#brett hand x fem reader

[sin-sidejob]

Nostalgia Max!Brett Hand x afab/fem!reader

note: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, pet names, afab anatomy but no talk of tits in an effort to stick close to gender neutral, dominant brett hand, breeding kink, daddy kink, mommy kink, unprotected sex (wrap that rascal), slight exhibitionism, slight public sex, domestication, housewife kink, cum play, no pronouns but use of gendered pet names like mommy & others like sweet thing, baby, sweetheart, and babydoll.

You got separated from the group once Brett lost control, everything getting immersed in a hazy, green blast. Nothing worked when trying to calm him down, deescalate the situation and keep everyone safe. It blew up in y’all’s faces, literally. Waking up against rubble and debris, not seeing where you landed or where you are, you’re nervous.

There’s no modern tech on you and you’ve got no way to reach Reagan or Andre, get in touch with Gigi or Glenn or Myc. You’re absolutely alone until they find you. Or Brett finds you.

The two of you had been dating for a while, and you’re endlessly in love with him. Tirelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Brett’s a sweetheart and nothing but doting and kind to you, and he’s in therapy. How lucky are you?

Not as much now that he’s not himself and currently lethal, leveling several structures and sending you and your coworkers flying in different directions and under the influence of heavy chemtrails and 80’s nostalgia.

Your footsteps are tentative, wary of the unsteady rubble you walk upon and try to breathe through your shirt, pulled over your nose and squint through the dust in the air. There’s not much light, it’s dark out and nighttime. The cold seeps in more and that fear of being alone and vulnerable at night starts to sink in and soak your bones.

No weapons on your person, rendered useless and defenseless without any of your gear or comrades, it’s safe to say you’re terrified beyond all belief. Walking softly, slowly turning over chunks of masonry and debris to walk better and find a way out of the barely standing structure you find yourself in.

Moments pass and you try to think of other things like what you’ll do when you get home, if that show released it’s second part yet so you can stream it soon, and attempt pathetically to calm yourself. It’s not working.

You hear footsteps and you freeze, your body pressed to a wall and trying your best to hide in the looming shadows encompassing the formerly standing building. Pinpricks crawl up your neck and stand at the nape of your neck and across your arms. Your heartbeat has never seemed louder.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you want to see me?”

it’s Brett, and you don’t see him but you hear him, can’t decipher where he is in relation to you from his voice, anywhere a possibility you don’t want to explore. Crawling up in a ball and shutting your eyes would be better, shutting the world out and forcing yourself to wake up from such a terrible dream.

But the sight of candy apple green eyes tears that hope from your lungs when you shudder, never expecting yourself to be afraid of him. The fear isn’t even about Brett, it’s about the limitless possibilities and outcomes of what could happen. He’s drenched so heavily in chemtrails it must be like standing too long near Chernobyl.

Feels so wrong.

“Why aren’t you talking to me? Did I hurt you?” He sounds like the Brett you love, and you’re worried he knows that, using that to get to you. He hasn’t spotted you yet, walking around and you press yourself into the brick behind you, wishing you could just disappear, dissolve into nothingness so it would all go away.

You don’t mean to, but your ankle nearly buckles isn’t the awkward position you are standing in. The sound is tinny in the darkness and silence of the rubble and his reaction is instant, eyes on you under a second.

“There you are!” Brett’s words would be endearing in any other circumstance, and he approaches. His hair isn’t as floaty anymore, but it still shifts unnaturally, like seaweed in an ocean current midair around his head in an unearthly halo. Eyes are bright green but less painfully neon and now more of a muted acid hue. You miss his eyes. “Was worried about you, baby, you sure you’re okay?” He dotes, nearly mirroring your brett as he cups your cheek.

When did he get closer?

“You seem fine, just shook up. Poor thing.” Brett coos, smiling down at you childishly in his usual manner but everything seems so unsettling, like his persona got dunked into a murky pool of liquid from a backalley at 3am. Unnatural and unsafe.

“Hey, c’mon sweet thing, talk to me.” He prods, raising your face up with his hand on your cheek and you oblige, looking up at him with fretful eyes that he frowns at. Your hands clench and fidget at your sides, entirely too overwhelmed but still needing to do something.

And it’s him in there. It’s still Brett. Just doused in chemtrails, no big deal.

“Hi Brett.”

He laughs, a giggling little sound that is usually very fitting but now a bit surreal in his current state. It remind you of glow sticks the way he shines out. You don’t like it.

“Hey there yourself,” he chimes, taking his hand in yours and squeezing, before he nearly lets it fall, his expression falling with it, “out with it, what’s wrong? You’re not smiling.”

“I don’t smile all the time.” Comes your immediate response and he clicks his tongue, brows furrowing and you regret not filtering your thoughts from words. “You don’t, but you smile around me. Tell me why.”

“Brett-“

He backs you up against the brick, looming a bit overhead and a part of it gets your bones staticky, indecisive in whether or not you wanted to kiss him or kick him.

“Use your words well and tell me why, or I’ll make another use for mouth.”

You gape, body choosing for you on the kiss him option and let him come closer, him murmuring between your lips as he closes in and cages you against his form and the shadowy enclave of the brick. “Good choice.”

Brett is all around you, a hand at the nape of your neck soothing and smoothing down the pinpricks while the other is at your side, kissing at you impatiently until he bites, humming in a pleased note when your mouth opens up and he ventures in, playing with your tongue as his hand ventures beneath your shirt, untucking it.

“Going to continue to be good for me?” He asks in your ear after breaking for a breath, marking up your throat and the underside of your jaw in bites as you squirm, the former unease in your belly turning fuzzy and warm, turning the danger into something attractive than daunting.

You nod and he squeezes tight at your hip, a warning and you answer aloud, “yes sir,” him rewarding you with a softer touch and undoing your pants as he takes them off. “Sir?” Brett laughs, shaking his head and his hair floats still, hovering like your waning rationale.

“You can do better than that. You know what to call me.”

Brett’s hand snakes between your legs and ghosts over your underwear, him practically beaming when he feels the pooling slick soaking through. “Yes Daddy.”

His eyelids flutter a fraction and ministrations falter, coming back and his eyes burn brighter and his grin in sardonic, a bit twisted. That reminder of don’t trust, don’t tell.

“Ohh that’s a new one, we’re keeping that, right baby?” He asks, plunging a digit into your cunt and holding a leg up around his hip, your chest covered and safe from the cold but waist and below is another story, trying to feed off the unnatural warmth he emanates now. “Mhmm.”

“There’s my sweet thing, smiling, all you needed was some lovin’ huh?” He asks, more to himself and aloud than anything as he preps you with his fingers, hearing the squelch and growing tired of having to angle his wrist a certain way. He tears the underwear apart.

“Just needed someone to play with your pussy and turn your brain off, right?” Brett prompts a moan from you as he breaches a second finger in and his thumb rolls over your clit, warmth flooding everywhere and your eyes flutter open to see him staring you down behind lidded eyes, glowing green deeper now that reminds you of that light at the end of Daisy’s dock in that Fitzgerald novel.

It kinda’ is a welcome home light. And you go to it.

Your hand threads through his hair and smashes his lips to yours as he groans darkly into your open mouth, excited and eager hands shift your legs around his then busy themselves with his belt buckle, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing which he more than notices. Whimpering as he tugs at your lip, he peers down at you while he lets his belt open.

“Easy f’me babydoll, daddy’s going to take care of you.”

It sounds so good in this voice, all gravelly this time ‘round and the difference sells the experience, and the way he’s shifted, using the weight he carries and taking up space rather than weaving his way through it.

“Need you daddy.” You whine, feeling his thumb over your clit rolling circles that get you throbbing, squirming between him and the brick wall behind you.

“Patience, baby, I’ve got you.” Brett drawls, nudging your nose with his as he frees his dick from the confines of his briefs and Levi’s, bobbing in the space between your legs and looking so damn good you could’ve eaten it.

Another time.

“This pretty cunt gonna’ take it all you think?” He muses into the column of your throat before angling his head against you so he can see between the two of you, one hand holding your thigh up and parting it wide while the other fists his already drooling dick in his palm, pearlescent droplets of precum pooling at the tip. “Gonna’ be good for me?”

You nod, smiling blearily in a dopey grin and run your hands over the back of his letterman jacket, and into his hair while the other slides down to lift underneath his shirt, wanting to feel him whenever you could.

He breaches your walls in a single movement and you whimper, head landing back against the brick and hear him grunt, deep from his chest as he bottoms out in you. Brett’s head hangs for a moment before he looks back to you, eyes staring from beneath his full lashes and still having that unnatural green.

“Just knew this little pussy would take it.” He mutters and snaps his hips back, hands moving to cup your ass and bring you closer so he can thrust back and forth in a punishing, cervix-bruising pace. God, you’d feel him for days.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud but he hears it nonetheless, grinning against your temple while he fucks you like a ragdoll, “that’s right, gonna shape this cute little cunt until it’s molded around my cock, gonna’ be my little toy, right? Let me play with you?”

Moaning behind kiss swollen and puffy lips, you affirm his statement and thrust your hips back into his, sending a reverberating groan through his throat out that turns into a dark chuckle, his pace slowing a fraction only to move forth harsher, the sound of skin and your debauched moans painfully loud within the silence of the destroyed structure.

“Gonna’ keep us here, you and I,” Brett begins to ramble, punctuating his words with snaps of his hips that get you seeing stars, “gonna’ breed this little cunt and get a family from you, stay here happy for the rest of our lives.”

“You going to let me give you a child, sweet thing?”

“Mhmm.” You whine, clutching at him and grinding down on his dick, a pathetic mess of yourself with slick smeared between your thighs, “Gonna’ make you a daddy.” Brett groans aloud and rewards you with a hand moving from under your thigh to your clit once more, pressing in those rolling ministrations that get you clenching awfully hard.

“Wanna’ cum Brett — I need it.” You’re rambling at this point, incoherent and cockdrunk as he plunges in and out of you, nothing but sex on the brain and none of the ramifications. It would be your problem another day, another moment, but for right now it was everything.

“Need what baby? Gotta’ speak, got that pretty voice of yours — make it useful.”

“Want your cum, wanna’ stay here with you and let you knock me up over ‘n over,” you’re spitting out words as fast as they form because you’ve barely got the headspace for anything else but cumming on his dick, “get pregnant and have your baby, make you a daddy — please lemme’ make you a family.”

He whines in the back of his throat as he bites at your neck, your words hitting deep somewhere in him and loses his even pace in lieu of fucking you frantically, practically jumping your form with how desperate he is to flood your cunt. Brett’s hand still rolls it’s thumb over your pulsing, sensitive clit.

“God yes, make a little mommy out of you, see you get all swollen and round with leaking tits to feed our kids — fuck,” he’s speaking to you in equal to the wind, voicing aloud not just his plans but his dreams, wishes to have a life with you, “cum f’me baby, gush around this cock then I’ll give you what you want.”

you mewl, squirming and bucking while chasing that high that already has begun to sprawl like white-hot lightning in your bones, curling and pooling within your belly, feeling Brett slide in and out while he punches the breath from you while prodding at your cervix.

“Gonna’- I’m going to, fuck fuckk.” Brett snaps his hips in whip-fast motions once, twice, and you’re gone. Everything whites over and fades into blank noise, like getting submerged in bath water as you shake and shudder, taking him in as he fucks you through it, suspended only by his hold.

“Fuck, you look so p-pretty,” he stutters just like his pace, falling frantic in how he chases his orgasm after yours, Brett crumbling as he finally cums and floods your cunt, slick smeared between the both of you all over your thighs and lower abdomens, white ropes and rivulets accompanying your arousal. Brett snarls out your name in a broken groan against your collar, voice deep.

He bucks his hips and mutters nonsense into your ear, milking every last drop into your silken cunt and more, “cant wait to see you all knocked up, gonna’ make you a mommy. Swear.” You’re barely conscious enough to process his words, but you do, whimpering and squirming against him in pleased, soft tones as you still have your eyes shut tight, toes curled and feeling absolutely cloudy and airy — breathless.

Brett eventually finishes emptying himself inside of you, sticking close and keeping you on his cock as you come down from your highs and blink blearily back into reality. Shifting, causing you both to groan, you reach out and smooth his hair back and get him to look at you, green glow now gone and fucked out of him as he stares up at you back to himself.

“Hi Brett.” You murmur once again, this time feeling much better about him and his safety. His arms coil around your waist as he burrows into your neck, doting kisses across your skin and soothing the burn and bite of his marks.

“Hey honey.” Brett murmurs, sleepy and lethargic now and you smooth a hand through his hair, scratching idly and getting him groaning happily against you as your other hand rubs across his back and the rough fabric of his jacket he still had on.

“Ready to get out of here?” He nods against you in response and helps you stand, soft moans and sighs passing as he slips out and you feel cum slip forth from your overfilled cunt onto your thighs. Hurriedly getting redressed, sans your tattered panties, you stand before one another and he tries to apologize but you shake your head, cupping his cheek and saying you enjoyed it.

“Hey Brett?” You ask later on, walking hand in hand back with the group on the way to Cognito Inc after regrouping. “Yeah?”

You grin, beaming at him, squeezing his hand.

“Wanna’ do that again sometime?”

He opens and closes his mouth, giggling for a second before turning back to looking at you, squeezing your hand back while his other thumbs the velvet box in his jacket pocket.

“Absolutely.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Put it on My Tab

bouncer!!logan x bartender!fem!reader

summary: You’re a bartender at the club where Logan is a bouncer and he’s going to deny his feelings for you until he’s convinced himself that he’s lost his chance.

cw: hurt/comfort

“Do you really think you can get away with this?” Logan asked the girl who was standing in front of him. She clearly wasn’t of age and the photo on the fake she had handed him hadn’t even resembled her. And the cherry on top that was that “Minnesota” was missing one of the n’s.

“And do you really expect me to believe that you were born in 1988? You don’t even look like you could have been born in 1998. I can’t let you in, kid.” He could see that the girl was crying and to the untrained eye, she definitely could have been. But Logan had been in the business long enough to know that she was just trying to garner sympathy, which never worked on him. Crying, if anything, just made the man feel uncomfortable. 

“You’re such a dick,” she cried as she watched him bend the ID right before her eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time he was called that and it certainly wouldn’t have been the last. 

The ID was tossed into the trash can right next to him and he waved the next person forward as the girl slowly moved out of the way, making her sobs louder and more pathetic as a way to get him to change his mind, but he wouldn’t. He never did. 

“You’re good,” he told the man as he glanced over his ID before handing it back. The job got monotonous, but it was definitely better than being Wolverine, as far as how easy it was. And it definitely wasn’t stressful unless there was a fight he needed to break up, but security usually handled it before he got there. 

He actually loved his job, if he was being honest, but that was really only because of you. The second he laid eyes on you, he was convinced that he was in love. Maybe. He didn’t know what love felt like, but all he knew was that he liked you. A lot. Even though he was going to convince himself that he didn’t. He tried to be mean to you to make you leave him alone, but that only made you want to see him more. And let’s be honest, as soon as you flashed him that megawatt smile, he was done for. His legs felt like jelly and he couldn’t help but smile back even though it felt very foreign. 

And as soon as you told him he had a pretty one, he was smiling all the time for you, just begging for you to say it again, and you did. If it wasn't that, you were calling him nicknames which would have usually angered him, but since they were coming from your lips, he hardly minded.

The night seemed to drag on as he counted down the minutes until he could have a drink at the bar, just you and him as everyone else had gone home. You had insisted on staying, giving him a drink in exchange for a ride home that he always gladly gave you once the alcohol was out of his system.

He smiled as he saw that his glass of whiskey was sitting on the bar, but you were nowhere to be found. He supposed that maybe you were in the back, neatening up the space. But when he went to check the back room, his heart sank as he saw you giggling with Brett, the bar back.

He had seen the two of you doing that exact thing on multiple occasions and it made him sick, angry even. Even though he didn’t feel like he had a right to be because the two of you were just friends. And perhaps that was what he was convincing himself that he was to you. Even though he wanted to be more. Even though he often fantasized about kissing you right in front of Brett to show him what was what. And on some occasions, he imagined bending you over the bar and having his way with you. Pounding into you, making you tell him who exactly it was who owned your cunt.

“Oh, hey, handsome,” you greeted with that smile that always drove him crazy and he couldn’t help but mimic your actions. Because the truth was that he couldn’t be mad at you if he tried. You somehow had broken down his walls brick by brick and had even managed to thaw his frozen heart.

“Hi,” he replied, trying his best to not let his literal claws come out, trying to keep his cool and do those breathing exercises that you had worked on with him.

“Hey, Leonard, was it?” Brett asked, averting his gaze to Logan and the man was close to rocking his shit, you could see it.

“It’s Logan,” you corrected. “I’m all good here, Brett, if you want to head out.”

“Okay, cool,” he nodded and clapped you on the back before weaving his way through the maze of boxes, moving quickly past Logan and fleeing the room, leaving the two of you alone.

You stared him, covering your lips with the tips of your fingers in an attempt to hold back the laugh that was threatening to escape your throat. And Logan was not having it. The night was long and he was just ready to go home, his whiskey that he so desperately wanted, getting watered down by the second.

You stepped forward, pushing the boxes out of the way, moving to stand on front of him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you gave him a warm smile only for him to turn away from you, his signature scowl making its way back upon his face.

Without a word, you grabbed hold of his chin and forced him to look you in the eyes, still trying to hold that smile, desperate to see his own, the one that was specifically for you.

“Smile for me,” you commanded, your voice still soft. He showed you his teeth, but there was no actual smile. “Logan,” you giggled. “Just for me? Please?”

He smiled then, showing you his teeth and you felt your heart swell, knowing that you were the only person who could make him do it. And your heart leapt as you saw it slowly appearing on his face, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m not with Brett, by the way,” you changed the subject rather quickly. “He’s just a friend. More like a brother actually.”

"What?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing and you desperately wanted to smooth them out, to find a way to help his mind stop from reeling.

"I'm not with Brett," you repeated, closing the space between the two of you, reaching up to move a piece of hair that had fallen to his forehead, putting it back in place.

“You say that as if it’s supposed to mean somethin’” he muttered, his signature frown making a reappearance.

“I thought it did," you shrugged. "Because if looks could kill, he’d definitely be dead.”

He just glared at you and you smiled again, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck while his stayed by your side. His hands were itching to hold you and he was trying to fight it off, trying to convince himself that he wasn't so desperately, hopelessly in love with you.

"And it should mean something to you." Your finger poked his chest and he just stared back at you, clearly missing the point of what you were trying to get at.

"Why?" His head tilted to the side like a little puppy and you just sighed, wondered why he wasn't understanding what you were trying to say. Wasn't it obvious? Maybe you were being too vague, but you were sure that you had said everything you could to get your point across except the actual words.

"Because," you rolled your eyes. "Look at the facts, Logan. We both know I get a lot of people asking to take me home every night and I let the grumpy bouncer drive me home. What does that say to you?"

"That you aren't looking for anything." You let out a sigh of frustration and shook your head, making Logan even more nervous. What was it that you needed to tell him and why did you need to say it in the back room of your place of work?

"Oh geez, I guess I'm going to have to spell it out for you, aren't I?" You chuckled nervously and Logan felt his heart pound in his chest as it all finally clicked in his head. Your hands rested on his cheeks and you looked into pretty hazel eyes.

"Logan, I'm in love with you," you said, watching his his widen, his mouth falling open as the six words set in. He just stared at you in response and you were beginning to take that as rejection.

Your arms slipped from his neck and seeing the look on your face was enough to break his heart into a million little pieces. And as he watched you make you way your way out of the back room, he could have sworn that he could see you wiping tears away from your cheeks.

You were leaving. You were leaving and he was just going to let you. You were quickly slipping through his fingers as the seconds passed and he felt sick to his stomach thinking about the possibility of losing you.

So he ran. He ran as fast as he possibly could, following you out to the parking lot where you were heading to your car that you had actually driven there for once. You stopped to pull your keys out of your purse and Logan took the chance to stand in front of you, stopping you from moving.

"Get out of my way," you commanded, but he just stood there, staring you down.

"No," he said firmly. "Not until I'm done speaking. And then you can keep hating me, but I need to get this out, okay?" He took a deep breath before speaking again. "I'm in love with you," he said. "I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've never felt this way about anyone and honestly didn't think that you reciprocated my feelings, so when you told me that you loved me, I don't know...I just panicked." He was talking a mile a minute and you honestly barely understood him, ut you got the jist.

"So please don't leave," he pleaded his hands finding your waist. "Stay, because I don't know what I'd do with myself if you left."

"You love me?"

"More than you'll ever know, doll," he replied and pulled you into a kiss, neither of you bothered by the loud sound of your keys and purse falling to ground as your arms found their way to his neck once again. "Now let's get out of here."

"But what about the whiskey," you asked against his lips and he just chuckled.

"Just put it on my tab," he replied before pulling you in for another kiss.

You stayed like that until the early morning, kissing and giggling to each other, sitting on the hood of your car to watch the sunset together then heading back to your place for some much needed sleep before talking about how you were going to move forward over coffee and breakfast.

[waywardxrhea]

Tuna-Tober Days 7 and 26 - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

prompts: nothing underneath & under the desk

word count: 1,678

content: SMUT! MDNI! 18+ ONLY! semi-public sexual acts, oral (male receiving), no underwear under sundress, brief female masturbation, language (Matt's got a mouth on him), dirty talk (reader's got a mouth on her), love bites.

tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist

It was a surprisingly hot day in Hell’s Kitchen as you returned to the neighborhood after a short girls’ trip with your friends upstate to get out of the city for a little while. You hadn’t texted Matt that you were home yet, knowing that the firm was hard at work on a case that had been occupying a lot of Matt’s time lately. The case combined with his nearly nightly hobby of stopping criminals on the streets and you being out of town for the week had left you…pent up to say the least. 

Wanting to surprise Matt, you ordered food from the place where he, Foggy, and Karen frequently got meals while working on cases. The lunch wasn’t the only surprise you had in store for him though. When you had dropped off your bags at your shared apartment, you had done something risky that you hoped would lead to something, anything with Matt. You had taken off your underwear as a means of enticing him, even if it was later that day when he got off of work. You were willing to wait until the end of the day, but no longer than that. You needed Matt. 

A pang of anxiety hit you momentarily at the prospect of going onto the streets of New York City in a sundress without any underwear on, but the memories of your intimate moments with Matt overtook that anxiety and bolstered your confidence. You couldn’t help the memories occupying your mind as you picked up the food and began walking to the firm. The flood of these memories had gone straight to your core, and you didn’t even realize how worked up you had gotten yourself until you entered the office. 

After knocking on the door quietly, it opened to reveal Matt who had a look of mixed emotions on his face. There was first happiness, his charming smile as he greeted you making your heart flutter - you would never get over how giddy that smile made you. Next was what looked like relief as he realized that you had brought lunch. After that though was a flash of lust and a different type of hunger as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Matt reached up and loosened his tie as he stepped aside to let you in, clearing his throat before saying, “Thank you for bringing lunch, sweetheart.” He followed close behind as you placed the food on a table, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back flush to him as he kissed your shoulder and mumbled, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, relaxing into his embrace. Glancing around, you didn’t see Foggy or Karen in the office, so you asked, “Where are the others?”

There was a pause for a few moments before Matt said, “A couple blocks away. They stopped to talk with…Brett. He’s been helping us a lot with this case.” His hands began massaging your hips, and as he did, you started to feel his arousal poking your backside. Lowering down so his mouth was right beside your ear, his husky voice said, “I have a suspicion you had motives other than just bringing me lunch, sweetheart…” 

You grabbed a bit of the fabric of the skirt of your dress and swished it before asking with a smirk, “What gave that way, counselor?”

Matt let out a strained whine when the smell and taste of your arousal hit him, and his grip on your hips tightened as he moved to place a sloppy kiss on your neck. “You’re…you’re not-?” he asked, his sentence clipped as he focused his senses on you and came to the realization that you had nothing on underneath your dress. “Fuck…” he choked out as his hips ground into you from behind. 

“I was hoping that would be the outcome of this visit, yes,” you teased, grinding back into him and eliciting another breathy whine from his lips. 

��My office. Now,” he practically growled as he turned you around and captured your lips in a passionate kiss while leading you to the small room where his private office was. By the time Matt got you onto his desk and your hands were frantically undoing his belt, he pulled away abruptly and whispered, “Goddamnit…” 

“What?” you asked, not bothering to stop your movements as you did. 

“Karen and Foggy… They’re almost back in the building,” he replied. 

“Well then you better grab your lunch and pretend to be working,” you told him after a few moments of thinking, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. 

“What do you me-” he started to say, but cut himself short when you began to sink down into a comfortable enough position on the floor, hidden from sight under his desk. 

“Hurry back,” you said in a low and sultry tone, which earned a whispered curse from Matt as he fumbled to grab his food to bring to his desk. 

When he got back and scooted his rolling chair closer to you, your hands were on him immediately, slowly running up and down his thighs, almost brushing against the bulge in his slacks, but always missing by millimeters. “Fuck, sweetheart, they’re almost-” Matt choked out before you hushed him. 

“Just act like I’m not here,” you told him with a quiet chuckle escaping as his hips bucked in search of friction. 

“It’s not that easy,” he countered through gritted teeth as your fingers ghosted past his aching cock. He sucked in a sharp breath before adding, “You’re making it really hard to-”

He cut himself off though when the main door to the office opened and closed as Foggy and Karen entered the space. “Ooh, Matt, when’d you get lunch?” Foggy asked, popping his head into Matt’s office as he did. Matt cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice steady as he told him that you brought it. “Oh nice! Give her our thanks when you see her tonight! Karen and I just talked with Brett and got a good lead, we’ll be in my office sorting it out while we eat,” he said. 

