight— he’d heard it in your heartbeat. That shift. That hesitation. The quiet hope. It mirrored something in his chest he didn’t want to name. Because if he named it, it would be real. And real things could break.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He’d been careful. Always careful. With you, maybe too careful. Always toeing the line between professional and personal, between harmless teasing and something far messier.

But tonight? Tonight, the line blurred. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you said this place felt like yours. Like you’d claimed it. Like you belonged here— next to Karen, Foggy... and him.

Matt had spent most of his life believing that the things he loved either left or got hurt. And yet, here you were. And he was terrified. Because the thought of you staying scared him more than the thought of you leaving.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t fight for in court. Couldn’t earn by bleeding for it.

He just... wanted you.

And wanting had never ended well.

He leaned back in his chair and turned his head toward where you’d been sitting hours ago, the ghost of your laughter still echoing softly in the corners of the room.

He didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in a very long time, he hoped. And that was dangerous.

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

Matt had been trained to keep things close to the chest. To be quiet. Composed. Measured. He’d made a whole life out of it— knowing exactly how much to say, how much to feel, and how much to hide. But lately? He was starting to slip.

It started with small things. Lingering a second too long outside your office. Finding reasons to walk the long way around the building just so he wouldn’t pass you in the hallway. Not looking up when you said his name. Not teasing you like he used to. It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Foggy? Foggy clocked it immediately.

“Are you avoiding (Y/n),” he asked one day, without even looking up from his sandwich, “or just trying to die alone with dignity?”

Matt didn’t dignify that with a response. Which, of course, was the response.

He tried to get a handle on it. He really did. But every time you walked into the room, something short-circuited in his chest. It wasn’t just the way your laugh stuck with him hours later, or the way you challenged him in court, or how you always saved the last of the coffee for him without saying a word. It was everything.

It was the way being near you made him feel like maybe he was allowed to want more. And that terrified him. So he did what Matt Murdock always did when he felt too much— he shut down. Smiled less. Talked less. Pulled back.

From your side, it made no sense. One minute, Matt was your closest friend at the firm— bantering with you over contracts and flirting shamelessly during late nights at the office. And then suddenly, he was stiff. Cautious. Civil, but distant. Like someone had flipped a switch and now you were radioactive.

You asked Karen once if you’d done something. She blinked, confused, then immediately said no. Foggy just smirked and shook his head like he knew something he wasn’t telling.

It wasn’t until the case came in that everything started to unravel.

A mugging gone wrong. Client said Daredevil saved her. That wasn’t unusual, not in Hell’s Kitchen. But Matt had disappeared halfway through the intake. No explanation, no warning.

When he came back, he looked… off.

There was a stiffness in his step. His jacket was damp. You noticed a bruise blooming along the edge of his jaw, half-hidden beneath his collar. And the excuse he gave? It was nothing. Too easy. Too rehearsed.

That was the first moment you really looked at him. And from that moment on, it didn’t stop. You started noticing everything.

It started small. A scrape on Matt’s knuckles one morning when he swore he just "bumped into a railing." A bruise along his jaw two days later that hadn’t been there the night before. The fact that he always knew when sirens were about to pass. That he sometimes winced at conversations happening across the street and flinched when someone behind him opened a soda can too loud.

The way his hands sometimes trembled when he thought no one was watching. The bruises that never quite added up. The way his hearing— his attention— seemed to stretch too far, too focused. His absences. His silences.

You weren’t stupid. You were a lawyer, after all-- your entire job revolved around reading people, noticing what others missed. So you paid attention. Not obsessively. Not yet. But enough. Enough to clock that he disappeared some nights without explanation, always coming back the next day with a carefully worded excuse and that same “don’t ask” look in his eye.

And then came the clincher.

A client— a woman being threatened by her landlord— was suddenly protected. Completely. No restraining order had gone through. No legal intervention. But the man stopped showing up. Cold turkey. When you asked, she just said, “That guy in the mask. The Devil. He said I’d be okay.”

You stared at her.

Later that night, while Matt was in his office pretending not to eavesdrop, you walked in and dropped the case file on his desk.

“She said ‘the Devil.’ Not a devil. The one. Hell’s Kitchen’s own.”

Matt didn’t look up. “Lot of people throw that name around.”

“She also said he was calm. Polite. Knew her name. Said she had nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

He was quiet.

