#Stained Integrity Series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bahablastplz · 1 month ago

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All in | Finale

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ main masterlist

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You barely take a breath before you’re running across the room, finally able to take in Felix’s condition.

You don’t even realize that you’re screaming, cradling a hurt Felix into your chest. You say his name, over and over but he’s unresponsive.

“Help,” you cry out. “Please, someone help.” He doesn’t seem to be doing too well, blood oozing from his shirt, and you can’t help but think, ‘he’s dead, Felix is dead,’ but you see him take a shallow breath, and you can’t help the tears that escape you when you think maybe it wasn’t all for naught.

“Please,” you cry again, and to your pleas of help, someone finally comes rushing in. The door swings open and it’s Hyunjin and Changbin that find you holding onto Felix as if he were your lifeline.

“Help him,” you sob. Your hands are covered in his blood in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and you think you would do anything if it meant that you could see Felix again. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go—it was supposed to be you, being the sacrificial piece to potentially give your life to save them all, to save him, if that’s what needed to be done. Instead, your actions have caused Felix to act out to protect you, causing his own harm. How could this have been prevented?

You watch as Changbin lifts an unconscious Felix out of your arms and off the ground. Changbin grimaces at the sight of Felix, at his state.

Hyunjin walks over to the other body slumped in the corner of the room.

“Chan—“ he says, addressing you as if to ask what happened.

“He’s dead, he’s already gone,” you tell him. “Felix, please focus on Felix. He might still have a chance, please.”

Hyunjin lifts up his arms, conceding. Your heart wrenches as they bring him out of the room, and you hope this isn’t the last time you’ll see him. You don’t want him to leave your sight, really, but as you go to follow them someone places a protective hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Jeongin tells you. In your frazzled state you didn’t even see him come in. “It’s alright. You can stop crying now.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “No,” you protest, while wiping some tears from your eyes. “Not until I know he’ll be okay.”

Jeongin wraps you into a hug, one that you gratefully accept. You bury your head into his shoulder, not caring about the snot and tears that will inevitably stain his shirt.

“I’m so scared,” you admit. “If I lose him, it’ll be my fault.”

“Don’t think like that,” he scolds. “Not yet. For now, the only thing you can do for him and for yourself is have hope.”

You think that Jeongin is wise beyond his years, and his company soothes you in a way that couldn’t be properly communicated through words.

“Are you hurt?” Jeongin asks when he pulls away, looking you up and down.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “Felix—“

“Listen, there’s nothing we can do about Felix right now except sit and wait. Let the doctors do their jobs. You,” he emphasizes, turning your hands over to examine your bloody knuckles, “are what we should worry about in the meantime.”

“I’m fine,” you emphasize.

“It’s okay if you’re not.” He shoots a look behind you at what you know to be Chan’s body and he’s ushering you out of the room. He’s sparing you from having to look at it any longer, from having to relive it. You can tell he wants to pry and ask what happened but he doesn’t. You’re grateful. “Go, take a shower and get the blood off of you. Someone will make you something to eat, and if you’re hurt, Jisung can help to patch you up.

“But—“

“Let us help you,” he insists. You don’t have the resolve to argue any longer.

You wash off Felix’s blood in the shower. You almost don’t want to, thinking that this is just a small piece of him that you still have with you, but your better judgment tells you that it’s a ridiculous thought. You remember what Jeongin had just told you–the only thing you can do is have hope–and so you don’t cling onto the thought that it’s all you have left of him. Felix will be okay, you repeat like it’s a mantra. The crimson runs down the drain.

You can’t deny that you feel much better after your shower. Your hair needed some tender-loving care, of course, with how much you messed it up before your escapades with Heeseung. Your hands are tender around your palms and finally starting to scab up, but your knuckles are still lightly bleeding from where you punched a mirror. You don’t know how you didn’t notice—your adrenaline must have been protecting you from your aches and pains. When you ditch your dirty, torn clothes and replace them with a fresh and clean set, you feel more human.

You push back the guilt that you feel for being able to do something so mundane, like taking a shower and brushing your hair, when you don’t even know if Felix is alive or dead. You leave your room, not wanting to spend a minute longer in there than you had to. It was a day ago that you had been trapped in here, after all.

Jisung finds you first, wide eyes and confused expression. You take him up on his offer to wrap your hands up and help treat your wounds. It’s here that he finally asks you about the events that had occurred this morning–well, he more makes a statement, and you take this as an opportunity to open up.

“I can’t believe Chan is really gone,” he sighs, applying a balm of sorts onto your hands that makes you wince. “Nobody expected Felix to be the one to do it. They must have really gotten into it.”

“It wasn’t Felix,” you admit. Jisung blinks at you owlishly, not quite understanding what you’re referring to. “That killed Chan. It wasn’t Felix. It was me.”

His mouth opens into a slight ‘o’ shape, taken aback though he doesn’t exclaim or make any remarks. He simply takes your words in stride, nodding at the news.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “The first time is never easy.”

“It’s not my first time, technically,” you say with a small chuckle. “Earlier today, I killed Lee Heeseung and Woojin as well.”

“Woah,” he exclaims. “You’re joking?”

“Unfortunately not. It was supposed to end today. In my head, Felix and I could have been free, together, without the burden of everyone out to get us. Without the restraints that Chan had put on all of you. It was supposed to be done–but now Felix, he might not even—”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Jisung says, finally finished treating your injuries. “Well, we don’t know for sure, but it’s gotta be. Felix is strong.”

“I love him,” you say, tears finally beginning to stream down your face. You’re surprised with the delay, that it took you this long to break, but you truly can’t help yourself.

“I know,” he replies. “We all know.” You perk your head up to look at him, surprised. “Felix… we’ve never seen him be happier.”

You don’t know how long you cry for, but you’re in the presence of Jisung the whole time. It’s comforting. When you finally are done and your sobs turn into little hiccups, he walks you to the kitchen, where Minho is cooking a meal for you. Eggs, toast, and bacon. You’re especially appreciative of this, since you’re not sure the last time you ate. You eat in silence, giving Minho a smile of gratitude.

You sit on the couch and watch TV while you wait to hear the news about Felix. At one point, Seungmin comes and joins you. He’s on crutches, his leg completely wrapped from where he was injured not too long ago himself. You watch some crappy TV medical drama together until it’s time for the game, and then he turns on baseball. You are finally able to doze off here, on the couch, which you are both surprised and happy about, because 1.) you weren’t sure you would be able to fall asleep so easily, and 2.) it helped the time pass by quicker until Hyunjin comes to find you.

“I just heard back from the doctor,” he tells you as you blink awake. Your heart starts to beat rapidly in your chest, but you remind yourself not to get your hopes up too high, despite what Jeongin told you, just in case you are completely let down. “Felix… they think he’s going to be okay.”

“Really?” you ask, wiping a tear away as you look up at him. You can’t quite believe his words.

“Yeah. The bullet, it missed his heart, but just barely. He just came out of surgery, and they said it was a success. We’ll just need to closely monitor his recovery in case of infection or any bleeding, but they said his chances are pretty good.”

You envelop Hyunjin into a hug. You’re so overcome by strong emotions that you cry, again.

“We’re surprised,” he says. “As much as I hate to say it, Chan has never missed a shot, so we really couldn’t be sure.”

“That’s because Chan held my hands and made me point the gun at him,” you realize. “I moved, at the last second. Maybe that’s why…”

Hyunjin nods. “You may have just saved Felix’s life.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Felix is unconscious for about 3 days. You see him as soon as you’re allowed to, and you spend just about every possible waking and unwaking second with him. You lie in his bed, talking to him even though you know he probably can’t hear you. You sleep right next to him in his bed too, only leaving when the doctor’s ask you to.

You can’t deny that he looks rough, pale with all sorts of tubes sticking out of him, but he’s alive. That’s all that matters, and you’re thankful for it every day.

You’re right there with him when he finally wakes up. The doctor advised you to not tell him too much at first, worried that the news about Chan might put him into unnecessary shock.

You watch as his eyes flutter open, wincing from the bright hospital lights. He searches the room for a moment until he finds you, and you lock eyes. He smiles weakly.

“You’re okay,” he rasps. You squeeze his hand tight.

“I’m okay? Felix, you’re okay!” you laugh. You reach over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and he leans into your touch.

“I love you,” he says, his voice still hoarse but full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you tell him. It’s not the first time you’ve said this to one another, but it somehow holds more weight than the first time.

You stay with Felix for practically his whole recovery. You are grateful for every second that you have together, now unburdened with the fear of someone who will try to take him away from you.

“Chris is dead, isn’t he?” Felix asks one day. The two of you had just been lying in bed, eating breakfast when he asked you out of nowhere. Now that there was no longer a risk of you messing up his recovery or putting him into shock, you could answer him. You nodded your head slowly.

“How did you know?” you murmur.

“Because I’m here with you,” he replies. “I figured… for us to be here, together…”

“Right,” you answer. “That makes sense. Um… yeah, he is dead.”

Felix doesn’t say anything. He rubs circles into your knuckles instead. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says at last. “And also… I’m sorry. And don’t ever do that again.”

“Hmm?”

“Leave, without me. Do something like that, without trusting me. Take on that burden alone. Potentially… sacrifice yourself, for my sake. Please, promise to never do that again.” You look over at him and realize that his face is wet, tear-tracks staining his ever so beautiful features. “Do you know what it would have done to me, if I had lost you? I would have been broken, Y/N. I woke up alone in that safe-house, alone, I immediately thought the worst. You… you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am so grateful for everything you did, but you didn’t have to do it alone.” You reach over and wipe a tear from his eye with your thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just wanted… I hoped that I could put an end to everything.”

“I know. And I could never be mad at you for that… I was just so, so scared.”

He tilts your chin up suddenly, bringing you into a searing kiss.

“I want you,” he says when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. “Can I have you? Please?” He pulls you even closer, so that you’re all but straddling him in his hospital bed.

“Felix, what about your injuries? We have to be careful,” you gasp.

“I’m better, angel, I promise. It doesn’t matter, I just need you so bad right now.” He grinds his hips up into you, pulling your clothed core against his length. He sees you hesitate, clearly fighting an internal battle at whether or not it’s a good idea. “Don’t think. Just feel, tell me you want this too. I’ve been waiting for so long.”

You hesitate again, your gaze flitting between his dark eyes and spit-wet lips. He asked you what you wanted, so you suppose all you can do is answer him truthfully. “I want you, too.”

He lets out a sigh of relief at your words, flipping you over suddenly so that you’re beneath him. He wastes no time in getting you unclothed, and he himself can’t seem to get his own pants off fast enough.

He worships you there in that room, his lips meeting any inch of skin he can find. His fingertips graze all over your body, from your neck to your breasts to your thighs. Your back is arching, keening into his touch before he has even started to touch you properly, but everywhere your skin meets feels electric, as if it were the first time.

“Felix, please,” you beg as the ghost of his fingertips finds your wetness, barely dipping in to gather your arousal. “I need you now. No teasing.”

He lets out a shallow breath. You watch as he grabs his cock, pushing it through your folds. He taps his head against your clit, smiling at the breathy reaction you give him in turn. His grin quickly drops when you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pushes into you then, dropping the act of the teasing and giving in. You can’t help the moan that escapes you, and you can tell Felix himself is trying hard not to let out his own sounds.

You kiss him, long and slow as he rams his hips into yours relentlessly. You kiss him until your lips are bruised and swollen from breathing in nothing except for the air he lets out, from where he would nip at your bottom lip and tug it between his teeth just to see your eyes roll back into your head.

He holds you tight while he fucks you, completely safe and embraced in his arms. You can’t tell where Felix ends and you begin, as every inch of skin that the two of you have is touching each other. He grinds and grinds into you though, holding you close with his face pressed into your neck as your release finds you quickly.

You come undone in his arms. He kisses you through it, dropping words of praise and watching every micro-expression. You’re his now. You always have been, if you’re being honest, but it never felt truly cemented until this moment.

He doesn’t stop when you’re overstimulated from your release. Later he would tell you that he loves the way your moans turn into squeaks and the tears start to pool in your eyes from the pleasure, but for now you let him use you until he finds release of his own. You want nothing more than to please him, for him to know that in every way he is yours, you are his.

His hips slam into you a few more times, harder and faster, losing his pace as he approaches his own orgasm. You know he’s close by the way his hips stutter and the way he fights to keep his eyes open, torn between scrunching them up in pleasure and staring at you and your beauty underneath him.

You pull him into a final kiss, your hands coming up to rest behind his head as you say those three words again, the ones you feel that you can say so freely now.

That’s what pushes him over the edge, his hips coming to a halt as he stills inside of you, spilling his hot release into the deepest parts of you.

He rests his head on your chest, fingertips gliding over your skin again as he watches your skin pebble up from the sensation. You stroke your fingers through his hair.

Felix is alive and so are you. You have gone to the ends of the earth for him, and you would do it again if it means you can continue to have moments like these.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It’s not until a week later that you finally have the discussion about what to do. In the meantime, Felix focused on his recovery and you cherished every moment together. But of course, those times had to come to an end… you must talk about what’s next. What will become of SKZ now that Chan is dead? You know this isn’t an easy decision to make, and while you don’t entirely have a stake in what becomes of the group, you know you will have a say in what becomes of you. Because now that Chan is gone… you can finally leave, if that’s what you desire.

A group meeting is called.

There’s only seven members present at the table, and you. The empty chair where Chan once sat does not feel as bothersome as you thought it might. It’s a reminder, if anything, of what came before. Of what the future might hold.

You start by telling the story of what happened to Chan. From your escape to your successful infiltration of ENHA, all the way to the fight with Chan and Felix. Gasps are heard around the table when he reveals what Chan told him, the truth about him being the one to kill Felix’s parents. Then you revealed how you were the one to kill Chan. Some eyebrows were raised, but nobody really said anything.

“So what now?” Felix asks.

“You were his right-hand man,” Hyunjin says. “If you want to fill his shoes, they’re yours. If you think we should disband, that choice is entirely up to you.” Nods are seen around the table. Felix lets out a loud sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s hard,” he answers, his accent coming out heavy. “I think SKZ has become a home to some of us over the years, and it feels wrong to take that away from anyone.”

“I have a proposition,” you interrupt. All eyes are on you but it doesn’t feel as scary as it would have when you first arrived. You feel free to speak to everyone now, and you do. “SKZ can become optional to anybody that wants to stay. No ultimatums, like Chan used to have. Felix, you can continue Chan’s businesses, but only the ones that you want to. In the meantime, anybody can do whatever they want.”

Felix smiles at you, encouraging you to keep on going.

“Seungmin can look into our accounts and see how much money we have… Seungmin, we’ll pay for your surgery. Innie, we can give you the money you need to go to fashion school. Changbin can see his mom again, and the rest of you, we can give you space to figure out if this is what you really want to do. There will be no punishment for leaving.”

You see the way that Seungmin and Jeongin’s eyes light up at your words, immediately receptive to your idea. Nobody seems completely turned off to the idea–it’s just a matter of logistics.