“Y-yeah. Tonight. I’ll tell her,” Matt replied, biting the inside of his cheek to contain the moan threatening to escape as you finally danced your fingers along his length through his slacks. 

“Thanks, bud! If you need anything, you know where we’ll be!” Foggy said cheerfully before closing the door behind him. 

When you heard the click of the door handle, you finally reached for the zipper of Matt’s slacks and slid it down before freeing his length from the confines of them and his underwear. A hiss of air went through Matt’s teeth as you leaned up and began teasing him with your tongue, running it up the underside in a way you knew drove him crazy every time. You let out a pleased hum as his hand reached down to caress your cheek, turning to kiss the palm of his hand before once more adjusting so you could take him into your mouth. 

With his legs widening to accommodate you, Matt leaned back into his chair as his head lulled onto the headrest, a pleasure filled sigh leaving his lips as his eyes closed in bliss. The quiet sounds of pleasure leaving Matt’s lips went straight to your core, and you could feel yourself growing more aroused as you bobbed your head up and down Matt’s length. 

A quiet moan left your throat as Matt laced his fingers in your hair, the reverberation on his cock driving Matt mad as he grew closer to his release. “Fuck, sweetheart, I want- I need to- Please let me touch you,” Matt choked out. The fresh waves of your arousal hitting his nose alone were enough to bring him impossibly closer to his orgasm. He wanted to touch you. Taste you. Feel you around him as he took you against the desk. He needed you. 

You released Matt from your mouth and began working him quickly with your hand, the sound lewd in the otherwise quiet office. A quiet chuckle left your lips as you told him, “Be good for me here and I’m all yours tonight. However you want me. Wherever you want me.” Your lips met his right thigh and you began sucking a small love bite into the skin before telling him in a low voice, “Mark me so the world knows I’m taken. Make me scream so the whole city knows who I belong to…”

A string of curses flew from Matt’s mouth as his hips bucked up and a quiet moan escaped his lips. You took the opportunity to take him back into your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks as he hit the back of your throat, one hand holding steady on the side of his thigh and the other sneaking down to rub your clit. The moment your finger began rubbing the sensitive bud, Matt had to bite down on his knuckle to keep quiet as his body flushed with warmth as he reached his orgasm, the pleasure making his toes curl in his shoes. 

With his chest heaving, Matt leaned back into his chair to catch his breath as he caressed your face with one of his hands once again to ground himself as he came down from his high. When he finally regained his bearings, he chucked before whispering, “Thank you. That was…amazing. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, a quiet giggle leaving your lips at how risky what you just did was. “You think you can get Karen and Foggy out of the office for a bit? I don’t think I can wait til tonight,” you told Matt as you intentionally adjusted your skirt again to tease him. 

“I’ll find a way,” he assured you, tucking himself back into his slacks before standing up and going to tell the two of them about something he found in his paperwork that he needed them to go investigate. 

[nonstoplover]

sleep without you ~ charles leclerc (cl16)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

song inspiration: sleep without you ~ brett young

summary: charles struggles to function properly without her by his side, or a story of a night without his girlfriend.

words: 2.1K

warnings: nothing, just fluff and a slightly clingy charles baby <3

a/n: idk why but this song honestly screams charles to me whenever i hear it, so i just had to make it happen. also this was supposed to be posted on my one year f1-aversary as celebration (well technically it should be more if counting my childhood f1 years but anyway), but i was so caught up in another wip that i couldn't do it. so happy anniversary to me and f1 (two weeks late) with this lil ficlet <3 thankful for all that f1 gave me.

big thanks to the amazing lovely silverstonesainz for helping me make this better and to the equally awesome monzabee for making me much less anxious with her words. love you sm queens!!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Charles spends a whole afternoon trying to convince her to have a night out with her friends. Just because they're in a relationship doesn't mean they can't have fun without the other as well from time to time. There are still a couple of weeks left of winter break, plenty of opportunity to spend time just the two of them before the season starts again. So the usual point of view, the usual reasoning doesn't stand a chance – that they should spend as much time together as they can, before he's back to travelling all around the world.

"Go to a club, grab some drinks, dance and laugh the night away", he tells her. The usual bestie coffee dates or walks in the park that she usually raises as argument are not the same as a night out, and she hasn't done that for so long now. Definitely not since he's been back home, and he knows just how much she enjoys dancing her heart out.

(y/n) agrees after a short while, accepting his reasons, knowing full well that he's right, and after a few phone calls she starts getting ready, soon walking out the front door, dressed all pretty and dolled up.

Doesn't take long before Charles realises what he's done. A feeling tingles in his chest, one he recognises swiftly. He's miserable. Solely because she's not there by his side, as he makes dinner, eats it – all by himself –, before settling on the couch to occupy himself with a movie. It doesn't matter though, he doesn't pay any attention to it. He doesn't even know what's going on, he hasn't heard a single line, too busy thinking about her.

When the credits start to roll, he switches the TV off with a surprised look in his eyes – how did it already end? He doesn't even remember the first scene ending. Then he moves into the bathroom to do his night routine, from taking a shower to putting on some skincare products, all the while wondering how long she will be out for? Will she come home soon? Hope tingles in his chest that the answer to his question is yes.

Having finished with everything, Charles lies down in bed, trying to read a book, then scrolling on social media, doing anything to keep his mind from straying over and over again back to her. He knows this is stupid, he was the one telling her to go out, why is he like this now? Lying awake on his side of the bed, the fingers on his right hand tracing figures onto the sheet where her body usually rests.

This is pathetic, Charles thinks. He never thought he would be like this, so miserable and impatient just because she's not at home, with him. He's tossing around, unable to find a comfortable position for himself – it seems like he forgot how to sleep without her. No matter how many times he's had to do just that, in hotel rooms all around the world. The past few weeks erased all those nights from his mind.

The delicious scent of her shampoo fills his lungs when his face lands just a bit too close to her pillow, and all of a sudden it's like he's burying his nose in her hair. It only makes him miss her more. Sleeping is impossible, he knows it now. He's only daydreaming, not actually dreaming, of her arriving home and being in his arms again.

Charles imagines the way she dances in the middle of the floor, her hands in the air, shouting the lyrics loudly to the song currently playing – most probably something she knows and loves –, and he can't help but smile fondly. Just the thought of her having fun is enough to make him happier, even in his misery.

He pictures a scene where a random guy tries to get too close to her, as it has happened so many times, whenever he leaves her alone for a few minutes at any club they've been to. It doesn't matter where they are, doesn't matter if they spent the night so far together, all over each other, someone comes into the picture immediately when he leaves, either to grab a drink for the two of them, or to go to the restrooms.

It's not like he doesn't understand those guys. She's simply gorgeous, and radiates such a vibrant aura that everyone is drawn to her. He honestly just finds it funny at this point. Nothing makes these men back off more effectively than her. Oh, the amount of times he bit back laughter watching the scene unfold from a distance. Seeing men crumble and disappear looking all ashamed, what a sight that is. And he doesn't have to do anything.

He wonders how many times she's had to fight off guys so far tonight, with him not even in the club, and he finds he can't wait to hear all her stories of the newest victims. Pierre never understood why Charles found it so amusing, he didn't seem to get it. The trust they have in each other. Knowing that it's him she'll come home to at the end of the night is enough to make him only feel entertained by each instance, and not irritated at the slightest bit.

But thinking about (y/n) fighting off men is only good enough entertainment for a limited amount of time, and soon the smile fades back into a miserable pout on his lips, as his thoughts turn back into ones of impatience, trying to make time move faster with short little prayers falling as mumbles from his lips.

With a sigh, he eventually sits up, looking around to find something he can do. At last he decides on grabbing a drink himself, maybe it will help stop the flow of thoughts racing in his head. A little welcomed dullness.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, sipping on the liquid in his glass, enjoying the feeling of the light alcohol gently burning his throat on the way down, numbing his tongue along the way. His fingers stay restless, now drumming on the wooden surface. A few minutes later he realises they play a song, soundless except the soft thud of his fingertips with the occasional louder tap or little scratch of his nails when a finger finds a different angle to hit the table with.

A melody appears in his mind as he watches his fingers move, imagining how it would sound if it was his piano instead of the kitchen table. He would go sit at the beautiful, white instrument and try it, but he doesn't want to be so loud at such a late hour. And anyway, he's way too comfortable sitting where he is to stand up and go somewhere else.

He looks out the window, catching sight of the moon – almost full, just a tiny bit of it missing, and Charles examines the craters that are visible to the naked eye, though only as spots of a darker shade on the round shape.

Maybe he'll name this new musical piece that's being born in his head right now after her – well, if he ever finishes it. He'll keep the usual format, three letters of a city name and a date, only this time putting the time and place of when they first met. Or should it be the time and place of when he first asked her out? Or their first date? Or when she agreed to move in with him? God, there are way too many options to choose from. He decides to put this problem aside for now, he's not in a rush to name a song not even written yet.

As the clock on the oven changes all four numbers to display 2am, the action rouses his attention and makes him tear his eyes away from the moon and look at the numbers instead.

He would've never ever thought that he'd be like this.

Raising his glass he notices that there's only a small sip left in it, which he downs in a short moment. His tongue darts out to gather all the minuscule drops that might rest on his lips still, not wanting to waste even that much of the delicious drink. Then he stands up, placing the glass down into the sink, making a mental note to clean it in the morning before (y/n) wakes up.

Just as he ponders putting another movie on, maybe only as background noise if nothing else, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his pants. Taking his time, Charles pulls the device out, expecting nothing more than a useless notification from a social media app he shouldn't spend so much time on anyway.

Instead what he finds is a text. From her.

in a cab, be home soon &lt;3

Charles lets out a relieved sigh, his lips involuntarily curving into a smile, one that you could almost call giddy. It's not just the thought that she's going to be here soon, but the fact that she remembered to text him to let him know. He's in her mind, just like she's in his, even though she's been out with friends, having fun, drinking, while he's only been at home, all alone with his misery.

Now he can move back to bed happily, knowing that shortly she will join him.

It truly doesn't take long until Charles hears the front door creak as it opens, then the familiar jingle of her keys hitting the drawer in the hall, and his heart flutters with happiness. Finally. The high heels she chose to wear hit the floor with a soft thud as she presumably removes them, and the growing anticipation in his body seems to eat him whole.

Her steps grow louder and louder as she moves closer to the bedroom, and time slows for Charles. He watches in slow motion as she appears in the doorframe, being propped up on his elbows to have a better view, a lazy smile curling onto his face, and his eyes lidded with drowsiness.

"You're still awake?" (y/n) giggles, pausing in her steps for a second as her eyes take in the view he provides lying there. His lack of reply to her text made her think he's already fallen asleep.

"Of course," he mumbles. "Come to bed."

His voice is whiny and he behaves like an actual child, he knows, but he can't help it. He wants to sleep, and he wants to sleep beside her, feeling her warmth against his skin. That's the only way he can.

"Let me get changed first," she starts towards the closet, when a grunt of pure displeasure sounds from him along with the thump of his back as he falls into a lying position once more, making her glance back at her boyfriend. "What, can't wait a single minute?"

"No," he protests, pouting . "I've been waiting for hours."

His accent comes forth stronger when he's sleepy, and she can't help but smile adoringly upon hearing it. He's just so cute.

"Okay, fine, you'll get one kiss," she gives in. Charles resembles a lost puppy and she's sure he knows that's her weakness. She can't ever say no to anything when he looks like that.

So that's how she finds herself crawling into bed, trying to get as close as possible to the boy without causing damage to her dress. He grins, as much as his tired facial muscles allow, awaiting her lips touching his own. His pout becomes even more apparent, right until the moment he finally gets what he wants. His goodnight kiss. It's soft, slow and just so full of love it makes both their hearts flutter.

Then she caresses his cheek gently, whispering a barely audible good night, sleep tight to him, before moving back off the bed to disappear in the closet, leaving Charles to think about how he'd happily convince her again of going out if it means she'll come home to him, looking so radiant, properly buzzing with energy, eyes shining, hair messy but still looking so breathtaking. It's obvious how much it meant to her that she had this night out. He made her happy with telling her to go out with her friends, and he didn't regret it, despite all the miserable hours.

By the time she finishes her night routine and walks back into the bedroom once more, he's fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the room. She bites into her bottom lip to keep in the giggle threatening to burst out, and with a heart full of adoration and a head slightly dizzy from the drinks she's had, she gets in bed beside him, snuggling up close to him, revelling in the feeling of his arms instinctively finding their way around her body even when he's sleeping.

He truly only waited for her to come home and give him a goodnight kiss to finally be able to fall asleep.

[almostgenerallyalways]

mamas (don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader Category: angst / fluff / run-on sentences Word count: 3,1k CW: language, I’ve been to Texas once okay forgive me, divorce Author’s note: this was supposed to be a holiday fic but I got stuck on it and almost abandoned it, but here it is rescued from my drafts, shoutout to all the amazing tgm fic writers your writing truly astounds me

Summary: Every year around the holidays, you hear from your ex. This year when you don’t respond, he decides to show up at your door. 

2022

Jake UT  [November 23, 2022 at 10:24 PM]

Hey stranger

Visiting my mom for Thanksgiving

How’ve you been?

You ignore the message. How you’ve been in the last twelve months is not something you feel up to discussing with him.

You spend the next weeks dealing with crisis after crisis at work, leaning into the chaos like you have been all year. Your personal life? Garbage fire. Reconfiguring your entire pump setup two weeks before going to production, because the DoC slapped an import ban on one of your key suppliers in China? You’re on top of it.

But then, the week before Christmas, another message comes in:

Jake UT  [December 17th, 2022 at 3:47 PM]

Hey

In town for the holidays

Would love to see you if you’re free

Brett welcome too, of course

A pang in your chest, but curiosity gets the better of you, so you text back:

Thanksgiving and Christmas? Judy must be thrilled.

You’ve met Jake’s mom all of one time, ten years ago, but she made a lasting impression. Fiercely protective of her only son, she’d been wary of you at first (you were, in order of importance: Too non-Texan, too vegetarian, and too focused on trying to rescue an almost-due group project for your sustainable water management class in which no one was pulling their weight).

And yet, over the Thanksgiving weekend you’d spent at Jake’s mother’s house in Colton, she’d slowly warmed up to you. You’d asked her endless questions about her job as a project manager at Austin-Bergstrom, and she’d poured you half glasses of wine (still exotic, to you, back then) at the kitchen island, shooing Jake back into the living room.

She’d even called you, after you guys broke up, to say she was sorry to hear it, and to tell you to call her up any time you needed someone to talk to. You’d tried your best to keep your voice even, not to break down in tears for the seventh time that day, and never called her again.

* * *

“Dude. Put your phone away for two minutes.”

Jake looks up apologetically at his friend, and pockets the device. “Sorry. Just expecting a text.”

Sandeep holds out his bottle of Lone Star, and Jake clinks it with his own. “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry I wasn’t around at Thanksgiving, we were visiting Jed’s family in NC. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Jake takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid feeling like a balm to his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s been a big year, work-wise, so they owed me one. I wanted to spend some extra time with my mom.”

Bringing up his drink to toast again, Sandeep says: “Here’s to you, bud. And to getting that permanent assignment in California. At least we knew where to send our holiday card this year.”

Condensation drips down the neck of his bottle, and Jake spins it slowly in his hand, stopping himself from peeling off the label. He feels on edge, unmoored, despite this 6th Street dive bar being as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Sandeep’s got his number. “Seeing anyone else while you’re in town? I don’t know, Myers?”

Jake doesn’t look up, but feels his cheeks heat up fractionally.

His friend takes another swig of his beer. “I guess I should stop calling her Myers. You know, with the divorce and all.”

The bottle escapes Jake’s grip, and amber liquid sloshes across the table, into Sandeep’s lap. “Shit, Seresin! Grab some napkins, will you?”

* * *

 2012

 You’d always known there was an expiration date on this thing with Jake, which is why you’d been reluctant to meet his mom to begin with.

You wanted fundamentally different things. He, the Navy: Adventure, excitement, a chance to serve his country. You: Stability. A family. A place where you belonged.

Both of you: an opportunity to prove yourself.

It’s civil, as far as breakups go.

“You always knew I wanted to fly.” He says, over breakfast at Magnolia Café. There’s a hard set to his jaw that makes you soften in contrast, because of course you do, everyone who’s ever been near Jake Seresin for longer than ten minutes knows he’s always wanted to fly.

From your first date he told you about how Judy used to park him in her office at the airport when her summer childcare fell through; little Jake happily spending the day watching commercial jets taxiing and taking off in quick succession.

How her coworkers, the civilian engineers who’d stayed on after Bergstrom Air Force Base was decommissioned and commercialized, would regale him with stories about generations of F-4 Phantoms. Or the British Airways Concorde, one of only twenty of the ill-fated aircraft ever made, bringing the Queen to Austin in a little yellow hat. The Reconnaissance Air Meet bringing in the best fighter pilots from across all divisions of the military and abroad, to compete and show off their skills.

Jake would listen to them with stars in his eyes.

You pick at your migas, your appetite gone. “I know, Jake. I would never stop you.”

But you look at him, and you know your face mirrors his determination. “But I can’t come with you, Jake. I can’t start my career following you around from camp to base year to year. I’m forty-thousand dollars in debt getting this degree, and I need to follow my own plan.”

You haven’t moved in together, though Jake spends most of his nights at your tiny off-campus apartment, where you’ve made him countless cups of black coffee trying to fuel weekend study sessions. Where he would come in past midnight, back from the late shift at his part-time job at the H-E-B, and bury his face in your neck, waking you up even though you’d been asleep for hours. Where you would hold his sleeping head to your chest, his deep breathing somehow felt inside of you, and run your fingers up and down the bare skin of his back, trying to memorize him.

You’re twenty-two, you tell yourself. This is not the end of the world.

So you see him off at the front door, a box of his things clutched to his chest, and you force yourself to be strong. “You better be,” and you try to smile up at him, but you’re not sure you’re doing a convincing job, “You better be the best goddamn pilot the Navy has ever seen, Jake.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just puts down the box, and pulls you into a last embrace. You sink into it, the fundamentally safe feeling of his arms around you, then make yourself pull away after a minute, pretending you don’t see the wet stains on his shirt.

Later you look at all the spaces in your apartment he is now conspicuously absent from (no dog-eared volume of Game of Thrones on the nightstand, no boots by the door), and it hits you then; the crevasse he’s left in your life. It may run deeper than you thought.

* * *

Jake had gone to Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island, then designator-specific training in Pensacola, Florida, and done his best not to think about you.

It helped that his days were intense and exhausting. It helped that, on liberty weekends, girls would flock to him and his friends in bars.

It helped to be several states away from you.

It helped to be living his dream.

* * *

There is a bit of a backslide, that first Thanksgiving after, where you both think it can’t hurt to see each other for one drink, for old time’s sake, which ends in him taking you up against the door in your new apartment, your legs wrapped around his waist because he does not have the willpower or presence of mind to figure out the way to your bedroom.

He knows it was a mistake, at about five AM the next day, when the blue light of morning starts streaming through a gap in the curtains, illuminating your tousled hair fanned out over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of your chest so familiar to him he could cry.

Untangling himself from you hurts, and he does perhaps the most cowardly thing he ever will: he sneaks out before you wake up. But next week he’s shipping out, and the thought of the same dead-end conversation over coffee made just the way he likes it is unbearable, so he makes himself walk away.

Somehow it’s worse, the second time around.

* * *

You’d met someone else, like he’d known you would. He sees the engagement announcement on Facebook, browsing on his phone between drills, and likes the post. It’s the third year he’s been away, and he’s at TOPGUN by then, so he has a lot on his mind. He has a girlfriend, even, a local: cute as a button, beats him savagely at pool.

It doesn’t fully hit him until the first time he sees you with your then-fiancé, at a little holiday reunion of college friends. He sees you with that ring on your finger, another man’s arm around your shoulders, and he gets an acute sense of the alternate reality that could’ve been his.

It feels a little like losing altitude too fast.

Your initial reception of him is understandably frosty, but you seem too genuinely happy to hold a grudge. By the third round, when he sidles up to you at the bar, you give him a quick hug, looking up at him with a smile that squeezes his heart: “I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and pulls you back in, just for a moment, tucking your head under his chin. You smell like apple and magnolia, like nights spent with his nose pressed into your back.

You don’t invite him to the wedding, and he’s all too glad not to have to make up an excuse not to go.

* * *

Things settle, after that. Jake gets deployed and reassigned, breaks up with his girlfriend and eventually gets another. You get promoted to senior engineer, then project lead. You see each other, not every year but close enough, sometimes with your husband there, sometimes without.

He braces himself for the next Facebook post; that you’re pregnant, but it never comes. Over time, even that seems to lose some of its potential emotional impact on him.  

Until three weeks ago, when you don’t text him back.

* * *

 2022

 You kick your shoes off in the entryway, then head into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Before you can reach the tap, the doorbell rings, and for a second you think somehow, some way, your terrible Bumble date has followed you home.

Grabbing the biggest kitchen knife you own off the magnet strip over the sink, just in case, you creep back to the door, barefoot, to press your face up to the peephole.

You don’t really expect to see the guy you just left, the ice in your glass not even melted before you were thinking up excuses to get out of there, but you sure as fuck don’t expect to see Jake either.

The door feels heavier than usual as you slowly slide it open, or maybe you’re just a little stunned. The night air hits your skin, and you can make out the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

For a long moment, Jake just looks at you, but then he says: “What were you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

You follow the jut of his chin down the line of your arm, and contemplate the knife for a second, Jake’s sudden appearance having made you forget all about it.

“I thought someone might have followed me here.”

“Ah.” He says, a spark in his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile. “If you were going to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat, a knife is a terrible choice. I could give you some tips, though.”

Putting the damn thing down on your entryway console, you turn back to look at him. It’s not cold, exactly, in December in South Central Austin, but he looks underdressed: a long-sleeved light grey t-shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of a faded pair of jeans.

He looks good, you can’t deny it: he’s always had an immediate effect on you.

Jake, your somewhat gangly, sweet college boyfriend had it. Jake, ten years of military training later: older, filled out, fine crinkly lines starting to appear at the corners of his eyes (helped along by the California sun and God knows what far-off places), irrevocably still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

At that, his expression sobers, and he looks at you for a long moment before he says:

“You didn’t tell me.”

* * *

Fucking Sandeep, you think, rubbing the back of your hand across your eyes, because that fucker has not been subtle with the hints lately, tutting like a Victorian matron while you pass the time evaluating your Bumble matches with his husband during Monday night football’s ad breaks.

The granite of your kitchen countertop feels reassuringly cool beneath your thighs, and you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on the tile below:

“I wasn’t ready.”

Jake huffs, or so you assume by the little sound that escapes him, as you determinedly face only his sneakers: “It’s been a year. You sure told everyone else we know.”

That makes your head snap up, emotion rising in your chest in a way you don’t like, have always had to tamp down when it comes to him, these last ten years. “Fuck off, Jake. You know it’s different when it comes to you.”

He leans back against the fridge, arms folded, just slightly lifting his right eyebrow at you in that irritating way of his: “I could’ve been there for you.”

Fuck it, you think, all cards on the table then. “I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to exist on my own again after being married for five years to someone who didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was, Jake. Sorry my first impulse wasn’t to come cry on my hometown hero ex-boyfriend’s shoulder.”

His eyes soften, and he pushes off the fridge to come stand next to you, running his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter than a moment ago. “I’m being a dick. It’s just, you have to know, I would’ve been there for you.”

He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath: “It’s always been different when it comes to you too, sweetheart.”

You start to shake, a little, or maybe it’s your imagination. But your voice wavers as you say his name, everything about your tone a warning: “Jake.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head: “Our timing sucked, and I don’t regret our decision from back then. I’m proud of who I’ve become in the last ten years, and I’m proud of you. You think I don’t keep up with what you’re doing? The articles you’ve published?”

This stuns you, momentarily. “No, Jake Seresin. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t think you gave a shit about the latest advances in Texas drought management.”

Just being near him, the familiar smell of him bringing up memories you’ve had years to unsuccessfully repress, is overpowering.

He makes it worse by turning to you, face so goddamn heartbreakingly earnest as he says: “I couldn’t give you what you deserved, ten years ago, but I always told myself, if I was ever in a position to…” He swallows. “I tried to forget about it when you got married, I tried to root for you and Brett, I swear.”

His hand settles next to your thigh, not quite touching, and your hand comes down on its own accord to cover his. He straightens almost imperceptibly, uses his other palm to wipe a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

Cupping your face, he draws a deep breath. “I have a permanent assignment now, in San Diego. I know it’s…”

“Jake.” You interrupt, squeezing your eyes shut, grabbing the hem of his shirt. ���I’m not remotely the same person I was back then.”

He moves to stand in front of you now, and you draw him in between your thighs. Suddenly it seems imperative that you feel him, that he holds you.

Dipping his head to yours, you can hear the smile in his voice, watery, tentative: “Then let me get to know you again. Get to know me again.” He leans one hand on the counter, the other tracing your cheekbone. “No pressure. I’m totally very cool about this. Whatever you want.”

You laugh, a little choked up through tears, but genuine. It feels liberating. “What if I say yes? How does this work?”

His smile broadens, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so goddamn close, nudging your nose with his. “Come visit me, for a start. I’ll show you the sights.”

You draw him in a little closer still, legs wrapping around his waist, one hand finding its way into his close-cropped hair, and you could cry for how familiar he still feels after all these years.