You folded your arms. “She said he didn’t sound scary. Said his voice was warm.”

That made him pause.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Matt finally leaned back in his chair and sighed. “...hi?”

You blinked. “Hi?”

He shrugged. “It’s concise.”

You just stared at him.

“Matthew,” you said flatly. “What the fuck.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? When I saw you parkour off a fire escape in a three-piece suit?”

“I— look, I didn’t want this to change anything. I didn’t want you to change how you looked at me.”

“Look, I’ve been working beside you for over a year. And you didn’t think, at any point, to maybe mention that you moonlight as a one-man SWAT team?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Well, good job, Matt. Really nailed it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “Listen, I know you're upset. I would be too. I didn’t tell you only because I care about you. Because this thing, what I do— it’s brutal. And if anyone ever found out how much you mean to me...”

You blinked. That shut you up. For a second.

“Oh, so I mean something to you now?”

“I think that’s been fairly obvious.”

Matt noticed the way your heartbeat changed when he said you meant something to him. He figured this was a bad time to bring it up, although he smiled to himself at what that meant.

“I’m not mad that you’re Daredevil.”

That made him pause.

You went on. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to know. But... I get it. I really do.”

Matt didn’t say anything. Just listened. Really listened.

“You protect people. That’s who you are. And I don’t mean the mask or the fists or any of that— I mean you. The guy who goes to court for tenants getting pushed out of rent-stabilized apartments. The guy who sits through paperwork and trials and still somehow finds time to help people when the system doesn’t. So yeah, I get why you kept it quiet. I would’ve done the same.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this.

You stepped a little closer. “Would it have been easier to hear it from you directly? Sure. But I also understand why you didn’t. You’re trying to keep people safe. That’s kind of your whole thing.”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

You gave him a look. “Matt. I’m a defence attorney in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m already in danger.”

He huffed a laugh, tension slipping just slightly.

��And besides,” you added, “it’s not like you told everybody.”

Matt winced. “Karen and Foggy know.”

“Splendid,” you muttered. “I’m last to know. That feels great.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you waved him off.

“It’s okay. Really. I get it. You didn’t think I could handle it, or maybe you were just scared of what it would mean. Either way, I want you to know I still look at you the same way. Hell, I think I respect you more now."

His expression softened— like something in him untangled all at once.

“And Matt?” you said, quieter now. “I'm still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That undid him more than any kiss could have. Matt Murdock was already in love with you.

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

Weeks passed. Then months.

You slipped into the parts of his life he never thought he'd share with you— quiet nights on the couch with cold tea and warmer glances, half-finished cases strewn between your desks, your voice low and steady on the phone as you helped him stitch up a gash at 2AM because Claire was out of town. You didn’t flinch at the bruises anymore. You stopped asking where they came from. Not because you didn’t care— because you knew he’d tell you if he could.

You joked that you were his unofficial dispatcher. He joked that you were the only one keeping him alive. It was good. Better than good, most nights. You were steady, sharp, present in a way that grounded him even on the worst days. You kept him tethered.

But even the strongest anchor can’t keep something from drifting if the pull is strong enough. It had been building.

After a particularly brutal stretch— three back-to-back nights of Daredevil coming home bleeding and bruised, a botched sting, a kid who didn’t make it— Matt changed.

He got quieter. Tense. He stopped calling when he was out late. Stopped dropping by your place after patrols. Stopped letting you patch him up. When you showed up with food one night and found his apartment dark, he didn’t even text to say thanks. You let it go. Once. Twice. Then you stopped letting it go.

It was almost midnight. The city was soft and silver around you, the streetlamps humming like old secrets. You’d waited for him— on the pavement outside the office, case files abandoned inside, takeout cold and forgotten. When he finally turned the corner, hoodie up, bruised along the cheekbone, your blood was already simmering.

You stood before he could say anything.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Matt paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “You’ve been dodging me for weeks. You come back barely stitched together, and suddenly I’m a stranger? What, I only exist when you need to be sewn back together?”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You crossed your arms. “I told you I could handle this. That I was here because I wanted to be. You don’t get to push me out every time things get hard.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I never asked for your help.”

You stared at him. “Wow.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower now. “You inserted yourself. You wanted this. You stayed.”

“Because I care about you, you idiot,” you said incredulously.

He looked away. “If this isn’t working for you—”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

You flinched. “So that’s it? You’re just giving me an out?”