Felix decides that he likes your idea. He’s willing to fill Chan’s shoes, he decides, if it means that he can use his power to help everybody else out. He doesn’t want to have any empty promises, unlike Chan. It’s in this way that he feels he can truly find a purpose for himself, after everything that has happened. He asks Hyunjin if he will become his right-hand man. You can tell that that action means a lot to him; you make note to truly thank him later for all that he did, in helping you and Felix escape.

Everyone decides that they want to stay in the house. Whether they’re going to participate in SKZ activities, only time will tell for some of them, but over the years they had created this family that they just didn’t feel ready to leave. One that you have become part of.

Which is why when Felix asks you in front of everyone what you want to do, your answer is easy.

“I want to stay,” you explain. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. It will take some adjusting, but I want to find a job. Something to do for myself. It’ll be different, being able to leave freely. I’ll probably take some time to go visit my sister, to explain the situation, but I want to reform my bond with her. And I want to stay here with Felix, and with all of you, if you’ll have me.”

Felix smiles, his eyes turning into soft crescents at your words. “Of course we’ll have you.”

And that settles that.

That night, you crawl into Felix’s bed with him. You cry in his arms, as you often do most nights since the incident, but he consoles you. When he’s with you, you get the feeling that everything is going to be okay.

He tells you that he loves you. You say it back.

You are his and he is yours. The future looks brighter than it ever has because he will be there with you. You have a whole group of people to fall back onto now. Even after everything you have been through, you don’t regret it and you wouldn’t change it.

You are a different person, after all, and you like who you are now. You have become stronger, more resilient. And while you want to thank Felix for that, you know that you have done a lot of it yourself. You are proud.

Hopeful.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/n: The end guys! I hope everyone enjoyed. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me, and thanks to my frequent commenters and rebloggers, you guys have all made it worth it. I'm finally done with my first multichapter story and it feels so bittersweet, All In really has been my baby for several months. Let me know what you thought of the ending!! I don't know what will be next, probably several random oneshots but I hope you all will stick with me for my next story, whatever it may be. <3

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atlabeth · 8 months ago

Text

price of dreaming

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: luke's spiral and the part you play in it.

a/n: this is so sad i'm sorry. like it's just a couple thousand words of luke being sad with a cute little flashback and a percy mention to make it all more sad. i don't know what's wrong with me why did i start writing this series

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): pretty severe angst bc this takes place after hurricane's death and goes up to mid tlt. death ideation, minor descriptions of injuries, luke isn't the best person, just a whole lot of sadness.

Luke returns to camp two weeks after your death, nothing more than a shell of himself.

Half of his time was spent sitting in an interrogation room in a Boston police station, mumbling his way through questions he doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not every day that a teenage girl is found nearly ripped apart in the middle of a city with her boyfriend completely broken next to her. Two EMTs had to literally drag him away from you—at least, that’s what they tell Luke. Everything after your heartbeat stopped is a blur for him. He doesn’t really even know how he got to the station.

And that’s how it is for a while. He talks to detectives who don’t believe him, he stares at the wall and wishes you were here, he goes home with your mom. She’s being asked just as many questions, and she refuses to leave him out on the street or take him back to camp. She doesn’t understand that Luke’s done it all before.

Eventually, the officers settle on a freak animal attack. It didn’t make sense for an animal capable of doing that to be in the city, but mortals see what they want to see. Luke is just thankful to be out of it.

But he doesn’t know what to do next. There’s a huge gaping hole in his chest and in his life without you, and he doesn’t know how to live without you. Every time Luke closes his eyes he sees your face, and he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night since it happened. He only really manages to stay out when his body practically shuts down from exhaustion.

Your mom treats Luke like a second son while he’s living with her, and it pains him more than anything. She asks him if he wants to stay with her, try and finish out the semester. He was surprised she still wanted anything to do with him.

Luke declined. He loved your mom, but being in that apartment without you—walking past your room and knowing you would never be there again, seeing a space you carved out for yourself knowing the most integral part was missing—was just too much for him. The full reality of you being gone still hadn’t sunk in yet.

He’s soured on the city of Boston as a whole. He’s felt your blood on his hands since the moment it stained his fingers, and for as long as Luke lives he will never forget the look on your mother’s face when she showed up at the police station.

Your mom offers to drive him back to camp, and though he wants to say no to that as well, he doesn’t. Luke can tell that she needs a distraction, and he doesn’t really know how else he’s gonna get back to camp. They don’t talk very much on the way there, but neither of them burst into tears, so he considers it a victory.

She parks at the bottom of the hill and hugs him so tightly he can’t breathe, but he welcomes any kind of feeling.

“Stay safe, Luke,” she says, her hands on his shoulders. “And if you ever need a place to stay—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “And I’ll try.”

She nods a few times, and she blinks back tears as she looks up at him. “Thank you for everything you did for my daughter. For all those years that you kept her safe.”

It clearly wasn’t enough, Luke wants to say. If it was, he wouldn’t have lost you back then, and he wouldn’t have lost you now. But that wouldn’t help anyone, so he nods. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his throat still dry as a desert.

“Always.”

“I know how much you meant to each other,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

He holds back his emotions. “So am I.”

Your mom nods again and they say their goodbyes once more, hugging one last time. When Luke reaches the top of the hill, he looks back to see her still standing there. He wishes he could do something to ease the pain, but he doesn’t even know how to deal with his own.

Luke stops at Thalia’s tree, and he already feels that lump in his throat.

“I hope you’re together in Elysium,” he murmurs. “I always thought you would like each other.”

The beginnings of tears prick the back of his eyes and he clears his throat, shaking his head like it’ll help silence the millions of thoughts scattered around his brain. If Thalia lives on like this, he hopes your spirit is still around somewhere.

“I love you,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I failed both of you.”

Nobody at camp knows. How could they?

Luke wasn’t expected back until the summer, though, so his presence at the top of the hill is telling in of itself. Especially alone.

He ignores everyone that tries to talk to him and gets to the Big House to break the news to Chiron. Thankfully, when he dissolves into tears, it’s behind closed doors. Chiron takes it in a saddened stride, and Luke wonders how many heroes have died in his lifetime.

You have no siblings to make a burial shroud, so the Athena cabin takes up the responsibility. Annabeth invites him to take part, but he can hardly stomach the thought.

It’s beautiful. They emulate the ocean through embroidery and Annabeth even gets a little Red Sox patch in. They let Luke burn it, and he’s amazed he even makes it through the ceremony. But the entire camp shows up, and there isn’t a single dry eye. He hopes you at least know how many people care about you.

Chris takes over as counselor for the indefinite future, which is probably a good thing when Luke can barely muster the strength to get out of bed most days. He picks at his food when he’s able to make it to meals, and his prayers to Hermes have never felt emptier. He used to do one for Poseidon every so often, especially when you were at school, but the thought makes him sick. His eyes never stop trailing over to Cabin Three’s table.

The Poseidon cabin is empty again.

Luke doesn’t fully realize the path he’s taken until he’s standing in the doorway and the scent of salty air hits him. He’s so used to hanging out with you after dinner that he just went there automatically.

It feels unfinished. It is unfinished. You had a whole box of things back in Boston that you wanted to bring back to camp to decorate.

Your posters still hang on the walls—Blondie, Pearl Jam, Alanis Morisette. Fairy lights are falling down in the corner, and they’re unplugged. Luke had to remind you to unplug them before you left for the school year.

You should be standing next to him, smiling and laughing and dragging him in behind you as you rant about capture the flag or the canoe race you definitely didn’t cheat in. He blinks away the tears building in his eyes and he takes a step back.

You should be here. You’re not.

(How many more times is he going to end up here chasing ghosts?)

There are some things a person just can’t get over.

And that’s how his days go. He barely manages to get out of bed, picks at meals that taste like sand, musters what little strength he has to lead sword lessons, endures pitiful looks and sympathetic speeches.

Luke gets lost in the past more than he should, oftentimes sitting on the beach talking to you as he watches the waves roll in or sneaking out to the dock in the middle of the night to be in the company of the only person he can stand.

By the time summer comes back around, Luke is sure of three things.

He isn’t ever going to be the same again.

You should still be alive.

He won’t rest until he’s torn Olympus down brick by brick.

“It’s quiet here,” Luke said.

“That’s what happens when you don’t have any siblings,” you murmured.

His eyes trailed over to the door and you nudged him with your shoulder. “What do you keep looking over there for? Scared someone’s gonna catch us?”

He shrugged. “We’re technically not allowed to be in here together.”

“They can’t say anything,” you said. “We’re both counselors. And no one’s in this place anyways. Besides,” you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, “we’ve earned all the time in the world.”

Luke smiled and snaked an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “You think so?”

“We lost two years together,” you said, laying your head on his chest. “Far as I’m concerned, no one can say a damn thing to us.”

“It always feels like we talk about the past,” he said. “What about the future?”

“All I know is I want you in it,” you mused. You always loved resting on his chest because you could hear his heartbeat, could feel the slight rise and fall from his breathing. It meant he was alive, and after what you’d been through, that was more valuable than anything.

“Obviously,” Luke said coyly. “I want you in mine too. But what about the details?”

“We gotta finish high school first,” you said. “Have you thought about what I said?”

“...Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s just been a while since I’ve left camp. Going back to school seems rough for someone who hasn’t been in classes since elementary school.”

You shook your head. “Which is exactly why my school would be perfect for you. We left at the same age, remember?” You took his hand and began to trace the lines of his palm. “It took some getting used to, but I made it. If I can, so can you—and I’ll help you every step of the way.”

Luke chuckled softly. “I’m a little worried about leaving Annabeth.”

“Annabeth of all people would support you going for your education,” you said. “And it’s not like she’ll be on her own—everyone likes her here.”

“...Talk me through it,” Luke decided. “Say we both go back for the school year. What does a sophomore year for the two of us back in Boston look like?”

“Well, we’d be living together. We have an extra room in our apartment, and I’m sure I can convince my mom to let you take it.” You let out a sigh as you shifted, moving closer into Luke’s side. “We’d take the T together to school, but you don’t have to worry because I can show you around everywhere.”

He chuckled. "I could use a refresher on Boston. Don't have the fondest memories there."

"We'll just make some new ones," you promised. “I’m on the soccer team, too. I was JV this year, but I’m gonna make varsity next fall—mark my words.”

Luke rubbed your shoulder as he hummed. “And I’d come to every game.”

“You better.” You glanced up at him with a smile. “You could try out for something too. I think you’d make a killing in basketball.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you not remember all those pick-up games we played when we were younger and bored? I was gods-awful.”

“This’ll be different,” you insisted. “You’ll actually be sleeping on a bed every night, and eating consistently. I think that makes you a better athlete. Plus, you’re not three feet tall anymore.”

Luke laughed as he intertwined your fingers together. “The star soccer player and the mediocre basketball player. We make quite a couple.”

“You’d be better than mediocre,” you said. “Anyways—we’d play our sports and kill it, I’d introduce you to all the friends I made last year, I’d show you all around Boston, and I’d get you hooked on the Red Sox.”

He leaned back against the headboard with a chuckle. “You’re really never gonna let this go, are you?”

“It’s my sovereign duty to put you onto the Red Sox,” you said, “especially surrounded by all these Yankees. I’m gonna get you to a game one of these days. And after we kill sophomore year, we’ll kill junior and senior year.” You tapped on his chest for each year with your free hand, and his smile grew. “Then we’ll graduate high school together. With honors, and monster-free.”

“You have such high standards,” Luke said wryly. “I’ve always thought I’d be lucky to pass with C’s.”

“You haven’t always had me,” you mused. “And when we’re together, we can’t lose.”

Luke smiled as he looked at your intertwined hands. “Y’know, I think your plan sounds pretty good. I’m pretty sure I could put up with school if it meant more time with you.”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Luke moved his hand to keep you there, and when you pulled away, a delicate blush painted his cheeks and pure love danced in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile.

You were the luckiest girl in the world.

“Thank you,” you said.

Luke offered a sideways grin. “For what?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

“Thank you, then,” he said.

“For what?”

“For sticking with me,” Luke said. “Through everything.”

“I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” you murmured.

The second year isn’t any easier.

Luke is back to being year-round. There’s no point in going home—not when Connecticut hasn’t welcomed him in years. Not when he would just be another problem for your mother in the midst of her grief.

So he stays at camp. Endures the pitiful looks from everyone, lies his way through attempted therapy with Chiron, trains more than ever before. No one seems to know how to treat him, because he goes from completely alone to swarmed with sympathy to completely alone again. It takes two months before his friends are acting like he’s a normal person again, and even then it still feels like they’re walking on glass.

Luke can’t find enough inside of him to care.

He practices with his sword until he feels like his arms might fall off, only narrowly avoiding the harpies each night. His siblings ask how he does it, why he does it, and he just says he wants to get better.

But Luke refuses to let it happen again—not when his surrogate sister is all he has left. Not when he sees you every time he closes his eyes.

His birthday comes and goes, but seventeen is empty without you. He replays your past conversations in his head, about traveling together and graduating together and maybe even going to college together. Demigods aren’t meant to think about the future, but he dared to dream with you.

And the worst part was that you were right. You made varsity. You were in the middle of killing sophomore year, despite Luke struggling his way through with C’s and the occasional D—you had always been smarter than him. You got him out to a Red Sox game, and gods forbid, he actually enjoyed it.

You were living the life you deserved, a life of happiness and success and with Luke, and you didn’t even make it past sophomore year. You were meant for so much more, and every day he questions why it was taken from you. Every day, he questions why you’re gone and he’s not.

The year chugs on in all its misery, and for the first time since he all but rejected him as his son, Hermes appears to Luke.

His father gives him a quest, and he takes it despite the inherent insult of it. Maybe some part of him hopes he’ll die out there and finally get to see you again.

(Another part wonders if he’s even worth Elysium. Luke lost you once, then he lost Thalia, and now he’s lost you again. Some kind of hero he is.)

He goes it alone. It takes him back to the first couple of months before he met you, and when the thought hits him, it almost overwhelms him. Everything makes Luke think of you, but it makes sense. He’s only living half a life—he’s missing the other half of his soul.

Luke fails his quest. He manages to get a claw and he manages to nearly lose an eye. There’s no glory in a repeated quest, but there might be even less glory in this.

And once more, Luke staggers back to camp as a victim rather than a hero. Someone only worthy of pity, someone so weak that Chiron bans quests unless they’re absolutely necessary. It takes weeks for the scars on his body to heal, and the mark on his face even longer. He becomes well-acquainted with the cycle of Apollo kids that take shifts in the infirmary.

He feels nothing but disgust every time he looks in the mirror. After all, the claw marks ripping their way through his body match yours. Sometimes he wishes Ladon finished the job.

It doesn’t make sense why, after everything, he’s still here.

Luke can hardly stand to be at camp, but he’s got nowhere else to go. He gets better at hiding his emotions, better at acting like he’s gotten through it. New demigods show up and he’s not the bereaved counselor anymore—he’s not introduced with his grief. He hides it away.