But when you close the gap between your lips and his, it’s like coming home and yet not at all: he’s different and rougher and sharper and it floods you with emotion, something big and terrifying and old and new.

He leans into the kiss, grinning, cards his fingers through your hair before he moves to cover your chin, your brow, the space next to your ear with kisses, and you remember this with a jolt to your heart – how singularly intense it is to be the focus of Jake Seresin, like the strength of the sun is aimed at you, how he never does anything by halves.

You take his chin in your hand, kiss him again for good measure, before saying, into the stubble of his jaw: “One visit. No pressure.”

The grin he gives you in return could power half this city: “One visit. No pressure.”

He dips his head to yours again, kissing the skin behind your ear as he tells you: “Southern California has a lot of drought problems, you know. I’ve actually been reading some really scary articles about it.”

.

.

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i hope you enjoyed :):) - if you liked this I hope you’ll check out some of my other work:

where the wild things are (rooster x reader)

cross my heart (hangman x reader) masterlist

[thewritingofamadwoman]

Stress Relief

The way Roy Kent (and Brett Goldstein) live in my head rent free 24/7.

Pairing: Roy Kent x Fem!Reader (established relationship)

Warnings: Fluff, some making out, and Roy Kent being a cocky little shit

Enjoy!

You wiped your hands clean on a towel and smiled at the young man on the table.

“Okay Sam, you’re all done. Continue to work on those stretches at home and you’ll be in tip top shape for the game next weekend.”

Sam Obisanya smiled back at you, slowly getting up off the table.

“Thank you again, so much. I will do all the exercises you’ve recommended, and I will also look into Pilates classes.”

You gave Sam a quizzical look.

“You don’t have to do that Sam, it’s just a sprained ankle…”

The young man laughed.

“Oh no I know, I just am interested in Pilates. I’ve heard it does wonders for your body, core, and state of mind.”

Sam looked at you so genuinely, that you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. He was absolutely precious. Sam smiled at you again and waved goodbye before exiting the treatment room. Between Sam’s ankle, Dani’s knee and Jamie’s hamstring, you had been working nonstop all week, doing your best to heal them as best you could.

You were jotting down notes in Sam’s folder when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!”

Roy Kent walked in, shut the door behind him and let out the deepest sigh/growl you’ve heard in a while. You looked up and put the folder down on your desk, taking a second to admire the grouchy coach. Roy stood there, arms at his sides and shoulders back in his usual stance. His biceps bulging from underneath the short sleeves of his coach jersey, the watch on his right wrist gleaming under the florescent lighting in the treatment room. Your eyes trailed to Roy’s face; his brows drawn together in their usual frown and his lips following suit.

“Well hello to you, too,” you greeted playfully.

Roy raised an eyebrow at you and rolled his eyes warm heartedly.

“Hi,” he exhaled, his deep voice reverberating through you. God you loved his voice.

You waited for him to continue, seeing the thoughts running through his mind. Roy took another breath and let it all out.

“These fucks have got me more stressed out than the “girls nine under nine” ever did. Fucking shits.” Roy points a finger to the door behind him. I swear, if I have to hear Zava go on about his fucking avocado farm one more time, I’m going fucking quit and go back to being a fucking pundit.”

And there it was. You nodded sympathetically and moved off from the desk you were leaning on and waved your hand to the table in front of you, signally Roy to have a seat. The coach followed suit, letting out a huff of air as he did. You stepped on a mechanical lever underneath the table, causing the table to lower so that Roy was at a comfortable height for you. You placed your hands on his shoulders gently before giving them a tight squeeze.

“You’re not going to quit, baby. You just need a second to relax. You haven’t been to Maureen’s house in a few weeks now that I think of it. When was your last yoga session with the ladies?” You pressed down on Roy’s shoulders again, feeling the immense amount of tension he was keeping at the base of his neck.

Roy grunted at the feeling of your hands, slowly leaning into your touch.

“Maureen’s been dealing with her son’s upcoming wedding, and Carol’s neice is going through a divorce so we’ve all been pushing back our next yoga date.”

You smiled at how invested Roy was with his little yoga group. He always managed to melt your heart with the simplest of things.

“Well then, the solution is simple. You need a little bit of stress relief. You’re so tense Roy, all this pent up pressure isn’t going to do you any good. I’m going to take care of it, okay?”

You spoke as gently while beginning to massage Roy’s shoulders. You’ve been told by the team that you give the best massages known to man. And while it was part of your job as the team’s physio, right now you weren’t a PT. You were Roy’s girlfriend, ready to help your man relax. A few moments pass in silence, the only sounds in the room were of Roy’s deep breathing, and occasional moan whenever you came across a particular tender spot.

“Fuuuuuuuck” Roy groaned, relishing in the feel of your hands digging into the knots in his neck and shoulders. “That feels incredible,” he sighed, getting lost in the feel of it all. You smiled to yourself, glad to be able to help him in any way. Thirty minutes go by until you could no longer find any strained muscles under his shirt. You gave Roy’s shoulders one final squeeze, leaning down to give him a small kiss on the back of his head.

“All done. Hope you’re feeling a little less stressed, my love.”

Roy turns his head to face you, his eyes glossy as if he were in a dreamy state of mind.

“That was fucking mind blowing and exactly what I needed. Fuck you’re amazing. Thank you,” he praised, slowly turning his body and swinging his legs over the other edge of the table so that he was facing you. You beamed at his compliment, moving forward as well so that you were standing in-between his legs, the table allowing you to finally be able to stare directly into Roy’s eyes. Those deep, chocolate colored eyes that you’ve been in love with for quite some time.

“You’re welcome, baby.” You reply, leaning forward to give Roy’s a quick yet sweet peck on his lips. You loved the feel of his soft lips, plush and pillowy against your own. How something so soft could voice so many “fucks” in a day, you’ll never understand. But you loved it nonetheless. When you pulled back, you noticed Roy’s brows had softened significantly and there was a look of adoration in his eyes. You were sure it mirrored the look you gave him 95% of the time.

“Once Maureen and Carol get settled, and your yoga routine goes back to normal, your stress levels won’t be as high anymore. But until then, I’m more than happy to help you relieve it. Whether here or at home, you just come to me and I’ve got you. Okay?”

You gave Roy another little peck before you felt his lips twitch up into a smirk. You pulled back to find him looking at you mischievously. The hands that were unconsciously placed on your hips while you kissed began to slowly slide up your sides and back down to your hips.

“Going to help me relieve some stress, hmm? And at work no less? How naughty.”

The look he gave you in that moment set your insides on fire, and Roy took that moment to pull you closer to him, arms locking behind you to keep you in place. You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you wrapped your own arms around his neck, scooting as close as you could, your chest pressed up against his.

“Me? Naughty? I’m an angel,” you teased, drawing a pretend halo above your head.

Roy growled and leaned in, claiming your lips with his. You sighed into his kiss, your nails gently carding through his hair at the back of his head. Roy broke the kiss first but didn’t relent, moving his lips to your neck and planting wet kisses up and down the column of your throat. You felt your knees weaken, like they always did whenever Roy found that deliciously sweet spot right below your ear. You gasped, and Roy smiled onto your skin, kissing his way down slowly once more. His hands began to roam your body as yours found purchase on his shoulders.

“Oh God, fuck,” you whispered and giggled as you shivered when you felt Roy lick and suck at the base of your throat. Roy’s deep chuckle vibrated against you.

“Aww baby, you can just call me Roy,” he mused and rolled your eyes.

“Little shit,” you said breathlessly, pulling back as far as Roy would allow you, his arms still trapping you to him.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, I do have both Bumbercatch and Zorreaux due for an assessment soon. Buuuuut I can absolutely help you with your little stress relief issue at home later, okay?”

Roy smiled at you and nodded, grunting in agreement.

“Just one thing though, darling. You and I both know it’s not a “little” stress relief issue. Shall I remind you of last time, when you struggled to get all of me insi-“ you immediately cut him off, your hand cupping over his mouth, a blush engulfing your cheeks.

“Shuuuush! Shush! You know what I meant for fucks sake. Anyone can hear you, these walls are paper thin, you heathen!” You berrated, a giggle bubbling in your throat. Roy laughed against your hand and kissed your palm while you shook your head at him.

“Glad you’re feeling MUCH better, Coach Kent. Now shoo, send in Bumbercatch if he’s out there and I’ll deal with you later.”

Roy continued to smile at you and when you removed your hand, you got the full effect of his perfect smile. You couldn’t help your own smile as Roy hopped off the table and retreated to the door. You crossed your arms across your chest again as he turned around one final time before winking at you before exiting. You heard him loud and clear as he made his way back to the locker room.

“Oi! Bumbercatch! You’re needed in physio. Move!”

You shook your head and laughed to yourself before you wiped down the table and set up the room. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

[insidethejob]

hi /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ if your requests are open you could do one about brett and prompt 42

Prompt 42: “You want me to fuck you..? Would that make you happy? Would it make you love me?”

Welp, I Guess I'm Stuck

Yandere! Brett Hand x Fem! Reader Tw: NSFW [No actual Smut], Drunk! Reader, Dubious-Consent 🔞18+ Content due to dark and adult themes. Read at your own risk

Brett felt his stomach tighten as your hands roamed his body. You were giggling and whispering in his ear. Brett knew you were drunk, but it was hard to hold himself together.

"I love you in your suit, but god you look so good in normal clothes."

He laughs, trying to avoid the awkwardness. "You look good, too, Y/n."

You push his hair back, before playing with a loose strand. Brett could feel his face darken and his hands tighten on his wheel.

"So where are we going, Brett baby?"

"I'm taking you home."

"Aww," You cross your arms, frowning, "I was hoping you'd be more..." You lightly touch his tight, "Interesting."

He slammed the breaks, causing you to fall forward. Your eyes widen as you bang your head on the dashboard. Brett gasps and is quick to grab you and inspect you.

"Oh my god! Y/n are you okay? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... Oh my god!" He says as he starts to freak out.

You shake him off, "It's fine Brett... Don't worry about it."

But he does worry about it. The anxiety of you being mad at him takes over his mind. He frowned when pulling up to your home. You sloppily get out, before going to the drivers side.

"Do you want to come in, Brett?"

He looks at his alarm and frowned when seeing the late time. He was going to deny and mention work.

"Please?"

He looked at you, his face red. How could he say no when you're looking at him like that?

-----

He examined everything in your home. It was so you, and it made him smile.

"Do you want..." You were going to ask him if he wanted something to drink, but your eyes slowly started to droop, and you fell forward. Brett was quick to catch you and laid you on your couch.

You wobbly got up, not being able to keep yourself straight. He sat down by you, to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. You leaned on his shoulder, trying to gain yourself. You giggled to yourself, before looking up at him.

"You're so pretty," You say, rubbing his face. "I want to fuck you."

His body freezes as you lightly grace his neck. You lightly run your tongue on his neck, causing a shiver to run down his back. He leaned into the couch as you move to his lap. You play with his hair and his nails clinging to the seat cushions.

You remove your shirt and Brett looks away, trying not to feed into his boner. Your hands were all around him and he could feel his body flush. You stopped, confusing him, and he finally looked at you.

You look up at him, tears gracing your eye, "Do you want to do this?"

Brett could feel a knot in his throat. You could do whatever you wanted to him. He took a deep breath before speaking, "You want me to fuck you..? Would that make you happy? Would it make you love me? I would do anything to make you happy."

You blushed fiddling with your hair, "I don't want to overstep-"

"You could use me however you want, Y/n," He grabs your face, pulling you in close, "You can use me like your boy toy."

"Well, you shouldn't say that if you don't mean it, because I might just do it."

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Already Gone || MV1 {7}

Pairing: Max Verstappen x spy!fem!reader Summary: After the attack in your home, Max is serious about learning to fight. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, alcohol, sparring, mentions of illegal activities WC: 1.8k

F1 Masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“Are you sure you should be drinking? You might have a concussion,” Max worried as you sipped the gin and tonic Christian had made. 

“Relax, the lady’s earned a drink or two,” Christian said as he sat down with his own. “Nice job.”

You clinked your glass with your bosses before drinking half of the strong beverage in one gulp and sighing happily. “Thank you. Dare I ask where Brett’s taking them?”

Christian chuckled and shook his head. “Best to have deniability.”

Max looked uncomfortable at the conversation as he shifted in his seat beside you, his fingers massaging your shoulder that his arm draped across.

“I know you don’t like it, babe, but this is the reality of the situation,” you said softly as you took his hand and traced the lines that cut across his palm, not that you believed in the life line or the love line crap. “They wanted to break your hands. They weren’t here to have a pretty conversation that magically convinced you to lose your races. They wanted to make sure you could never race again.”

“I’ve increased the security on Checo but they seem to be focusing their energy on you.”

“Of course, Max is the bigger threat,” you stated obviously. “Anyone who can read the standings knows that.” Tilting your head towards the principal you cocked an eyebrow and asked, “You don’t happen to have half a billion hidden in your mattress?”

Christian scoffed as he swirled his drink, clinking the ice against the glass. “I’m not Pablo Escabar, and I don’t think my wife would sleep comfortably on the lumps.”

“That’s a shame, his personal army could’ve been helpful.”

“What do you want half a billion dollars for anyway?”

“Euros, actually.” You grabbed your phone off the coffee table and opened the app for the stock exchange, scrolling through the companies of interest you had saved before tossing it on his lap. “They wouldn’t sell the majority of their shares but there is a sizable chunk up for grabs. Certainly enough to get a seat on the chairboard.”

Christian looked at the trading name and chuffed at the thought of being a board member at Scuderia Ferrari before he took a sip of his drink. “Let me see what I can move about.”

“Wait, you’re not serious?” Max baulked at the idea before helping himself to your drink at the look you gave him. “Fuck, you are serious.”

“If you need a shell company I have a few old ones to spare.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Christian chuckled as he finished his drink and started to head to the door. “I’d get that fixed pronto if I were you.”

You gave him the thumbs up as he left while Max walked him to the gaping hole where the broken door used to be. “See you next week, boss.”

Walking back to your side, Max scratched his short beard and said, “I think we should go to a hotel tonight, liefje.”

A gust of wind blew through the open door and swayed the picture frames on the wall to accentuate his words. “I think you’re right, preferably one with a spa.”

He smiled as he kissed your temple, careful to avoid the swelling on your forehead. “I’m sure I can find something for you.”

Two Months Later “Shit,” Max grunted as the wind was knocked from him. 

“Please don’t hurt my star driver before his final race,” Christian said as he walked into the gym and found Max bent over his knees panting. 

“I haven’t touched him,” you defended yourself while you rubbed Max’s back. “The speedball took him out.”

“If anyone asks, it was Rico Verhoeven.”

You snorted a laugh. “He loves you too much to hurt you. He would probably let you take him down.”

“Probably,” Max groaned as he straightened up and cocked a brow at his boss who held a file in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Just some paperwork for you to sign,” he said to you as he held it out. “Our lovely Director here will be heading to Italy next week for her first board meeting.”

You hadn’t really missed your old line of work but you couldn’t deny there was a certain thrill to stepping into the lion’s den. Max wasn’t too happy about it, but you had convinced him not to worry, or at least accept it. Christian had been able to shift some money around to make the investment feasible and it had been collectively decided that you would be the best person to take the seat.

Now that the seat was filled you would be able to give the go ahead to your contacts and Scuderia Ferrari stocks would rise once again over the winter break, lining Red Bull’s pockets with profits. It was a win-win. 

“What I wouldn’t give to see the faces of those smarmy old bastards when you walk in the boardroom,” Christian mused as you signed the last of the documents. “Benedetto doesn’t know what he started.”

Max had recovered from his winded state and pulled his boxing gloves off to have a drink, taking a seat next to Christian on a weight bench. “You are lucky I am so charming. I should get a bonus for saving the team with my good looks and wonderful personality.”

“Greedy bastard, isn’t the €55 million I am paying you each year enough?” Christian said with a burst of laughter.

“My girlfriend has expensive taste.”

“Hey, I had no problem affording my own lifestyle before I met you,” you pointed out as you stole his drink bottle and pointed to the heavy sandbag. “And I didn’t say you could have a break. Gloves back on, Prince Charming.”

“I’ll leave you love birds to it. Don’t forget dinner tonight,” Christian said as he made his way back to the door. “Oh, and try not to be beaten by a bag, Max. It’s bad for your reputation.”

Max held his gloved hand up and you knew he was trying to pull the finger inside of it. “Very menacing,” you teased as you grabbed your own set of gloves and joined him in the ring. “Shall we dance, pretty boy?”

“Do I get a reward if I take you down?”

You blew a kiss to your boyfriend and raised your hands. “How about you focus on just trying to land a punch?”

“I’m competitive, liefje, I respond best to incentives.”

“Is that right...well, in that case, how about this?” You closed the distance between you and brushed your lips along his jaw until you reached his ear. “You take me down, and you can take me down.”

His athletic stamina that kept him strong for the races showed no sign of weakening as he followed you around the ring, relentlessly trying to take you to the mat. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you ducked and spun out of his reach, and you saw his cheeks flush with the same exertion of his effort. 

Deciding he had pushed himself hard enough for one day, you planted your foot and deflected the throw he made. He overextended past you, leaving his side open for you to wrap yourself around, dragging him to the thin padding on the ground and rolling until you straddled his hips.

“Good work, but it’s time to rest. You have qualifying soon.”

“I’ve already won the championship, plus I could start last on the grid and still get points,” he said with a cocky smile before he stole your signature move. He used your own momentum against you, twisting his hips as he reached across your body. The room spun as you were flipped onto your back and suddenly you were looking up at him. “I just can’t help winning, see.”

“Go on then,” you dared as he hungrily eyed your body pinned beneath his. “Take your reward.”

“We could get caught,” Max groaned as he glanced at the door Christian had left through, knowing it was unlocked. 

“You’re not scared are you?” 

All his blood rushed south of his brain and he found no reason to deny you both. “Fuck it.”

Dinner was a quiet affair with just the team and their families. The real party would come after the race, but you were quite content as you were when the group broke up at the end of the evening. 

Geri had taken the children off to bed while the mechanics went to a nightclub nearby for a ‘nightcap’. Christian wished them a good evening and a polite suggestion to not stay out too late. It left you, Max and Christian moving to your fully stocked bar in the presidential suite and sinking into the plush seats. 

“What a fucking year it’s been,” Christian laughed as he rubbed his beard. 

You snorted a laugh and kicked your feet up onto Max’s lap. “It’s been exciting though, you have to admit that.”

You smiled as the two recounted their favourite parts of the season while you browsed the NASDAQ Dubai journal you had started reading before dinner.

“It’s a shame George is still sick, he can’t catch a break.”

“You think George being sick is a coincidence?” you commented as you turned the page and chuckled. “Tell me you are not that-“ you fell silent at the look Christian gave you and just shrugged. “It’s quite easy to replicate illnesses with certain substances is all I’m saying…”

“Why go after George?” Max pondered aloud while Christian sat still processing what you had inferred.

Your boss’s eyes lit up with realisation and he grabbed his phone to open the F1 app to confirm his thoughts. “Because if George scores anything above fourth place tomorrow Mercedes will beat Ferrari in the constructors championship. That’s worth a few million euros, at least.”

“Bingo.”

“Do we do anything with this information?” Max asked as he began to massage your ankle. Though he had almost come to accept the dark underbelly of the sport, he still didn’t like it and it made him nervous.

“We can’t prove it,” you said with a shake of your head as his massage glided up your calf muscle, like a cat that kneaded a spot for self-comfort. “It’s not exactly a bad thing too, Ferrari coming second. It will make for great telly seeing Toto throw a bitch fit.”

Christian nearly spilled his drink with the belly laugh that filled the suite. “I’ll cheers to that,” he toasted as he held his drink forward. “To the end of an exciting season.”

You leaned in with yours and tapped it with his and Max’s. “And to another one next year.” They both cut you a side eye and you bit your lip to suppress the smile. “Or not.”

Click here for the next part.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @beezusvreeland , @indestructeible , @what-i-call-men , @reblog-reblog666 , @flynnethenerd , @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment , @yarrystyleeza , @bellaxgiornata Also posted on AO3

June 8: Attempting to fix the tags along with tagging those I missed after temporarily misplacing my tag list.

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

.

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

��I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appalled by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

[kittenofdoomage]

Inherited Spirits

THIS WORK IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY STORIES. 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

Summary: Your life changes with the revelation of a secret, but is it for the better?

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Ghost!Sam Winchester x fem!reader, original male character x fem!reader (it’s brief and not smutty)

Word Count: 9414

Warnings: angst, inheritance, ugly break ups, mentions of depression/anxiety, family secrets, grief, familial loss, ghosts, fluff, smut (ghost sex), obligatory I’m not a lawyer so the lawyer speak is fictional, introvert!reader, paranormal romance

“Here are the keys to the house,” the lawyer said, placing a thick ring with seven keys on it in front of you. Beside it, was an envelope, neatly inscribed with your full name, containing all the information about the house and your inheritance.

You had never seen it coming. As far as you’d known, both your paternal grandparents were dead, and you were the last of that particular family line, an orphan since your father had died last year, on the heels of your mother’s long fight with cancer. So to say it had been a shock when you’d gotten the call that your grandfather had died, even more so when they’d asked you to come in to discuss assets.

Brett was excited. You could tell by the way he practically vibrated in the chair next to you, and you felt a hollow disappointment when you realized he was already spending what you had inherited. Your parents had not only hidden the secret of your grandfather’s existence, they’d also neglected to mention that he was very very wealthy.

“There’s a special dispensation for the staff of the household,” the lawyer continued, barely looking up from his copy of the documents. “The housekeeper, Ellen Harvelle, and the groundskeeper, Bobby Singer - they are to be kept on until retirement. If you sell the house, it will be a legal requirement for any new owners.”

“S-sell?” you whispered. You hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Of course, as your grandfather’s lawyer, my services will always be available to the family,” the lawyer went on. “All I need is your signature, and we can release the funds.”

You signed, dazed and confused, half-certain you were dreaming. When you walked out with Brett, he could barely contain himself, and as soon as you were in the car, he crowed and thumped the steering wheel making you jump. “Six hundred million dollars, Y/N!” he cried, looking at you, obviously expecting a similar level of excitement.

Staring at the envelope and keys in your hands, you shook your head in disbelief. “Is this real?” you muttered.

Brett laughed, throwing his head back in joy. “Baby, we’re rich!” He didn’t wait for you to answer, sitting back in the chair with a huge grin on his face. “We can do anything,” he sighed. “We could get married.” You lifted your head in surprise. “Have kids.”

Narrowing your eyes, you turned to look at him. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Why not, I mean -”

“It was never about money, Brett,” you reminded him sternly. “I told you I don’t want kids. I don’t even like children.”

“Okay,” he muttered defensively. “So we go traveling instead. We could go anywhere with that kinda money.” His eyes lit up. “I can finally tell Tony to shove his stupid head up his ass.”

The ball of disappointment that had started in the lawyer’s office began to get stronger. “I don’t think we need to rush into anything,” you said slowly. “This is a big change. I don’t know if I want anyone to know.”

He scowled. “What? So I can’t even tell my mom?”

If you were honest, his mother was the last person you wanted to know, but you didn’t want to piss him off, so you forced yourself to smile calmly. “I just think we should be careful,” you explained. “People get weird about money.”

It was obvious he didn’t agree. He turned the key in the ignition, and the truck roared to life. “Why don’t we get some dinner to celebrate?” he suggested.

“I guess,” you nodded, clipping your seatbelt in, hopeful that was the end of the conversation for the time being.

It was not.

Brett made it all of twenty minutes before he was suggesting vacations, talking about replacing his truck, selling the house and the assets for even more money. You didn’t say a word until it came to ordering food at the drive thru, and when Brett pulled up to the window, he held out his hand for your debit card. Guilt clogged your throat, and you pulled it out of your purse, handing it over.

“It’s not like you can’t afford it,” he joked; it left a sour taste in your mouth.

He didn’t stop after dinner either, or when you got home. You were certain you’d left your actual boyfriend in the lawyer’s office, and that this man was a stranger, obsessed with the material, taking over the decisions like it was all his. The sudden change in his attitude was enough to keep you silent, at least until he circled back around to marriage and kids.

“You wouldn’t even have to raise them,” he laughed. “We could afford a nanny.”

Something snapped. You sat straight, glaring at him. “Enough!” He froze like a deer in headlights. “You’re acting like you won the lottery! Since when did you care about vacations in Hawaii, or a big wedding, or cars, or - or kids?!” you shrieked. “When we got together, I was clear that I didn't want any of those things. I thought we were on the same page!”

“Things have changed!” he yelled back, thumping his fist against the couch.

“For me!” you shouted, getting to your feet. “I just found out that I had family left, Brett. I had family and I never knew them. And all you care about is the money? It’s not even your inheritance, it’s mine!”

Everything about him changed. His demeanor became stiff and unyielding, and he stood, looming over you, and for the first time in your relationship, the look in his eyes scared the absolute shit out of you. “Oh, it’s yours, huh? Is this why you don’t wanna get married? Don’t wanna share?”

“It’s got nothing to do with sharing!” you defended, backing away from him, truly frightened he would actually hurt you. You knew it at that exact moment - the relationship was already dead, you wouldn’t be with someone who could switch their personality on a dime like that. “You’re not acting like the man I fell in love with. The way you’ve instantly decided to depend on me -”

That triggered something and his face turned red. “Depend?” he snapped. “What, I don’t get anything back after carrying your anxious, depressed ass for three years?”