“I’m saying,” he said, sharp now, “if you don’t want to keep doing this, you can stop. I’m not going to hold you here.”

Your chest burned. “Right. Got it. Loud and clear, Murdock.”

“Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

"Fine."

“Fine.”

You turned. He turned. The silence between your retreating footsteps felt louder than anything either of you had said.

You made it maybe ten steps before you turned on your heel. At the same time, Matt doubled back from the other end of the block. You both stopped mid-step.

“This is stupid,” you said.

“I know,” he echoed.

You walked back to each other like it hurt to be apart even for that long. Stopped just a few feet shy of touching.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. Then, after a second— calmer now, but still visibly unraveling— he said, “You do realize what’s going on, right?”

You tilted your head. “You mean us shouting at each other in the middle of the street like deranged theatre kids?”

He gave you that small, crooked smile, the one he only let slip when it was just you. “I mean this,” he said, gesturing to the space in between you.

A beat. Then you laughed, soft and breathless. “Oh yeah. For two Ivy-educated lawyers, we are extremely oblivious people.”

“Painfully,” Matt said, taking one slow step closer. “Embarrassingly.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Do we keep pretending? Or...”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant. Wasn’t cautious. It was months of built-up tension, late nights, shared space, quiet devotion, and almosts finally snapping into something real. His hands cupped your face. Yours gripped the front of his jacket. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for permission— and now that he had it, he wasn’t wasting time.

Before you could breathe, your back hit the wall. The brick was cool, sharp against your spine— nothing compared to the heat of him. His mouth crashed into yours, rough and hungry, all the restraint he’d held onto suddenly gone.

You gasped, and that was all he needed. His body pressed flush against yours, arm braced beside your head. One hand slid down, catching your waist and holding you there like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging. That made him groan— low and quiet and right against your lips.

The kiss deepened— messier, more desperate. He was everywhere. Warm mouth, steady grip, chest rising hard against yours. You barely registered the moment your hand slipped beneath his jacket, over the fabric of his shirt, just needing to feel something more. When you finally pulled back— barely— your forehead rested against his.

“That was…” you started, still catching your breath.

Matt laughed, voice rough and low. “Yeah. That was.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “We are going to be so annoying now.”

He grinned, thumb brushing along your jaw. “We already were.”

[halfway-happyyy]

good evening friends, join me while i ramble on a bit tonight about what it's like when frank gets a little too in his feelings about you. a wee bit of angst ensues ahead -

and it really doesn't happen too often, but it certainly becomes more prevalent at the end of a long week or when The Anniversary nears.

he's his own biggest critic - always has been, always will be, and because of that, it's incredibly hard for him to understand why you consistently choose him. how on earth you're able to see the sunshine in him, when all he sees is the storm.

"you're lookin' at me like i hung the moon, kid."

his voice; all sharp edges and glass, shakes you from your reverie, and you gaze up at him as if seeing him for the first time.

"because you did hang the moon, frank. you hung my moon, and i'll forever be grateful to you for it."

a barely audible scoff emanates from him, and the subtle waves of his self-loathing are almost palpable.

"don't do that, frank." your voice is low, calm, measured.

but he won't look at you just yet.

with a sigh, you push yourself from your seat at the kitchen table and amble over to his spot in the chair by the bay window. his legs widen involuntarily for you, and you drop into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"what's gotten into you tonight, hm?"

a low grumble sounds in the hollow of his throat.

"talk to me, frank."

and it's hard for him. you know it is. because for a long while, it seemed like no one gave a single solitary shit what he was thinking or feeling; and as a result, he made a home out of that aloneness.

"you never feel like you're wasting your time?"

you shake your head. "never."

frank still feels stiff beneath you; like his body is harboring the poison from the words he hasn't yet uttered.

"i don't know if i'll ever be able to shake the feeling that you deserve more than i could ever give to you," he scrubs a calloused palm down the length of his bearded face and gives his head a shake. "i certainly don't understand why you stay."

"it's not for you to figure out, frank."

silence settles between you, and while he still hasn't entirely relaxed, his heart beat has slowed to a more measured rhythm.

"it just doesn't feel right, ya know?"

you press your cheek to the rounded curve of his shoulder and ask, what doesn't feel right, frank?

