#dry heaving at these thoughts tbh.

[vesemirsexual]

insane to me how some people characterise lambert in tw3 as a simple prick or angry asshole when his on-going narrative theme is grief like.

first we have aiden. who lambert is clearly angry and grieving about, who we know was a rare close friend on the path and someone who he had an extremely high opinion of.

then we have his mother (+ by extension his childhood) and there’s very clear grief there arising from a child trying to protect a parent from domestic violence.

and then there’s voltehre. again, lamberts grief is the angry kind, but it’s clearly a significant memory and a significant loss for him.

and then there’s vesemir. and it’s easy to see on the surface how maybe you could think that lambert viewed him as nothing more than an abusive prick but the fact is that he immediately rebukes yennefer the second he doesn’t like her tone about the old man. he clearly says that vesemir could have his sword when he died and that it fits perfectly in his hand, and like i can only imagine how that conversation even came to be. lambert hates kaer morhen but still comes back; likewise, we know that vesemir has no problem telling people they’re not welcome at kaer morhen, and yet they fight and fight and they both still end up back there, and lambert seriously pisses him off and vesemir is the one who fucks off for a whole month. and it’s more apparent if keira isn’t present, but lambert is devastated at his funeral, the person most effected after ciri.

lambert is anger on the surface, and under all that is just grief after grief.

[lemongogo]

genuinely at a loss 4 words ok

[bluesidez]

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane. 

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway. 

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up. 

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself. 

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head. 

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying. 

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door. 

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband. 

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display. 

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button. 

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming. 

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island. 

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips. 

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response. 

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest. 

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined. 

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips. 

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting. 

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment. 

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you. 

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading. 

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back. 

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection. 

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you. 

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it. 

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama. 

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom. 

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early. 

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door. 

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself. 

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did. 

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues. 

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day. 

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek. 

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.” 

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time. 

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven. 

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet. 

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly. 

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.  

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10. 

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit. 

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure. 

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone. 

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away. 

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.  

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner. 

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight. 

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths. 

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms. 

You couldn’t ask for anything better. 

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think. 

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it. 

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good. 

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much. 

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped. 

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn. 

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you. 

You’re starting to think the worst. 

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working. 

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time. 

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with. 

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had. 

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house. 

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom. 

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.  

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand. 

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat. 

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry. 

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp. 

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back. 

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.” 

So much for communication. 

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides. 

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout. 

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel’s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight. 

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length. 

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers. 

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep. 

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length. 

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face. 

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better. 

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him. 

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls. 

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically. 

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time. 

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it. 

It was all too much. 

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message. 

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper. 

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you. 

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Kenjaku x F!Reader, past Geto Suguru x F!Reader

word count: 3.6k

about: you become kenjaku's captive to ensure that he will not miss his opportunity to fight the strongest after his return from the prison realm. the temptation of being this close to the last remaining earthly fragment of the man you once loved, suguru, proves too much to resist and you give into your desires despite the hole they're bound to leave.

contents: NSFW - MINORS DNI. DARK CONTENT WARNING, MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS FOR CH 236 AND BEYOND | dubcon, manipulation, violence against reader, asphyxiation, kidnapping | reader is a sorcerer and went to school with geto and they had mutual feelings for one another, mentions of religion and references to god, kenjaku retained some of geto's memories and knows reader through them, reader has breasts and descriptions of vaginal anatomy are given, rough piv sex with little prep, reader is referred to as "girl", major character death (off screen).

notes: i've uh....been going through some things lately LMAO tbh i started this awhile back before thanksgiving but have felt weird about posting it and it very nearly stayed in the "between me and god" folder so i held back but today i said fuck it. if you read, thanks and i hope you enjoy!!!

header art is by jenny holzer and divider is by @/cafekitsune ♡

“The old occupant of this vessel was very fond of you, you know?”

How dare Kenjaku mention Suguru so casually, as if he were a tenant to his own flesh and bone instead of its rightful owner? 

“You know nothing about him,” The words are full of venom, flying from your mouth not unlike the way you spat at the curse user’s face two days prior to now. He chuckled when the fluid hit his cheek, wiping it off without a second thought. “Or me.” 

You felt so guilty for spitting at his face, the face of a man you once believed that you loved, that you wept until you began to dry heave atop the futon mattress in the room that has been designated as yours. It’s the same bed you rest on now, duvet over your knees that are hiked to your chest. It’s a means to protect yourself from any vulnerability but it’s truly no use. If Kenjaku wants to harm you, he will.