His words were like a knife, and tears instantly filled your eyes. The shock of what he’d said made you cover your mouth, unable to believe the man you loved would use your problems against you like that. Brett softened for a second, obviously realizing he’d gone too far, but you were already walking away, fighting to contain your tears.

“Baby, I’m sorry -”

“No,” you sobbed, refusing to look at him. “You can’t take that back.” You hated looking weak in front of him, feeling like a burden, and his words had hit their mark, right in your insecurities. “I think… I think I’m gonna go.”

He looked alarmed at that, holding his hands up. “Wait, what?”

“I need to…” You shook your head, because you weren’t sure what you needed, only that you couldn’t be near him any longer. Heading for the bedroom, you quickly packed a bag of things you couldn’t replace, not that you had much, wondering the whole time if he’d try and stop you. 

He was blocking the front door when you walked out into the hall, eyes fixed on you. “Y/N, please, I didn’t mean it -”

“You did,” you replied coolly, though inside you were breaking into pieces. He stared at you impassively, still blocking the way. “Brett, please move.”

For a second, you thought he might get physical, and then he stepped aside, giving you the space to leave. “Baby -”

“I’ll call you in a couple of days,” you said firmly. “Just… give me some space.”

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, and you grabbed your purse, turning your back on him, cutting off his declaration that he loved you by slamming the front door. You couldn’t stop the tears falling as you walked down the path to the curb, putting your bags in the backseat before pulling the keys to your inherited house and the address out of the envelope. There was only one place you could go.

Hawstead Manor was old and isolated, and it was nearing dawn when you finally pulled up to the driveway. You had to get out to open the gate with the provided code, and you were relieved to see a long paved road up the front of the house; your car might not have made it on rougher terrain. The gate closed automatically behind you, and you kept going once you were sure it was shut, parking up in front of a large garage. As expected, the house was dark, and you fumbled with the keys before finally finding the right one, letting yourself in.

It was cold inside, and you were exhausted. Once you’d found the living room, and a couch, you dumped your bags on the floor and curled up on the cushions, intent on napping for a few hours before exploring the place.

A delicious aroma roused you hours later. You sat up, and the blanket that had been covering you slipped down, making you frown as you couldn’t recall there being a blanket when you had lain down. There was noise coming from somewhere else in the house, and you remembered the lawyer mentioning a housekeeper, so you assumed she had covered you with the blanket when she arrived.

You stretched, abandoning your makeshift bed, following your nose and the noise through the halls to the huge kitchen. A woman was standing at the stove, flipping bacon, and she looked up when you walked in. “Good morning,” she greeted. “You must be Miss. Y/N.”

“Just Y/N,” you corrected with a smile. “Are you the, uh, housekeeper?”

“That I am,” she chuckled, carrying the pan over to the next counter. “Ellen Harvelle at your service. I got here a couple of hours ago, thought you might like some food after driving all night.”

“That’s very kind of you. And thanks for the blanket.” 

She frowned as she glanced at you. “What blanket?”

“Oh, there was -” It seemed odd, but maybe you had just been that tired when you had arrived. “Nevermind.” You slipped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, looking around at the fairly modern appliances. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a kitchen so nice,” you murmured, and Ellen laughed under her breath.

“Your grandfather was quite the fan of gadgets,” she explained, piling bacon and eggs onto the plate. The toaster popped and she grabbed the bread almost out of the air, placing it beside the already huge serving. As she carried the plate over to you, your stomach growled, and you smiled gratefully when your meal was in front of you.

“What was he like?” you asked. “My dad never told me anything about him.”

Ellen sighed softly. “He was a complicated man. I know that he missed your father greatly, that he wished he could have had a relationship with you.” She picked up the coffee pot, glancing back at you as she gestured to an empty mug. “Coffee?” she asked. “Or I can make tea if you prefer?”

“Coffee is great,” you answered, lifting a forkful of eggs. Your eyes closed at the delicious taste, and you moaned decadently. “This is wonderful, by the way.”

“I’m glad you like them. That’s how Charles liked them too.” She placed a full mug of coffee beside you, along with sugar and a small pot of cream. Though being served was unusual outside of a restaurant, it had been a long time since anyone cooked for you, so you appreciated it. “May I ask,” Ellen started as she poured her own cup of coffee, “did you intend to drive here last night?”

You swallowed your mouthful, sighing as you stared at the bacon. “No, I - I didn’t have anywhere else to. My boyfriend and I… we had a fight.”

Her features softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled, picking up a piece of bacon to chew on. It was perfectly cooked; you had to refrain from moaning again. “I guess, when I found out about the inheritance, I didn’t know what to do. It’s a lot of money, and big words I’m gonna have to google.” She laughed at that, and you smiled for a second. “Brett got weird. Acted like we should suddenly be jetting across the world, talking about marriage and children, and… those things just aren’t important to me.”

“Money makes people act funny,” Ellen murmured, nodding her head. “Maybe he just needs some time to come back to reality.”

You shook your head. “I thought that at first. But then he - he got scary. A-and really mean. Just for a second. But I promised myself I’d never let anyone treat me like that. I’m not sure I can trust him anymore. It felt like all he cared about was dollar signs, like he was a different person.”

“You know, I may have only just met you, but -” She took a seat opposite you and leaned her elbows on the island. “You remind me a lot of your grandfather. He was a kind, gentle soul, preferred his own company.”

“I wish I could have met him,” you sighed. “I don’t even know why my dad stopped talking to him. He just said he’d died after my grandmother, I never knew any different.”

She hummed lightly. “They had a difficult relationship after your grandmother died. Charles was lost without her. Of course, that was forty years ago, when my mother was the housekeeper here. I only met your father twice, and the second time was the last time your grandfather spoke to him, shortly after you were born. Not that Charles ever stopped trying.”

The back door opened, and a male voice called through. “Ellen? Ellen! There’s some crappy Toyota parked outside the garage -” Heavy footsteps came through the hall, and an older gentleman appeared, stopping dead when he saw you sitting at the island. He whipped his trucker cap off, holding it to his chest. “Apologies, I didn’t know the new lady of the house was here already.”

“This here,” Ellen chuckled, “is Bobby Singer, the groundskeeper.”

“Hi,” you greeted, waving a little. “Is my car in the way?”

“No, no!” he rushed out, stepping forward with his hands up, obviously worried he’d caused offense. “We just don’t get many visitors, no one told me you were comin’ -”

“It was a little last minute,” you interrupted gently, trying to convey that you weren’t upset by his comment - your old battered car was pretty crappy. “I got here really early.”

Ellen got up, preparing another cup of coffee before handing it to Bobby, who took it gratefully. “Y/N is going to be staying for a few days at least. Maybe you could give her a tour of the grounds later on.”

You smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” she grinned, “now eat up before it gets cold.”

By the time you were done eating, there were seven missed calls on your phone and twice as many texts, all from Brett. He had left a voicemail, asking you to call him back because he was worried, so you sent him a text to say you were fine and that you would call when you were ready. He didn’t wait, calling as soon as he received the text, and you sighed in disgust, tossing your phone onto the couch to let it ring.

Bobby had told you to meet him outside the garage after lunch, so you spent the morning exploring the old house. It was bigger than you imagined, with more bedrooms than you could ever need, definitely more bathrooms, and your grandfather’s love of gadgets became obvious when you discovered a home cinema in the basement, along with a large assortment of trains. “Grandpa was a train nerd,” you mused as you inspected the huge model dominating the second of the downstairs rooms.

On the third floor, smaller than the others, there was a study and a drawing room, with windows that provided sweeping views of the woodland surrounding the house. It was certainly an isolated home - the nearest town was a half hour drive at least, and you had no idea if anything delivered out this far, making a mental note to check out your options later. Ellen had already given you the wifi code, though you had yet to test it. You clearly had a good signal if Brett’s calls were coming through.

You picked the smallest bedroom, even if it could hardly be called small. It had an ensuite like most of the bedrooms, and a quick glance confirmed a spa-like bathtub with a futuristic looking shower. Everything about the house was fancy, making you feel more and more like an imposter as you kept exploring.

Downstairs, aside from the kitchen and the living room you’d slept in, there was another study, leading to a library. It was huge, like most of the other rooms, with shelves of books so high that there was an actual sliding ladder. You gasped as you took in the true scope of the reading material available, feeling every bit like Belle in Beauty and the Beast, sans the kidnapping and Stockholm Syndrome.

More than ever, you wished you could have met the man who apparently shared most of your interests. You had never been much like either of your parents, sometimes wondering if you were adopted, but now it made sense. A tiny part of you was angry that this connection had been kept from you, that it should have been your choice whether to have it or not, even if your father was angry with his own.

Ellen left out a delicious lunch for you, and you munched it as you scrolled through your phone, ignoring the outstanding calls and messages from Brett. He seemed to have given up for the time being, and you were grateful for the reprieve while you decided what to do about the whole situation. You weren’t sure if he would have told anyone about your unexpected change of circumstances, and you hoped he hadn’t, but just in case, you put your phone on “do not disturb” for the rest of the day.

Your tour around the grounds yielded more surprises. Bobby showed you the garage, then took you down to the unused stables that were sometimes rented out in the summer along with the three grassy fields. He showed you where the woods that occupied most of the estate began, and his little cottage tucked at the far end of the gardens.

“I’m always on hand,” he promised. “We’ve got cameras up on most of the external exits and windows, and the perimeter is quite secure. Old Charlie didn’t take the matter lightly.”

You liked Bobby. He was very stern looking, but it was obvious he cared a lot about the property, and that he’d been close with your grandfather. His tour was sprinkled with little bits of information about him, helping you to build a better idea of what he’d been like in your head, though he didn’t hold back on his opinion of your father, or the grief your grandfather had felt at being kept away from his only grandchild.

By nighttime, Ellen had gone home, and Bobby had gone off to check the fences and change the code on the gate to something you could remember easily. The house was quiet, and you took your things up to the bedroom, collecting your phone on the way. You sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at Brett’s number, wondering if you even wanted to call him.

A new voicemail notification joined the others. Frowning at it, you dial your inbox, listening to all the messages from Brett, all of them along the lines of “baby, I love you” and “please call me”, though none included an apology. The last was from a mutual friend, Emily, and there was music playing loudly in the background.

“Y/N, I don’t know what’s happened with you and Brett, but, uh, we just saw him and he said a bunch of stuff about money, that you were cheating on him, and… well, none of it sounded like you, so could you just lemme know you’re okay?”

Your heart felt like it was cracking in two as you listened. Cheating? You would never cheat.

Calling her back made you feel too anxious, so you texted her a quick “I’m fine, we had a fight, I didn’t cheat” and waited, watching the three dots blink as she typed a message in return.

I think you should call him

You moved your fingers, ready to type, then a photo came through, loading in a split second. It was Brett, on a couch in a club you vaguely recognized, with a slim blonde in his lap. His tongue was clearly in her mouth, and his hand was underneath her short skirt, and you sobbed, covering your mouth with your hand as you fought the urge to throw up. You didn’t reply to Emily, tossing your phone as you let the tears fall, ignoring her next message.

A chill ran through you, and you fell to the side, curling into the cushions as you continued to cry. Eventually, the tears dried up, and you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

The next morning, it took a few seconds to clear the fog and remember where you were. You’d moved at some point during the night, somehow getting yourself underneath the covers properly, cushioning your head against the pillows. Slowly, you sat up, feeling a little drained and zombie-ish as you stared at your phone on the nightstand, remembering the photo Emily had sent you. The nausea returned, and you pushed it down, picking up your phone as you headed downstairs. Ellen was already cleaning, and she had breakfast ready for you again, toast this time, with dipping eggs. You tried to keep a happy face on, even if you couldn’t stop seeing Brett’s hands on that woman, staying largely silent as you ate.

The phone started to ring just as you finished your coffee. Picking it up, you saw Brett’s name and sighed, knowing you had to confront him, to end it now instead of trying to pretend nothing had happened. Ellen gave you a reassuring touch on the shoulder, then made herself scarce without needing to be asked.

“Hello?”

“Finally, she answers,” he growled in response, and anger bristled along your spine. “You got any idea how worried I’ve been?”

You couldn’t help your words, allowing spite to rule them. “So worried you put your tongue down someone’s throat last night?” He stuttered, and the anger in your chest became a rage. “Emily said she bumped into you. The way she tells it, you’re not only telling everyone my private information that I didn’t want out there, but you’re lying as well, because I sure as hell didn’t cheat on you, Brett!”

More stuttering followed. “Baby!” he yelled. “Just let me explain -”

“No,” you replied firmly, sitting straighter. “I thought I knew who you were but you’re just another douche bag. It took you all of a day to cheat. That says way more than you ever need to.”

“Oh come on, it was a kiss!” he cried. “She meant nothing, you and me, we got a good thing. I don’t care about the money!”

“I never said anything about the money,” you said coolly. “But I guess that’s the only reason you’re calling huh? You don’t wanna let the golden goose get away.”

You could almost feel his anger through the phone, so you weren’t surprised when he spoke again. “You’re a selfish, stuck-up bitch, you know that?” he snarled. “I stuck with you the whole, even when you were so miserable it made me wanna kill myself. Everyone said you weren’t worth it, but I stayed.” He laughed bitterly. “Even the sex wasn’t that good. You really think anyone’s gonna touch you even if you’re worth a couple mil?”

His words hurt and fresh tears filled your eyes. The urge to fight back was there, but that meant letting him know you were getting to him. Instead, you kept your tone steady and even as you replied; “Maybe I’ll be alone, but I’ll be alone sipping mojitos on a beach in Hawaii while you’re downing beers at Kenny’s. You can toss all my shit by the way, it’s all replaceable.” You paused, deciding to be petty after all. “Just like you.”

You hung up, exhaling hard as the strength left you, blocking his number instantly before going through all your social media, deleting all of it. There wasn’t a wealth of people you really talked to anymore, all of your friends were the same as his friends, making you wonder why they’d never warned you about the real Brett. Your only living relative was on your mother’s side, an aunt in Florida who you hadn’t seen in ten years, more of a Christmas card relative than anything else.

Wiping your face, you turned your phone off. At some point, you’d have to make contact with work and tell them you didn’t plan on returning. If this inheritance had given you anything, it was the freedom to start fresh, and you didn’t intend on wasting any more time on your former life.

“Everything okay?” Ellen asked, stepping back into the room.

You sniffed and nodded at her. “It will be,” you replied with a weak smile. “I think I’m gonna be staying here longer than a few days.”

She beamed, clasping her hands together. “Wonderful! Are you having your belongings sent?”

“No,” you mused, smiling a little wider. “I’m gonna have to go shopping.”

Within a week, you were already feeling like Hawstead Manor was home. A few days after your decision to stay, there was a delivery from Brett, boxes of your burned and destroyed belongings. You trashed all of it, ignoring the pain of his betrayal, focusing on the good instead. With the help of Mr. Branning, your grandfather’s lawyer, you sorted through the assets, trusting in your grandfather’s extensive directive on what to do. He hadn’t missed a thing, and you were grateful for the help of Mr. Branning’s office, along with Ellen’s.

You knew you didn’t want to sell the house, or any of the land. It seemed important to keep things as they were, so save for your own room, you didn’t change a thing inside; you liked the spirit of the house, finding it comforting, welcoming, even at night when it was empty except for you.

The stranger things didn’t go unnoticed. Frequently when you fell asleep in the library, you’d woken with a blanket draped over you that you hadn’t put there yourself. Sometimes things were put away when you’d left them out, and during the day, you could believe that it was Ellen, but it happened often when she wasn’t there. Lights flickered for no reason, and curtains moved when there was no breeze, always just enough to catch your eye but never happening when you looked for it.

Still, you kept exploring the house, amazed at the many curiosities contained within it. When you found your grandfather’s journal, and the many letters he’d written to you and your father, the mystery of why they didn’t speak became a little clearer.

Your grandfather believed in ghosts. He’d spent a lot of time and money researching them after your grandmother died, convinced he could contact her. When he became a little too obsessed, your dad had decided he was insane, and refused to speak with him until he gave up on his attempts to reach the beyond. In letters, written after you were born, he apologized, begging for forgiveness, but refused to give up on his belief.

The letters to you were all wondering what kind of child you were growing into, his hopes for your future, regrets that he was not a part of your life. There were only a few, usually dated around your birthday, accompanied by numerous cards of varying ages, all the way up until your most recent one only a month ago, the envelope emblazoned with only your name. Inside, he spoke of trying to find you before he died, of secrets he wanted to share. The handwriting was messier than the others, and the message was shorter, ending with “please take care of Sam, he gets lonely”.

You had no idea what it meant.

Putting the letters away to read again later, you turned away from the desk, yelping when you saw a man standing a few feet away. He stared at you, wide-eyed, then darted soundlessly out of the door. You followed him, but as you reached the hallway, he was gone. Searching the rooms yielded only Ellen vacuuming, and she stopped when you walked in. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“I thought - there was a guy -” You couldn’t describe it without sounding insane, at least to your own ears. “Maybe I imagined it. I was in the study, I found these letters, and then he was standing there -”

“Oh,” Ellen breathed. “You met Sam.”

You froze. “Huh?”

She smiled. “I’m surprised it took him so long to show himself, to be honest.”

“He’s real?” you asked, remembering the last words of your grandfather’s letter. Ellen nodded, putting the kettle on to make tea. “So ghosts are real.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “one ghost is real. And I’ve only seen him once, right after Charles passed. He talked about him a lot.”

“And it’s definitely not some inherited mental illness I should be concerned about?” you laughed nervously.

“No,” Ellen chuckled. “He’s definitely real. Bobby’s seen him a few times, always from a distance, mind. Sam only ever materialized around Charles, which makes sense since they were friends when they were alive, or so he would tell it.”

The information was bewildering, and made you more curious about the specter. “Did he die here?”

“Mmhmm, it was a long time ago. He was only in his thirties. His brother lived near here for a long time, but I think he passed on about ten years ago. Sam was Charles’ childhood friend.”

“How did he die?”

Ellen smiled gently, pulling two cups from the cupboard. “I have no idea,” she continued. “Charles was always light on the details. Said it wasn’t his story to tell. But it was sudden, from what I gathered.” She paused as she placed the cups on the countertop. “He’s not violent,” she added. “Sam, I mean. He’s quite friendly actually. I’ve never felt afraid here a moment in my life.”

You hadn’t gotten any kind of scary vibe off of the man you’d seen, and now you knew he was real, you were wondering how to get him to talk to you. If he was so close with your grandfather, he might be able to tell you more about him, to enable you to feel a little bit closer to the lost part of your family. As you mulled over your thoughts, Ellen made tea for the both of you, chatting over a few cookies before she attended to the rest of her day’s chores.

Not wanting to get in her way, you head for the library again, intent on losing yourself in a book or two. Every creak had you looking up, searching for the elusive Sam, though part of you still wondered if you weren’t just mad. Eventually, you dozed off, and when you woke, another blanket was covering you, and the fireplace was lit, filling the room with warmth.

The turn of a page made you look over to the opposing armchair. A man was sitting there, appearing as real as any person she’d ever seen, quietly reading a book - it was the same man you had only caught a glimpse of earlier.

You sat up. He noticed, lifting his gaze to you with a tiny smile. “Hello,” he greeted softly.

“Hi,” you squeaked back. “You’re… Sam.”

His smile grew. “And you’re Charles’ granddaughter,” he replied, finishing with your name. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Shifting the chair, you regarded him for a second, analyzing every detail. He was obviously tall from the way his knees jutted up when seated, and he was dressed casually in jeans and a flannel shirt. His hair was shaggy, long enough that it framed his handsome face perfectly. “You could have met me earlier,” you reminded him with a smile. “But you disappeared.”

“I was nervous,” he explained, closing his book. “Sometimes, people get frightened. I’m very careful who I show myself to but… I heard Ellen explaining. And you… you seem kind.”

“Ellen said you only showed yourself to my grandfather,” you said cautiously. “She said you were friends when you were, uh, alive. And after, I guess.”

He nodded, placing the book on the table between the two armchairs. “I hope you don’t mind that I put the fireplace on. There was a draft and you looked cold.” Getting up, he moved to a wicker basket containing a small stack of logs. “Bobby always keeps this topped up, so don’t worry about using too much.”

“Has it been you with the blankets?” you asked.

“Guilty,” he mumbled, selecting a log to toss into the flames. You watched as he picked it up, fascinated by his ability to move objects, to appear so… solid. As he returned to his seat, he smiled at you. “I bet you have a ton of questions.”

You ducked your head, feeling heat in your face that didn’t come from the fire. “Just a few,” you admitted, and he chuckled lightly. “I guess you’re used to it.”

“Actually,” he sighed, tilting his head lightly, “Charlie was the only one I ever really spoke to. I’m not even sure I have all the answers. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why there aren’t others.” A smile tugged at his lips. “I spent a few days wondering if your grandfather would show up but… I guess not.”

“Ellen said you died here.”

With a low laugh, he shook his head. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid,” he warned lightheartedly. You didn’t say anything, and his laugh became a smile. “I think your dad must have been two, maybe three? His mom was alive, and there was this big fourth of July party, Charlie must have invited the whole town.” He met your gaze, still grinning. “A firework exploded in the wrong direction. Hit one of the stone gargoyles on the roof, it dropped, and I just about remember it landing on my head.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “That’s… one way to die, I guess?”

He shrugged. “I can’t change it, and I’ve had fifty years to think about it, it doesn’t really bother me anymore.” For a few seconds, he was silent, watching you, and you felt a shiver go down your spine. “It’s nice to talk to someone new.”

“You never wanted to talk to Ellen or Bobby?” you asked curiously.

“I’m a little selective on who I appear to,” he replied. “I know they know but Bobby is superstitious and prefers to ignore that I exist. Saw him salting the doors of his cottage once, so I kept my distance. And Ellen… Ellen reminds me too much of my mom. She talks to me sometimes, I just… I don’t talk back.” He looked down at his hands, smiling fondly. “It took a long time for me to realize what had happened. I was appearing randomly in rooms for nearly ten years before I could control it.”

“You seem kinda solid now,” you pointed out.

His smile was almost addicting. Whenever his lips curled up, dimples appeared in his cheeks, and you wistfully imagined you could spend all day looking at his smile. As he spoke, telling you about his first appearance in front of your grandfather, you realized you could probably listen to him talk all day too, but as the night wore on, your tiredness did not hide itself.

“You look exhausted,” Sam murmured, glancing up at the clock.

“It’s not even nine,” you yawned, stretching in the chair. “I feel like such an old lady some days.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckled, “kinda can’t, for one. I can’t tell you my whole life story in one night, or we won’t have anything to talk about tomorrow.”

You smiled at him, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “Tomorrow?”

The tone of his voice changed with his nerves. “If you want to.”

Getting to your feet, you folded the blanket and placed it on the chair. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

The weather took a turn over the next few days with a constant rain that kept you indoors, not that you needed an excuse to stay inside. You only left when you had to, usually for groceries, but aside from that, you spent nearly every waking moment in Sam’s company, whether it was in the library, the study, or occasionally the media room in the basement. The more you got to know him, the more you liked him, even if it felt a little ridiculous to be developing feelings for a dead man, especially so soon after the end of what you had thought was a long term relationship.

Sam flirted, of course, but he always toed the line, never getting too close, hesitant to touch you at the start. You had eventually asked if he could touch anyone, and he had responded by pressing his cool palm to the curve of your jaw; you kept thinking about that moment over and over.

Autumn took hold. The trees surrounding the manor turned from greens to reds and oranges, and you frequently found yourself watching the leaves fall from the windows. You had found a peace in that place that you’d never known anywhere else, so leaving your old life behind was easier than you thought it would be. Occasionally, you would reply to texts from your friends, and as time went on, you realized Brett had kept his mouth shut on the subject of your inheritance, a surprising but welcome reaction.

You didn’t hide anything about your former relationship from Sam. You didn’t feel the need to hide anything from him, wanted him to know you as well as you were getting to know him. When the tears came, he comforted you, and somehow managed to make you forget about the pain of your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal, some days simply by being there. There had never been a soul in your life you were as comfortable with as your ghostly housemate.

The nights grew darker more quickly than you expected, maybe because the estate was so isolated. You learned how to work the fireplace, preferring that to the central heating, and began spending longer evenings in the library steadily working your way through the vast collection of books. One night, Sam appeared after being absent all day, and you smiled up at him as he hovered by the fireplace, slowly solidifying.

“Hey,” you greeted, sitting up straight. You slid a bookmark into your book, and placed it on the table, tilting your head curiously when he didn’t say a word. “Are you okay?”

He smiled, but there was a bitter edge to it. Confusion forced you to your feet, and you let the blanket over your lap fall to the floor as you approached him. He didn’t move, leaning into your hand when you touched his face, still surprised by his cooler skin.

“Sam? Talk to me,” you pleaded.

Taking hold of your hand, he led you back to your chair, guiding you to sit down before dropping to his knees in front of you. “I had to think,” he started softly, cupping your hands in his own, resting against your knees. “These last few weeks… I’ve…” He scoffed lightly, trailing off.

“It’s okay,” you encouraged, curling your fingers into his. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

His eyes locked on yours with a new spark in them you hadn’t seen before. “I remember my life. I remember never finding anyone that I connected with, at least, not romantically. Then I was dead, and that hope was gone, especially since I’m apparently the only soul unlucky enough to get trapped.” He smiled, rubbing his thumbs across your knuckles. “When you arrived here -”

The doorbell echoed through the house, cutting him off. With a frown, you tugged your hands from his grasp and got to your feet, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I should -”

“Of course,” he nodded, and you darted off, unsure who would be calling at such a late hour, but unable to ignore that it might be an emergency. As you reached the door and opened it, you were in no way prepared for who was standing on the other side.