"of all the shit that i've done, all the lives i've destroyed... i deserve to be alone, right? i deserve everything i've had comin' to me, and then you show up," his laugh borders incredulity. "and you're a gift, kid. one of the most beautiful gifts of my life, and i guess i'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"well, if that's the case then i'll be here when it does."

your hand finds his, and your fingers intertwine.

"no matter what, i'm not going anywhere, frank."

those five words are the ones it takes for the tension to seep from him, his body finally growing pliant beneath you.

you press a kiss to the apple of his bearded cheek and sigh.

"now, are we going to keep talking about this, or are you going to take me to bed?"

another grumble sounds in his throat, but it doesn't bear the same weight as the one before.

"show me the way, sweetheart."

[rcmclachlan]

Am I using the 8x16 spoilers as a way to deal with the loss of my own dad almost three years after the fact? I'll never tell!

+

"They want me to say something."

The warm brick wall pressed up against his back shifts a little, and the bed dips beneath their combined weight with a worrying creak. "'They' who?"

From what feels like miles away, Buck wonders how old the mattress is. Standard advice says to change your mattress every ten years, but he's read you should do it as soon as six. He hopes the bed is relatively new. It's insanely comfortable and he always sleeps so well, not to mention all the memories he's made in it. The very thought of hauling it out to the curb so the city can throw it in a dump makes his eyes prickle for the two-hundredth time in the last half hour.

"You can't get rid of the bed," Buck murmurs, staring at the white dresser across the room. It's the only thing in his direct line of sight. He hates the pulls on it. They're too old to be retro and they make the bureau look like it doesn't belong. "You ate me out for the first time on this bed."

Tommy presses a kiss to his head like he's hiding a sigh in Buck's hair. Which he might be. Buck should probably be annoyed by that but he can't muster up the energy.

"So, those are two very separate ideas," Tommy says. "Let's table the bed thing for now."

Hah. Furniture pun.

"Who wants you to say something?" Tommy's always good at following threads of conversation, no matter how they split and weave into something new. He never loses track of that original stitch.

Buck closes his eyes. "A-Athena. She asked if I would say something. At the uh, the..."

He can't make his mouth shape the word. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he tries to force air around them, to make the 'F' sound, but something in the back of his throat blocks the way.

"Gotcha," Tommy says simply. The arm slung across Buck's chest tightens like a seatbelt during a hard brake. "Is that... something you're comfortable doing?"

"I don't know," Buck says. "I don't know what I'd even say."

The ugly drawer pulls are starting to look like faces. Screws for eyes, the handles for mouths. The way they curve makes it look like they're laughing. If he asked Tommy to get rid of them, he knows Tommy would immediately head down to the garage to get his electric drill. He'd destroy this antique for Buck without asking him a single question.

Hen thinks he's in shock, but he thinks shock's supposed to wear off after a few hours. It's been almost four days since they got the text from Athena—it's him—and he's still existing outside his own body. Every feeling he's ever felt has been vacuumed out of him. Even when Tommy showed up on his doorstep at the end of the first day, eyes rimmed red and glassy, all Buck could say was, "I've never mourned a dad before. Come to show me how it's done?"

Tommy had wrapped Buck up in his arms and said gently, "I've never mourned a dad, either. I'm just here for you."

Loneliness is a bad reason to get back together with someone. Grief is even worse. He wants to say love is behind his desperate refusals to let Tommy leave the house, even for groceries, but he's not sure if it is. But he also knows that without Tommy's seat belt arm around him, Buck would've flown through the proverbial windshield on day two. Maybe it is love. He vaguely remembers what it felt like.

Maybe he needs to bake something. He'd get out of bed to make lemon tarts, but his bones have dissolved. He's just a sack of skin and blood.

"What would you say?" He stares at the open mouths of the drawer pulls and realizes they're not laughing, but screaming. "If it was your father?"

Tommy leans back a little. Buck tenses, then relaxes when Tommy's mouth smears a kiss over his shoulder.

"Mine? Probably 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust, let's now shove this asshole in the earth's crust.'"

Buck huffs with humor that feels like it's coming from two rooms over. "Seriously."

"Seriously." Buck can feel Tommy shrug. "I have nothing to say to him now and I doubt I'd have anything to say if he was dead. But my situation would be completely different."

"How's that?" Buck thinks about rolling over to see his face so he doesn't have to look at the dresser anymore, but then he remembers he doesn't have any bones. Looks like he's stuck here.

"I'd be burying my father. I'm never going to have to bury a dad."