No one wants to deal with all the problems he’s racked up. His mom, his dad, Thalia, you. He’s a demigod. Demigods are resilient. So he plays the part—he’s been through a lot, but he’s past it. He promises he’s not a burden anymore. He’s just a normal kid.

And for a while, Luke is almost able to believe it himself. He’s never going to be over you, but he starts feeling like a person again rather than a ghost of one. He’s fully taken over the mantle of counselor again, and he’s actually present during sword-fighting lessons. He even manages to get a six-month-long capture the flag winning streak going on.

And then Kronos appears in his dreams.

Luke knows Greek mythology. It’s hard not to pick up a couple things when you’re fighting stuff from the history books, but they teach some lessons at camp. It’s nice to know what you’re up against before you die a brutal death.

Kronos killed his father. He ate his children. Every wicked deed was done for power, and power is what he offers Luke.

And maybe there’s something wrong with him, because it’s the first time he’s felt hope since he left Boston.

Luke finally has an answer to something. He’s been silently cursing the gods for years, trying to figure out a way to tear everything down without getting himself immediately killed, and he’s got one.

Kronos speaks to him most nights. He remembers the dreams you shared with him in your final year, all the restless hours spent sitting together on the fire escape as he soothed you. You thought Kronos was the reason for it, but he couldn’t have been. His dreams were nothing like yours.

But still, Luke wonders every day what you would say if you were here, if you knew the treacherous path he’d embarked on. Kronos promised power, freedom, an end to Olympus and the reign of the gods.

He doesn’t care about power. He just wants to hold you again. He wants to hear your laugh again. He wants to see your smile in more than pictures.

But he can’t. And he wants to destroy everyone responsible for it.

So he does everything the Titan Lord asks of him. He hones his skills even further, he lays low, and when the time is right, he steals Zeus’s bolt and Hades’ helm. Luke even nearly beats Ares when he’s caught, but Kronos doesn’t lead him astray—he speaks of divine war, and he gets out of it.

He continues to see you. Kronos doesn’t lead him astray, but he punishes him for such a close call. Luke wakes in the middle of the night, eyes wide and chest heaving with labored breaths, and he feels your blood on his hands all over again. He sees you die over and over again and he can do nothing to stop it.

You always told each other about your nightmares.

That’s the hardest part of it all. You’ve always been so closely intertwined with Luke’s life since the moment he saved you in that aquarium years ago, and he can’t see any way to let go of you. He can’t—even though you’re gone, you’re still a part of him. His first instinct in any situation is to tell you, and it kills him that he can’t.

And maybe things would have turned out different for Luke if you were still around. He’s never going to forgive himself for your death, and he’s certainly never going to forgive the gods. Thalia pushed him to the edge, but you were the breaking point. Luke is only nineteen and he’s loved and lost more than most.

Maybe things would be different if you were here. But you’re not, and they aren’t. So when a new demigod shows up, covered in monster dust and nearly dead on camp’s doorstep with Grover in tow, Luke doesn’t hesitate.

He killed the Minotaur, and his mom is dead. Skilled enough to take on a quest, desperate enough to ignore a couple warning signs. Percy Jackson is the boy Kronos told him about.

So Luke takes him under his wing. Shows him around camp, welcomes him to the Hermes cabin, trains with him one-on-one.

Something about his spirit reminds him of you. It’s the grit, he thinks. The determination. The refusal to back down even when it’s the smartest option. When he asks about you that night in the Hermes cabin, Luke’s heart stutters. The kid is too sharp for his liking.

It doesn’t take long before Luke manages to cement himself as one of his friends, maybe only third to Annabeth and Grover. He’s a lost kid that’s been thrust into a world he doesn’t understand, and Luke is the closest thing to a rock most campers have got.

It’s supposed to just be a guise, but sometimes, he forgets himself. He likes Percy too much—he just feels too much like a younger brother, and that’s not really good for the already growing guilt in his chest.

Maybe it’s because Luke sees himself in Percy. Someone playing a part he’s not aware of, an unfortunate pawn with no choice in the matter. Luke tries to push it away. Kronos wouldn’t lead him astray—this was the path he had to take if he wanted anything to change.

But it’s not like that makes it easier. Because gods, Percy has never looked more like a kid than when he’s suited up in armor for capture the flag. It almost makes Luke regret the plan he has to enact.

Almost.

Annabeth has a plan as usual, and thankfully Percy plays the part of bait. Luke tunes out of everything else and lets his battle senses take over—things have already been set into play, and now all Luke can do is hide in plain sight. Soon enough he’s got the red team’s flag past the boundary line, and he’s hoisted up onto his teammates shoulders. Luke is almost able to forget what he’s done.

…Almost.

A howl rips through the forest, and the hellhound Luke summoned after the start of the game launches itself at Percy. He’s on the ground before he knows it, the flag forgotten in his hand as he rushes over with the rest of the campers.

For some ungodly reason, Annabeth tries to step in front of him, but she’s thankfully too slow. The monster swipes at Percy and its claws shred through his armor. For a split second, Luke is back in Boston and his chest stills.

Chiron solves the problem with a cluster of arrows, but the camp is in immediate disarray. Clarisse instantly accuses Percy, Annabeth is trying to make sure Percy doesn’t die, and Luke just hopes his shock is believable enough to hide his annoyance. He’s just a scrawny kid—how the hell is he still alive? But then the unthinkable happens.

Annabeth tells Percy to step back in the lake. The instant he’s in the water, what should have been a fatal wound starts to heal.

And then a glowing blue trident appears above Percy Jackson’s head.

Luke feels sick as he lowers himself to one knee with the rest of camp. As the hellhound he summoned melts into the shadows, as he stares at the sacrificial lamb of a demigod meant to unknowingly enact his plan.

“Poseidon,” Chiron says. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

Your brother.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon #sadie writes

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mrsjellymunson · 5 months ago

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The Biology Tutor

Independent Study 01: Art

Series masterlist

Pairing: virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Series summary: Eddie’s failing Biology class, so you decide to offer two different styles of tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

Chapter summary: Eddie reflects on your most recent study session.

WC: ~1.68k

C/W: 18+, SMUT, MDNI!! I don’t want to give too much away, so I’ll just say that Eddie has some alone time… (If you’ve read the rest of this series you’ll likely not be surprised by any of the content, but if anyone feels strongly that this part needs any specific cautions LMK 💙) No physical descriptions of reader, but she is described as wearing makeup (though this isn’t integral to the story and it’s only one line)

A/N: I know I promised you Lesson 3 was coming soon, but I couldn’t help thinking about how Eddie and reader might feel after their recent tryst in the library, so this extra was born (and you can shout at me about it in the comments if you wish, I would love it ISTG 😂).

As if it wasn’t bad enough already, he muses. Eddie’s been increasingly distracted, and even his Hellfire campaigns are starting to suffer. But ever since that kiss (oh fuck, that kiss) in the library, Eddie absolutely can’t stop thinking about you.

The situation only gets worse when he’s alone, and is compounded further anytime he’s naked.

He’s already jerked off to the thought of you so many times, and he’s certain you knew exactly what you were doing when you brought those (silky, stained) sleep shorts to school for him. (He’s ashamed to admit that he’d spent that morning break under the bleachers with them pressed up against his face, breathing so deeply he almost hyperventilated, and since he got them home they haven’t left his bed.) But he still feels like it’s somehow wrong for him to think about you like this, and he’s sure you’ll see it written all over his face…

This isn’t the first time he’s thought about you whilst he’s in the shower, either. In fact, that started even before you became his tutor - it just took you wearing a particularly short skirt to biology class and it rapidly became a favourite pastime of his.

But today, thanks to your unexpectedly steamy study session in the library, his his cock is already fully hard, standing proudly in front of him within moments of him stepping into the tub, and his mental imagery is especially vivid.

He manages a quick wash before the throbbing between his legs demands his full attention, and his thoughts inevitably turn back to you.

Taking his cock lightly in his hand, he imagines kissing you gently, slowly. He remembers how your lips and mouth felt against his, and how your hands crept up his back over his shirt just hours ago. He recalls every movement, every sensation, as if to burn it permanently into his memory. The feel of your lips, how you smelled, how -oh god- how you tasted. He thinks about how gentle and soft your tongue was, and how he can’t get the sensation of it sliding against his out of his mind. It’s jostling for space next to the thoughts of how much he wants to use his own to explore every inch of you, if you’d ever let him.

Then, in his mind, you’re going over more test questions with him, just like you were in the study room. Except now each time he gets a question right, you praise him, stroke his face… and remove an item of clothing.

Eventually your clothing is all gone and you’re kneeling in front of him here in the shower, the warm water cascading over you in sparkling rivulets. Your naked body seems to glow, and your skin has an otherworldly, fantastical iridescence. Your pretty makeup smears and runs, creating delicate streaks of colour down your cheeks. And you’re wearing a shining tiara made of precious metals and sparkling stones.

His Princess.

Your knees are spread, leaving yourself open, and he imagines how you’d feel on his fingers. Soft, warm, wet, waiting.

He suppresses a moan, lest any of his neighbours are passing by. The flimsy walls of these trailers are hardly soundproof.

He curses as he imagines your hands running over his taut quads, your lips kissing them, then your soft, warm tongue tickling up his inner thighs towards his cock.

Eddie strokes his fingers delicately over his sack, imagining it’s you licking him, looking up at him through your wet eyelashes as you promise,

“Let me show you what a clever boy you are, Eddie. How much of a reward you deserve for working that beautiful brain so hard.”

And then you’re running your tongue up the full length of his cock, all the way from base to tip, but this time you’re not using biological terms, not trying to educate him. This time, you’re just filling yourself with him, suckling on his swollen head and sliding your wet mouth down onto him, further, further, until the tip of him is nudging your throat.

He thinks back to the last time you were on his sofa, your last ‘lesson’, how good you looked and felt when you took his cock in your mouth and looked at him as he grasped your hand. How your tongue swirled so devilishly before you nodded so sweetly and let him cum down your throat. How you licked his release from your lips…

He feels his balls tighten and a familiar sensation stirs in his abdomen, but he doesn't want this to be over yet, so he grips and squeezes that part of his dick that he knows will stave off his orgasm, opening his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, focussing on the swirl of the soapy water as it spirals down the drain.

Breathing deep, Eddie allows himself to slowly and elaborately create a new fantasy, this time imagining he’s pressing you up against the tiled wall.

He wonders what your wet skin might feel like against his, and how your tits might feel against his chest, beneath his hands, in his mouth.

He pictures what it’d be like to nudge your feet apart, just a little, and slot his hips between those luscious thighs.

How it’d feel to push through your glorious folds with the tip of his cock, and slide slowly into your warmth and wetness. The thought makes his breath leave his body in a rush, and he has to stifle another moan.

He wonders how pliant you’d be, whether you’d tell him how talented he is, how much you love it when he does this, how good you’re gonna be for him.

He wonders whether he'd be sweet, telling you you’re so beautiful, how he'll always take care of you, and treat you like the princess you are.

Or whether you’d be filthy, spilling profanities as you urge him to fill you deeper, take you faster, go harder.

And whether he’d ever have the balls to talk dirty to you, and tell you how well you take him, how your cunt is so perfect for him, how much he wants you, and adores fucking you.

Dick slick with foaming shower gel, Eddie’s swollen member slides almost effortlessly into his fist. He braces himself on his free forearm, palm flat against the tiles, imagining your body is between him and the cool ceramic, moving you both with each thrust of his hips.

He imagines his warm chest pressed to yours, and how the water feels trickling over and between your writhing forms as it flows over his shoulders, across your tits, over his balls and down between your thighs.

He groans into the steamed up space as he bucks up into his fist, imagining it’s your wet and willing pussy. Would you cum like this? It’s his fantasy, so of course you would… He wonders how it would feel. Would it be like he’s read about, where you’d be tight around him, squeezing his length as you rode out your high?

He can almost hear your moans as the head of his cock hits that special spot inside you that - just as you promised the first time you came over - you taught him to find. His ego lets him imagine he’d be skilled, maybe the best you’d had, and he imagines how your voice would eventually crack as you'd breathily tell him, just as you did in the library,

“That’s it, Eddie! You’ve got it!”

All of it combined is enough to tip him over. His hips stutter and his abdomen tenses as he cums with a broken groan, his vision becoming spotty as his wet spend spurts high up the tiles, some of it almost reaching eye level, sticking to the wall in sweeping, dripping splashes and the rest running down over his hand and wrist.

He squeezes himself, milking his cock of every last drop, whispering your name as he leans his forehead against his forearm and rests there, catching his breath. He’s not sure if he’s ever cum that hard by himself, and he certainly never has in the shower.

Vision clearing, he appraises the evidence of his lust. Human art on ceramic canvas.

However, for once it’s not an artistic display of his that he wants anyone else to see. He makes a mental note to clean off the tiles higher up than he normally would, and begins to rinse off under the cooling stream.

Shit. Wayne’s gonna be pissed when he comes home to find he’s used up all the hot water, and he doesn’t even have an excuse.

As he sluices the mess he’s made down the drain and his post-orgasm fog starts to lift, Eddie starts to feel like the deviant perv he’s sure he must be. He also realises how increasingly difficult it’s getting for him to suppress the various feelings he has for you. How the hell is he supposed to face you after this?

Is this that thing he’s heard about? Post Nut Clarity, or something?

Coming down from his high, he wonders what you’re doing right now. Probably hanging with friends, or diligently doing your homework. Something innocent and worthy. Wholesome.

By stark contrast, as he considers the somewhat-uncomfortable, almost-permanent semi he sports when you’re anywhere near him. Or, when he knows you’re in school generally. Or, fuck, simply just whenever he thinks about you. Suddenly he’s grateful for the cooling water, as his dick threatens to get hard again just from the mere thought of seeing you in class, or passing you in a corridor.

But then there’s also… the other feelings. The ones he’s never experienced before. The ones that tell him there’s so much more to this than just ‘having fun whilst tutoring’. At least, there is from his perspective.

Because what if this is just a temporary arrangement, and once he passes biology class you’ll have had your fun and will move on. Maybe even with somebody else?

Or, what if you feel the same?