“Brett!” you exclaimed in surprise at your sheepish looking ex-boyfriend, who instantly thrust some flowers towards you. When you stepped back, bewildered at the sudden invasion of your private space, he took it as permission to enter, forcing you back further. “W-what are you doing here?”

He was looking around already, nosing at the house. “Well, you know, I thought it’s been a few weeks, that maybe we could talk.”

You narrowed your eyes, keeping the door open. “About what?”

“Us,” he replied hopefully, coming closer to you, reaching for your hand. “I miss you.”

Before he could touch you, you snatched your hand away, scowling at him. “That’s unfortunate,” you muttered, “but you can’t just show up in the middle of the night -” Something tickled at your nose and you realized it was the scent of booze, specifically beer. “Oh my god, are you drunk?” Your eyes widened. “Did you drive here drunk?”

“No,” he scoffed. “I drove to the motel in town, and I got nervous, so I had a few beers and then I got a cab… speaking of which, do you have a couple dollars so I can pay the guy?”

His audacity was unreal. Your mouth opened and closed in shock; you were too stunned by his brazenness to think straight. He took it as a positive, smiling brightly at you.

“I knew you missed me,” he grinned, moving in closer, crowding you, and you snapped out of it just in time to push him back, crushing the bouquet of flowers against his chest. “Baby, come on -”

“We’re done, Brett!” you shrieked. “You need to leave.”

His expression turned thunderous. He opened his mouth to speak, and then someone else appeared around the corner. Sam stepped into view, solid and decidedly not ghostly, and for a second, you hoped a witness might scare Brett off. “Is there a problem, Y/N?” Sam asked carefully, keeping his attention on Brett.

“Who the fuck are you?” your ex screeched at him before turning on you. “So you were cheating? Shacking up with this rich boy, huh? Guess you were a little slut all along.” He sneered unpleasantly as you cowered, ashamed at the way he frightened you.

“I would suggest shutting your mouth,” Sam replied coolly, stepping closer. Even if he wasn’t dead and more than capable of killing the man, he had a few inches on him, and he was clearly unhappy with the nastiness Brett was spewing.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Sam glanced at you. “You wanna step out?” he asked.

“Nah, she stays right there,” Brett objected, throwing an arm between you and Sam. “I want her to see me beat your ass into the fucking ground.”

The lights flickered. You clutched at the door, pressing yourself into the wall as everything grew darker, and Brett swung for Sam, connecting with nothing. Sam disappeared, then reappeared, mostly transparent. The paintings on the walls began to rattle, and horrific screeches came from all directions, accompanied by a chilly wind that made ornaments topple and the chandeliers swing. Reaching out, Sam caught Brett by the throat, hoisting him off of the ground until he was dangling, clutching at the ghost's arm hopelessly.

A patch of dark started to spread out from Brett’s crotch, and a second later, you heard the dripping onto the floorboards. Sam looked down at the same mess, then smirked up at his victim, promptly sending him flying across the hall and out the door. Brett tumbled down the steps with a flow of grunts, landing with a thud at the bottom before scrambling to his feet, looking up at you with wide frightened eyes as you watched him from the doorway.

Without another word, he ran, bolting out of sight down the driveway, and hopefully out of your life. Behind you, Sam was solid again, and his little show was over; he slipped his hand into yours, and tugged you in from the cold.

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” he said softly, waiting for you to close the door. “I thought he deserved a taste of his own medicine.”

You smiled up at him. “What if he tells someone?”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” he murmured, touching your cheek. There was hesitation in his touch, and for a moment, you thought he might finish the conversation that had been so rudely interrupted. Then he sighed, pulling his hand away. “It’s late. You should ask Bobby to do a check and make sure he’s gone.”

Disappointment rang hollow in your chest. “Right,” you mumbled, nodding lightly as he stepped back. “What - what about you?”

He smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

You were alone in the next second, but you knew he wouldn’t go far. After checking in with Bobby, who immediately decided that a shotgun would be great for further deterrent, you checked every door and window in the house and set the security system. When it was done, you lingered downstairs, wondering if you should call out to Sam, find out what he had been trying to say, even though you had an inkling of what it was.

He had feelings for you. Just like you had feelings for him. Both of you felt the connection there, ridiculous as it might have been for a dead person and a living person to even attempt -

Your thoughts stopped in their tracks.

Why couldn’t you be together? You had lived through a worldwide pandemic and enjoyed the excuse to stay inside your cozy four walls, away from the chaos and unpredictability of the world at large. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t leave yourself, and it didn’t appear you’d ever have to work another day in your life. Sam was trapped either way, bound to this house, and surely the company would only improve his metaphorical living status.

You had spent weeks enjoying his companionship already. You didn’t shy away from the possibility that you were already in love with him.

He didn’t show himself before you went to bed, and you were tired enough after Brett’s brief yet stressful visit that you dozed off quickly, wrapped in your blankets. But peaceful rest wasn’t waiting for you, only nightmare exaggerations of Brett’s return, and when you woke after only a short time, Sam was there.

Immediately, you burst into tears. He moved closer, but you curled into a tighter ball, sobbing as the grief overwhelmed you. Without waiting, he slid underneath the covers, making himself solid as he gathered you into his arms. It took a long time for you to calm down, but his comfort helped, and when you finally felt a little more coherent, you turned to face him, looking up at him.

“Nightmare?” he asked with concern in his voice.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, curling your fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “Sam -” He hummed when you paused, encouraging you to continue. “What were you going to say… before Brett showed up?” His eyes widened slightly. “You know, you were saying you never met anyone when you were alive, and then you said -”

“Right,” he chuckled nervously, “yeah, I know, I -” He stopped, searching your gaze. “When you arrived here,” he started slowly, “I thought that maybe I would have a companion again, a friend, only… the more I’m around you, the more I realize I’ve fallen in love with you.” Your heart began to pound but you could see he wasn’t done. “But I’m dead. And you’re alive. There are certain things I could… I could never give you. I can never leave the grounds of this house.”

He softened a little, sighing as he looked down, and you watched him for a second or two, wondering how to tell him that the things he could never give you weren’t things you wanted anyway. You thought he would have understood that already, with the many conversations you’d had that skirted the subject, but you couldn’t blame him for thinking you’d reject him because he was dead.

“Sam?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. His eyes lifted to meet yours and you smiled gently, leaning in to kiss him. He froze at first, then relaxed into it, returning your affection with fervor. “I don’t want to go anywhere,” you said as you broke away, framing his face with your hands. “I want to stay here with you.”

“You really don’t care about… you know, the things that women usually care about?” he asked hesitantly.

You laughed, leaning into him. “While other little girls dreamed of weddings, I dreamed of libraries. When my friends were all partying, I sought solitude.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I - I know we can’t grow old together. But we can figure out the big stuff as it comes, right?”

“What if I can’t -” He chewed his lip. “I’ve never - not like this -”

The mood changed. You hummed, squirming as close to him as possible. “All your senses work, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So how do you feel being this close to me?” you asked huskily. “Because you feel pretty solid right now.” Boldly, you slid a hand down, finding the front of his jeans and the bulge contained within. “You feel that?”

His response this time was strained. “Uh-huh.”

Pulling away, you dragged your vest over your head, but the moment you were bare, your nerves kicked in. You tugged the sheet up only for Sam to stop you, mouth a little open as he stared at your bare breasts. “What?” you asked shyly, a sharp contrast to how you’d felt seconds before.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. You squeaked in surprise, pressing your hands against his suddenly bare chest. The plaid shirt and t-shirt were gone, and you were certain if you lifted the covers, all his clothing down there would be gone too. “Too fast?”

You took a breath then shook your head. “No,” you replied, and crushed your lips to his again. He felt so solid against you, even if his skin felt so much cooler than yours, it only added to the heat building in your core. 

“Can I touch you?” he asked breathlessly, fingertips dancing over your bare hip. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth and you nodded, parting your thighs as his hand slipped between them, making you gasp when he rubbed you through your panties.

“Lemme take these off,” you rushed out, clumsily pushing the fabric down your thighs until you could kick them off, and Sam’s hand was instantly back between your thighs again, this time rubbing his fingers right against your bare cunt. Your head fell back, and he mouthed at your throat, slowly working one cool digit inside you as your breathing began to pick up speed. “Sam -”

He groaned before swooping in to kiss you again, quieting your whimpers while he worked you open, progressing to two fingers within seconds. You shifted onto your back when it became too much effort to hold your leg up, and he went with you, managing to not break rhythm as he kept you on edge. With a shuddering cry, you broke the kiss, sliding your fingers through his hair as he made you ride out your climax on his hand.

“Huh,” he chuckled, withdrawing as he watched you collapse, panting hard, legs quivering as you kicked the sheets off. “Guess being dead didn’t make me lose my touch.”

You giggled, rolling your head to look at him. “Do you think it works the same?” you asked, slyly snaking a hand down to where the sheet was clinging to his hip, barely hiding his modesty. He raised an eyebrow, then moaned when your fingers wrapped around him.

“Only one way to find out,” he shrugged lazily, moving to kiss you again. Forcing you to relinquish your hold, you gasped as he kneed his way between your legs, peppering kisses over your abdomen, up over your breasts until he could seize your lips, groaning into your mouth. “You gonna let me in?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could manage, all the words you were willing to spare as he kissed you breathless, distracting you from his movement between your thighs. His cock pressed into you, and when he finally started to sink inside, the difference in body temperature became more obvious. You clutched at his shoulders, crying out as he rocked back and forth, convincing your body to accept a little more each time.

“Fuck,” he groaned when his hips came flush with yours. “You’re so warm…”

Everything was different with him. You’d had sex, and you’d definitely fucked before; being introverted didn’t mean you weren’t enthusiastic about physical intimacy. But this was so different, tender despite the strength behind his touch, reverent despite the dirty language. It was the first time you’d ever felt like you were making love with someone. You moved together, each clinging to the other so desperately, like you’d disappear if you let go - though you supposed that could technically be true for Sam. In the moment he felt so real, so tangible, that it was hard to believe he was dead at all.

Your second orgasm snuck up on you, and you cried out against his shoulder, trembling from head to toe. He slowed, kissing you softly as you rode out the aftershocks, grinding a little deeper on each stroke. “Definitely feels the same,” he rumbled with amusement. “You feel so good.”

“You too,” you gasped back, reaching down to grab his ass. “Please -”

He growled, putting a little more force behind his thrusts. You cried out over and over as he hit his mark, and finally he stuttered, grunting against your throat as he spilled into you. It felt real enough, cool instead of warm, seeping out around him as you remained connected. His lips covered yours, kissing you slowly this time, dragging out the last moments before he had to move.

Your earlier exhaustion returned. Sam pulled the sheets up over you, pulling you close as you yawned. Forcing your eyes to stay open a few seconds longer, you smiled at him dozily, reaching up to touch his face. “Are you gonna stay with me?” you asked sleepily.

He smiled, catching your hand to kiss your palm. “As long as you want me.”

The sun rose, filling the room with natural light that stirred you from your restful slumber. You opened your eyes to meet Sam’s almost instantly, and he smiled as you stretched under the sheets. “Good morning,” you whispered, seeking out his hand underneath the cotton. “Did you watch me all night?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, leaning in to kiss you, closing the distance between you again. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.” His nose bumped against yours, and you sighed happily. “Did you sleep well?”

You smiled, nestling into him. “Better than I think I ever slept before.”

“Well, in that case,” he chuckled, “I’ll have to make sure I’m here every night.”

Pulling back, you looked up at him. “Is that a promise?”

He laughed again. “Definitely.”

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING SO OTHERS CAN ENJOY IT ��

[catwithyellowwings]

Brett Talbot x fem!Reader (Y/N Martin/Lydia's little sister)

Please be gentle. English is not my native language. I'm still learning it, so there's probably a bunch of mistakes 🙈

"You'll see, our team will kick your ass," Y/N said confidently, lifting her chin and pushing back her red braid. At the moment, she was so annoyed by the self-confidence of one of the Devenford players that she could barely restrain herself from making more harsh statements. She had a negative attitude towards the captain of today's rivals instantly when she saw how he publicly mocked Liam in front of the whole school. Dunbar is only new to their company, but Y/N already considered him, if not a friend, then a member of Scott's pack. So Liam is part of their strange and diverse family, and the girl was not going to give offense to her loved ones.

"Well, we'll see about that", Brett smirked at her, accepting the challenge thrown by a stranger. Now he had two incentives to win today: to take revenge on Dunbar for what he did to his former coach's car, and to win a bet from a beautiful girl who was so ready to defend the honor of her school. "So what happens if you lose?"

"We won't lose, I'm confident in our guys", looking clearly into the boy's eyes, Y/N said decisively. Then she turned her gaze to the warming–up players of the Beacon Hills school, among whom were her friends - Scott, Stiles and Liam. Dunbar, as if sensing that they were being watched, turned around, meeting the eyes of the younger Martin for a couple of seconds. He was quite confused that she was talking to his main enemy of the last few months, but he did not comment on this in any way.

"So maybe we can make a bet about something substantial? " Talbot never let up, assessing the girl from head to toe. Her cropped top with a leather jacket and tight jeans with a high waist perfectly emphasized the naturally slender figure of the younger Martin, so the guy's interested look flattered her. Mentally, Brett was already anticipating his victory.

"About what, for example?" Y/N asked, folding her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow slightly. She was also confident of her victory, especially realizing that there were now two werewolves in their team, so ordinary people simply had no chance against them. Unless, of course, Scott decides not to use his superpowers on the field again for the sake of fair play.

"Well, I don't know," the guy chuckled, thinking for a while. "Let's go on a date? If we win, and we'll win, you're going on a date with me".

"Then if you lose, and you'll lose", Martin deliberately mimicked him with a short grin, "you… apologize to Liam in front of the whole school, just as you mocked him today as soon as you arrived here."

"To Dunbar? Nah," Brett just laughed at this formulation, glancing over his shoulder at the former co-commander, who was now talking to one of the Beacon Hills players.

"What? Are you scared? Oh, what a pity," Y/N smiled, slightly pouting, already feeling her superiority. "Then there will be no deal".

"I didn't get scared," Talbot said, squaring his shoulders and grunting with displeasure. "Okay, you got it. If your team beats us today, I'll apologize to Dunbar, so be it. But don't think that our enmity with him will be over".

"The game will show which one of you is better," now it's time for her smug grin. With her hands on her hips, Martin involuntarily looked around at the guy. The green-and-white sports uniform with the number 28 on the chest and back, although partially hiding the guy's body, but it was obvious that he was very well-built. Tall, half a foot taller than Y/N herself, sly light green eyes, slightly curly brown hair and natural charisma only added to Brett's attractiveness. Ah, if it wasn't for his bullying of Liam, then Y/N as a whole wouldn't mind flirting a little with this handsome guy, but she had to keep her face. You can't show your weaknesses to the enemy, so putting on her self-confident mask, Martin turned on her heels and headed for the stands. Her sister Lydia, the sheriff, and Dunbar's best friend Mason were already there.

"Hey", suddenly she was stopped by a light unobtrusive touch on the elbow, forcing her to turn her head, "at least tell me your name, beautiful stranger. I'm Brett, by the way".

"Y/N," she admitted, pleased with the effect. "My name is Y/N".

[idontplaytrack]

Capri x reader

Reader is the “water boy”/manager of the football team, Capri does cheer

It’s senior year, Capri and reader have been dating in secret…what happens when a football boy tries to make a move on Capri?

Don’t talk to me

Capri Donahue x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, mentions of periods, a bit of quarrelling

“Why are you even talking to me? Didn’t you see me with her?”

Capri Donahue, Frederick Douglass High’s lovely, lovely queen bee. She’d be the death of you, in good ways and bad. Beneath that bubbly and sometimes snarky, facade, Capri was a big ‘ol softie. The sweetest partner one could ask for. Anyone would be lucky to call Capri theirs. Well, you would. You were the lucky one to be dating the Capricorn Donahue.

“Hey, baby.” Capri says, “Where the heck are you? I’ve been waiting here for like, five minutes. You’re usually waiting right outside for me to pick you up. Are you alright?”

“I’m coming down the stairs now, sorry.”

You hung up, quickly made your way downstairs and out the front door. You sat in the front with Capri, like always. “Is everything okay?” Capri asked cautiously, you seemed a little tense.

“Everything is perfect.” You replied, each word laced with sarcasm.

“Babe.” She sighs, starting to drive away.

“It’s stupid.” You revealed to her, “I got my period.”

“Oh.” Capri says, relieved. “Then are you sure you wanna go—”

“The school will call my mom if I just don’t show up, Capri. It’s fine, it sucks— but I’ll be fine.”

“Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, “Already took a painkiller. That should hold me over till school’s done. Thanks, though.”

She keeps her hand on your thigh for the whole drive, as she always does. You especially appreciated this little gesture today. It comforted you. Capri stops the car right near the school, knowing that you’d get off here and walk the short distance to school on your own, rather than together with her. You appreciated your anonymity and would rather have it for as long as you could, Capri didn’t mind that and just went along with what you wanted immediately.

You two were in homeroom then trig class together, after that she went off to home ec while you were in social studies. Anyway, you tended to see her a few times throughout the day in classes. But that depended on schedule so some days, you saw her more often, other days…not so much.

Today was one of those days where you ran into her more often. Not because of classes but because at lunch, while the cheer squad was practicing, the football team was also practicing in the field right near them. You walked onto the field with the team, settling down on the bleacher. The team gathered in front of you, awaiting your instructions.

“Okay, guys— since coach will only be here in the afternoon, y’all are stuck with me.” You started, “Line up. Start with: Calf stretch, walking lunges, side steps. Stay hydrated! Let’s go, let’s go!” There was some chatter, but the team got right to it. You didn’t care if they chatted while doing warmups or not. At least they were still doing what you said. You watched them in the meantime, making sure they weren’t completely goofing off or if someone were to get injured. Your eyes wandered a little bit, landing on the cheer squad. Capri spots you, her face lit up just a tad, a small smile on it. You smiled back, quickly resuming your task on hand.

Lunch was forty minutes, and when the sports teams had games or tournaments coming up, they’d spend about twenty minutes of their break practicing. Everything was going well until right at the end, the team lost focus because a guy told two of his buddies to check out that cheerleader’. You bit back a scoff, it was typical of them sometimes to ogle at the cheerleaders. You couldn’t care less. Because you’d tried telling them to stop, but they never listen.

“Dude! You should totally ask her out, Brett!”

“Totally, you’re a football player, Capri’s a cheerleader. You guys would be perfect together.”

Wait— Capri? Your Capri? Your eyes darted to Capri’s direction and saw the trio of boys jogging up to her. Capri didn’t seem to really react. You blew your whistle, screaming, “Brett, Marcus, Ray! Five minutes to go— what the hell?!”

“Yo, chill out, y/n. We were just gonna be gone for a minute.” Brett laughs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

You rolled your eyes at them, glancing at Capri again. She didn’t even pay any attention to you, already tumbling across the grass. You sigh, plopping back down on the bleacher, recounting the number of water bottles in the crates.

For the rest of the day, the image of Capri being hit on by Brett and buds kept running through your head. It annoyed you to no end, more so right now as you were on your period. Capri knew you saw her, she didn’t even acknowledge you in the slightest. Heck, she didn’t even acknowledge that that’d happened. You didn’t even get a text from her to assure you that it didn’t mean anything to her. Not that you didn’t trust her, you did. Your mind was just racing right now and you hated it.

Staring at the whiteboard in your American History class, you started seeing double. Then, your hearing gets muffled and the volume amplifies. You hear laughter, snickering…you clasped your hands together, fingers intertwined as you pulled at them irritatedly. When your breathing got heavy and laboured, that’s when you couldn’t take it anymore and bolted out of the classroom and to the bathroom. A hand was on your wrist as you pulled it away with your movement of standing up from your desk— Capri’s.

————

You stayed in a stall until you calmed down, well, you stayed in there until you heard footsteps outside the stall.

“y/n?”

“Uh— Darby…?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She says back, “Are you…alright?”

“I guess?” You sniffed, standing up and unlocking the stall door.

“Are you sure? Do you need anything?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I uh— my mind just drifted and I started thinking about just…everything and got really not good. But thanks for checking on me.”

She walked back to class with you, without saying another word, but you could feel her gaze on you constantly. She was worried, and so was Capri. You could feel her staring too, but you didn’t want to look at her.

When school was over, you didn’t have a ride home and walking home would take you truthfully an hour. So, you had no choice but to go with Capri. You waited near her car since her last class for that day wasn’t with you. Once she got in, you quickly did so as well and she started to drive in silence.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“We both know something happened.”

“So then why do you have to ask?” You snarled, looking out the window while your head leaned against it.

“Fine, don’t talk to me then. Just keep everything to yourself.”

Shit, that hurt. The cramps, and what she had just said to you. You didn’t mean to snap at her, you were just feeling irritated by the cramps that were returning now that the pain meds have been wearing off, and whatever happened at lunch.

You notice her driving right by your house, but you couldn’t be bothered. When her car stops in the familiar garage, you got out right when she did. “I don’t know what you want from me.” You grumbled, side stepping her to enter the house via the garage door.

Capri takes in a deep breath, chewing on her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing. Or screaming. Or both. You ran up to her room, and she catches up so quickly. “What’s with this whole thing going on right now, y/n?” She asks after closing the door behind herself.

Your eyes flicked up to meet hers. Her tone was harsh but her gaze was soft. “What’d I do? Did something happen in the classes I’m not in?”

You wanted to tell her, you wanted to so badly. But instead, what happened first was you bursting into tears. With the pain and the hormones in a rage, you couldn’t control your emotions too well. “Shit.” Capri mutters, sitting down beside you. You fell against her, head on her chest as she held it. And you, close. “It’s okay.” She hushed, “You can tell me anything, baby.”

“I saw you— at the lunch practice. Brett asked you out and you didn’t even react. You acted like it was the most normal thing, not even acknowledging that I was there. I definitely overreacted because I was the one who asked you if we could not go public—”

“y/n, I didn’t react so he couldn’t react. He wouldn’t have anything else to say to me. I didn’t look at you, because if I did, that would be giving them hints to who I was seeing. And that I was seeing someone. Which isn’t something you wanted. But maybe now you do.”

You sigh shakily, “I’m sorry, I’m just in a terrible mood and I can’t control it.” You cried quietly, “And it hurts— so I just blew up. I’m sorry, I should’ve just talked to you when I got to instead of keeping things to myself. You’re right.”

“No, I also shouldn’t have been so snarky. You didn’t need that, any of that tone. It was wrong of me, I need to remember that I’m talking to my girl and some musty ass boy that only wants to see me naked.”

“I’m sorry— I—”

“y/n, please. Stop that, I get it.” She presses a kiss to your head, “Don’t keep saying sorry. You don’t need to apologise over and over again. I hear you, it’s okay. We’re good.”

“I love you.” You told her, eyes meeting hers once again.

“I love you too, baby.” She says, stroking your hair, “Your painkiller must’ve wore off. I’ll go get you another. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, she carefully manoeuvres herself to get out from behind you and then off the bed.

She comes back a minute or so later with the pill and a glass, well a mug— your favourite mug, of water. You took it without hesitation and set the mug down on her nightstand. Curling up comfortably under her covers. She was still standing, and watching you. “Want me to cuddle with you?” She asks cheekily. You nod, face pressed against the pillow, “Yes please.”

“Could you make me pasta for dinner?” You asked meekly as her arms wrapped around you.

“Mhm.” She agrees in a heartbeat, “Of course.”

“Yay.” You let a chuckle slip. She plants a kiss on your shoulder, “I know you’re sleepy so just rest for a while, alright?”

You nod, she was fully pressed up against you as you shut your eyes.

————

You’d spent the night at Capri’s, and once you two got to school, you and Capri walked into the building together— hand in hand. And you, were even wearing her clothes. Clothes that she’s worn before, and recognisably hers. Not comfy loungewear that she’d only be donning at home.

“Capri!” Brett exclaimed, happily running over. She intentionally swung your intertwined hands a little bit exaggeratedly.

“Yesterday at practice I asked if you’d like to go out with me Saturday? But you didn’t say anyth—”

“Exactly.” Capri smiled sweetly.

“Oh, who’s this?” He asks.

“Oh, her? I dunno. Who do you think she is, Brett?” Capri chuckles, fingers still linked with yours. She raises that up briefly then put it down, letting your hand go. Smoothly, she cups your cheek and gave you a kiss. Right in the middle of the hallway. “Thought I’d show you since you guys seem to be such visual learners, hm? Her telling you all to stay focused on warmups wasn’t clear enough? Want her to show you guys how to do them? Even though she’d already done that months ago?”

“I— I— uh…”

“Stop it. Don’t look at her. Look at me. I’m gonna say this once and if you forget it, that’s not my problem. Don’t you ever look at her, don’t look at me, most importantly, don’t talk to me. And definitely not her. Stay away from us.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Thank you sm for the request! I had fun writing this one heheh

[websterss]

WORRY — BRETT TALBOT

REQUEST: You get hurt protecting Brett and Lori.

WARNING(S): Angst

WORD COUNT: 1,341

PAIRING: Brett Talbot x fem!Reader  

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

The front doorbell had caught Deaton’s attention from the back. The jingle alerted him someone entered the clinic. He knew he had to be cautious.

“We’re closed!” Deaton called out. Though the hushed whispers of voices were enough to pique his sudden interest. He walked back to the front desk and stopped upon seeing Satomi, along with the sight of you barely holding onto Brett’s neck as he tried to keep you upright. All your shoes squeaked from the water. Lori was on your right, letting you lean some of your weight against her.