Buck says nothing for a moment. "They're the same thing."

"They aren't, and you know it."

Thank goodness he's belted in by Tommy's arm, because his mind drives wildly across the country to 25 Elm Street, Hershey, PA, where Phillip Buckley is probably puttering around his office, on the phone with someone at his company who needs advice about how to close some multi-million dollar deal. Buck imagines him freezing mid-step, maybe dropping the phone for a little bit of extra drama, then clutching his chest before collapsing to the floor. He thinks about how he would feel getting the call from Maddie and can't come up with anything.

Maybe that's the difference. If his father died, he'd feel something. Mild shock, maybe, and probably wistful sorrow, thinking about all the time they'd wasted. He'd fly to Hershey and hug his mom when she cried and stand in the receiving line at Hoover Funeral Home and shake people's hands and thank them when they said they were sorry for his loss.

But the world wouldn't lose its color. It wouldn't feel like Buck's heart was fighting for every beat. He wouldn't need Tommy's arm at all.

"I don't know what to... how do I begin to distill what Bobby... what he meant to me?" Buck's eyes prickle hotly. Maybe he'll finally cry. He hasn't yet, which is weird. Usually his taps go on at the drop of a hat. "How do I keep it to, what, three minutes? Is that how long I'm supposed to talk for? T-That's impossible."

"That's a good place to start, actually."

"What, saying there's no way I can keep it to three minutes or less?"

"That you can't condense what Bobby meant—means—to you." Tommy kisses his shoulder again. "Admitting something's too big for you to put into words... well, a lot of people will know exactly what you mean."

"Saying it makes it real," Buck whispers.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's real if you say it or not."

Maybe it's because Tommy sounds so apologetic about telling the truth, or maybe it's because Buck's soul is currently divorced from the rest of him so he's able to hear the other thing Tommy's saying. Whatever it is, it makes his vision swim. Through the blur, he can see a little bit of color eke back into the room. The dresser isn't white; it's light blue.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Buck rasps, "He's dead."

"I know, Evan," Tommy says, strained, like he's in pain. Like Buck's realization hurts him too.

"Tommy, my dad's dead."

The thing that's been blocking his airway rolls away, and the sob that's been waiting there patiently for days finally tastes freedom. At the same time his soul slams back into his body, his bones rebuild themselves, which gives him the ability to roll over and bury his face into Tommy's neck to muffle the sound of his cries.

He doesn't know how to keep Bobby Nash to three minutes, and even if he manages to come up with something, they'll give him the hook before long. He doesn't know what to do with all the feelings that have broken out of the vacuum and settled right back where they'd been. He doesn't know how to do any of this.

But right now, no one's asking him to. Right now, all he has to do is sit with it.

The seatbelt around Buck's chest tightens, but it doesn't feel like it's because of a hard brake. Tommy is just holding him closer.

[so-writing]

don't forget to water the plants (3) - Quinn Hughes

‘It’s lovely. Don’t forget to water it.’

It feels similar to a kick to the fucking gut but Quinn expects it. He knows you aren’t going to cave easily, maybe even not at all, but he has to try. You’re too important to him. He knows he’s done a shit job of making it known, but he’s got to start somewhere, right?

‘I won’t forget. Do you have any tips? Never really paid attention to plants before, what a fuck up that was.’

It’s a pathetic excuse, as flimsy as cardboard, but if it buys him a tiny bit of your attention, he’ll take it. Quinn lets out a sigh of relief because you’ve taken the time to respond to him, but on the other side of the city, you roll your eyes and scoff at his message. 

Vancouver feels like the biggest city in the world, until it doesn’t anymore. 

This isn’t what you want, and it’s the opposite of what you expected. You figured Quinn would leave easily and without commotion, hopefully moving on to the next one eager to jump into his bed.

He’s never really had any issue removing himself from anything he doesn’t want to be a part of but this isn’t that. Quinn is reaching out because he wants to. After dropping the ball for as long as he did, he’s now trying to pick it up and continue with business as usual. 

It’s fucking infuriating. 

Just when you feel like you’re ready to release Quinn and all his bullshit into the wild, here he fucking is, coming back begging to be leashed again. 

‘I have a few tips, but you’re absolutely not getting them. Are you kidding me with this shit?’