And honestly? He’s not certain which prospect terrifies him the most…

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked this little extra ❤️

Series masterlist

Prev parts: Lesson 1: Female anatomy Lesson 2: Male anatomy Extra Credits 01: Communication skills Extra Credits 02: French Next part: Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

If you’d like to join the taglist for this series or my general one, just drop me a comment, ask or message letting me know, I’d love to have you on board 💗

Taglist (open): @airen256 @bimbobaggins69 @urlbitchin @jamdoughnutmagician @rustboxstarr @bl4ckt00thgr1n @bexreadstoomuch @cozmiccass @sadlittlesquish @yujyujj @cluz1babe @thunderg @aysheashea @paleidiot @cadence73 @eddie-munsons-wifey @siriuslysmoking @neville-is-my-husband @aestheticaltcow @jjmaybankswifes-blog @lightcommastix @ungracefularchimedes @spenciesprincess @joejoequinnquinn @freshoutthewomb2 @sunshinepeachx @tlclick73 @hellfirenacht @yourdailymemedelivery @wendyxox @madaboutmunson @80s-addict @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @eddiesxangel @bunny7232 @starksbabie @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @abellmunsonmovie @sheneedsrocknroll92 @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @wonderlanddreamer @leatherfaceologist @munson-blurbs @paradisepoisons and because you said you like fantasies @mediocredreams 😉

#Eddie munson imagines #<- literally #perv!eddie munson #the biology tutor #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #Eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #virgin!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie munson fantasises about you #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson series

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enhasparadise · 2 months ago

Text

TOKYO ON EDGE. ˒˒ ﹙ niki! ﹚

╰┈⪼ moving to Japan wasn’t really on your plan through the year, but with your specialty being Japanese you had no choice but to accept. arriving in the middle of the year you found it strangely easy enough to integrate into your well-known class but over the days everything seemed to become boring and everything looked the same, the only thing that seemed to interest you was discovering the streets of Japan and the cultural differences with your native country. but, what you hadn't imagined was coming face to face with a car race, where one of the participants was one of your classmates, Nishimura Niki.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ street racer!niki x student!reader 𓄷 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 older brother!jay, best friend!sunoo, best friend!haerin, bully!woonhak and heeseung.

genre﹙💬﹚⸝⸝⸝ serie, street racing au, enemies to lovers, kind of bully!niki, slow burn.

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ harsh talking, mention of violence and bullying, mention of drinking and smoking, cursing, mention of mental health, niki’s really dumb sometimes.

words count ‎⸝⸝⸝ 2282 words

taglist ‎⸝⸝⸝ @r1kification @cherryrikis @moonpri @who-tf-soddhi @heeswif3y @yangjungwonnie comment to be added to the taglist !!

rain’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ i wanna scream because i hate how this chapter is looking and i didn’t even know if it’s a good chapter or not. plus im sorry if it was so long for this chapter to be posted but i didn’t had time to write since some day so i only posted it today, and im really sorry if you didn’t like this chapter (sadly it’s really bad..) but i will do my best for the next one ! love y’all !

all feedback and reblogs are welcome! ♡

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002. OH GOD, HE’S SO ANNOYING..

"no, but you don't understand! This boy really annoys me, he gets on my nerves all day long and the worst part of all is that it amuses him!" you finally said as you held your phone to your ear.

and as soon as you had said this sentence, your brother's laughter was heard on the other side, which simply managed to annoy you even more.

"Jay I'm not kidding!"

"It's not like I can really do much about it Y/n, I'm not in Japan with you" your brother ended up responding while he seemed busy doing something else entirely. "Just be patient and he'll end up lacing it up, guys are all like that so as soon as he gets tired of annoying you he'll go see another girl to do the same thing"

Laying down on your bed, a sigh left your lips as you listened to your brother's words while trying not to get angry in the worst way against your pillow. The more you heard your brother's words, the more you had the impression that nothing was going to work out with Niki over the next few days. But on the other hand he wasn't wrong, maybe he would end up getting tired of behaving like that with you and would therefore go somewhere else.

But at the same time with everything that had happened since you arrived at high school you weren't really sure. The first day only you had to be there at the wrong time, and bump into Niki's chest for him to see a certain hatred against you, simply because his uniform had ended up being stained by his coffee. And this, despite the number of excuses you had said to him, he in no way seemed to listen to you and had simply pushed you, making you fall to the ground before he left without no glance to see if you were okay. And just when you thought it was all over, everyone around you started laughing at the situation.

Then it came to the next day. And the day after that. And then so on until today.

Even thinking about it you never understood why Niki hated you so much, because the coffee spilled on her uniform was a total accident that you wouldn't have wanted if you knew it was going to happen.

"I don't think Niki will end up lacing up Jay... he's unbearable and he does everything to get on my nerves. Just yesterday he made fun of me on purpose in mathematics because I hadn't answered just to the professor's question and, right after, he managed to get a good answer."

"Y/n.. the school is full of idiots, so obviously Niki must be one of them if he behaves like that with you, but try to ignore him for the rest of the week okay? Then it's not as if you were all alone, Sunoo is with you and from what I understood there is also Haerin so don't be unhappy just because of a boy.."

A sigh left your lips as you listened to your big brother's words because deep down, well, he spent most of the time lecturing you to prove to you that you were dramatizing the events that were happening in your family a little too much. life and that, on the other hand, Niki's behavior was nothing.

"Besides by bewitching you will talk I have the impression of being back at the time when you were still at home complaining that Jake hadn't spoken to you all day while he was at home with Me.."

Hearing Jake's name, your cheeks quickly turned red from embarrassment.

"Jake and Niki are not the same people!" you ended up responding to defend yourself. "Niki is a complete idiot who thinks he's the bad boy at school and annoys me. Jake is adorable to me and much nicer and more attentive than Niki will be to me."

"You're just saying that because you had feelings for Jake."

"That's not even true!" You answered almost immediately, sitting up, your phone still against your ear and you weren't surprised to hear your brother's laugh.

"Oh stop... I know when my little sister is in love..." he replied, knowing perfectly well that he was right about what he said. "Especially if she's in love with my best friend... and you're not at all discreet, you know?"

"I hate you."

"I love you too, little sister."

But you didn't even give him time to finish his sentence before you hung up directly, showing your big brother that you didn't appreciate it when he made fun of you like that and your phone ended up landing on your mattress.

The screen lit up a few seconds later to display a message from your brother but you didn't bother to read it, getting up from your bed to sit at your desk, since even though classes were over , you had no other choice but to do all the homework you had during the day, even if deep down you didn't want to.

you had barely finished settling down on your desk when a sigh left your lips as you realized the number of notebooks on your desk, realizing then that unfortunately you were probably going to have to spend several hours sitting down having to work on all of this then that you didn't even want to.

deep down, you had never been one of those people who spent all night working or even studying for any reason, just because they were good at class, their parents put pressure on them or that it was simply their future that worried them and they wanted at all costs to have one of the best futures. But knowing that one of your classmates was bound to make fun or brag about having a better grade than you, you couldn't let yourself go and not work.

except that the more the days pass, the more you find your situation truly ridiculous. Niki did everything to drive you crazy and unfortunately the school aspect seemed to be her favorite part. whether it was just for simple homework that didn't count or for very big exams during the year and he knew perfectly well that, if he had even a single grade higher than you, you would be completely crazy. However Niki wasn't the type to work, it didn't fit with his behavior in any way so how could he get such good grades if he never worked?

Just trying to understand how, you realized that at no point had you started working, your pencil still in your hands while none of your homework had progressed. even when he wasn't with you he managed to drive you completely crazy and you couldn't stand it. did he use some sort of magic to even remotely annoy you when you weren't in high school.

The next day, when you had just crossed the high school premises, you couldn't really stay awake. Because of all that work you had last night you had slept very little and you weren't even surprised to find yourself sleeping on your math books, letting you understand that you had finally fallen asleep in the middle of a revision session.

Crossing the corridor, the noise present all around because of all the girls screaming even though it was only eight o'clock in the morning and you had slept poorly during the night, you had broken your ears and you had regret not having simply returned to your bed when you woke up again in the morning. And just with this thought a sigh left your lips as you really wanted to find yourself lying warm under your covers so you could sleep right away. Your eyes had closed at the mere thought of it, but upon opening them almost seconds later, you weren't particularly surprised to notice that unfortunately you weren't there but, instead, you had been forced to join your class in deepest discontent.

“Oh my god, you’re making one of those faces..” Sunoo said as he put his bag down right next to you, coming back to his place next to you. “You have huge dark circles, did you sleep last night?”

“Please don't talk to me about sleeping Sunoo..” you moaned almost immediately upon hearing the words of your best friend, who at the same time seemed to be making fun of the way you were acting while the rest class was arriving and class was going to start soon. "I barely slept because I spent most of my time studying for classes and making sure my homework was finished perfectly."

“So focused that you forgot to answer my calls for the presentation, right?” Sunoo asked, knowing full well that it wasn't your fault, but even with your tiredness you picked up on the annoyance in his voice.

"Oh no.. Sunoo I'm so sorry..! I was so focused on all this that I totally forgot.. then I had to call my brother and he just bothered me so that I explain to him how annoying Niki was.." you replied almost immediately, knowing that Sunoo didn't blame you, even if he would have preferred not to expose him alone.

“So this is how we’re talking about me?” A voice came from behind you, and as soon as you heard you froze in place. “It’s cute to know that even though you say you hate me, you talk about me outside of school.”

despite your tiredness, hearing his voice made you aware of everything that was happening around you and almost immediately you turned towards him, seeing him sitting in the office right behind you while his legs were stretched out. 'to under your own chair. he once again had this air of self-confidence and too full of himself to realize that he was the stupidest person in the room. well... that was simply what you thought, seeing it that way.

“Niki she didn’t ask you absolutely anything you know..”

“You, the little blond, we didn’t talk..” Niki replied without even bothering to look at Sunoo and he slowly stood up, his arms coming to rest on his desk while all his attention was on you. “So like I said, are we talking about me? It’s all interesting.”

"Interesting to hear me say that I'm complaining about your behavior towards me? Seriously, even my brother would be capable of hating you.." you replied almost immediately, not wanting to spend more time talking to him. “Now just leave me alone, I don’t want to waste my time talking to you when the teacher will be here soon.”

Following your words, the silence in the room proved that the teacher had just entered, and after giving Niki one last look you returned to your chair, not wanting the day to be horrible in any way. simply because of him.

except that, bad luck for you, while the class had just started and you tried as best you could to concentrate on what your teacher was saying and pray not to fall asleep, Niki had decided that, the fact of Being behind you in class was going to be very useful in getting you worked up.

so it was only after ten minutes of class that you had received a blow to the bottom of your chair, and you had not taken the time to think to know that it was simply that idiot who was behind you who had nothing else to do than bang your foot on the bottom of your chair to get angry.

and, while he was having fun letting his foot knock against your chair, he noticed your head turn towards him and a smile appeared on his lips seeing the expression you had on your face. and you took it upon yourself not to create a scandal in the middle of the class, already because you were extremely tired, but also because you knew to what extent, no matter what you were going to say, nothing was going to be enough seriously to make your teacher react. but on the other hand, all the girls in your class would have started to hate you simply because you spoke badly about their favorite boy.

It was almost completely pathetic the way all his daughters were blind simply because Niki had a pretty face.. very fortunately you had never fallen under the influence of her beauty and you will never be under her influence because you hated him. and then you could never imagine that because it would totally make you want to throw up just from that.

unfortunately for you, Niki didn't seem to stop there since you felt your chair being pushed forward simply because Niki was still having fun hitting the back of your chair, knowing perfectly well that it irritated you . and that amused him. It was definitely one of the things he loved doing, getting on your nerves and annoying you until you finally broke down.

and today was definitely going to be one of his days because he didn't stop at hitting the back of the chair. oh no, far from it. since, as soon as you thought that he had realized what he was doing and that he had finished annoying you, you started to receive little balls of paper. Niki was really proud to know that he could annoy you by doing the simplest things, and he used any way to do it every time, which was truly horrible for you. especially today since you barely slept or at least slept very poorly.

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souliebird · 1 year ago

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 9]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Words: 4.8k

"Matt…how did you know where the window is?"

The words leave your lips and the entire mood of the apartment shifts. Matt's frame stiffens and fear begins to course through you.

If the answer to the question was simple, he'd have no reason to react like he got caught in a lie, but that is exactly what he is doing. His posture is screaming that he knows you've realized something you shouldn't have, and it scares you. It scares you so much because you don't want Matt to be someone you can't trust.

You want so so badly to trust him. Everything was going so well, and you don't want it to be ruined so early. You haven't prepared your heart for that disappointment and instinctively you wrap your arms around yourself to stave off any potential pain.

"I can explain," Matt says, voice quiet and on the edge of pleading. He's looking at you with his own fear on his face and it triggers you to step back and away from him.

People have told you before that they can explain - that you are in the wrong for simply not understanding them - and it always ends with you hurt. So, you close your eyes and duck your chin to your chest and brace yourself for the metaphorical blow, whatever it may be.

But there is only silence.

No more than a minute of nothingness passes, but it feels like an eternity. You force your eyes open and are shocked to see Matt looking absolutely devastated. Instead of standing tall and confident in himself, like you are so used to seeing, he has completely deflated. His shoulders are slumped and his head hung. You can practically feel the self hating energy coming off of him - it is something you are so familiar with.

Guilt pools in your belly. You can't hurt him because of your distrust of others and past experiences - he's given you no reason to think anything he's doing is malicious or only self serving.

So, you take the ball back into your court, squeezing your eyes back shut and taking a deep breath before asking, "should…should we sit?"

You hear him inhale sharply and you really, really hope you are doing the right thing.

"Please?"

He sounds like he's trying to not beg, and the knot forming in your stomach squeezes around your heart.

"Can we sit on the couch?" You ask, motioning to it. You finally allow yourself to look at him again to see him nod. You lick your lips and hesitantly add, "it's about five feet to your left," before going to sit yourself. By the time you are sitting, Matt is at the back of the couch and moving around the side to sit next to you. You watch as his fingers brush along the back and arm, too anxious to dare to look at his face or the giant lasagna stain on his chest.

You let him settle before asking again, in a calmer tone, "How did you know where the window was? And that it was open?"

You feel so accusatory, but he's told you before he has absolutely no light perception and in the panic of the moment, he closed the window without any hesitation or confusion.

He rubs his hands over his knees before removing his glasses and setting them on the coffee table. He then leans back into the couch, while turning to face you, and to be respectful, you turn so you are facing him, though you keep your eyes down cast to your lap.

"I was a child when I lost my eyesight," he starts slowly, and you try to keep your stomach from clenching. "And whatever it was that got in my eyes, it enhanced my other senses. It took what remained and pushed them past what normal people should be able to do. I could hear conversations from blocks away. I could figure out what people had for lunch the day before by the smell still in their breath. I could feel what was happening around me, based on air movement on my skin. And now…. Now I can…I can use all of that, all those inputs, to act as kind of a 3D map to determine things. Like a sonar, but instead of just sound reflecting back, it's a bit of everything. I can't see with my eyes, but I do know what is happening around me. That's how I knew where the window was. I could feel the breeze coming in. I could hear where the noise came in more clearly, versus the slight muffling of the wall. I could sense where the couch was based on the same factors."

You take in what he is trying to tell you and nod just a tiny bit. What he is saying makes sense - kind of. You know it's possible for other people's senses to strengthen when they lose one, but not nearly to the degree he is explaining. It is a hard concept to wrap your mind around. But you try.

You can tell he's not used to explaining this and you can also tell he's waiting for you to be angry or upset with him. It's a feeling you are so very used to experiencing yourself - that you did something wrong, and the other person is going to leave. It's like it's tangible in the air.