He has insisted your accommodations be comfortable since arriving three days ago given you are collateral and not a captive, his own clever wording for the situation, but you’re more than aware that if you were to attempt to escape from the cage that you’d hit the window just as all birds hungry for a taste of freedom do. There are no cuffs, chains, or bars but your freedom is no longer yours. It is a prize to be won pending the defeat of the man standing across from you in the doorway, shoji door open beside him, flowing hair as dark as the midnight sky brushing the backs of his elbows.

For years you wondered what you’d do if faced with Suguru again. Would you strike him, insisting he deserved it for all the hurt left in his wake? Ask him why in a scream so powerful your shoulders would shake with the weight of your fury? Perhaps you’d forgive him, as you’d been taught and encouraged to do your entire life, and those mumbled prayers cast to the God you believe in above you would be true for the first time since they’ve left your treacherous lips. 

“I forgive him, I hope you can, too.” You have begged God aloud and silently since sixteen years old. You have always been devout in your faith despite abandoning most of the tenets that make someone a believer, your lack of devotion not enough to deter you from selfishly asking for absolution for a man who you know deserves none.

God’s answer is clear when faced with the fact that this is not Geto standing in front of you. There is no less mercy a person can be shown than their body being used as a sick prop after their death.

The space where his thoughts and dreams and hopes used to lie is occupied by something far worse than just visions of a world purified through means of violence, a place where people like you could live without the threat of death and sacrifice to keep others safe. Granted, that wasn’t exactly a noble purpose either, but at least it didn’t threaten your life the way that whatever lives inside of his skull does now.

“I know more about both of you than you think.” 

Kenjaku’s words drip with smugness and your stomach flips. The natural responses of your body to a man who looks and sounds just like Suguru make you sick but you cannot focus on fighting them off and keeping yourself protected at the same time, you have to simply make peace with the butterflies in your stomach that feels like something is punching you in the gut over and over again. He dares enter the room and you scoot further up the futon, hitting the wall behind you and leveling a glare in his direction.

Suguru’s body reacts to you, as well, something that Kenjaku planned long ago to use to his advantage. It started with hazy dreams, a face he recognized as yours drifting through them, your thighs and your lips and your skirt. It’s a version of you a little younger, a little warmer - less edgy than you are now. You are sharp and finely tuned to harm while the version of you that lived in Geto’s mind will forever stay soft, a freshly unfurled rose.

“All you’ve done is vandalize him,” you accuse and he shrugs, dressed in a cotton yukata rather than the robes he stole in addition to the body they dressed. It’s easy to imagine another life where this is Suguru and you are you and he’s coming to your shared bedside, kneeling on the ground the same way Kenjaku is now while he invites himself to the only space you currently have as your own.

“You’re a smart girl, don’t play dumb.” Your glance moves from the doorway to him, disgusted by how brave he is getting this close to you. “Perhaps I’m simply using the power this body holds in the way he was too cowardly to attempt.”

Despite your current state of sitting in nothing but a yukata yourself, you are physically strong from spending the last decade of your life as nothing more than a glorified weapon to use in the fight against evil. Even if your Cursed Technique would be unlikely to have any effect on the man, you could be a difficult problem for him if you wanted to be, yet you sit and do nothing but wait and refuse to respond to his words. He chuckles at your stubbornness and reaches across the bed and your body to grab your chin between his thumb and index finger. He shifts your head until you’re staring directly at him and a smile crosses his lips.

You do not fight him off.

“Tell me, sorcerer,” he starts and you swallow, bottom lip quivering. You want to reach out and slap him away, to scream and kick but your body stays still, the only place blood is pooling between your legs and in the heat of your face. “Where are those teeth and claws you were so eager to show me on your first night here?”

He reaches his thumb upward and presses it against your mouth, stopping the shake with a single touch - your body’s natural reaction to a man you are now certain you loved, given it’s the only explanation for your behavior. It’s a form of trust, the muscle memory of a kiss he gave you in your dorm room at the school you once shared. The first night you were spitting and hissing, now you’re so placid.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Stubbornly, you shake your head and Kenjaku chuckles again, pulling his thumb away from your lip but maintaining the grip on your chin. You know this is not Suguru, it’s as clear as the stitches across the forehead of the practically empty vessel that further closes in on you. He moves silently until he’s mere inches away from you, his head hovering over your knees that are still pulled against your chest. You watch him with narrowed eyes, tucking against yourself tighter than you ever have as a means of comfort, but it does nothing to stop him from lingering.