He isn’t ‘kidding you with this shit’ but he can’t help the chuckle that passes his lips. You’ve caught him, just like you always do. Quinn has always thought himself to be pretty intelligent, but he’s never been as sharp as you. It’s one of the things about you that he misses most. 

‘I’m trying here. Please talk to me.’

He regrets it as soon as he hits send because he knows, he knows, it’s going to make you go fucking nuclear. He should probably try to respond with something to fix what he’s just said but he’s scared, because he knows that will only make it worse.

What he doesn’t expect is a phone call. He answers and fully expects to be ripped apart. 

Quinn gets exactly what he expects.

Nearly twenty minutes of you yelling at him about how bad he fucked up and how entirely too late it was to change anything, and he just took it. You shouted into your phone until your voice went a little hoarse and he didn’t try to refute any of it. 

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

He wants to, he wants to say a lot of things but after all the yelling you’ve done, and to be fair, points you’ve made, Quinn isn’t really sure there’s anything left he can do. 

“You done yet?”

Quinn smiles a little because he knows that he’s going to set you off again. He struggles with that because he loves to fire you up and see the light in your eyes when you’re passionate about something. In the past, you’ve always been his girlfriend and (mostly) on his side, so this disdain you’re spitting at him is both brand new and entirely too familiar at the same time.

“Yes, yeah, Quinn, I’m fucking done.”

The call ends and Quinn hopes, though he knows it’s probably in vain, that you’ll send a follow up text. 

You don’t. He sleeps like shit that night, and a decent amount of nights after.

--

final part coming next week <33

part one || part two

[lokileaf]

could I request a human!female x Loki fic with fluff and a bit of smut?

But of course!

TVA!Loki x human!female

AN: Sorry I haven't been posting, I'm in college and it's almost finals season so I have been sooo busy, but I promise I will get to everyone's requests soon! Thank you to everyone who has sent me requests and commented, I love engaging with everyone! <3

You jumped slightly as a disheveled-looking Loki fell into the chair across your desk. His shirt was rumpled, his hair tangled, and his tie was completely crooked. To put it lightly, he looked like a mess.

You watched silently as he dropped his head into hands, a deep sigh wracking his body. Shoving your paperwork aside, you rest your hand on his forearm, your concern evident on your face. He looked up at the contact, a small sad smile on his lips.

"Are you alright?" you asked, searching his eyes for anything that might clue you in on why he was acting so out of character. You waited in silence as he gathered his thoughts.

"I... do not think I am a good person," he finally replied.

The confession hung heavily in the air, the following silence deafening as he waited for you to form a response.

"What makes you say that?" was what you finally settled on. His brows furrowed as looked up to meet your gaze.

"I... hurt people. With no regard for their feelings. And I do not even dwell on it. I just do it," he mumbled softly, scrubbing his hands over his face once again.

"Ah. Memory cell?" you asked, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. He nodded sullenly as he ran a hand through his hair in a halfhearted attempt to tame the tangled curls.

"Want to tell me about it?" you asked, hoping he would take the opportunity to open up. His eyes shifted, looking around the less-than-private workspace.

"Not here."

You nodded and stood, taking his hand in yours as you led him to through a maze of hallways to your room. You pulled him through the door into your small quarters and gestured for him to take a seat on your bed, pulling the chair from your modest desk to sit face-to-face.

You tried to focus on the issue at hand rather than the fact that Loki was here in your room on your bed, tucking your hands under your crossed legs to prevent him from noticing their slight nervous tremor.

"Talk to me", you said gently, breaking the silence. He took a shaky breath.

"Back home, I am not exactly... well-liked. I do not have many friends. The few people who tolerate me only do so because of their loyalty to my brother. I did something especially cruel to one such friend..."

You reach your hand to bridge the gap between the two of you, resting it on his knee. Your heart skipped a beat as he gently took your hand in his.

"I cut off her hair and she... confronted me."

He paused again, clearly unsure if he should continue.

"What did she say?" you asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"That I deserve to be alone", he mumbled, "and that I always will be."

Sadness squeezed sharply at your heart, aching for him.

"That's not true," you said softly before he stood and turned to face away from you, hands on his hips. He let his head fall to stare down at the floor.

"What if it is?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"Loki..." you trailed off, standing to place a comforting hand on his back. "You're not alone. And you definitely don't deserve to be."

He turned to face you once again, looking down at you with a pained expression.

“How can you believe that?”