You force your gaze up to Matt's face. His hazel eyes are truly windows to his soul, and he looks so scared that you are going to explode on him and your heart aches for him. You're by no means angry about him not telling you about this upfront - it's clear he's had issues with that in the past and it's not like you deserve to know all his trauma and secrets from day one just because you had his child.

But you are still confused and do want to understand.

You turn so are facing him even more fully and force words from your throat, "Can I ask you some questions?"

Matt nods his head, jerky with it, "Yes, anything."

You can tell he means it, and that eases your own anxiety. You rub at your thighs, needing to transfer your internal anxieties outward, and go for the first thing that comes to mind.

"You said…you can hear blocks away. What does that mean? You can hear everything in like...a two block radius?" You ask, hoping you aren't sounding like an absolute idiot.

Matt's lips twitch, like they want to go into a sad smile, but he keeps his face firmly in 'kicked puppy' territory, "A little more than two blocks. I haven't…tested the maximum range, but if I stand in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, I can hear almost all of it. Sort of - I learned to filter and push things into the background so it's not constant input. If I focus, I can hear the couple down the street debating about what they want for dinner. I can hear everyone in this building and the next. But it isn't just..." he trails off for a moment, biting his lip and wrinkling his brow. Like he's trying to figure out the right words. You wait, not wanting to rush him.

"It isn't just a macro experience; it is also micro. I can hear the way the pipes in your kitchen are creaking. The way your shirt brushes against your skin. The differences in your breath as you exhale…I can hear your lungs expand and contract. I can... Hear your heart - it was beating fast a few moments ago but it's started to calm. Or you're trying to keep calm. I can... Tell your adrenaline and fear are still high. You're nervous and I don't blame you."

Your brows scrunch up in disbelief, "you can…hear my heartbeat?" You look down at your own chest, reaching up to place your hand over your heart. You can feel it beating rather hard, but as Matt said, you feel like you are calming down now that the two of you are talking.

"I can hear your heartbeat," he confirms, then adds, "But I don't go around listening to those sorts of things. I try to give people their privacy."

That makes sense to you - you wouldn't want to constantly have to listen to people's body functions.

The thought triggers another question.

"Why aren't you a doctor?"

Matt opens his mouth as if to answer, then pauses as his expression morphs into bafflement. "What?"

"Why aren't you a doctor?" You repeat, then motion at him, "I mean, based on what you said, wouldn't it make sense to be a doctor?"

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, reminding you of a fish, before he shakes his head, finally, finally starting to smile again, "I, uh, never considered it. I've always wanted to be a lawyer, since I was a kid. I wanted to help people." He leans forward slightly, putting his elbows on his knees, "You learn I can hear your heartbeat and you ask why I'm not a doctor. Are you not…freaked out?"

"I mean, a little, yes," you admit with a shrug, "but also…" you look back down to your lap and clasp your hands together, squeezing a little too tightly, "You're telling me and…we're talking like adults about it. I get why you didn't tell me, and it's not like…it's not like it's something terrible. It's weird but…it's not the weirdest thing?" You bite into your lip, then, because your nature is to put everyone else's needs in front of yours, you can't help but ask, "Is there anything I can do to make things easier? I mean, is there anything in here that's too loud or something? Something I can adjust to make you more comfortable?"

He seems to need a minute to process what you are telling him before he shakes his head, "No. No, I've spent my life adjusting to everything." He takes a breath before his voice becomes a little softer, "I didn't want to hide this from you. Foggy and Karen know the truth and were helping me come up with a way to tell you that makes sense."

"You did a good job, it made sense," you quickly confirm. That makes him smile, just a little.

"I'm glad... they are also helping me make a binder, like you made for me. About everything," he mimics you, motioning to himself. "I'm hoping it will help you with Minnie."

You're confused at first why your daughter is mentioned, then the wheels quickly begin to turn.

Memories flash in your mind of Minnie saying things are too loud - all her weird little complaints you've heard since she started being able to articulate - and your stomach starts to turn as things start to slot into place.

She inherited Matt's senses.

It makes so much sense and you very suddenly feel like you need to throw up.

You scramble to stand up, clamping your hands over your mouth. Matt shoots up so he is standing beside you, reaching out to touch your arm while saying your name in concern.

"She's been trying to tell me,” you choke out. All of the emotion of the day is crashing into you. Your eyes are stinging, and you can feel the tears gathering.

You've been such an awful parent.

How could you have not listened to what she was saying? Toddlers say weird things, but she's been consistent about what she tells you and you thought it was just her imagination or exaggerations.

What has your poor baby been putting up with?

The thought of her suffering because her senses are being overwhelmed and you not helping her pushes you over the edge and you begin to cry.

Tears start to pour out of you and only years of training has you strangling the sob that tries to escape as well.

You see Matt move through blurry eyes and suddenly you are wrapped in his arms, tucked under his chin like Minnie had been.

"It's okay," he whispers into your temple, holding you firmly against his chest. You want to struggle because you are not used to being held when you cry. You aren't used to being held at all. You aren't used to crying around other people.

All of it is so much and it just makes you cry harder, awkwardly standing stiff as a board while Matt tries to comfort you.

"It's okay," he repeats, and you manage to shake your head, because none of it is okay. It isn't.

You think of all the tantrums that have resulted from her being overstimulated and try to imagine how awful she must have been feeling. You get headaches from things being just a little too loud and that has been all of her life - and you have no idea how much she can hear. Can she hear blocks away like her father can? How many horrible things has she heard that you don't know about?

How has it shaped her?

"Hey, hey, look at me," Matt says so softly you barely hear him over your own choked sobs. His hands go from holding you to his chest up to your face and he cups your jaw, gently forcing you to tilt your head up towards his. You squeeze your eyes shut, too ashamed of yourself to look right into his face. "You are an amazing mother. You care so much about Minnie and doing right by her. You said she's been trying to tell you and you've been listening. You have been. The headphones you got her? They do help. I promise you they help. Everything you do helps."

There's a gentle pressure against your forehead, and you realize Matt is touching his to yours. You can feel his nose brushing against your own. "I asked her at the park the other day what helps when things start getting too loud. Do you know what she said?"

You shake your head because you have no idea. You didn't even know they had talked without you present.

What else didn't you know about your daughter?

"She listens to your heart. When things get too much for her, she finds the thing that centers her and soothes her and that's the sound of your heart."

You try to process his words but it's another gut punch to your emotions. It's a swell of love for your sweet little angel with a mix of horror because how often has she needed to center herself on you?

Matt smooths his thumbs over your cheeks, pushing away tears that are still streaming down them. "You take such good care of her. It blew my mind the first time we were all together, that you're so attentive and loving. You care so much. I didn't understand how I was so lucky that you were the one I got to have a child with. Someone with such a good heart. I thought you must have been mistaken because I certainly don't deserve you. I don't deserve Minnie. But you let me in and I have been praying that I can be a fraction of what a good parent you are. Minnie loves you so much. You've done so good with her. You didn't know about her senses, but how could you, and you still did so much to help her. And now that you do know, I know you'll do everything within your power to help her. And I will as well. I promise. It's okay. She's okay."

You try to focus on Matt's words, but it is so hard. Your crying is quickly cascading from emotional crying to being completely panicked anxiety crying.

You aren't used to being comforted. You aren't used to people telling you it's okay and you did good. It's confusing and you don't know how to act. You don't know what you are supposed to do.

Are you supposed to calm down? How do you calm down? How do you just stop crying?

And his hands are so warm on your face. They are surprisingly rough, but they feel good, petting you so gently. He's so close everywhere - you're still right against him from when he was holding you. You can taste his breath.

It feels like he's right on top of you - he practically is - and you suddenly can't breathe. It feels like your esophagus has locked up and you can no longer swallow air.

Fear surges up your spine and before it can take hold, a low resonating bong goes through your mind, telling you to go get a glass of water.

It's something you've trained into your mind, taking years to perfect.

To prevent a panic attack, drink a glass of water.

"I need water," you manage to say before pulling away from Matt and go purposefully to the kitchen, ordering yourself to not rush. You have a specific glass you use on these occasions and pull it from the top shelf. You hear Matt follow you into the kitchen, but you force yourself to focus on getting out your water pitcher and pouring your glass of water. Your hands are shaking and water is splashing on the side of the glass.

Once it is full, you refill the pitcher and put it away, before returning to your glass. You drink slowly, taking a sip, swallowing, taking a breath, then repeating. Matt keeps his distance as he waits for you. He looks concerned and he keeps flexing his hands and you have to avert your gaze because it is making you anxious again.

Tears are still streaming down your face but with each breath, you regain control of your emotions. You pull them back in and reorganize your thoughts. First, you must deal in facts.

Fact - Matt has enhanced senses due to the accident where he lost his eyesight. Fact - Matt is Minnie's father. Fact - Minnie inherited Matt's enhanced senses. Fact - having enhanced senses can be overwhelming for your daughter and it causes tantrums.

These are your facts, one of which is a problem, the over stimulation, and you need to find a solution to it, but to find a solution you need to know the trigger.

You finish your glass of water and set it in the sink to wash later, then turn to face Matt. He looks so worried, but now that you are looking at him, he perks up - attentive and waiting for you to address him.

You wonder what signals your body is giving him - can he sense your change in demeanor?

"Do you know what upset her at dinner? Why she started crying?" You ask, hoping you don't sound like a complete mess.

Matt nods quickly, ready to explain, "the building behind us on this block's fire alarm started going off. Based on what I can tell, a rat chewed through a wire and set it off somehow. The second tantrum was from a fire truck arriving - it had it's sirens going off "

You stare at Matt in wonder. You heard none of that. The window was wide open and you didn't hear a siren at all, and if you did you automatically put it into the background of your mind.

"It was on the other side of the block," he says, like he knows exactly what you are thinking, "and we're facing the wrong direction. There's no chance you would have been able to hear it."

Your hands clench into fists at your side, dread starting to build up inside of you and threatening to pull more tears, "how can I protect her from things I can't hear?"

Matt's face softens into something understanding. He hesitantly steps forward, and as he reaches for you, you understand his love language is touch. He's trying to comfort you through touch, and by extension, comfort himself. This must be horrible for him, you realize with a start. He told you this big secret and you proceeded to freak the fuck out on him.

He needs comfort as well. He needs someone telling him it's okay.

You're being so selfish again.

He touches your arm and begins to ghost his fingers up and down it, barely pushing at the sleeves of your T-shirt. The back of his fingers are rough, but the sensation isn't terrible. You are still so unsure what you are supposed to do, so you take a breath and take a small step closer to him then decide the best course of action is to ignore the petting.

"You can't protect her, but we can help give her the tools to protect herself. She was born with it and has adapted naturally. I had to be taught and have had a lifetime to learn. That's why I want to make that guide for you. I fully intended to tell you everything, and still do," he ducks his head and becomes almost sheepish, “I was just…trying to do it in the right way?"

You absorb his words and let them roll around in your mind, ignoring for now the implication there are more people with enhanced senses than just Matt.

"You can teach her?" You confirm after a few moments.

"We can both teach her. I told you before, you've already helped so much. No one has ever gotten me sound proof headphones - and certainly not a dozen different pairs. We can talk to her together and she can tell us what she needs," he says and it does sound like he's thought this through.

And that brings you comfort.

He has a plan. He's coming at this prepared and with research and consultants.

He's committed.

You don't need to search for a solution because he already has one.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and your shoulders relax.

A literal sigh of relief.

"Thank you," you whisper and Matt quickly shakes his head, but before you can say anything, the larger red stain on his shirt catches your eye again and your Mom brain activates. "Matt, your shirt!"

He looks down at his chest, clearly confused by the sudden change in conversation and tone, "what about my shirt?"

"There's lasagna all over it. It's going to stain so badly. Here, let me get you another shirt," you pull away from him and start hurrying towards the bedroom. You wipe at your tears as you call back to him, "I think I can still get the stain out. It's still wet."

In the bedroom, Minnie has rolled over and is now face down on her bed, sprawled out like a starfish. You know from that she will not be awake until morning. She must be so exhausted, your poor Mouse. Guilt swirls in your belly and you vow you're going to learn to help prevent this.

You're not going to let her suffer any longer.

You look away from your daughter to rummage through your dresser. You grab one of your largest T-shirts and quickly leave the room, lest you disturb your daughter. You head back down the short hallway to the main living area, hoping what you got will be big enough for Matt.

You look up from your musings as you come around the corner and freeze.

Matt's taken his shirt off.

You are very intimately aware that he was in shape before, but this is a different level. His muscles are well defined and his biceps are at least as big as Minnie's head. You've never seen someone with v-cut abs in person and you feel your cheeks start to heat up because you are only human and your brain is definitely short circuiting.

You force your eyes away from how his hips disappear into his pants and up his chest.

There are scars, all across his torso, long and deliberate. They don't look surgical, even with the sight symmetry of some. Going over one of the smaller scars on his right side is a nasty bruise that seems to wrap around to his back. It looks painful and at least a few days old by the coloring.

Your instinct is to ask if he is alright, but you clamp it down.

You understand.

You understand this extension of trust, silent and hopeful but terrified, and you take it and cradle it to your heart. He will tell you in time. You have to trust him.

You have to trust whatever is blooming between the two of you.

But does he really need to be so insanely hot? Was it not complicated enough?

Matt calls your name, breaking you out of your thoughts. He sounds more than a little smug.

"Sorry, it has been a long day. Um, I think this will fit you," you step forward and hold it out, asking as you do, "Do I need to tell you where it is or…?"

He shakes his head with a chuckle, and you wonder how many times people have asked him such questions, "You can just toss it at me. It's okay, I understand."

You feel rude but do as you are told. He catches it easily, and after turning it over in his hands to orient it, pulls it on.

"What's it got on it?" He asks, rubbing his hands over his chest to feel the screen print, unintentionally emphasizing how broad he is.

You blame your slight delay in response on your exhaustion.

"It's... got the word 'cosmos' on it with a galaxy print behind it. It's from that old science show with um...I don't know his name. I just remember something about the universe being a pie?" You answer, wishing you'd actually looked at what you had grabbed him.

But Matt nods anyways, like he understands what you mean, "Carl Sagan?"

The name rings a bell, and you shrug, honestly not remembering in the moment, "I think that's it, I never was a big science person but the shirt was free..."

He chuckles at your answer and you have to look away from him, shuffling towards the couch instead. It isn't fair how good he looks. The shirt is one you wear every so often to sleep and now you very much understand the trope of men enjoying women wearing their t-shirts and you've already experienced too many emotions today to try to process that.

You plop down and put your head into your hands. Exhaustion is creeping into your bones and your eyes ache from crying and it feels like you've been hit with the emotional equivalent of an eighteen wheeler. You feel the couch dip as he sits beside you and a moment later, Matt's fingers are tracing up and down your spine. It feels like a feather and instead of locking up at the touch, you find yourself slumping more.

"How're you doing?" He asks and part of you wants to laugh.