There was a loud heavy pour outside. It had been raining.

“Satomi. It’s nice to see you again.”

“I wish it was under better circumstances.” Satomi looked back at you. Black blood spilled past your lips.

Deaton opened the little gate door to let you all pass through towards the examination room. Deaton immediately cleared the center metal table and informed Brett to place you on top of it. You began to panic not wanting to be out of his hold. Your eyes grew big as you reached out for him.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m here.” Brett pushed you back down gently. 

“Y/n I’m going to need you to relax okay? It will make it harder if you struggle.” Deaton looked down at you. “What was she poisoned with?”

“It’s Wolfsbane. She was hit with a bullet.” Brett said.

“Wolfsbane. I thought so.” Deaton grimaced. “Well I’ll need to get it out of her system before-“ You interrupted him as you let the silver bullet clatter onto the table. Deaton stared at the bullet speechless. Brett let his mouth hang open.

“I-I already…took care of it.” You said in labored breaths. Then you fainted. Your head fell back on the table with a tiny bang.

“Very well then…” Deaton gave a tight-lipped smile to the three of them, then turned his back to search for the thing he needed. He faced the group again and lit the blowtorch up.

“Woah woah woah. What are you gonna do with that?” Brett stood up straighter, as he eyed the flames burning fast.

“Well seeing as I’m left with no other choice.” Deaton edged the torch closer to you. “I have to burn it out of her.”

“Satomi?” Brett looked to her for reassurance.

“Deaton knows what he’s doing. It’ll be alright Brett.” She nodded.

Brett looked back to Deaton and then to you.

“You might wanna hold her down.”

Brett swallowed thickly before pressing his hands on your body. Satomi and Lori followed suit. The second the flame touched your skin. Your eyes sprung open. Glowing yellow, as the pain became too much. You pushed against the hands holding you down but they only kept pushing harder.

“Hold her!”

“We’re trying!” Brett yelled.

You roared out in agony as the ache grew and grew. It didn’t take long till your body gave out and you fell unconscious again.

-

“Is she gonna be alright?” Lori asked him.

“Her wounds appear to be healing now. Slowly, but healing.” All eyes drifted down to you. Your chest rose and fell with each inhale of breath you took.

“She pushed us out of the way.” Lori held her arm. She was distraught. You were suffering because of them. You had pushed them out of the way when the blast of a gun rang out. It hit you when it should’ve hit one of them. “It should’ve been one of us lying here.”

Brett placed a hand on her shoulder rubbing it back and forth for comfort. “She saved us. Half the pack got away but most of them weren’t so lucky. I told her to run, but she stayed back with me.” Brett recalled what had happened to you.

“What the hell are you doing? I told you to run!” Brett held you at arm's length.

“Well, you should’ve told me to do something else. When are you going to learn that I’m not going to listen to every word you say in this relationship.” You sputtered as the water got into your mouth. Your hair stuck to your face. You blinked rapidly, it was hard to see in the dark, but it grew more difficult with the heavy downpour. “I mean some of the shit you say is really stupid-” Brett cupped your face.

“Shut up.” Then leaned down to press his lips against yours. He pulled back slowly before giving you a once-over. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” You let your eyes drift from his chest to his face, then to his shoulders. No signs of injury. “Where’s Lori?” You looked behind you to see her standing a few feet away. “Lori?” You inched closer, but Brett put his hand out to you.

“Lori you alright?” He asked her. He stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. Once he saw past her shoulder he realized why she stood so still. A red dot was aimed at her chest. Brett quickly pushed her behind him, blocking her view from it. 

“Brett…” You stepped closer seeing two more red dots inch their way up their bodies from the ground. “Move.” You risked another step. “Brett, move!” That’s when the blast rang out. You had shoved your body into their sides causing a domino effect. The bullet had made its hit, but it didn’t meet its right target. You groaned feeling pain shoot up your system. 

“Y/n!” Brett quickly helped you up. “Can you walk?” One shake of your head was enough to have him hoist you onto his back. Lori running in front of you two. “Lori go!”

It wasn’t out of the ordinary to watch one of your own get hurt every now and then. It came with life as a werewolf, the path some of you were born into. Satomi had restored what little hope you had when she found you. She saved your life. You owed her everything, and now there she stood brushing back the hairs on your face, watching your face contort in discomfort. You were in pain, and the black veins running up her arm were enough to show for it. You were one of her own. She took you in after you and your parents were on the run. You were given the chance to keep running, but it came with the cost of your parents stopping and fighting back. Satomi found you hiding in fear in a cave. She offered herself as a friend, a mentor. As an alpha. She made sure you weren’t alone.

It was rare to see Satomi show any other emotion. Her expression remained mostly stoic and reserved. Strength and anger is what most came across, but it was moments like these that Satomi let her guard down in front of her betas. She let a tear shed and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“We got her here in time, Satomi. She’s okay.” Brett spared his alpha a glance. “Besides you know how she is, she’ll be back to herself in no time, begging you to make your beef stew tomorrow.” Brett’s eyes crinkled at the thought. It brought a smile to Satomi’s face.

Satomi had let her head fall down. She spared your unconscious state a glance every now and then. She strained her ears enough to hear the slow rhythmic pattern of your heart beating. It was still there. It was enough to bring her some comfort.

“Her heart is slow.” Satomi frowned.

“But it’s still beating. That’s all that matters.” Brett put his hands out and placed it on top of hers. 

“I don’t know if I can’t take losing any more of you.” Satomi looked up at Brett and Lori.

“You’re not. Besides, we got Scott’s help now. This Deadpool will be over before you know it.” Brett offered a bit of peace of mind to his alpha, but even she knew that things were never going to be truly over. Not with the life you all lived.

“Let’s hope so, my dear boy.”

[sunsphobia]

inside job headcanon❜s

sfw, reagan ridley x reader, brett hand x reader, fem reader

▶ reagan ridley

reagan is a touch starved person, at first when you tried to hug her you were push away, but she got used to your hugs and eventually she loved your hugs and your affection.

reagan would be 100% bisexual, dated a girl, hold hands with a girl, and kissed a girl.

reagan loves it when you compliment her work or simply praising her, it make her feel special, so she always tries to impress you cause she loves you and she wants to feel appreciate. 🫶

reagan would be a type of person to never be late, like she hates to be late. she's never late to your dates.

▶ brett hand

brett loves to be with you, he would always there for you. going to your office? he's going with you, going to a mission? he's coming. please don't annoyed by him he really loves you. 🫶

brett would want to start a big family with you, since he never got a good childhood for him self. so please give this man a big family 🙏 (like loud family fr)

same as reagan he would also be bisexual, dated a man. he just cares about personality.

brett is always having a hand on you, like holding your hand or putting his hand on your shoulder. man doesn't want to let go. (abandonment issues go hard man fr)

tags

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 3

Chapter 3: The Undone and The Divine

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Criminal Activities, Mobsters/Mafia, Character Death, Slowish Burn, Disassociation, 

Word Count: 11.9k

A/N: This was lowkey tough to write with all the technicalities but I managed to push through it lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Song: Only If For A Night by Florence + The Machine

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

A FEW DAYS LATER…

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT – MORNING

As you blink, fragments of your past weave their way into your consciousness, like threads of a tapestry unraveling in your mind. Memories unfold, revealing moments of rigorous training, ethereal wisdom, and a mentor whose guidance shaped you into the person you are today.

You remember living in a tranquil sanctuary, surrounded by ancient texts and mystical artifacts. The air hums with energy as you practice intricate movements, honing your skills under the watchful eye of a wise and enigmatic figure. The connection between you is unspoken yet profound, a bond forged through years of shared knowledge and profound teachings.

Visions of battles fought against formidable adversaries dance before your eyes. You wielded powers beyond comprehension, manipulating the very fabric of reality with finesse and precision. In those moments, you were a guardian of balance, a protector of realms unseen.

But the flashbacks recede, vanishing like whispers in the wind. You find yourself in the bustling corridors of the New York City Police Department, surrounded by the everyday realities of life. The voice of Brett Mahoney pulls you back to the present, concern etched on his face. "You good? You seem kinda out of it."

You look up from the paperwork you were filing for a domestic violence case and force a small smile. "Mhm, just a little tired," you respond, trying to shake off the remnants of the past and the previous nights of helping Matt from the sidelines. Mahoney takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, "You know, my mom has been askin’ for you. You aren't giving her cigarettes with those cookies too, are you?"

You snort, the corners of your lips curling with amusement. "Nah, I actually have a secret life as a drug dealer and deliver her cookies laced with crack," you quip, easing the tension in the room. Brett chuckles at your joke as you put down the pen and hand the file to another officer. "Why, what's up?" you ask, genuinely interested. Brett sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "Could you maybe visit her? I've been pulling a lot of shifts lately, and dealing with reports of some masked vigilante beating up a bunch of criminals has taken up a lot of my time."

You sigh, feigning concern at the news. "New York is something else," you remark. Brett hums in agreement, understanding the chaos of the city all too well. "So, could you do it? Drop by and give her more of those cocaine cookies?" he asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You nod, with your expression sincere. "Sure, I'll stop by in a bit," you promise, knowing that a visit to Brett's mother would bring a sense of joy and connection amidst the chaos of your secret battles.

MAHONEY RESIDENCE – DAY

You give a gentle knock on the door of the Mahoney residence, and a warm smile spreads across your face as it swings open to reveal Bess Mahoney, an elderly woman with a kind expression. "Hi, dear. Come inside," she welcomes you, gesturing for you to enter. Expressing your gratitude, you respond, "Thank you, Bess. I brought some of those cookies you like! Sister Maggie and Sister Catherine helped me bake them."

As you step into the cozy living room, the aroma of freshly baked cookies fills the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity. Bess's eyes light up with delight, and she takes your hand in hers. "You're such a sweetheart, always thinking of me," she says, her voice tinged with genuine affection. "Those nuns at the church have been a blessing to this neighborhood."

You nod, a sense of warmth and purpose swelling within you. "They truly are," you reply, feeling grateful for the support and guidance the sisters have provided throughout your journey. "They've taught me so much about compassion and making a difference in people's lives."

As you sit at the kitchen table, the taste of the homemade cookies still lingering on your tongue, a sense of calm settles over you. The weight of the world and the secret battles you face momentarily fade away in the presence of Bess's warm company.

Just as you begin to bask in the comfort of the moment, Bess's voice breaks the tranquility. "I need a favor from you, honey," she says, her tone carrying a hint of concern. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lean in, attentively asking, "Is something wrong?"

Bess waves her hand dismissively. “Not with me, but with a dear friend of mine, Elena Cardenas. She's a lovely woman, and she's facing trouble. You see, she owns a rent-controlled apartment in Hell's Kitchen, but her landlord suddenly wants to evict her.”

Your frown deepens, empathizing with the injustice of the situation. Nodding in understanding, you urge Bess to continue. She smiles and explains, “I suggested she reach out to the new firm in the city, Nelson and Murdock. They have a reputation for being very good at what they do.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and realization. "Oh, yes. I've heard of them. They’re very good.” The memory of your encounter with Matt Murdock resurfaces, the card tucked safely in your pocket. It seems fate has intertwined your paths once again.

Bess's smile grows wider, her eyes gleaming with hope. "Perfect. Honey, I need you to go with Elena Cardenas to their office. She's as old as me, and it would grant me peace of mind knowing she arrives there safely."

You look into Bess's eyes, seeing the genuine concern and trust she places in you. There is no denying the importance of this favor, and deep down, you know you can't refuse. With a resolute expression, you reply, "Of course, Bess. What's her address and phone number? I'll make sure Elena gets to Nelson and Murdock's office."

A forced smile graces your lips, masking any hesitation or trepidation. At this moment, you understand that there is no avoiding this task. It is a chance to help someone in need, to make a difference in their life, and honor the trust Bess has placed in you.

As Bess shares the necessary details, you commit them to memory, knowing that this journey will bring its challenges and revelations. You rise from the table, ready to fulfill your role as a guardian in the shadows, guided by the light of friendship and the pursuit of justice.

With a final nod of assurance to Bess, you bid her farewell, leaving her with the comforting knowledge that Elena Cardenas will be well taken care of. As you step out into the bustling streets of Hell's Kitchen, you carry within you the determination to stand for those who need it most.

NELSON AND MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW – DAY

You guide Mrs. Cardenas to the address scribbled on the card provided by Matt. As you approach the designated location, a paper sign catches your attention, proudly displaying the name "Nelson and Murdock Attorney's at Law." It's the place you were directed to, and you offer Mrs. Cardenas a comforting smile before proceeding.

You raise your hand and knock on the door, with it slightly open and already spotting the people inside. “Hi, uhm, I’m looking for Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock.”

As Mrs. Cardenas follows you inside, you can't help but feel a sense of reassurance, knowing that you've brought her to a place where she will be heard and supported. With Karen's presence and the promise of Nelson and Murdock's assistance, you are hopeful that justice will prevail and that Mrs. Cardenas will find the resolution she deserves.

Matt breathes a sigh of relief as he hears you, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're okay," he states, his worry evident in his tone. You raise an eyebrow in response, a hint of curiosity lacing your words. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Though your response isn't a complete answer, it holds a semblance of truth. Deep down, you understand that recovery takes time, and your body bears the evidence of the journey you've been through. Matt's heightened senses allow him to perceive the subtle clues that reveal your ongoing healing process. The scent of cortisol and antiseptic lingers in the air around you, a testament to the challenges you've faced and the resilience you've shown.

You glance at the man standing beside Matt, presuming him to be his friend and partner, Foggy. He scrutinizes both of you with a curious expression and poses the question, "You two know each other?" Your mind races to come up with a plausible explanation, and you quickly respond, "We go to the same church."

Foggy's gaze shifts between you and Matt, seemingly skeptical of your answer. He turns to Matt, seeking confirmation. Matt simply nods, but it's evident that Foggy isn't fully convinced. He remarks with a hint of sarcasm, "So, is that what they call it now?"

A blush creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed by the implication. Before Matt can intervene, you shake your head, determined to clarify the situation. "No, seriously. I'm also Catholic, and I work at the church. I’m also a social worker at Metro-General."

You hope that this additional information will dispel any misconceptions and assure Foggy of your genuine connection to the church. He needs to understand that your involvement extends beyond deception.

Foggy raises his eyebrows, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "That sounds like a lot of work," he remarks, acknowledging the dedication required for your role. You smile, "Yeah, it can be challenging, but I’ll manage."

Matt, however, senses the underlying tension and the half-truth in your response. His heightened senses enable him to pick up on the subtleties of your emotions. You clear your throat, aware that the truth cannot be concealed from him indefinitely.

"Anyways," you continue, shifting the focus of the conversation, "you said I could come here and ask for your legal services. This is Elena Cardenas." With a nod, you introduce Elena, hoping that the urgency of her situation will capture their attention.

Foggy and Matt guide both of you to their small conference room, offering seats to discuss the pressing matter at hand. As you take your place at the table, the heaviness of the situation settles upon you. You await their guidance and expertise, knowing that their legal services might be the key to helping Mrs. Cardenas in her time of need.

"Bess Mahoney? Brett's mom?" Foggy seeks clarification as you mention Bess referring Elena to them. Elena nods in confirmation. "Sí, she referred me. Dice que le da puros."

Karen, the woman you were introduced to earlier, chuckles. "Something about cigars?" Foggy looks at Karen with surprise. "You know Spanish?" Karen shakes her head. "Oh, just what I remember from high school."

Matt, his expression serious, turns his attention to Mrs. Cardenas. "Mrs. Cardenas, please tell us what happened." Mrs. Cardenas struggles to translate her Spanish into English, doing her best to convey the details. "Mi casa es rent-control. But the landlord, Señor Tully..."

"Armand Tully? Sleaze bag who owns buildings all over town," Foggy interjects, recognizing the name. Mrs. Cardenas nods. "Sí, y Señor Tully..." She switches back to speaking in Spanish, and Karen takes it upon herself to translate. "He wants to convert the apartments into condominiums. And he wants the residents to leave." Mrs. Cardenas continues, "Men came weeks ago. They claimed they were workers. And they destroyed the apartments with a… I don't know that last word.”

"Sledgehammer," Matt utters simultaneously, his voice aligning with your own words. The synchronized response captures the attention of everyone in the room, their focus shifting toward the shared statement. "College," Foggy adds, clarifying the source of his knowledge. As he tilts his head in curiosity, his unsteady gaze falls upon you, silently inquiring about your proficiency in Spanish. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips nervously before you respond, "Um, I learned it when I was young. Sometime around middle school."

"You ever have a client that wants to chat in Punjabi, I'm your man," Foggy says cheerfully, injecting a light-hearted comment into the conversation. You smile in response, appreciating his sense of humor. Karen, on the other hand, looks between you and Matt, slightly uncertain.

"Um... Do you want to do this?" she asks, seeking confirmation from Matt. His voice carries a flirtatious tone as he replies, "No, no. I like listening to your voice." Karen blushes in response, clearly affected by Matt's smooth and charming personality. Foggy sighs, “Go on, Mrs. Cardenas.” And your attention shifts between the three of them.

The world you once cherished loses its luster, fading into a somber tableau. Each breath becomes a shallow rhythm, failing to ground you in the swirling tempest of emotions. Jealousy, heavy as a stone, settles in the pit of your stomach, reminding you of desires that can never be fulfilled.

Hurt and longing intertwine, composing a poignant symphony within your chest. The truth resonates deep within your being: Matt will never be yours. It's a bitter pill to swallow, a gold rush of emotions crashing against the shores of the unrequited.

Yet, during this storm, you find solace in acknowledging your feelings. Envy and sadness are natural companions when faced with the undeniable connection between Matt and Karen, including the nights before with him and Claire. It serves as a stark reminder that your feelings can be elusive, slipping through your grasp like grains of sand.

You've always held a profound love for this world, cherishing its every detail. But now, it feels as though everything is slipping away, slipping beyond your grasp. The sun rises dutifully, even when unasked, illuminating the beauty around you. Most days, you wouldn't think twice about the things that go right in your life.

As the weight of your emotions threatens to consume you, Matt's heightened senses pick up on the shifting energy in the room. He turns his head towards you, his moving gaze piercing through the haze of your disquiet.

"Hey," he calls your name softly, his voice laced with concern, “Are you okay? You went sort of quiet…” Startled, you hastily put on a fake smile, hoping to mask the tumultuous thoughts and feelings that swirl within you. It's a delicate dance, maintaining the facade while grappling with the ache in your heart.

You meet his eyes behind his glasses, your eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability before you quickly avert your gaze. Deep down, you know he senses something is amiss, but you can't bear to burden him with your inner turmoil. So, you play the part, presenting a semblance of composure despite the storm raging within.

With a subtle nod, you signal your understanding, silently acknowledging his attention and care. It's a fleeting moment, fleeting like the delicate petals of a wilting flower, but you carry on, concealing the depths of your emotions behind a practiced smile, “Mhm. I’m fine, just remembered something, my apologies.”

As Mrs. Cardenas continues to voice her concerns in Spanish, detailing the dire conditions in her building, and the absence of necessities like working sinks and pipes, a sense of despair fills the air. Her words echo with the weight of helplessness, as she recounts the failed attempts to seek assistance.

Karen steps in, fluently translating Mrs. Cardenas' words, revealing the futility of their interactions with the police. "The police couldn't help, they don’t know what to do." Karen conveys, her voice carrying the frustration and disappointment that hangs in the room. Mrs. Cardenas's voice rises with passion as she shares the police's response, emphasizing their inability to address the situation.

Matt's shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh of frustration, his expression mirroring the collective disappointment in the room. It's a shared recognition of the limitations faced by those in need, the overwhelming bureaucracy that leaves them stranded without a lifeline.

Foggy looks at one of the documents, “This says Tully offered them 10,000 to give up their rent control and vacate the premises. Maybe we can pressure him into giving a better payout.” Karen stands up and reaches for a tissue box behind the two of you and then places it on the table before sitting back down.

Mrs. Cardenas shakes her head, “No, Señor Foggy. We do no want money. We want to stay in our homes.” A glimmer of determination flickers on Matt's face, a silent promise to do what he can to rectify the injustice. Though the challenges ahead may be daunting, he refuses to let the circumstances crush their hope. With unwavering resolve, he leans forward, ready to confront the city's indifference. He begins to converse with Mrs. Cardenas in Spanish, telling her that Foggy will speak to Tully’s lawyer.

As Mrs. Cardenas expresses her gratitude with a heartfelt "Oh, gracias Senor Murdock! Muchas gracias," Matt responds with a simple "Bueno." He stands up, his hands on his hips, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. You rise from your seat alongside Mrs. Cardenas, ready to escort her out.

With the meeting finished, you follow Karen out of the conference room, expressing your gratitude for her assistance and the accommodating nature of their firm. Stepping out onto the city's bustling streets, you bid farewell to Mrs. Cardenas, reminding her to remain cautious on her way home. Your paths diverge, each heading in separate directions, carrying the weight of the day's challenges and hope for a better future.

Lost in your thoughts, you find yourself standing outside the steps of Foggy and Matt's office building, retrieving your phone from your pocket to check your next task. Suddenly, a small object collides with the heel of your shoe, drawing your attention. Matt's voice breaks the silence, apologizing for the accidental encounter.

"Oh, Matt! I'm sorry," you respond, a hint of surprise in your wide eyes. Swiftly, you step aside, allowing him to pass without any further obstruction. The brief interaction lingers in the air, a fleeting moment of shared acknowledgment before resuming your respective paths in the bustling cityscape.

However, Matt's question catches you off guard. "You're still here?" he asks, his curiosity evident. You pause for a moment, considering his words before replying, "Uh, yeah. I'm on my way to the precinct to update Officer Mahoney."

A warm smile spreads across Matt's face as he suggests, "We can go together if you want. I'm heading there as well to look for any complaints against Tully." You blink in surprise at his offer, caught off guard by his genuine willingness to accompany you. Unsure of how to respond, you stumble over your words, "Uh, well..."

Before you can come up with an excuse, Matt's grin widens, sensing your momentary hesitation. "Mind if I hold on to your arm as we walk there?" he asks, his voice filled with a playful charm. Your brain momentarily halts, caught off guard by his request, but you manage to nod and squeak out, "Mhm. Yeah, Sure."

His touch is gentle yet firm as he takes hold of your arm, leading the way through the bustling streets of New York City. Despite knowing that he doesn't need guidance, you play along, maintaining the facade of ignorance about his vigilante activities. Matt's heightened senses remain ever vigilant, attuned to your every heartbeat, breath, and blink. He focuses on your scent and the subtle notes of your perfume, a reminder of the close proximity and unspoken connection between the two of you.

You make a conscious effort to steady your heartbeat, reminding yourself that this is merely a shared journey to fulfill your respective roles. There is no need to stress or overanalyze the situation. However, when Matt squeezes your arm to gain your attention, you are brought back to the present moment.

"Why did you want to become a social worker?" Matt's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "I... um... I wanted to help people who have experienced a difficult time. I wanted to offer them a fresh start, free from judgment," you answer honestly, feeling a sense of purpose and compassion in your words.

Matt nods, seemingly appreciating the raw truth in your response. The two of you continue walking side by side, the rhythm of your steps creating a gentle harmony as you navigate the busy streets. “Why did you want to become a lawyer?” You asked as you looked up at him.

Matt's lips curve into a thoughtful smile as he considers your question. His voice carries a hint of nostalgia as he begins to share his motivations. "I wanted to become a lawyer because I believed in the power of justice. I wanted to be someone who could make a difference, who could fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves."

His words resonate with a sense of purpose and determination. As you listen, you can't help but admire his unwavering commitment to upholding the ideals of justice. The bustling city fades into the background, and for a moment, it feels as if it's just the two of you, united by a shared desire to make the world a better place.

As the conversation unfolds, you find yourself becoming more immersed in Matt's story, drawn to the passion and sincerity in his words. Together, you continue your journey, the streets of New York serving as the backdrop to your aspirations and the beginning of a deeper connection.

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT – NOON

Mahoney eyes you both curiously before making an assumption, "Oh, are you two a..." You interrupt quickly, your cheeks flushing, "No, no! We're just colleagues. I came back to pick up the signed forms, and I need to return them to the DV shelter."

Matt offers a comforting smile while you fumble with your words. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze before letting you pass by Mahoney to the police desks where the forms are kept. As you hurriedly scan the documents, you steal a glance over your shoulder and notice Matt taking a seat on one of the nearby benches. 

The officer informs you that it will take a few minutes to process the forms, advising you to have a seat. Nervously, you settle next to Matt on the bench, stealing a quick glance at him. He appears slightly preoccupied, his head slightly tilted as if he's listening intently for something.

Suddenly, Matt gasps and springs up, freezing in place. The deafening sound of a gunshot echoes through the vicinity, causing you to startle. Chaos ensues as police officers react swiftly, their voices blending with the commotion. 

"We've got shots fired!" one of the officers announces, sending a shiver down your spine. An unsettling feeling washes over you, confirming your suspicions that something is seriously amiss.

Matt's heightened senses hones in on the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat. He detects the unmistakable scent and taste of your surging cortisol, the stress hormone permeating the air. The subtle perspiration on your palms and the quiver in your breath are all indicators of your escalating anxiety.

He turns to your slightly shaking figure, recognizing the paralyzing effect the situation has had on you. Time seems to have come to a standstill for everyone else, but you remain trapped in your frozen moment. Matt approaches you with gentle steps, his voice a soothing whisper as he calls your name, attempting to coax you out of your daze. "Hey... Hey... I'm right here. You're with me."