The question knocked the air from your lungs. Sure, he had a record of… general mischief, but you had seen his file; he cared so deeply for those closest to him. Surely a few lapses in judgment did not negate that entirely.

“Because I know you. You’re caring and ambitious and so intelligent.”

You take a step closer to him, grasping his forearms for emphasis.

“And maybe you’ve done some things you regret but you’re still you. And I happen to like you a lot, Loki.”

You paused, heart thundering in your chest as you realized what you had just confessed. You bit the inside of your cheek as you waiting for him to break the silence that had stretched between you. You let your hands drop to your sides as he remained quiet, a contemplative look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—you don’t have to-“ your stuttering sentence was cut off as you were pulled against his chest, his arms wrapping themselves around you tightly. You slowly brought your arms up to wrap around his torso, feeling his chin tuck itself against the top of your head. You stayed that way for a few long moments, allowing yourself to hold him as long as he needed.

“Thank you,” you heard him say quietly from above.

The emotion in his voice tugged at your heart. You had never seen him like this. Since his arrival at the TVA he had been combative and noncompliant, causing Mobius and your shared higher-ups quite a bit of grief. And yet you found yourself liking him more and more as time went on. You couldn’t help but see the best in the unruly god before you.

And it didn’t hurt that he was tall, dark, and handsome.

Loki finally pulled away, slipping his hands awkwardly into his pockets as he looked down at you.

“Perhaps I should ah… take my leave. I wouldn’t want to impose…” he trailed off as he made his way to your door, reaching for the knob.

“Loki?”

He paused.

“Yes?”

“You can stay… if you’d like. I’m done for the day and I could use the company,” you offered, knowing he would never accept the offer unless he felt like it was at your request.

His hand dropped from the doorknob as a soft smile appeared on his lips.

“I think I would quite like that.”

You smiled as he returned to his place on your bed. You sat next to him, crossing your legs under you.

“Tell me about your home,” you said, offering him a lifeline to keep the conversation moving along.

“Well… what would you like to know?”

You thought for a moment.

“What is the food like? Do Asgardians hold balls? Did you have many suitors?”

He laughed softly at the barrage of questions, looking down at his hands.

“The food is nice. Mostly smoked meats, fruits. Mead, of course. The occasional ball. No… official suitors,” he replied, shifting to lean back against the wall.

“What about a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” you press, a stab of jealousy making its way into your forethoughts.

“I am not overly familiar with your Midgardian courting terms…”

“Girlfriends and boyfriends are like… romantic partners. But you’re not married or anything. Just… together,” you explain, your cheeks beginning to burn.

“Ah. No, no girlfriend or boyfriend or anything.”

“I find it hard to believe that a prince does not have a partner of some kind. A… courtship maybe?”

A sly smile makes its way across his face.

“I’ve had my escapades,” he replied, leaving it at that. “And you?”

The flush on your cheeks intensified.

“No… nothing like that,” you admitted, thoroughly embarrassed by your lack of romantic connection.

Loki shifted again, sitting up to lean closer to you.

“Nothing? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrugged, heart picking up speed at his increased proximity.

“There’s not much time for that when you’re partly responsible for the continuation of the Sacred Timeline,” you replied.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes pinning yours.

“We appear to have some time,” he quipped quietly.

“We?”

“If you’ll have me…” he trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. Your heart thundered, mind going blank. After a moment’s hesitation, you forced yourself to nod.

Your mattress squeaked quietly as he leaned forward to ghost his lips over yours. You closed your eyes as you felt his hand cup the side of your face. You let him take control, relishing in the feeling of his mouth claiming yours. He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“Did you mean what you said before?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. You nodded quickly, anxious to be kissing him again. He obliged, claiming your lips once more as he gently pressed you back against your duvet.

His tongue caressed your bottom lip, requesting access. You slid a hand up into his hair, opening your mouth for him as he pressed his chest against yours. His hand slid from your hip up to your neck, encircling it softly.

Feeling him harden against you, you pressed your hips up against his, rocking up into him slightly. You heard his breath hitch slightly, a silent moan catching in your throat. His hand fumbled with the zipper of your TVA-issued jacket before sliding it off your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down flush against you. The feeling of his body pressed against yours-

“Loki!”

You flinched as a muffled voice called his name from the other side of your door.

Mobius.

Loki’s lips left yours, beginning to make their way down your jaw to your sensitive neck.