"I don't know," you admit, "it is a lot to take in at once. I just want to make sure I'm doing the right thing - with Minnie. With you. Not just with…your senses, but with everything. I don't want to mess up."

"You won't mess up," Matt assures you and he sounds so confident that you want to believe him. "Things might not always be easy, but you won't mess up. I believe in you."

You don't know how to respond to that. You haven't had anyone tell you they believe in you in so long. It sends this sort of warmth through you that you don't understand and the only thing you can think of to do is hide your face more into your hands.

He doesn't press for more as you both sit there. The silence somehow isn't awkward, even as minutes start to creep by. He continues to run his fingers up and down your back and it doesn't take long for your eyes to start to feel heavy. You tell yourself to get up, you still have to clean up the mess from dinner, but your body doesn't listen.

You just want to sit.

All you want to do is just sit.

You'll get up in a minute. You just need to recharge. You keep telling yourself that, even as you feel your body start to sag and your thoughts start to fade in and out. You don't notice as your exhaustion starts to take over and you begin to drift - and you don't notice as Matt helps you lay down on the couch or when a blanket is draped over you.

As your thoughts finally allow sleep to take over, the last thing your mind lets you process is the brush of lips against your temple and gentle words whispered against your skin.

Tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium @

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

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ninibeingdelulu · 5 months ago

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Hidden ✧

Plot: You’re the president’s daughter he came to rescue, and you both need to hide in a small hole.

A/N: the president’s daughter reader is back y’all yeahhh

As your frantic footfalls echoed through the derelict cabin's dimly lit halls, Leon's calloused grip clamped vice-like around your wrist.

Forcibly dragging your stumbling frame towards a promising crevice of safety tucked along the far interior wall.

In one fluid series of motions, he shoved you into the musty shadows of that nook before barricading the open space with an ancient wardrobe wedged against the crumbling sheetrock.

Effectively sealing you both inside that makeshift sanctuary from whatever evil forces still lurked beyond those creaking timbers...

"Stay low and keep those pretty lips zipped if you know what's good for you," Leon's gravelly baritone hissed out mere inches from your face through the suffocating blackness enveloping your curled forms.

Just the thought of whatever merciless terrors he was willing to unleash in order to uphold this mission's integrity sent a tremulous shiver rattling through your shoulders to silently obey.

Until that spoiled, entitled nature of yours simply couldn't resist one final petulant sigh of displeasure over the cramped captivity.

"There's barely any room at all to-"

Before you could finish that complaint, a single broad palm slammed over the part of your lips while his forearm pinned you firmly against the damp wall.

Body caging yours in as the former RPD officer issued a scathing reprimand on a rough whisper skimming along your jaw.

"Shut up if you want to live, princess ..."

Within the next breath, you were being hauled up against his rock-solid frame until your backside suddenly landed against the cradle of those corded thighs wrapped around your waist.

Heat instantly prickling under your cheeks at such scandalous proximity to those taut muscles bulging beneath his battle-worn fatigues.

"What are you doing ?" you indignantly mumbled against the leather-scented palm still locked over your gasping mouth as Leon shifted and adjusted your positioning atop his bunching arousal trapped beneath those cargos.

"Just giving you what you wanted, princess..." he rumbled out on a hissed breath fanning your hairline. "More space to wiggle that restless body around in without blowing our cover entirely."

In a true testament to Leon's pragmatic stoicism, he simply pulled your squirming form flush against his torso once more.

Then wrapped one solid appendage around your ribs to silently signal he'd tolerate no further fussing over the matter.

Crossing your arms with an indignant huff, you were left silently stewing about the fact that at least in this shadowed intimacy...he wouldn't be able to witness the furious bloom of crimson staining your cheeks at such close proximity.

But of course, your pins-and-needles started kicking in from supporting all your weight on those throbbing legs less than a minute later - leaving you fidgeting ceaselessly to find a more comfortable position once again.

A deep, guttural hiss of air sliced past your cheek as Leon's rock-hard abdominals spasmed beneath your restlessly shifting weight - only realizing belatedly that your churning rear end kept grinding against the rapidly swelling ridge suddenly tenting the front of his heavy-duty garments.

Instantly freezing in shock when you craned your neck up to search those inscrutable features hovering just overhead...

Without warning, a powerful hand was cupping the nape of your skull while calloused fingertips threaded sharply through your tangled locks to jerk your focus frontwards again.

"Don't move. A muscle" came his sandpaper growl against your temple - syllables nearly lost amidst the roaring drumbeat pulsing beneath your own frantic pulse points as your thighs instinctively clenched around his.

Too shaken to disobey, you simply swallowed back your shuddery gasps and meekly nodded.

Practically tasting those electrifying waves of primal aggression rolling off his hulking frame while he waged whatever internal war against himself.

Close enough in the darkness for the heat gusting from his flaring nostrils to fan across your cheeks in tandem with each strained exhale.

And then...there was nothing but bristling tension coiling tighter and tighter between your suspended forms until even Leon's very bones seemed to thrum with it - scarcely allowing either of you to cycle air into your lungs.

At least until the droning swarm beyond your flimsy barricade quieted for more than a few minutes' respite, signaling your opportunity to extract yourselves from this debauched tangle of limbs.

"Break’s over, ...use your feet and shove that dresser out of the way."

Leon finally ground out once that punishing grip eased from the back of your skull.

"We need to get moving before I give those freaks an even bigger reason to hunt us down."

Bobbing a rapid nod, you braced your calves against the barrier until it gave way enough to slither back outside into the fading twilight hues.

Every breath hitching raggedly into your constricted lungs as the dark, woodsy scents finally chased away the aroma of leather and gunpowder consuming your senses.

From there, Leon slipped back into that hardened survivalist on autopilot - all traces of those searing undercurrents wiped clean from his expression save the barely perceptible flush tingeing those razor-etched cheekbones.

So you had no choice but to fall back in step behind his long, purposeful strides guiding you deeper into the night's embrace without so much as sparing you a sidelong glance this time.

"Come on, princess...we lost enough time back there." His signature endearment for you practically snarled out with customary disdain.

"The rendezvous coordinates aren't getting any closer dawdling around like this."

Rolling your eyes, you simply complied in silence with those unspoken orders.

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p0orbaby · 4 hours ago

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Why Do I Give You the Worst of Me (1)

summary: love and bad decisions collide as you struggle to balance a tour and a relationship that’s spiraling out of control

warnings: 18+ adult themes throughout

a/n: another series i’m hoping i don’t regret committing myself to… not sure how many parts it’ll be, i don’t plan anything

word count: 3.1k

You wake up face-first on a sofa that smells like cigarettes, spilled beer, and faintly, vomit. Not yours, you think. The synthetic fabric is scratchy against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, it takes a moment to realise it’s morning—sunlight cutting through the cracked blinds, striping the floor with dusty light. The sofa is mustard yellow, ugly in a deliberate, trying-too-hard-to-be-retro way. It doesn’t belong to you. Nothing in this flat belongs to you.

There’s a girl in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she pours cereal into a bowl. You don’t know her name, but you know she wears Chanel No. 5 because it’s all you could smell last night when she leaned too close, whispering something you didn’t quite catch. Her hair’s a mess now—like spun gold caught in a tangle of barbed wire—but her makeup is still pristine. She’s the kind who sets her eyeliner with setting spray before going out, even if it’s just to the pub. You admire the commitment, if not the execution.

Your head throbs—a deep, insistent ache behind your eyes that reminds you of last night in bits and pieces: the gig (decent, though the sound guy fucked up your monitor levels), the afterparty (loud, sweaty, a haze of bodies and smoke), the lines of coke on a chipped coffee table, the bartender who kept giving you free shots because he recognised you from that NME interview last month. At some point, someone tried to fight you, though you’re not sure why. You vaguely remember smashing a bottle of tequila against a wall and laughing as glass shards rained down like confetti.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, which is peeling in a way that suggests years of neglect, a building held together more by stubbornness than actual structural integrity. There’s a stain in the corner that looks suspiciously like mould, but you don’t care enough to investigate. The flat isn’t yours, after all. You were invited here by someone whose name escapes you now—a bassist from another band, or maybe it was their girlfriend? They’re gone this morning, anyway, leaving behind only the detritus of a night well-lived: empty bottles, crushed cigarette packets, a single black stiletto abandoned near the door like a fairy-tale gone wrong.

You light a cigarette, despite the pounding in your head and the fact that you’re pretty sure it’s technically illegal to smoke indoors here. The girl in the kitchen glances at you but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed or indifferent; you don’t care. The smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet. Mornings like this are rare—where everything is still and soft, where the chaos of your life is temporarily held at bay by the thin walls of someone else’s flat.

Your bass is propped up against the armchair, scratched and battered in a way that tells a story if you care to look closely enough. It’s a Fender Precision, black with a white pickguard, the same model Sid Vicious used to play—not that you’d ever admit that’s why you bought it. The neck has a gouge near the third fret from when you threw it at a sound tech who deserved it (and missed). The strap is leather, worn smooth where it rests on your shoulder, and the bridge still has flecks of blood from the time you played so hard your fingers split open mid-song. You keep meaning to clean it, but you never do.

You check your phone, which is cracked and sticky with something you don’t want to identify. No new messages, except for a text from your drummer that reads: “u alive?” You don’t bother replying.

You’ve been in the band for five years now, though it feels longer. It started as a joke—a group of friends fucking around in someone’s garage, trying to see who could play the loudest, the fastest, the most obnoxious. Somewhere along the way, it became serious. There was a DIY EP, recorded in one manic weekend on borrowed gear, and a string of gigs in dingy pubs where the audiences were more interested in drinking than listening. Then came the break—a slot supporting a bigger band, one of those industry darlings who’d already started to hate themselves for selling out. The kind of band that wears matching outfits ironically, even though everyone knows it’s not ironic at all.

Now, you play sold-out shows to crowds who scream your lyrics back at you, though most of them probably couldn’t name your second album. Your face has been on the cover of Kerrang! twice, though you didn’t bother reading the articles. You hate interviews, but you do them anyway because your manager insists. You’re better at the photoshoots—smirking at the camera in a way that suggests you don’t care (you do).

The band is your life, though you wouldn’t call it that. Calling it your life makes it sound like you have some sort of plan, and you don’t. You’re just here, playing gigs and writing songs and doing whatever it takes to keep the wheels from falling off.

Your bandmates are a mixed bag of personalities, each one a walking caricature in their own way. There’s Matt, the drummer, who swears he’s been abducted by aliens and won’t shut up about it. Alex, the lead guitarist, is constantly high and insists on bringing his cat on tour, which you find deeply annoying. And then there’s Holly, the singer, who somehow manages to be both the most chaotic and the most responsible member of the group. She’s the one who organises rehearsals, books the studio time, and keeps you all from self-destructing entirely. You love her for it, even if you’d never say it out loud.

The girl in the kitchen finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and leaves without saying goodbye. You watch her go, not because you care but because there’s nothing else to do. When the door slams shut, the flat feels even smaller, like the walls are pressing in on you. You stub out your cigarette, grab your bass, and leave too.

Outside, London is already alive, though you wouldn’t call it awake. The streets are sticky from last night—spilled pints and kebab wrappers crushed into the pavement, cigarette butts floating in puddles of something that smells suspiciously like piss. The air has that distinct urban flavour: exhaust fumes mingling with fryer grease and the faint tang of wet concrete. You pull your leather jacket tighter around you, not because it’s cold (it is), but because it completes the look.

The jacket is vintage—or at least you tell people it is. In reality, you bought it at a high-street shop three years ago, and it’s held up surprisingly well, considering the abuse it’s endured. The lining is torn, the cuffs are frayed, and there’s a mysterious stain on the back you can’t quite place. But it’s yours, and it feels like armour. The boots, on the other hand, are real vintage: a pair of Dr Martens from the ‘90s you found in a thrift shop in Brighton. They’re scuffed to hell, and the left one squeaks when you walk, but you refuse to replace them because they’re authentic.

You head toward the Tube station, your bass slung over one shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle. People stare, but only briefly. In London, no one has the energy to care for long. The morning commuters are a mix of suits and students, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over as they clutch takeaway coffees in one hand and their phones in the other. You feel out of place but also weirdly superior, like you’ve cracked some code they haven’t even realised exists yet.

You hop on the Northern line, ignoring the signs that politely request passengers to “refrain from eating or drinking.” You’re not eating or drinking, but you do pull out a cigarette, which is arguably worse. It’s a roll-up, so you convince yourself it doesn’t count. An old woman glares at you, clutching her handbag like she thinks you’re about to mug her. You offer her a crooked smile, which she does not return, and you put the cigarette back in your pocket because she reminds you of your nan.

The train screeches into motion, and you pull out your phone. The lock screen is a photo of your bass, which says a lot about you. There are a few notifications—mostly spam emails and an unread message from Holly: Rehearsal at 2. Don’t be late, dickhead.

You glance at the time. 11:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

The rehearsal space is in Camden, a dingy basement that smells of mildew and unwashed socks. The walls are lined with egg cartons painted black in a half-hearted attempt at soundproofing, and the floor is sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The room has seen better days—probably in the ‘80s, when it was still a nightclub and not a haven for struggling musicians. There’s a single fluorescent bulb overhead that flickers ominously, and a space heater in the corner that’s never worked.

Holly is already there when you arrive, tuning her guitar with the precision of someone who takes this far more seriously than you do. She’s wearing a denim jacket covered in patches for bands you’ve never heard of, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks up as you walk in, her expression equal parts exasperation and relief.

“Christ, you smell like an ashtray,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s called branding,” you reply, dropping your bass onto the floor with a thud.

Matt and Alex show up ten minutes later, looking even worse than you do. Matt has the kind of face that always looks slightly hungover, even when he’s not, and Alex is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday, now with an impressive new stain across the front.

The rehearsal starts late, as it always does, and quickly descends into chaos. Matt insists on playing a drum solo during every song, despite the fact that no one asked for it. Alex keeps stopping mid-riff to check his phone, claiming he’s “waiting for an important call,” though everyone knows it’s just his dealer. Holly shouts at both of them until her voice cracks, then turns her frustration on you for being “completely fucking useless.” You take it in stride, plucking random notes on your bass and pretending to care.

At some point, Holly storms out, leaving the three of you to your own devices. Matt immediately pulls out a joint, which Alex lights with a lighter shaped like a naked woman. You lean back against the wall, your bass resting against your thigh, and watch as they argue over which fast-food place to hit up after rehearsal.

“McDonald’s is closer,” Alex says, taking a drag.

“But KFC’s got the gravy,” Matt counters, waving his arms for emphasis.

“It’s not even real gravy,” Alex snaps.

“None of it’s real,” you interject, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re all just cogs in the capitalist machine.”

They stare at you for a moment, then go back to arguing.

By the time rehearsal ends, it’s dark outside. You pack up your gear, ignoring Holly’s death glare as she reminds you for the millionth time that you need to take this more seriously. You nod, mumble something about “artistic integrity,” and leave before she can yell at you again.