Amidst the chaos around you, Matt extends his hand towards you, a lifeline of reassurance and support. Without hesitation, you feel his firm grip enveloping your trembling fingers, grounding you in the turmoil. The world may still be a blur, but his touch serves as a beacon of stability, guiding you through uncertainty.

Gradually, a sense of self returns to you, and you become aware of Matt's steady presence beside you. You realize that he had taken the lead, guiding you away from the chaotic scene and into a serene alleyway where the noise of the outside world fades into the background. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you gather the courage to speak.

"I... I'm sorry," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of apology and confusion. "I should be used to this by now. I don't know why I reacted the way I did. I'm sorry."

Matt's expression softens, his gaze filled with empathy as he reaches out a hand to gently touch your arm. "There's no need to apologize," he reassures you, his voice gentle yet resolute. "It’s okay. I got you. You’re safe with me, always.”

You take a moment to collect yourself, appreciating his understanding. The weight of the moment begins to lift as you find solace in his presence. Together, you stand in the quiet alleyway, finding comfort in the shared understanding between two individuals whose lives are entwined in the extraordinary.

SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK CITY,

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SHELTER – EVENING

As you leave the vicinity of the DV shelter, your mind is filled with a mix of emotions and thoughts. You reach into your pocket and retrieve your cell phone, switching it on to reconnect with the outside world. The city streets, typically bustling with activity, now exude an unusual stillness. It's as if something has shifted, causing a palpable sense of imbalance to permeate the air.

The once-familiar sounds of honking cars and bustling footsteps are replaced by an eerie silence, amplifying the weight of the moment. Your gaze scans the surroundings, searching for any signs or clues as to what may have caused this unsettling change. Is it merely a figment of your imagination, or is there a tangible disturbance in the equilibrium of the city?

Questions swirl in your mind as you continue walking, your steps measured and alert. The cool air brushes against your skin, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and apprehension. Whatever has transpired, you can't shake the feeling that it holds significance, that it's a precursor to events yet to unfold.

Your eyes are drawn to the distance, and a chill runs down your spine as you spot a column of smoke rising ominously into the air. Before you can fully process what's happening, chaos erupts near you. A nearby building explodes with a deafening blast, shattering windows and sending debris flying in all directions.

The ground shakes beneath your feet as the force of the explosion reverberates through the surrounding area. You hear the muffled panic ensuing as people scramble for safety, their cries of fear and confusion blending with the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Time seems to slow down as you take in the destruction and the plumes of smoke billowing into the sky.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your determination to navigate the chaos and find a way to help those in need. With a deep breath, you steel yourself and take the first steps towards assisting in any way you can, your heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty and the urgent need to restore order during this unforeseen catastrophe.

As the smoke fills the air and sirens continue to blare, you swiftly make your way toward the DV shelter. Your heart pounds in your chest as you fear for the safety of those inside. Relief washes over you as you find everyone relatively unharmed, with only minor injuries and scratches.

With a quick assessment of the situation, you determine that the immediate needs at the shelter are being taken care of. Your attention now shifts to the nearby buildings that were directly impacted by the blast. Determination fuels your every step as you rush toward the affected area, ready to lend a helping hand.

Arriving at the scene, you're met with the devastating aftermath of the explosion. The damaged buildings stand as a somber testament to the chaos that unfolded. As you survey the area, your eyes widen in recognition—this was one of the Russian hideouts, a grim reminder of the criminal underbelly lurking in the city.

The sight of lifeless bodies and charred weapons strewn across the ground sends a chill down your spine. The realization hits you hard, deepening the gravity of the situation. This was no ordinary incident; it was part of a larger web of criminal activity.

Choosing to distance yourself from the rubble, you follow the blazing lights of police cars that race past you. Instinctively, you move toward the source of the commotion, seeking answers and hoping to find a way to help.

Amid the chaos, you come upon a scene that stops you in your tracks. Matt, fully dressed in his black attire, stands a few feet away, his fist raised as he prepares to strike down Ranskahov, seeking revenge for the harm inflicted upon you and Claire. Your heart races as you watch from behind Corbin and the police officers, realizing the complexities of the situation.

They raise their guns, pointing them at the Masked Man. The officers close in, their intentions unclear. You remain hidden, your powers shimmering as you turn yourself invisible, ready to assist Matt in his fight against these corrupt cops who are undoubtedly on Fisk's payroll.

Amidst the tension and uncertainty, you hope that Matt hasn't picked up on your presence just yet. You prepare yourself to join the fray, your determination burning strong. One of the cops yells, “Don’t you move! Don’t you freakin’ move! Interlock your fingers behind your head and get on your knees. On your knees! Do it! Do it now!”

You approach Matt with a purposeful stride, your hand lightly grazing his shoulder to signal your presence. His whispered question hangs in the air, but instead of offering a direct response, you tap into your abilities. With a melodic distortion, your voice takes on an otherworldly quality as you reply, "Someone who wants to help you."

Positioning yourself in front of the officers, you unleash your powers, manipulating their perceptions and distorting their vision. Ranskahov is shot during the scuffle, but in a dazzling display, your form glimmers and shimmers, weaving a tapestry of illusion and enchantment. The officers, caught off guard by the sudden alteration of reality, find themselves disoriented and bewildered.

The fight unfolds with a fluidity and grace that seems almost supernatural. You seamlessly blend your powers and a touch of magic to incapacitate a majority of the officers. Your movements are precise, calculated, and mesmerizing to behold.

As the chaos subsides and the last of the officers are neutralized, you stand amidst the aftermath, your power still crackling in the air. Your eyes meet Matt's figure, standing and heaving, there's a flicker of recognition mixed with intrigue. The truth of your abilities and your intentions remains shrouded, but in this pivotal moment, a connection forms between you and the masked vigilante.

As Matt's plea reaches your ears, “Stay with me.” A surge of emotions courses through you, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed facade you wear. You turn away, your heart aching with unspoken words, and feel the tremor in your voice as you distort it, a painful reflection of your inner turmoil. "I wish I could," you confess, your voice quivering with regret and longing.

You quickly come to a realization, understanding that the situation calls for a strategic approach. While your instincts urge you to stay by Matt's side and offer your support, you also recognize the importance of ensuring the safety of others in the vicinity. The weight of responsibility settles upon your shoulders as you grasp the need to cover more ground.

With a determined resolve, you decide to extend your reach beyond Matt's immediate presence. You understand that there are civilians at risk, their lives hanging in the balance amidst the chaos. You know that by safeguarding the innocent and aiding those in distress, you are contributing to the overall mission of protecting the city.

Though your heart may ache at the thought of being separated from Matt, you understand the necessity of this approach. The strength of your bond and shared purpose will endure, even if you are physically apart. And as you cover ground, ensuring the safety of others, you hold onto the hope that Matt will do the same, fighting against the forces of darkness to bring justice and protect the vulnerable.

Matt's expression was filled with a mix of hope and desperation. His voice, barely above a whisper, carries a weight of vulnerability. "Will I see you again?" he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.

A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you meet his distant gaze through the mask, wanting to offer reassurance amidst the uncertainty. "I’ll find you," you promise, determination shining in your eyes.

At that moment, you fade away, slipping from his grasp like a whisper lost in the wind. You become a ghost, a phantom presence lingering in the recesses of his mind. Like the ephemeral glimmer of a comet in the night sky, you leave a lasting impression, a celestial spectacle he cannot forget.

Lost in the depths of his thoughts, Matt ponders your enigmatic presence. He remains uncertain of your identity, your purpose, and the boundaries that separate you. Yet, he can't help but believe that you are his miracle, a guardian angel sent to watch over him, even if he feels unworthy of such grace.

As you continue on your path, the echoes of his whispered plea and your promise linger in your heart. The connection forged in that fleeting encounter leaves an indelible mark on your soul. And though the journey ahead may be arduous and fraught with challenges, the hope of crossing paths with him again becomes a beacon that guides you through the darkness.

METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL - EVENING

Sometimes, the city feels distant, like a place lost in time, where the radio stations play unfamiliar tunes and discuss a God who prefers modesty. In those moments, you find yourself caught between where you've been and the vast unknown that lies ahead.

As you rush through the doors of Metro-General, the Emergency Department buzzes with activity. The blaring sound of a television grabs your attention, broadcasting the breaking news of the devastating explosions that rocked Hell's Kitchen. 

As you swiftly navigate through the chaos and devastation surrounding the hospital, your keen senses alert you to the cries of injured civilians in desperate need of help. Your heart swells with empathy as you rush to their aid, displaying both strength and compassion.

With steady hands and a reassuring voice, you guide a couple of injured civilians toward safety, providing them solace amidst the chaos. Despite the urgency of the situation, you take the time to offer comforting words and gentle reassurance, ensuring they know they are not alone in this turmoil.

Their pain becomes your own, and your determination to protect and heal emanates from your every action. With unwavering resolve, you navigate the labyrinthine hallways, instinctively seeking out the areas where medical assistance is most needed. As you tend to the injured, your presence alone provides a sense of calm and reassurance. You tirelessly work to stabilize their conditions, offering a compassionate touch and a comforting word in the face of unimaginable pain. Your selflessness is evident in every action, as you prioritize the well-being of others above all else.

In the chaos, you spot Foggy and Karen, their faces filled with worry, bringing in an injured Mrs. Cardenas. Your eyes meet Claire's from down the hall, and you hasten your steps to join their group, ready to lend a helping hand.

"Are you guys okay?" you inquire, concern evident in your voice. Foggy, Karen, and Claire exchange worried glances, their eyes lingering on the bruises and scratches that mar your skin.

"What happened to you? You're covered in bruises," Karen observes, her voice filled with genuine concern. Quick on your feet, you conjure a plausible lie, hoping to shield them from the truth.

"Oh, I was near one of the explosions, but I managed to escape unscathed," you assure them, your voice resolute, despite the smudged dirt on your skin and the disarray of your appearance. Claire's perceptive gaze meets yours, silently acknowledging that there's more to the story. Though unspoken, her understanding serves as a comforting reassurance that your secret is safe for now. 

After swiftly delegating Mrs. Cardenas and attending to Foggy's wound, you are pulled aside by Claire and guided into a nearby stairwell. Concern fills your voice as you whisper, "Are we supposed to be in here?" She places a finger to her lips, urging you to keep quiet, and shows you her phone, indicating that Matt is calling. Your eyes widen in apprehension as you look up at Claire, waiting for her to answer the call. She puts it on low volume speaker, ensuring your involvement.

"I need your help. I've found someone who has crucial information about what I've been investigating, but he's been shot," Matt's gravelly voice resonates through the speaker. Claire rolls her eyes in exasperation and suggests, "Why don't you call 911?"

"I can't. The police are the ones who shot him. They'd probably like a chance to finish the job," Matt explains, prompting Claire to seek your confirmation. You nod silently, conveying your agreement. Claire sighs in resignation and questions, "You want me to come to you... in the middle of all this?"

"No, I want you to walk me through stabilizing him," Matt replies. Claire rolls her eyes once again, and you stifle a laugh at their familiar banter. Claire responds over the phone, "It's not as easy as it looks in the movies, you know?" Matt retorts playfully, "I don't really go to the movies. I like records, though.”

You can't help but roll your eyes this time, thinking to yourself how much of a flirt Matt can be. Claire sighs and relents, “All right.” Matt then continues, “There's something else you need to know. The man I'm trying to save… it's Vladimir.”

Matt continues, "There's something else you need to know. The man I'm trying to save... it's Vladimir."

Frustration washes over you, and you briefly close your eyes, looking away from the phone. Claire's voice echoes with anger, "The jerk who had me beaten up? That's who you want me to help?"

Matt sighs, pleading, “Look, you have every right to tell me to go to hell, but he's important, Claire. What he knows could bring Fisk down and save more people like you from getting hurt.”

A heavy silence hangs over the line as you stand next to Claire, offering her a sympathetic gaze. You mouth the word "please" while Matt calls out for Claire once again.

Claire's voice crackles through the phone with a sense of urgency, "Is there an exit wound?" Matt's response is barely audible, his voice filled with gratitude, "Thank you." He pauses momentarily, his throat clearing before he continues, “Uh, no. The bullet's still inside him. It's still half a degree hotter than the surrounding tissue.”

Claire then asks, “Is there any kind of first aid kit?” To which Matt replies, “I'm in a warehouse. Abandoned.” Claire looks at you and then raises her eyebrows, “Tell me what's there, anything you can use.”

"Alright, hang on," Matt's voice crackles through the phone, filled with determination. You exchange a glance with Claire, your expression a mix of concern and anxiety. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air as you prepare to guide Matt through a risky procedure.

Matt's voice comes through, listing the items he has at his disposal. “Uh, half a box of nails... broken glass... wood, duct tape, old roadside emergency kit, a lot of plastic sheeting…” Each item carries its potential, a makeshift arsenal in their desperate circumstances.

Claire's voice cuts through the tension, her focus sharp. “The kit, are there any flares in it?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise as Matt confirms, “Yeah, two.”

Claire hums, her mind working out a plan. “Alright... you're gonna cauterize the wound.” The gravity of her words sinks in, knowing the pain and risk involved.

Matt's voice carries a hint of uncertainty, "Shouldn't I dig the bullet out first?" Claire shrugs, her voice steady and experienced. You squint up at her, silently taking in her expertise. "Remember what I said about this not being a movie? You cut him open and start digging around, you'll kill him. This way, at least he has a chance of not bleeding out before you get what you need out of him... and... it'll hurt like a son of a bitch, so bonus."

A brief pause follows as Matt absorbs Claire's instructions. His determination shines through as he asks, "Alright, how do I do this?" Claire sighs, her voice soothing yet firm, "Just light the flare, hold it close to his skin until the entry wound seals." The simplicity of her instructions masks the high stakes and the immense trust placed in Matt's hands.

Silence hangs in the air, the weight of the moment palpable. You remain on the line, a silent presence of support, as Matt prepares to undertake this risky procedure that could save a life or plunge them further into peril, “Okay, I'm gonna put you on speaker.”

With a sense of urgency, you snatch the phone from Claire's hand, pressing the mute button swiftly. Concern etches across your face as you realize the importance of determining the precise location where Matt finds himself. You need to be prepared for any potential obstacles or dangers that lie ahead.

Claire's expression betrays her worry as she shakes her head, hesitant to let you venture into the unknown. She understands the risks involved and fears for your safety. But your determination shines through as you meet her gaze, emphasizing the significance of your collective mission.

You lock eyes with Claire, conveying the gravity of the situation. You know that time is of the essence, and every decision carries weight. Countless lives hang in the balance, and you can't stand idly by. Your voice carries conviction as you implore Claire to make the crucial inquiry.

"I need to know where he is, Claire," you insist, your tone filled with urgency. "We can't leave anything to chance. Lives are at stake."

Claire hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting between you and the phone. She understands the weight of your words and the responsibility that comes with them. Finally, she nods and takes back the phone, once again connecting with Matt. His voice reverberates through the line, calling out for Claire. She responds her tone steady yet laced with concern.

"Yeah... still here," Claire answers, her voice filled with determination. "But before you start, can you let me know which area you're in? Just in case."

The line falls silent for a brief moment, tension filling the air. Then, Matt's voice breaks through, his words carrying a hint of relief. "Northwest corner of 47th and 12th," he reveals, giving you a lifeline in this race against time.

You meet Claire's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes. It's a silent acknowledgment of her pivotal role in acquiring this crucial information. With a nod, you quickly formulate your next course of action, knowing that there is no time to waste.

Without further delay, you take a deep breath and quietly exit the stairwell, ready to face the challenges ahead and join Matt in his fight.

ABANDONED BUILDING, NORTHWEST CORNER OF 47TH AND 12TH – EVENING

You try your best to stay out of sight and hide between the shadows of the alleyways. There are sirens wailing and police radio chattering, multiple officers, and their K9s. Ben Urich is also discussing with the two detectives when you arrive and you have a concerned look on your face as you feel your powers pulse and vibrate as you will them to life, rendering the illusion of invisibility as you walked past the officers and climbed up a fire escape to get to where Matt is.

By the time you reached the second floor, you spot Vladimir, his bloodied and wounded form sprawled on the ground, a testament to the brutality of the situation. As you take in the scene, your eyes scan the surroundings, checking the perimeter for any signs of danger. Matt, focused and composed, is busy securing a police officer to a rusty metal pole, ensuring he remains restrained.

Vladimir's voice strained and sputtering with blood, reaches your ears. "You've been busy," he manages to say, his words laced with both exhaustion and curiosity. You position yourself near the window panes, keeping watch as Matt diligently proceeds to silence the officer with a layer of duct tape across his mouth.

Vladimir's head tilts at an odd angle as he groggily asks, "How do you know this?" You turn to witness Matt's nonchalant shrug, his response filled with an air of mystery. "Lucky guess," he casually remarks, his instincts proving sharp even in the direst of situations.

Suddenly, the sound of helicopter blades reverberates through the building, confirming the accuracy of Matt's prediction. Matt bends down to pick up a discarded pistol, skillfully unloading and disassembling it without hesitation. Vladimir's eyes widen at the sight, his voice dripping with frustration. "We could have used that."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Matt's lips as he retrieves a sturdy metal cylinder pipe instead. "I'm not big on guns," he states with conviction, his actions speaking volumes about his principles.

In an instant, Matt is standing next to you by the window, attuned to the world outside. Together, you listen to the symphony of heartbeats, barks, and radio chatter, a cacophony of chaos that defines the battlefield surrounding the building. As Vladimir groans in pain, the effects of the cauterization evident, he musters the strength to voice his discontent. "You... burned me?" he coughs out, his disbelief palpable.

Matt's response is both matter-of-fact and compassionate. "Yeah, I had to stop the bleeding," he states, his determination to save lives shining through. Vladimir's anguished cry fills the air, a testament to the excruciating pain he is enduring as Matt drags him against a wooden crate for him to lean on.

 Matt's voice remains steady, his resolve unyielding. "Bullet's still inside you. Wouldn't move around, if I were you." In the midst of their tense exchange, Vladimir musters the strength to voice his defiance. "You expect me to say thank you?" he sputters out, his words laced with a mix of bitterness and defiance.

Matt’s voice grows deeper, “If I didn't need you alive, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” Vladimir chuckles weakly and coughs, “So you just stand there and let me die, huh? But you couldn't kill me yourself. Is that where you draw the line?”

Matt kneels down, his determination etched on his face as he growls, "Tell me what I want to know about Fisk." Vladimir, blood dripping from his mouth, musters a defiant response, "You think you're different... from me? From him? But you'll get there. Sooner or later... we all do, men like us."

Moved by the intensity of the moment, you stand beside Matt, offering your support. Your hand gently rests on his shoulder, providing a silent reassurance. As your touch connects with him, you feel his body freeze, his muscles tensing. Matt cranes his neck to the side, his heightened senses acknowledging your presence. His voice, barely audible, carries a mix of surprise and relief as he whispers, "You were looking for me."

Your hand instinctively moves down to his arm, offering a comforting squeeze. You lean closer to his ear, your words a soft murmur, "I'm always looking for you."

Matt turns his head slightly, his attention briefly shifting to your presence, but he doesn't linger on it. Instead, he focuses on Vladimir, the urgency of the situation pulling him back into the moment. "A man like Fisk just took out your entire operation," Matt asserts, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "And he may not own all the cops, but he owns enough that you won't make it into a prison cell. Right now, I'm your only shot at getting out of this building alive."

Vladimir, his breathing heavy, musters the strength to share crucial information. "His lapdog came to us first. He told us his employer had taken note. He complimented... us on our business. Invited us to be part of something bigger... to expand... if we entered into an agreement."

Matt's gravelly voice cuts through the tension, his question demanding answers. "What did Fisk offer?" he asks, his focus unwavering.

Vladimir shrugs, a grimace forming on his blood-stained face. "Police looking other way... aid from politicians... and access to Chinese and their heroin."

Surprised by the revelation, Matt presses further, "He's working with the Chinese?" Vladimir's mocking tone sends a wave of frustration through Matt. "You really don't know anything, do you? Just snapping at scraps falling from the table."

Frustrated but undeterred, Matt licks his lips, determined to gather more information. "I want names. Everything you know about them and how they connect to Fisk."

Vladimir's energy wanes, his voice growing weaker. "There's only one name that matters. The man that can tie it all together." Matt's urgency rises as he implores, "Who?"

With a distant gaze, Vladimir reminisces, his voice trailing off, "We were going to rule this city... my brother and I."

Matt, sensing the opportunity slipping away, growls urgently, "Vladimir, the name!"

Struggling to form the words, Vladimir's voice fades before he utters something in Russian. Suddenly, he catches Matt off guard, headbutting him and launching a swift attack with a wooden plank. Matt groans, winded and disoriented, trying to regain his footing amidst the chaos.

Defiantly, Vladimir cries out, "This is not how I die. This is not how it happens." Matt, refusing to yield, pushes himself up from the floor, his resolve unyielding. The room becomes a blur of grunts, punches, and strikes as the two adversaries engage in a fierce battle. In a stunning turn of events, Matt gains the upper hand, bringing Vladimir down to the ground, causing the old wooden floors to splinter beneath their weight. The deafening sound of planks clattering and the heavy thump of their bodies hitting the floor below reverberate through the room, causing you to flinch.

Your heart races with panic as you witness the aftermath of the intense confrontation. Matt lies motionless, his body splayed across the fractured floor. Fear and concern grip you, overpowering any rational thought. Without hesitation, you tap into your unique abilities.

Drawing upon the illusory energy within you, you summon your powers. An ethereal shimmer envelops your form, rendering you visible once again. With a focused determination, you concentrate your energy, allowing it to manifest beneath your feet.

Gradually, you lift off the ground, defying gravity as you hover above the wreckage. Your descent through the gaping hole in the floor is guided by a combination of instinct and concern. Matt's stillness propels you forward, an invisible force compelling you to reach him.

As you gently lower yourself to the lower level, your touch meets the battered body of the man you have the urge to care for. Tenderly, you cradle his head in your hands, checking for signs of life. Matt stirs, his breath shallow but present, and relief washes over you.

With a mixture of relief and worry etched on your face, you whisper softly, "Come on, stay with me." Your voice carries a blend of encouragement and concern, urging him to regain his strength.  The sounds of the dog barking and distant sirens serving as a constant reminder of the perilous situation. Time is of the essence, and you know that you must act swiftly to ensure Matt's safety and the success of their mission.

As Matt groans in pain, you lend him your support, his weight partially resting against you. He grimaces and spits out a mouthful of blood, the metallic taste lingering in the air. Your heart aches at the sight, fueling your determination to help him through this ordeal.

While maintaining your grip on Matt, he turns his head towards the motionless Vladimir, his gaze filled with a mix of pain and defiance. His voice carries a hint of a growl as he addresses his defeated adversary, "That wasn't very smart."

Vladimir's body remains still, but his eyes continue to glare at Matt with a piercing intensity. With a mocking sneer, he taunts, "But it was fun, wasn't it? Watching you bleed. And finally seeing what your little guardian angel looks like."

You swallow nervously, the weight of the situation pressing upon you. Matt's response is laced with contempt, his voice dripping with defiance and a touch of blood, "You think this is a game?"

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Vladimir's mouth as he retorts, "If it was a game, you'd be losing."

Meanwhile, you shift your focus to tending to Matt's injuries as best you can amidst the chaos. Your hands brush away the dirt and debris, offering a semblance of comfort in the midst of their harsh surroundings. Drawing upon the energy of your glamour, you channel it to alleviate some of the soreness and minor wounds, providing a small measure of relief.

As Vladimir's eyes flutter closed, Matt freezes for a moment before mustering his strength and pushing himself up. He hurriedly moves to Vladimir's side and begins performing chest compressions, his voice filled with desperation, "No... No... Come on. I'm not done with you yet. You hear me? I'm not done with you yet."

Sensing the urgency of the situation, you quickly join Matt, gently taking hold of his arms and urging him to step aside. Reluctantly, he complies and shifts his focus to your actions. You concentrate on the rhythm of your compressions, your hands applying measured pressure to Vladimir's chest.

The room is charged with tension as you continue the life-saving procedure. The sound of your hands connecting with Vladimir's chest echoes through the air. However, just as you feel a flicker of doubt, your powers surge to life, channeling a surge of magic into his body. The shock jolts Vladimir's heart, coaxing it back into a normal rhythm.

Coughing and gasping for air, Vladimir's eyes widen in confusion. He struggles to comprehend what just occurred. Unamused, you respond with a hint of annoyance in your tone, "You died. I brought you back. You're welcome."

Vladimir gazes up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and disdain. With a hint of mockery, he taunts, "You can't even stand there and let me die, even after I almost killed the one you're so eager to protect. Does he even know your name?"

Gritting your teeth, you feel Matt's presence beside you. Shaking your head, you reply, "It doesn't matter. Give us the information we need about Fisk."

However, the sudden sounds from outside the building catch your attention, causing both you and Matt to tense up. Your eyes meet his, silently communicating the urgency of the situation. Matt swiftly positions himself atop a wooden table, his palms pressed against its surface to sense the vibrations of the concrete. He cranes his neck, absorbing every piece of information from the surroundings. The rumbling of the nearby train tracks triggers an idea in his mind.

Curious, Vladimir asks, "What are you doing?" Matt responds with determination in his voice, "Finding us a way out."

Moving swiftly, Matt strides over to a corner of the room, and you follow his lead. He squats down, removing the wooden planks and debris that obstruct the way. Your eyes catch sight of a metal grate, likely leading to the sewer. Matt starts pulling at the bars, and you join him, lending your strength to the task at hand. However, just as you begin, the crackling of a radio fills the room, and a voice at the other end speaks up, "I'd like to speak to the man in the mask, please."