“Loki,” you sighed, not wanting this moment to end.

“He can wait,” was his quiet reply.

A loud banging on your door startled him out of his reverie.

“Apparently not,” he muttered.

He sat up, straightening his shirt and tie before offering you a hand and pulling you upright. You flushed at the sight of your disheveled uniform and his hair freshly mussed from your ministrations.

“We’ll have to finish this another time, darling,” he said with a grin before turning and opening the door to find an irritated looking Mobius.

[silenzahra]

Oooohhh Miki... I have to admit that this reminded me a bit of my fic An electrical aura, but here Luigi is using his hammer, so... 👀👀👀

How about a new story about Protective Luigi? 😁💚 (I just can't have enough of him going FERAL when protecting Mario ‼️)

💚 You're safe with me ❤️

Luigi can't believe what he’s just witnessed.

That damn monster has just hit his twin with such force that he’s crashed into the stone monument that presided over the entrance to the clearing... and destroyed it.

And his poor brother has taken every single blow.

“Mario!”

Luigi runs to his side, panic-stricken. Mario protests slightly at the pain, dazed, but makes no attempt to open his eyes nor stand up. Kneeling beside him, Luigi cups his face with great care and notices the bruises, his black eye, the blood.

Blood that's also present on his arm and knee.

Something ignites inside Luigi. Something he can only describe as a small flame that springs up in his heart and soon begins to grow until it becomes a blazing fire that consumes him from within.

How dare that beast hurt his brother like that.

How dare he make him bleed.

Luigi gasps heavily. His heart breaks as he sees Mario lying on the ground, badly injured, his eyes closed, coughing from the pain and unable to get up again by himself. He doesn't remember ever seeing Mario this badly before... Usually, his brother would get up straight away, no matter how brutally he'd been beaten.

But this... This has gone a step too far.

Rage boils inside him, poisoning his soul. He can't let the being who's dared to cause his older brother so much harm get away scot-free.

It has to get its comeuppance.

Luigi slowly turns his head towards the monster. His hands are still resting on his twin's body, wanting to protect him, wanting to take care of him, but he takes them away from him at that moment and stands up. Without taking his eyes off the being, he walks over to where his hammer has fallen and picks it up, and, wasting no time, he stands in front of Mario, clutching his weapon tightly, ready to fight.

“You're going to pay for what you've done,” he mutters angrily.

“L-Lu?”

Hearing Mario's voice behind him is a relief. Luigi doesn't turn around because he doesn't want to let his guard down, but knowing that he is at least a little better fills him with fierce determination.

Mario sounds exhausted, dizzy, hurt. He can't fight with all those wounds. And the monster is still willing to put up a fight.

Luigi grips the hammer handle tighter.

“Don’t worry, Mario,” he says, his voice sounding firmer and more resolute than ever. “You're safe with me.”

He hears a soft sigh behind him and the sound of something crawling, a sign that Mario, despite his injuries, is trying to get up.

“I-I know, Lu.”

Luigi can practically hear the smile in his voice, which only intensifies the feeling of relief and, at the same time, stokes the fire that’s been unleashed in his heart. The love for his older brother is the force that moves him right now, the desire to protect him and prevent him from receiving more harm, the hatred for that horrible creature that's dared to make him bleed.

Luigi has no intention of letting it get away.

“Don't you dare touch him,” he mutters through gritted teeth as the monster takes a step towards them. “Over my dead body, you filthy beast.”

He’s well aware that he’s panting. He’s well aware that anger controls his words and every one of his movements. He’s well aware that there’s a possibility that he may get too carried away by rage, by his resentment towards that being who’s hurt the person he loves most in the world, and that said person will probably have to make him stop at some point. Luigi doesn’t often experience these outbursts of fury, but when it takes hold of him, he’s not able to free himself.

Right now he doesn't care, though. Right now, all he cares about is protecting Mario, keeping him safe, making that damn monster pay for what it's done.

So, when the creature pounces on him with a roar, Luigi raises the hammer above his head with a feral scream.

Don’t Touch Him 😡💚

~

I enjoy the idea of how ready Luigi would be if someone severely hurts his brother and he will not be terrified at all in fact be driven to seriously hurt.

(My devious mind kinda likes to think Mario would have to be the one to get Luigi to stop if he ever gets to a snapping point.)

Just don’t fuck with Luigi’s brother and you’ll live basically :3