Back on the street, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes you wish you’d brought a scarf. You light another cigarette, even though you’ve already smoked half a pack today, and head toward the pub.

The pub is your sanctuary, a place where time slows down and the only thing that matters is the next round. It’s a dive, the kind of place where the carpet sticks to your shoes and the jukebox is permanently stuck on a rotation of The Clash and The Smiths. You know the bartender by name, though you’re not sure if he knows yours.

You order a pint and settle into a corner booth, your bass case propped up beside you. The first sip is like a warm hug, washing away the stress of the day. You’re halfway through your second pint when you see her.

You don’t notice her at first. Not properly. She’s part of the blur—the dim bar lights catching on glasses, the low hum of half-drunken conversation, the vague sense that you’ve been here before even if you haven’t. She’s leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink, and it’s not until the bartender—a man whose name might be Pete but who you’re pretty sure is just “Oi, mate” to everyone who comes in—hands her a gin and tonic that you actually see her.

And it’s a gin and tonic. Not a lager, not a rum and coke, not something ironic like a snakebite or one of those craft beers with names like Hops and Robbers. It’s a G&T, clean and crisp, with a slice of lime balanced on the rim like it’s posing for a stock photo. The glass is crystal clear, and so are her nails—short, practical, painted the sort of soft pink that suggests she doesn’t chew them during stressful moments (unlike you). She takes the drink with both hands, like she’s steadying herself, and there’s something about that—the deliberateness of it—that hooks you.

You tell yourself you’re just looking because she’s there. Because it’s either her or the guy at the next table who’s been droning on about Bitcoin for twenty minutes straight. But it’s more than that. There’s a stillness to her, an odd kind of clarity that doesn’t fit in a place like this, like she’s wandered in from a parallel universe.

She turns slightly, and you catch her profile: sharp nose, strong jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass but probably wouldn’t because she seems far too polite. Her hair is blonde—not platinum, not peroxide, but the kind of natural gold that makes you think of expensive shampoo and childhood summers. It’s tied back loosely, wisps framing her face in a way that seems accidental but probably isn’t.

She’s not wearing makeup. Or maybe she is, but it’s the invisible kind—the kind that takes forty-five minutes to apply but looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed looking flawless. Her jumper is navy, oversized enough to suggest she might have nicked it from someone else’s wardrobe, paired with jeans that sit perfectly at her hips without being skinny. On her feet are white trainers—clean, like freshly ironed bedsheets—Adidas, the classic three stripes in black, laces tied neatly, no fraying ends.

You’re staring. You know you are. But she hasn’t noticed, so it doesn’t count.

The bartender mutters something to her, and she laughs. Not the loud, performative laugh you hear from most people in bars, but something softer, like it’s meant for her and her alone. The sound is so out of place in this dingy pub that it feels almost sacrilegious, like someone’s brought a cathedral choir to sing in a nightclub.

You tell yourself to look away. You don’t.

Instead, you light a cigarette, even though the pub is strictly non-smoking. You do it for the aesthetic, the same way you do most things. There’s a half-empty pint in front of you—lager, flat and warm, probably with someone else’s fingerprints on the glass—but you take a sip anyway, because what else are you going to do?

She turns then, her gaze sweeping the room, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. For a second, you think she’s looking at you, but she’s not. She’s looking past you, at the dartboard on the wall behind your head. Her expression is curious, like she’s trying to figure out why anyone would bother playing darts in a place like this.

Then her eyes meet yours, and the world tilts.

It’s not love at first sight, not really. Love at first sight is for Disney films and Hallmark cards and people who shop at Waitrose without looking at the prices. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Like you’ve seen her before in a dream or a half-remembered story someone told you once. Like you’ve spent your whole life waiting for this moment without knowing it.

She holds your gaze for a second longer than is polite. Then she looks away, back at her gin and tonic, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath.

You don’t approach her right away. That would be too obvious, too predictable. Instead, you wait, watching her out of the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll through your phone. It’s a shitty phone, cracked and outdated, but you’ve never bothered upgrading because you secretly enjoy the low expectations it sets. No one looks at you and expects success when your phone screen is held together with Sellotape.

She moves to a table in the corner, near the radiator, and sits down alone. No book, no laptop, no visible excuse to be here other than the gin and tonic in her hand. She sips it slowly, methodically, like she’s savouring it. Like she’s savouring this.

You wonder what her story is.

Is she waiting for someone? A friend, a boyfriend, a clandestine meeting with a lover? Or is she just one of those people who can sit alone in public without feeling like a target? You’ve never understood that kind of confidence—the kind that lets you exist without an audience, without a role to play.

You take another sip of your pint, then decide, fuck it.

You stand, grab your bass (because leaving it behind would feel like abandoning a child), and make your way across the room. Your boots squeak against the sticky floor, and you curse them under your breath. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty chair across from her.

She hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

“Sure.”

Her voice is soft, but not shy. Measured. Like she’s weighing every word before she says it.

You sit, placing your bass case carefully against the table leg. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re not sure what to say, and she seems content to let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s not easy, either.

Finally, she breaks it.

“You’re in a band,” she says, nodding toward the bass. It’s not a question.

You smile. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you realise it’s a stupid question.

“What’s the band called?”

You tell her, and she nods, like she’s vaguely heard of it but couldn’t name a single song.

“I’m Alessia,” she says, holding out her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin warm.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, and for the first time in a long time, you actually mean it.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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velvees-archive · 1 month ago

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Spirit of Justice DLC Spoilers!

I’ve talked a lot about how much respect Edgeworth has for Phoenix as an attorney and an individual (see here and here) but this DLC case really puts my analyses to shame because Miles makes it so, blatantly obvious.

In the final cross examination for the case, Pierce Nichody makes a last ditch attempt at warding off suspicion by slandering Phoenix’s integrity.

“He wants to infect this judicial body with virulent accusations!”

Before he can say more, Edgeworth objects to his testimony. It’s important to note that the text autoadvances here aka Edgeworth’s objection pops up before the text box fully loads in. It actually took me by surprise the first time I played through the case.

Do we see what I’m trying to say? Edgeworth—under the guise of maintaining professionalism—defends Phoenix against attacks on his character. It’s even more telling that he loses his cool and forcibly stops the dialogue after Pierce implies Phoenix is a stain on the judicial system, almost as if he’s saying “not the Phoenix Wright Miles knows”. No damn way.

An aside: This is post 7-year gap Phoenix coming under the Chief Prosecutor’s protection because he unerringly believes in Phoenix. That’s 7-year gap fanfic fuel in the flesh?!

It’s cute that he says, “We need to evaluate the defense’s claim” because, yes, of course we do, but does evaluating Phoenix’s argument include insulting your witness, too?

There’s something about this exchange that screams domesticity, what with Edgeworth indirectly telling Pierce to stfu and shifting the court’s attention to Phoenix, who definitely gets what Edgeworth is putting down. Look at his smirk and the dialogue!

This has to be one of my favorite NaruMitsu moments in the series. A culmination of their personal bond peeking through the professional curtain. I am so taken with these losers.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #narumitsu #spirit of justice #narumitsu but not really in the ship way #i have so much left to say abt this #soj narumitsu makes me insane #spirit of justice spoilers #soj dlc #vel’s fic brainstorms #live reaction

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the-down-upside-finch · 1 year ago

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9 Lines, 9 People (Tag Game)

Thank you @zestymimblo for tagging me (in this post)! I know it was my main blog that got tagged but I'mma play on this blog haha

I'll use this snippet from my WIP, Stained Integrity!

“What did you expect my answer to be, my dear?” He lightly laughed. “I was raised in a temple. I have the scripts seared into my head whether I like it or not.” “You told me you don’t believe in fate.” “I told you I don’t give a damn about it.” “So why do you act like you don’t have control over your own life?” “Careful, my dear,” he said. “You’ll start sounding like a Destringer if you keep talking like that.” “You’re not answering me.” “I’m aware.” He vaguely smiled. “I’ve learned a thing or two from you when it comes to dodging questions.” “Why is it so difficult”—Clover swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep an even tone—“for you to tell me one thing about yourself?” “And why would you need to know anything about me?” he countered. “Because you know everything about me!”

...Let's just pretend this is 9 lines and not 10 so I don't have to add random dialogue tags. (Also I omitted the character's name because of spoilers. But I'm sure you can guess who it is if you're familiar with this WIP.)

Gently tagging @card-queen, @k-v-briarwood, @planets-and-prose, @the-grim-and-sanguine, @lordcatwich, @nettleandthorne, @athenswrites, @worldsfromhoney, and @junypr-camus as the nine tags! (No pressure, of course!) Also anyone that wants to play can take this as an open tag. :}

...I am so sorry for tagging so many people today. That last sentence tag game had me tagging basically everyone I could remember off the top of my head waaahh--

#ZootaWrites #Snippets #Stained Integrity Series #Nine lines nine people #Tag Game #Writeblr #I mean I could have shared a snippet from earlier in the story but I was in the mood to share this one #Writeblr Tag Game #Nine Lines Nine People Tag Game #Long Post

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olive-riggzey · 1 year ago

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Doodle dump since I feel like I haven't posted art in a little while. (Characters are all my OCs!)

#ZootaDoodles #Stained Integrity Series #OC #Original Character #Original Characters #Doodle dump #I draw! In case any of the new people following me didn't know #These characters are from a comic I have in the works #You can't actually read the comic anywhere yet but I will certainly talk about these characters if you ask

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delicatebarness · 4 months ago

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i cant read your mind | chapter twelve

Summary: In the aftermath of Walker's public incident, the gang decides to finally take back the shield.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. Major The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Spoilers. Violence. Grief and Loss. Tense Situations. Blood and Injuries.

Word Count: 1456

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A/N: Erm, Bucky... your caring and loving side is showing. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

The pursuit through the cold streets of Latvia led you, Sam, and Bucky to an abandoned warehouse. Walker’s strides echoed through the building as he made his way closer to you. The stake air hung heavy with tension, underscored by distant sounds of the city.

“Walker…” Sam growled, leading the way toward the so-called Captain America.

Walker looked between the three of you as he walked closer, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good.” His voice was steady, etched with fake concern.

You scoffed, holding your side as a dull ache began to form where one of the Flag-Smashers had caught you off guard. Your eyes settled on the blood splattered over the shield, ignoring the conversation between the three men.

As Sam and Bucky engaged in the verbal exchange with Walker, your thoughts drifted to Steve and the weight of the shield, now lying tarnished in Walker’s hands. Steve had carried that shield with unwavering honor and integrity, he was a symbol of hope and justice. The shield you now glared at, stained with the blood of an innocent was a stark contrast to the ideals Steve embodied.

You remembered the deep late-night conversations you had with Steve, the moments when he spoke up about what it meant to be Captain America. He’d remind you that the shield was more than just vibranium, it demanded respect and responsibility. Steve had entrusted it to Sam, believing in his ability to carry on the mantle, and so did you. It took some time for you to understand why it was Sam, and not you, that Steve chose. After all, you had previously wielded the shield more times than Sam, or Bucky combined.

But now, upon seeing the shield marred by violence and betrayal, all you felt was disappointment.

“Yeah, we do,” Bucky murmured, determination hardening your resolve.

Without another word, Bucky lunged forward at Walker. The clash was sudden and fierce, each blow echoed through the vast emptiness of the warehouse. Sam’s wings flexed with each powerful strike as Bucky’s vibranium arm absorbed the impacts of Walker’s relentless assaults.

You saw an opening and joined the fray, sending a swift kick to Walker’s midsection. The impact caused him to stagger backward slightly, but only momentarily. Fury blazed in his eyes as he retaliated. He sent a powerful kick your way, the force sending you flying across the room. You yelped in pain as you crashed into a stack of crates, the wood splintering around you.

“Touch her again and it’ll be your blood on that shield,” Bucky snarled, his voice cold and deadly as he advanced toward Walker.

Taking advantage of Walker’s distraction, Sam used his wings to propel himself forward and deliver a devastating punch to Walker’s jaw. Walker recovered quickly, swinging the shield with brutal force. Bucky intercepted the attack with his vibranium arm, the clash of vibranium ringing throughout the warehouse.

You struggled to your feet, the ache in your side intensifying, but you pushed through the pain. The legacy of the shield, the trust Steve placed had a place in Sam, and the hope of what Captain America stood for depended on not letting Walker win.

Walker’s eyes were wild, filled with desperation as he managed to break free from Sam’s grip. With another powerful swing, he sent Bucky to crash into a nearby electrical panel. Sparks flew as the electricity surged through Bucky’s arm and caused a malfunction.

Seeing Bucky in trouble, you rushed to his side, trying to assess the damage. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice laced with concern.

He nodded, though his face was contorted with pain. “I’ll be fine. Just… keep Walker busy, baby.”

Nodding, you turned back to the fight. Sam was struggling to keep Walker at bay, his movements becoming more erratic and dangerous. With a renewed determination, you charged at Walker, aiming for the shield.

Suddenly, you were plunged into blackness, the sounds of the fight fading away completely.

When you regained consciousness, the warehouse was eerily quiet. The intense pain radiation through your body was the first thing you noticed. Every breath was a struggle. Blinking, you tried to clear your vision as you felt a pair of strong arms gently lifting you off the ground.

“Hey, baby,” Bucky’s voice was soft, filled with concern as he carried you. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Nodding weakly, you winced as every movement sent waves of pain through your body. His expression was a mixture of relief and worry as he looked down at you, his vibranium arm carefully cradling you.

“Sam?” you croaked, your voice laced with concern.

“He’s right here,” Bucky assured you.

You shifted your gaze toward Sam as he walked beside Bucky. He held the shield as relief and exhaustion etched in his expression.

“Is it over?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“For now,” Sam said, his voice steady but tired.

As Bucky carried you, the cold air outside of the warehouse was a stark contrast to the tension inside. His hold was firm yet gentle, and you felt a sense of safety in his embrace.

A wave of confusion and frustration washed over you. You had faced Thanos, battled aliens, and robots, even fought one-on-one with The Winter Soldier, and survived the Snap, yet somehow, John Walker had managed to get the best of you. How was it that this one man, this twisted version of your best friend and mentor, could push you to your limits?

Bucky gently placed you down as the medics rushed over to you. Sam stood nearby, still holding the shield, his expression resolute. And, you watched as Walker was taken away, his eyes filled with anger and defeat. As the medics worked, your thoughts drifted back to Steve once more.

As the medics finished tending to your injuries, you sat on the edge of an ambulance. The pain was still there, and Bucky stood nearby, his concern evident as he watched you closely.

His jaw was set with a resolve you knew all too well as he stepped closer, kneeling to your level. “I’m going to find Zemo. Make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

You looked up at him, worry etched in your features. “Bucky, please stay. We’ve been through so much already.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “We can’t afford to let him slip away. And you… you need to rest. Go back to the States with Sam. Take some time to recover.”

“But Bucky–” you began to protest, but he cut you off gently.

“Hey, listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re the strongest person I know, but even you need to rest and heal. We need you at your best, let me handle Zemo.”