Your eyes shoot up to Matt, a mix of anxiety and anticipation evident in your expression, as the voice on the radio continues to speak. "Hello. Are you there? Can you hear me?" Matt's attention is drawn to the radio lying on the floor. He quickly reaches for a piece of wood, using his gloved hand to turn it over, and then picks up the device. "Who is this?" he inquires, his voice laced with caution.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you realize the significance of this moment. "I think you know," you respond, your voice tinged with apprehension. "You've been asking about me. I thought it was time we spoke." While keeping your hands on the metal grate beneath you, you strain to listen to the conversation unfolding between Matt and the man on the other end of the line, whom you assume to be Fisk.

"Say your name," Matt demands, his tone firm and unwavering. Fisk counters, "You first." There's a brief pause before Fisk continues, "That's what I thought. You and I have a lot in common."

Matt whispers deeply, his voice filled with conviction, "We're nothing alike."

Fisk disagrees, his voice dripping with smugness, "That's what you'll tell yourself."

"You're feeding off this city... like a cancer," Matt states matter-of-factly, his words cutting through the tension.

"I want to save this city, like you... only on a scale that matters," Fisk retorts, his tone implying a twisted sense of righteousness.

"Now tell that to the people you've hurt," Matt challenges, his voice holding a blend of anger and determination.

"Young man... life is not a fairy tale. Not everyone deserves... a happy ending," Fisk responds nonchalantly, his words leaving a bitter taste in the air.

You gather the remaining strength within you, attempting to summon your powers once more, but they flicker out, leaving you frustrated and on the verge of tears.

"I'm gonna find you... and I'm gonna make you pay for what you've done," Matt threatens, his voice seething with righteous fury. Fisk doesn't miss a beat, his tone unwavering, "No, you are not. Not that I don't admire what you're trying to do... to change the world... with nothing but desire and your own two hands... secure in the knowledge that you're doing the right thing, the only thing. That's something that I do understand. But we both can't have what we want. So... your part... in this drama, by necessity, comes to an end."

"It's gonna take a lot more than a voice on a radio to stop me," Matt declares defiantly, kneeling on the floor. He can sense your fatigue and nausea, and his concern for you simmers beneath his anger.

"It's not me you need to worry about. It's the city you just blew the hell out of," Fisk says, revealing his true intentions. As you lift your head, you lock eyes with Matt, realizing that Fisk has played his cards perfectly, orchestrating the situation in his favor.

Matt stands up and moves closer to you, a knowing smirk on his face. He chuckles over the radio, "You... You think anyone's gonna believe that?"

"You're running around in a mask, holing up with a known felon in the wake of a series of bombings. There's that police officer you're holding hostage, so... yes. Actually, I do. But it doesn't have to be this way. The Russian... is he alive?" Fisk inquires. Matt turns the radio toward Vladimir, who spits back, "I'm still here, you fat shit!"

Matt's smirk widens as he presses the radio button, triumphantly saying, "Does that answer your question?"

"It's a one-time offer. You kill the Russian, and we'll call the night a push. You know what he's done... to women... to children..." Fisk presents his proposition, his voice dripping with malice. Matt's boot lands on Vladimir's hand, preventing him from grabbing a sharp piece of wood, eliciting a pained groan. Matt effortlessly grabs the wooden piece and hurls it across the room.

"To the people of this city that you claim to care about," Fisk adds, his words fueling Matt's anger.

"You just confirmed how important he is. That must worry you, what he might tell me," Matt asserts, exposing Fisk's fear. Fisk retorts, "Which means he hasn't told you anything yet."

You sense Matt's anger boiling beneath the surface as he kicks some rubble aside in frustration, causing you to flinch. Matt turns his body towards you, and you direct your attention back to the metal grate. You shake your head, attempting to muster the last ounce of energy within you, determined to replenish your magic before Fisk's men close in on all of you.

"You're a child playing at being a hero," Fisk taunts, his words intended to provoke. Matt licks his lower lip in frustration before responding, "No, no, I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm just a guy that got fed up with men like you and I decided to do something about it."

"That's what makes you dangerous. It's not the mask. It's not the skills. It's your ideology. The lone man... who thinks he can make a difference," Fisk states grimly. Disagreement knits your eyebrows together, but you can see the way Matt's lips curl downwards, haunted by a memory that quietly slips under the door of his mind. It rewinds the tapes, presenting evidence that what Fisk is saying holds a grain of truth. In that moment, your heart aches at the thought of Matt believing it.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself you've won. It'll make what I'm gonna do to you so much more satisfying," Matt says, his voice filled with determination. Fisk replies coldly, "Your part ends tonight."

"And if that's true, others will take my place. They'll see what I was trying to do, and they'll make sure..." Matt's sentence is cut short by Fisk's interruption, "No, they won't. The city will burn you in effigy. Your name, your very existence... will be met with abhorrence and disgust."

The sudden clamoring and screams from outside weigh heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Matt's voice, filled with pain, resonates, "What did you do?"

"What you forced me to do. Goodbye. I'm afraid we won't speak again," Fisk declares, severing the connection. Matt pushes himself off the wall, his frustration and anger erupting in a furious yell before he hurls the radio, shattering it against the wall with a display of his strength.

Realizing that you need a few minutes to recover before attempting to tackle the stubborn metal grate once again, you find a spot on the ground to sit down. Leaning your back against the wall, you catch your breath, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face with tired fingers.

Matt, ever determined, moves towards the metal grate, ready to give it another try. However, just as he starts to exert his strength, the shrill ring of his phone interrupts his efforts. He pauses, panting, and answers with a weary tone, "It's really not a good time."

You pay little attention to who might be on the other end of the line, but you can hear fragments of Claire's voice filtering through the speaker. A brief moment passes before Matt pants out a response, "No. It was Fisk. It's all Fisk."

Feeling a mixture of exhaustion and curiosity, you observe Matt as he moves to the other side of the room, engaging in the phone conversation. His head tilts to the side, his expression grave, as he listens intently. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, his usually confident voice falters, "Claire. Um... What you said, before I left... I was..."

His words trail off, and you can sense the weight of his emotions. "No, don't be," he continues, his voice filled with sincerity. "It turns out you were... You were right... about me. I just don't want you getting caught up if it goes that way. If we don't get a chance to talk again... you take care of yourself."

It becomes apparent to you how easily Matt pushes away those he cares about, as if his hands act as barriers, closing off access to his own heart. The anger, fear, and sadness that he keeps hidden beneath the surface remain locked away in a secluded room within him. Pushing yourself up from the wall, you ignore the pain in your hands from previous attempts to claw at the grate. Squatting down, you grip the metal tightly, determination etched on your face.

Both Matt and Vladimir move to assist you, but your voice, filtered with resolve, reverberates through the room, "Stop." Their movements freeze, and you feel the surge of power within you growing. The energy manipulates the metal grate, causing it to shift and tremble under your command. A sharp cry of pain escapes your lips, and with great effort, you finally give in, collapsing to the side.

Matt acts swiftly, catching your limp figure in his arms, providing support as you struggle to catch your breath. You watch as the shimmering magic that surrounded the grate fades away, but to your surprise, the grate itself is completely gone. Your eyes widen in astonishment at the display of your newfound abilities. A snort escapes you, mingling with the pain and exhaustion, "You were right. This isn't how we die."

With Matt's help, you manage to make your way down the ladder, gripping a flashlight tightly in your hand. The stench of sewage only adds to the disorientation, but you push through, determined to keep moving forward. Matt takes on the responsibility of supporting your weight, doing his best to assist you. He guides Vladimir to a wall on the side, allowing him a moment to catch his breath.

Vladimir's voice cuts through the air, filled with confusion, "Where are we?"

"Access tunnels," Matt responds, his voice containing a hint of knowledge. "The city was built on a network of these, most of them sealed up years ago." His head tilts as he hones in on the approaching sounds of police officers, hot on your trail.

"Alright, we have to keep moving, find a way to the street," Matt declares, his determination resurfacing. With one side supporting Vladimir and the other struggling to support you, you all continue on, navigating the maze-like tunnels in search of an escape route to the surface.

As you turn your attention to the locked door, your mind races with ideas on how to open it. However, before you can offer your assistance, Matt's swift reflexes come into play. He swiftly throws Vladimir aside, propelling him away from the immediate danger. The sound of a commanding voice fills the air, yelling, "Freeze!"

Reacting on instinct, you instinctively duck, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire that erupts in the tunnel. Matt's finely honed senses and skills kick into high gear as he gracefully evades the bullets, his movements fluid and precise. Your powers surge within you, and you harness their energy to create ethereal spheres of shimmering illusions. With a focused intention, you launch the illusions at one of the officers, causing him to become disoriented and rendering him unconscious.

Seizing the opportunity, you spot Matt's discarded metal pipe on the ground and swiftly grab it. With a surge of energy, you infuse the pipe with power, transforming it into a formidable weapon. Expertly aiming, you hurl the energized pipe at the second officer, striking him square in the head. At the same time, you unleash a beam of projection, creating mirages and shimmers that disorient the remaining officer.

Matt's skills are unmatched as he swiftly disarms the final officer, his movements seamless and calculated. With the immediate threat neutralized, he stands by your side, both of you breathing heavily from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You lean against the wall, wincing at the sharp pain in your side, and take a moment to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Vladimir has managed to secure one of the rifles and points it toward the two of you.

"We need to go. There are five more coming. They're working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We don't have time for this," Matt pants out urgently, his voice laced with concern. You frown, realizing the severity of the situation, but before you can react, Vladimir interrupts with a pained voice, "I think... maybe I stay."

Matt tries to reason with him, his voice tinged with desperation, "We can still make it out of here. You can turn evidence on Fisk, we can expose him..."

Vladimir shakes his head, his voice resolute, "He controls... all police... judges. There's only one way to stop him, you know this."

Matt firmly denies, "No. I'm not a killer."

"The moment you put on the mask... you got into a cage with animals. Animals don't stop fighting. Not until one of them is dead," Vladimir states, his words carrying the weight of bitter experience. He groans as he pushes himself up from the floor, his determination unwavering. His gaze shifts between you and Matt, and then settles on you. "And he will do it... to everyone you care about. Will you feel the same way then? Or will you be a man... and do what you know you must do?"

Vladimir's words hang heavy in the air, their impact sinking in. You close your eyes for a moment, contemplating the choices before you. The distant sound of chatter and approaching footsteps snaps your attention back to the present. Vladimir's gaze shifts between all of you, his voice filled with urgency, "Go."

Summoning the last reserves of your energy, you focus your powers once more. With a burst of golden energy, you direct a powerful surge towards the locked door. The door buckles under the force, hinges groaning and splintering, until finally, it bursts open, revealing an escape route from the turmoil, bloodshed, and the weighty decisions that lingered in the air.

Together, you and Matt rush through the newly opened passage, leaving behind the dissonance and unfortunate resolve of Vladimir.

End Notes:

Yes yes, I KNOW. Does Matt know? It’s you?? We’ll find out in the next chapter. Hehehe. Yay for the black suit :> I was supposed to split this into two parts but ehhh I couldn’t help myself.

Lowkey blacked out while writing this chonky chapter so uhhh if there are any mistakes... my bad! 😣

Okay time for the next episode! See ya 👋

TAGLIST:

@scoliobean

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

hi Steph!!! the prompt list is so cute 🥰

may I please request

“"Don't you dare jump in that puddle and get me wet!"”

with Brett? 👀

Puddles and Paddles

Brett (OC) x Fem!Reader

Summary: On your way to a party for Tungst's promotion to ARC trooper you take some time to play in a puddle, but when Brett gets wet, he decides to teach you a lesson when you get to your destination.

Pairing: Brett (OC) x Fem!Reader

Characters: Brett (OC)

Tags & Warnings: 18+, NSFW, established relationship, domestic fluff, mild sexual content but no smut, implied/referenced sexual activities, light BDSM, dom!brett, brat taming, spanking kink, traffic light system, consensual, Brett is his own warning

Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: I’m still not taking requests, but I decided to use this timely opportunity to cross off another bingo square. Congrats Sev! You’re my first follower to receive a one-shot fic from a request (and happy belated birthday)! I hope you like where I took this... This is the most smut-adjacent thing I’ve ever written, but that is how Brett demands to be written. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Party

You rollover beneath the warm duvet and groan at the ache in your lower body. Brett is sound asleep next to you and still lying in the same position he fell asleep in, on his back with an arm resting behind his head. You cast a glance at the chronometer and you’re surprised the sunlight isn’t peeking through the blinds yet, but as you listen, you can hear the reason why. It’s raining.

You love it when it rains. It’s peaceful and soothing to you, but Brett hates it. Unfortunately, for the both of you, you don’t have the luxury of staying inside to enjoy the rainy day as the Maker intended, from the comfort of your warm and dry apartment. Yesterday, Tungst was promoted to ARC trooper and today his brothers are having a party to celebrate, so you don’t have a choice.

Knowing that Brett is going to be a pain in the butt for the rest of the day, you decide to get in your dose of his soft side now before he wakes up and realizes it’s raining. He didn’t want to go to the party to begin with, and it took you forever to convince him. But now that it’s raining? He’s going to be even grumpier than usual and harder to force out the door, but that’s just who he is.

You snuggle up next to him and lay your arm across his stomach. As you lie against his warm body, you feel his right arm wrap around you. He hums and rolls onto his side, pulling your bare back flush against his bare chest, while pressing lazy kisses against your neck. You grin as he begins to caress your naked body, but frown when his hands traverse down past your stomach.

“Brett,” you whine and push his hands away. “Don’t.”

“Still sore?” Brett asks smugly, then replaces his hands to smooth over your hips.

“Could be worse,” you answer, then wiggle your hips to shake him off.

“I could make it worse,” he whispers, then nips at your shoulder.

You gasp, but keep yourself under control, refusing to play into his advances.

“What’s the matter?” Brett asks as he continues to kiss down your shoulder. “Don’t want to play this morning?”

You rollover to face him and kiss his lips. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

Brett groans and flops onto his back. “Killjoy.”

“Don’t be like that,” you give him a playful tap on the chest. “It’s a special day for your vod.”

Brett pulls the duvet over his face and attempts to go back to sleep.

You sigh and yank the duvet back down, revealing his annoyed expression. “Didn’t you hear–”

In a single movement Brett grabs you, flips you over, and plants your face into the pillows with your butt sticking up in the air on full display. He gives both cheeks a soft, playful smack, then slides himself behind you and leans over your body, pressing his chest firmly against your back while pinning your head down with one hand and squeezing one of your breasts with the other.

“Come on, mesh’la,” Brett goads into your ear while grinding his hips against your backside. “Just one more round, then we can get ready.”

You sigh and decide another round won’t hurt if it means Brett will play nice for the rest of the day. Besides, you can’t help but be turned on by the way he’s man-handling you right now. You're still sore from your activities the night before, but you know that all you have to do is say the word ‘red’ and he’ll stop on a dime. You love that about him; he’s rough, but respectful.

“Just one,” you warn with a muffled voice. “But we’re leaving right after we’re done.”

“I better make it count then,” Brett smirks, then bites your earlobe. “I’m gonna screw you so hard, it’ll be the only thing you can think about at that stupid party.”

You moan with excitement. “Don’t hold back.”

Brett keeps his word and limits your fun to one round, but he also delivers on the soreness. You probably should have bowed out sooner rather than later, but you were having way too much fun to stop before you both finished. Luckily, a hot shower and pain killers help take the edge off so you don’t have to waddle to the party and embarrass yourself, much to Brett’s displeasure.

You know Brett would just love to watch you walk around awkwardly, letting the whole planet know what he did to you. You're his, and he loves showing you off. But you’re more than just an object to him. You’re his cyare, and you don’t want your relationship to be any other way. You trust him, with all of your heart, and he trusts you. That’s how you make everything work.

After you’re both cleaned up, caffeinated, and fed, Brett gets dressed in his formal uniform and you in your black gown. Then you put up your hair and add some jewelry to complete the look. Finally, you spritz yourself with your favorite perfume and throw the matching heels into your purse. You don’t want to walk in the rain in your heels, so you’ll bring them with you to the party.

Brett finishes adjusting his uniform and walks up behind you as you stare at yourself in the mirror, admiring how beautiful you look as the dress accentuates all of your curves. He places his hands on your shoulders and massages them in small circles, a subtle ask. You smile and lean your head to the side, exposing your neck so Brett can press his lips to the supple skin.

“I love that scent,” he says while ghosting his lips over your neck.

“You should,” you say. “You picked it out for me.”

“All the more reason,” he starts kissing your neck as his hands caress down your arms.

You sigh. “Brett.”

“I know,” he groans. “But I’m taking this thing off when we get home.”

You chuckle. “No arguments here.”

Finally ready, you grab your purse, put your rain boots and jacket on, and grab your umbrella. Brett raises an eyebrow, but when you open the apartment door, his demeanor sours. He didn’t know it was raining, or maybe he wasn’t paying attention. You pat his shoulder to offer your condolences and open your umbrella. He grumbles, but takes the umbrella from you to hold it.

Brett is quiet on the way to the barracks. You can tell that he’s already not having a good time, and probably wishes he was back in bed with you naked beneath him. In fact, that’s most likely the only thing he’s thinking about right now. You need to find a way to snap him back to the moment. Perhaps a good tease will rile him up, or maybe if you defy him, he’ll perk up.

Your brain devises a plan quickly when you see a sizable puddle ahead of you. You already know Brett hates the rain, but he also hates being wet. You wonder how he’ll react if you play in that puddle. He’ll have to come along and get close to it, since he’s holding the umbrella. At least that’s what you think he’ll do. As you approach the puddle, you put your plan into action.

“What are you doing?” Brett asks as he follows you with the umbrella.

“It’s a puddle!” you say eagerly while pointing to it.

“Not a chance,” Brett says, then reaches out to grab your arm. “Let’s go.”

You narrowly escape his grasp, then stick your tongue out at him. “Come get me.”

Brett narrows his eyes and huffs, then walks towards you. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, come on,” you say playfully. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

“I must have left it in my other pants,” Brett answers with an eye roll. “Get over here.”

You step closer to the puddle.

“Mesh’la,” Brett warns, his voice lowering to mark his seriousness.

You take another step towards the puddle.

“I’m warning you!” he exclaims. “Don’t you dare jump in that puddle and get me wet!”

You smile, then jump in the puddle, making a big splash that gets the both of you wet. You start giggling at his unamused expression.

Brett grabs your arm and pulls you out of the puddle. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Oh?” you remark, a spark of excitement running through your body as he pulls you along. “What did you have in mind?”

Brett releases your arm and grabs a handful of your butt. “Bad girls need a spanking.”

“Am I a bad girl?” you bat your eyelashes at him, feigning innocence.

Brett smirks. “The worst.”

You look around. “Where do you want me?”

“Not here,” Brett answers, then leans down to whisper in your ear. “Barracks refresher. Over my knee.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

You both continue along towards the barracks in silence, with Brett holding the umbrella in one hand and your arm firmly in the other. You’re excited to get to the party. Brett rarely engages in risky intimate behavior outside of your home, so the thrill of him spanking you in the barrack’s refresher is enticing, and you’re happy that he has something fun to look forward to at the party.

You arrive at the barracks and are eagerly greeted by a few members of Brett’s squad. They love having you around during social functions, and joke that your fun personality is the only thing that lights up Brett’s dark cloud of perpetual disgruntlement. You know, of course, that Brett really does love his brothers and cares for them deeply, he just has a hard time showing it.

Once the pleasantries are over, you hang your raincoat on a hook in the entryway to dry, then pull your rain boots off and replace them with the heels in your purse. You straighten your dress, look out towards the party, and immediately spot a delicious looking hors d’oeuvre tray. Feeling hungry and ready to mingle, you make a beeline towards it, but a firm hand holds you back.

You turn around and Brett is glaring at you. “What?” you ask in confusion.

“You got me wet,” he answers. “Time to pay up.”

Oh yeah. You think to yourself as you remember your earlier escapades with the puddle.

Your stomach growls, and you look back over at the food, and then to Brett. “Can I eat one thing first?” you plead. “Please?”

Brett considers your request for a moment, a blank expression on his face. “No. I don’t need you throwing up on me too.”

Before you can open your mouth to protest, Brett is pulling you through the crowd of natborns in dress clothes and clones in uniforms. Instead of fighting him, you try to keep up so it doesn’t look suspicious and garner attention from the attendees. He walks you past the food tray and you reach out to try to grab something, but he notices and pulls you back just far enough away.

You curse under your breath at how close you were.

Resigning to your fate of food after punishment, you let Brett lead you to the barrack’s refresher, and as you think more about how scandalous the whole situation is, you begin to get your excitement back and soon forget about the food. Now you’re hungry for Brett and his big, strong hands to leave your backside so swollen you’ll have to stand for the duration of the party.

When you reach the refresher, Brett looks around the hallway to make sure no one is coming, then shoves you through the door first, with him quickly following behind. He walks you over to the sink and gives you strict orders to stay put while he ensures each stall is empty. Once he concludes his search and knows the refresher is empty of all occupancy, he locks the door.

You can’t help but smile at his thoroughness. Brett loves his privacy, and the possibility that someone might see or hear him pleasuring you in the barrack’s refresher, will turn him off faster than a kill switch on a speeder bike. You appreciate his thoughtfulness to protect you from prying eyes and gawking low-lifes, but if you’re being honest, you find the prospect thrilling.

You watch as Brett sits himself down on a small bench at the far side of the refresher, then silently beckons you to him with his finger. You obey and strut over to him, making sure to exaggerate your hips with every step. Brett’s expression remains unchanging and you inwardly sigh. It was worth a shot to try and lighten him up, but he seems to be all business right now.

As you approach him, he opens his legs and you take your place standing between his knees, waiting for him to tell you what to do next. You look down at his face, still emotionless, almost as if he’s bored and has nothing better to do with his time, but you know that it’s just his ‘resting Brett face’ and that there is much more going on in his brain than what his face is willing to share.

Brett smooths his hands over your soft, round glutes and starts rubbing, kneading, and squeezing to prepare them. He alternates between soft and harsh contact, carefully gauging your reactions. You place your hands on his shoulders as the feeling of his ministrations make your legs weak and your feet unsteady. You’re not sure how long you’ll be able to stay standing.

Brett notices the wobble in your legs and pulls you towards him so he can kiss your stomach. “Check in with me,” he says in between kisses.

“Green,” you answer.

“Good girl,” he praises, then softly taps your butt to give you a taste of what is to come.

“Brett,” you whine at his teasing.

“Bend over,” he orders.

Your stomach flips with exhilaration at his demanding tone and you do as you're told, assuming a bent position over his right thigh, then adjusting yourself so you’re more comfortable. Brett carefully pulls your dress up and over your back to reveal your lace panties. He smirks and pulls the stretchy band upward with a single finger, then releases it so it snaps back against your skin.

“Please,” you whimper and squirm against his thigh in protest. “You said I was a good girl.”

“Pull your panties down,” he orders.

You obey and reach around to slip your panties off, uncovering your bare skin as the lace fabric falls down around your ankles. You feel exposed and vulnerable in this position, but you don’t feel nervous. You never feel nervous when Brett is in charge. His top priority is your comfort, safety, and pleasure. All three of those measures need to be met in order for him to enjoy himself.

Pleased with your quick and obedient response, Brett smooths his hand over the soft flesh before giving you what you want, a swift smack. You jerk your head up and gasp at the momentary sting and the following pleasure. With your reaction guiding him, Brett follows up with a few more well-placed smacks, making sure to rub away the sting before giving you more.

You moan in pleasure at the feeling of his strong hand against your skin as it forces you to teeter between the edge of pain and pleasure. The dichotomy of his roughness and gentleness drives you crazy and leaves you wanting him even more. No one will ever truly understand him the way you do; how his tough exterior can give way to soft affections saved only for you.

Brett continues the spanking session until your skin is hot under his touch and the palm of his hand begins to tingle. You’re a moaning mess bent over his knee, fingers clawing and digging into the side of his leg to stay grounded. A small puddle of drool sits stagnant below you on the floor, and you're beginning to feel faint from your head being angled downward for so long.

Brett reaches down and cups your chin to gently pull your head up towards him, then kisses the back of your neck. “Check in with me.”

“Yellow,” you breathe.

Brett places a few more butterfly kisses against the back of your neck, then slowly flips you over and picks you up to situate you so that your throbbing butt is resting between his open legs, your back is leaning against his arm, and your knees are bent and resting over his other thigh. He supports your back as you sit up and you lean your head against his shoulder to recover.

“I could’ve gone longer,” you pant.

“I got what I wanted,” he says, then kisses the top of your head. “Besides, this isn’t the place to push your limits.”

You smile at his thoughtfulness. “Was I a good girl?”

Brett smirks. “The best.”

You release a content sigh and nuzzle your head against his shoulder. Usually, Brett doesn’t go overboard with the aftercare, which you don’t mind. You’ve been with him long enough to know that subtlety is what he prefers. A little kiss here or a small caress there is how he likes to end sessions, but today is different. He’s holding you just a little tighter, a little longer, and you like it.

You stay like this for a little while, in the quiet, and enjoy each other’s presence and physical contact. There’s no bed for you to collapse into, but Brett has you. His strong arms are the next best thing to hold you together until your body decides to come back to reality, and it doesn’t take very long. Soon enough, you start moving and trying to get yourself back onto your feet.

“Pull your panties up, mesh’la,” Brett says as he helps you up. “We’ve got a party to attend.”

You do as he says and make yourself look presentable again, then smile. “Lead the way.”

Masterlist

AO3

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