Nodding, you reluctantly agreed. “Okay. But, promise me you’ll be careful.”

Bucky gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The medics signaled that it was time to head to the hospital for a more thorough check-up. Bucky helped you into the ambulance before they closed the doors, you caught one last glimpse of Bucky standing there. The weight of the world was seemingly on his shoulders.

A few days later, you were resting at your apartment in Brooklyn. The quiet of your living room was contrasting to the chaos and danger you had recently faced. Your body was healing, but the emotional scars were still fresh. For the past few days, you spent your time reflecting on everything that had happened and tried to come to terms with it all.

The sound of a soft knocking against your door pulled your attention. Opening it cautiously, your heart lifted at the sight of Bucky.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice warm despite the lingering pain. Careful not to aggravate your healing injuries, you stepped aside to let him in.

“Hey, baby girl,” he replied, his expression softening as he looked at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you said with a small smile. “How did things go with Zemo?”

Running a hand through his hair, Bucky sighed. “I handed him over to Ayo and the Wakandans. They’re taking him to the Raft.”

“Good,” you said, feeling a sense of relief. “What now?”

“Now, we take a break,” Bucky gave you a small, reassuring smile. “We’re going to visit Sam at his family’s home. I’ve got something for him, and I thought you might like to see Sarah.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation and gratitude. “That sounds perfect. Will you help me pack a bag?”

A soft laugh escaped Bucky’s lips as he shook his head. As he helped you gather your things, the two of you shared a comfortable silence. It was the kind of silence that came from understanding, shared experiences, and love.

---

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bahablastplz · 4 months ago

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All In | Chapter 7

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

chapter summary: you wake up in a strange place tied to a chair. you find yourself confronting your past in the worst ways.

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

When you wake up, you’re tied to a chair. You scoff at the ridiculousness of it all, the cliche of getting kidnapped, waking up in an abandoned warehouse, and being tied to a chair. But of course, that’s exactly what happened.

Your first thought is that you’re still wearing your dress, the expensive and elegant gown given to you by Jeongin. Once beautiful and appreciated, it now sits uncomfortably on your frame and scratches against your skin. It’s dirty around the edges now, slightly torn in a few places, and has blood stains on it though you’re not sure why. Your heart pangs in your chest when you think back to Jeongin who put a lot of effort into picking out your outfit and now it’s ruined.

You take a moment to remember the events from the gala.

Thinking about dancing with Felix makes your cheeks heat up and you shake your head, willing the thought away. Seriously, not the time. Never the time. You remember seeing Woojin, which makes your stomach twist uncomfortably… then what happened? Jungwon… Shit.

“Did you miss me?” Your head snaps up to see the man that you had hoped you would never see again sitting right in front of you. You must not have seen him in the dark, as your eyes have really yet to adjust to the new environment but you wish you could just close your eyes and not open them again, feigning sleep. You know it wouldn’t work, so you take him in; he’s still wearing what you assume was his outfit for the gala, a black suit and tie with blazer unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. Once his words register, you scoff and look elsewhere, anywhere else but the man in front of you.

“Go to Hell.” You try your best to spit it out but your voice betrays you, cracking on the last word and revealing your fears. Jungwon laughs.

“Is that any way to greet your boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two weeks?”

“EX-boyfriend,” you emphasize. “As I remember, you beat me half to death. Sorry to break it to you, but that warrants a break-up in my books.”

The man stands up, walking over to you and lifts your head to meet his gaze. You struggle against the tight rope chafing against your wrists and Jungwon lets out a breathy laugh.

“I don’t really think you’re in a position to be talking back to me,” he says softly while punctuating each word. When you roll your eyes at him you’re met with a hard slap to your face and your hands jerk against the rope in an attempt to cradle and soothe the spot he just hit. “Bitch,” he spits at you.

He walks around the chair, lost in thought. “If you’re hoping that they’ll come to save you, you’re sorely mistaken,” he says.

“You don’t know that,” you say. Your heart squeezes at his words.

He scoffs. “Why would they come and save you? You were just a pawn. Woojin told us everything. He told us about Lee Know, the infiltration, and how you played good at being Chan’s little pet. They’re not coming back for you. For Lee Know? They probably won’t come back for him either, that would be a suicide mission,” he laughs.

“If you’re so sure they won’t come for me, why am I tied up?” It doesn’t make sense. It really just doesn’t add up.

“You seem to forget I’m a cautious man. I’m not stupid to think that you wouldn’t run the first chance you have… and you’re mine. If I let you go, you’d run pathetically back to SKZ to whore yourself up to them, crying about what an awful man I am as if they’re any better. I don’t like sharing. You should know that,” he says, gripping your chin suddenly and forcing eye contact. “If you’re going to die, I’m going to be the one to kill you. I’m going to take my time with you and have my fun, yeah? Sit pretty here like the useless bitch you are, I’ll be back for you.”

And with that, he leaves. You resist the urge to vomit as he closes the door behind him, emerging you in darkness. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. Instead, you sit alone with your thoughts and try to find a slimmer of hope.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Jungwon is wrong, you decide. They will come back for you. Just because Jungwon didn’t come for you when you were in the same situation doesn’t mean that they wouldn’t. You hadn’t known SKZ for very long, but they were kind, in a weird sense. And strangely loyal in a way that Jungwon just didn’t understand. You saw it for the first time when Woojin had touched you and lied to Chan–they cared more about loyalty and honesty than anything else. Chan’s words from the beginning of the evening rang through your ears: “We won’t let anything happen to you.” They will come, they will come, they will come. You repeat it like a mantra and you find that it soothes you. Isn’t that strange? That the one thing that soothes you and gives you the most hope is the prospect of being saved by the mafia group you tried so hard to escape not that long ago?

You find yourself thinking more about your dance with Felix as well. I want you to stay happy, he had said. It makes butterflies swarm in your stomach to think about but you try to will them away. He probably didn’t mean anything by that, you decide, it was just a nice comment.

You don’t know how much time passes before that door opens again. You find that you almost fall asleep in the darkness despite the uncomfortable position. You physically recoil when you see the person that opens the door. Woojin.

“Hello little mouse,” he says. He gets close. Too close for comfort, but not touching.

“Leave me alone,” you tell him. “I thought I made myself very clear that I want nothing to do with you.”

“No need to get snippy,” he tells you, crossing his arms. “And here I was coming to keep you company!”

“Why would you think I want that?” you remark. “You betrayed us–You betrayed Chan,” you correct. “Why?”

Woojin laughs and reveals his hand. In the dimly lit room you can see the missing appendage, a reminder of what happened not too long ago.

“You’ll come to find that SKZ isn’t quite what you think it is,” he says. “There is a power imbalance. It’s not fair. The people at the bottom stay on the bottom even if they deserve to be on top. Felix has been Chan’s right-hand man for years. Do you really think Chan would cut off his finger?” You think about his words but they still don’t sit right in your stomach.

“Lee Know. Is he…”

“Dead? No. Not yet. He’s not in a position unlike your own, though. He’s sustained substantial injury.”

“You told them… About his infiltration.” You push the matter forward, trying to get as much information you can. Even though you haven’t known the man for long, his absence has affected SKZ and his loss would be… you don’t even want to think about it.

“Yes, I told them about Lee Know. It was the only way that I could get here, in ENHA and earn their trust. I’ve decided. After what Chan did to me, I needed to find somewhere else that could ensure my safety. I want him dead, you know. This is the only way I can make sure that happens. How can I hit him where it hurts? Get to Lee Know, and get to you.”

“Chan doesn’t care about me,” you say. “If he comes for me it’s just so he will keep his word… that I wouldn’t get hurt. He’s an honest man but he’s not stupid. And I don’t think he would just come for me, Lee Know’s here too–”

“That’s bullshit.” Woojin swallows thickly. His finger touches your neck and trails up to your jaw, repositioning you so that you meet his gaze. “You know just as well that I do that what Chan feels for you is more than what you would feel towards a hostage.”

Hostage. That’s what you are, what you were supposed to be. And even since you escaped, you have never felt like a hostage. What does that mean?

“Chan doesn’t like in the way that normal people like,” Woojin warns. “He gets infatuated. He becomes obsessed and controlling and people end up dead. And he loves, in a sick sense of the word. Don’t you think that’s what’s happening?”

“You’re implying that Chan loves me?”

“Not implying. Stating. And not that I give a shit about you enough to tell you to be careful… but let’s just say that Bang Christopher Chan is not Yang Jungwon.” He laughs dryly. “Anybody with eyes can see the way that Felix looks at you too. Jungwon is right, you really just whore yourself out to anybody that’ll give you attention.”

Before you can help yourself, you spit in his face. Woojin gasps and looks at you, disgusted, before striking you hard across the face. The metal rings on his hands bring a sting along with it and you feel blood running down your face.

“Good for nothing bitch,” he says. “And I was trying to help you. Warn you. Watch yourself, little mouse.” With that, he leaves, encasing you in darkness once again.

Once he’s gone, you struggle against the rope. The rope scratches against your skin, leaving it raw and red. Fight and fight as you may, there’s no getting out of this alone.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You awake with a sharp start several hours later. Your neck has a kink in it from the way your head lolled downward while you slept. You feel something touching your hands, though, and you jolt.

“Shhhh,” you hear. You try to whip your head around to find the source of the voice but it doesn’t work. They stay thoroughly hidden.

“Who is it?” You whisper back. You feel something sharp touch your skin and you tense, but untense immediately as the rope drops from its spot against your wrists. The man stands up and towers in front of you now, unraveling the rope from around your frame. You look up at him and squint in the darkness.

“It’s Seungmin,” he whispers back. You massage your tender wrists and the places the rope sat uncomfortably on your body. “I need you to stay seated and pretend to be tied up until we come back, just in case. For now, tell me what you know.”

“Lee Know… He’s alive, but he’s hurt. Woojin is here, somewhere, and he’s completely turned tides. He’s working with ENHA now.”

“That’s not good…” he muses. “Lee Know. Where is he?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you say. You freeze and let out a small noise when you hear gunshots from above.

“I have to leave,” Seungmin says with an urgency in his tone. “You stay here until someone comes to get you. Do not leave,” he reiterates. He runs and opens the door you’ve seen Woojin and Jungwon enter in and out from, looking to the left and to the right before heading into the hall. It’s several minutes later when the door opens again, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I bet you’re feeling pretty smug, aren’t you?” A voice says. Before you register it, you hear the click of a gun and cold metal pressed against your head.

“Jungwon?”

Your breath hitches as he presses the barrel further into your skin. Tears start running down your face before you can register it.

“Why… Why are you doing this to me?” You sputter. It seems so unreal, how long ago was it that you were dating Yang Jungwon? It feels like eternity, but in reality it was only a few weeks ago. You were madly in love with him, devoted to him, even. Things went down south suddenly and rapidly and he showed you his true nature.

“Are you dumb? I told you, if anybody is going to kill you, it’s me.” His words are laced with venom. “I’m going to show SKZ that they can’t mess with what’s mine. I wanted to have fun picking you apart and watching you beg for your life, but this will have to do, I guess.”

“You’re going to kill me?” Your words are soft, full of understanding. This is it. What would your life be like right now if you never dated Jungwon? Would you be at home, watching bad TV with your sister? Would you still be working 9-5 at a tiny office making just enough money to scrape by? You certainly wouldn’t be here, in an abandoned warehouse with a gun to your head, spending your final moments praying to be rescued by an opposing mafia group.

This is it. You don’t have many regrets, you suppose. You wish that you could’ve gotten in touch with your sister one last time, and you do regret letting a man like Jungwon control you for so long. You wish you could have been stronger, that you could have shown him, ‘this is the woman I’ve become. She’s not that same woman you used to push around.” Now you’ll never have that opportunity.

“It’s over, Y/N,” you hear. You close your eyes.

“Yes, it is,” a voice confirms.

You never really understood how loud a gunshot was. Of course, people talked about it and they made fun of it in the movies, but nothing could have prepared you for this moment. Your ears feel like they might be bleeding and your brain is spinning around in your head. The silence you had grown so accustomed to has been replaced with a loud ringing sound that won’t go away, not even when you press your hands up to your ears to try to cover up the sound.

When you finally open your eyes, you realize two truths:

You are alive.

Yang Jungwon is positively dead.

Looking up, you see the man standing behind the trigger is Chan. You're breathing heavily now, to the point that you're not sure that your lungs are inflating despite the fact that you’re taking deep breaths. You’re covered in something all over your body, and you know it’s blood–some of it is yours, and some of it belongs to your past lover. Slumped onto the floor and still holding his gun, you see the hole where the bullet had entered his head. This is too much, you think, and you realize that you’re hyperventilating but there’s not much you can do to stop it. You feel hands on your body and someone is close, they’re too close, and you’re crying and you feel so heavy, but–

“Y/N,” Chan says. “Look at me.” His hands are on your face, willing your eyes to focus on his own and not the body on the floor. His eyes look frantically into yours and that, focusing on his face and the details of the dirt and blood caked into the crevices of his beautiful smile not appropriate for the occasion, those thoughts are enough to snap you to the present.

He looks you up and down, lifts your arms and puts them back down, and even turns you around briefly. He’s scanning you for any major injuries, you realize. Content with what he finds, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“You killed him,” you tell him. You’re confirming the fact–Jungwon is really dead, and this man in front of you is the one who took the life from behind his eyes.

“I did,” he confirms. “I did what I had to do.”

You're pounding your fists against Chan’s chest before you really realize what you’re doing. You’re crying, angry tears hot on your skin, and Chan makes no effort to stop you. You’re not really sure what you’re so upset about at first. You’re not exactly upset that Jungwon is dead, but you’re more upset with the fact that he was killed right in front of you. That you were faced with the dead body of your ex-lover, and Chan was the one to do it. So you shout and pound against his chest until you can’t anymore.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says finally. “You’re going to go through those two doors.” He points to a set of doors behind you, ones that you mustn't have been able to see when shrouded in darkness. “You need to go and run, as fast as you can. Someone will find you.” He wipes away a tear from your face with his blood-soaked hands, accidentally further smearing the substance on your face.

He turns from you, returning to where the violence is happening, but not before looking over his shoulder to make sure you followed his directions.

You listen to his words. You push open the doors and run as fast as your feet can carry you, suddenly grateful for the training that you had started with Felix. The wind is bitter cold and your dress weighs you down but you hitch it up high over your waist. Your heels are long since forgotten and your bare feet scrape against concrete. You’re breathing fast and you’re covered with blood and suddenly you’re running into a body and you’re filled with surprise, because how did you not see it?

But you smell him before you see him, flowers and musk, jasmine and earth, and your arms wrap around him in a tight embrace. You’re crying, sobbing into his chest, wordless as he picks you up and carries you away into the night.

Because Yang Jungwon is dead, lifeless before your very eyes, and Chan was the one to kill him, and now you’re in Felix’s arms and now you are safe.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: surpriseee! i hope nobody was expecting that. there's still so much to happen i'm excited for everyone to read <3