“I could just make you speak if I wanted to,” he warns. The power in this situation belongs to him.

“What’s the point of fighting you? You’re going to do whatever you want with me anyway.” You admit, defeated. Whatever fight you had left in you was smothered weeks ago during the attack on Shibuya. Even the release of Gojo is not enough to fill you with hope for the future. It’s pointless to keep fighting when the only outcome is going to be loss.

The shaky sound of your voice makes the curse user move closer to you and you shut your eyes tightly, refusing to look at him lest your body continue with these inexplicable natural responses. Heart pounding against your chest, it’s inexplicably frustrating that it cannot seem to separate what your brain knows is true from what your body wants to believe.

It isn’t him, you scream within the confines of your own mind but it does not prevent your palms from feeling clammy and the squeeze of your inner thighs against each other to provide some relief against the heat in your core.

It isn’t him. It isn’t him. It isn’t him…

Chanting the words internally, you open your eyes and are met with a pair of golden ones staring directly at you. They’re the same that stared at you in a dorm room a decade ago although they’re missing the warmth they had back then, dripping honey sweetness hidden in the irises turned to tar. 

“You’re right, I can.” He nods and dark hair falls over his eyes, catching your eye. Your stomach turns when you spot the stitches across his forehead but your gaze returns to his so quickly you can hardly think about it. “But will it be what I want or is it what this body desires, I wonder?”

This piques your interest and Kenjaku tilts his head to the side inquisitively, dark hair sweeping over your knees and around your body. It feels like a curtain, a veil like the ones you are so used to using to keep people safe and ignorant and outside of your world of sorcery.

“What do you mean?”

A smirk is the response you are granted and he moves closer to you, one of his hands reaching for the duvet you’re using to cover you. Pulling it back gently, your robe covered body coming into view and once again, you make no effort to fight. With this barrier removed, he runs his palm over the outside of your thigh. Muffling your whimper at the touch, you attempt to hide your face in your shoulder but he stops you, still grasping onto your chin and still holding your gaze.

“Interesting.” 

His hand travels from the outside of your thigh to the insides and you gently spread them to allow him access before realizing what he’s searching for. Attempting to cut off his access by closing your legs, he holds your thigh in place and lets his fingers dip lower along the soft skin. You quiver and shake beneath him like a leaf clinging to the branches of a tree in winter, desperate for somewhere to remain, and those fingers inch closer and closer to your core. He stops when he feels the coarse hair covering your mound and dares to dip a single fingertip between your folds, raising his eyebrows when he feels the arousal seeping from you. 

“I knew it,” he whispers so low you wonder if you were even meant to hear it but the way he gazes at you, like that of a man starved, tells you that the words were meant for no one but you.

Your hand shakes as much as the rest of you when you finally lift it from your side, reaching out to him and taking a strand of hair between your fingers. It feels just as you imagined it would, silk between your digits, and a breathy sigh leaves you before you begin to cry. Dropping the small strand, you choose to reach out toward his forehead and use your hand to block the stitches covering it.

“Suguru.”

You babble the name like it is precious, your lip quivering just as it did before, and the evil man shakes his head, capturing your wrist with the hand he just removed from your chin. He lowers your hand enough that you can see the stitches unobscured.

“Kenjaku, actually.” 

He lowers your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, amused when you squirm where you sit, practically delirious with lust and confusion. You do not want this, at least that’s what you tell yourself while parting your legs further and panting, chest heaving with every breath.

Wordlessly, he uses his free hand to untie your robe and it falls off of your shoulders, exposing you to him fully before he can blink. This is something he remembers seeing in one of those dreams but you look different than whatever the imagination of a man who was infatuated with you was able to come up with during his loneliest hours. It amuses Kenjaku that he is the one to see you like this, bare and willing. 

Tracing down your belly and lower, he stops between your legs which makes you whimper. You’re so desperate to be touched, to pretend he is someone you’ll never have the opportunity to love as properly as you could have if you’d both lived a different life, that your hips actually arch off of the bed eagerly. It should embarrass you but you are past the point of humiliation, willing to be fucked by evil incarnate just for the sake of a taste of Suguru Geto.

“Pathetic little thing,” he coos and you say nothing in return. You’re well aware of your failings as a sorcerer and a human being as his fingers spread your labia to get a glance at what you have to offer. For a moment, you consider praying for Suguru again; to selfishly beg God to make sense of your own actions but you know that he no longer has mercy for an ill behaved member of his flock. You will simply accept the consequences, whatever they will be.

His thumb brushes your clit and you moan, tipping your head back and toward the ceiling. You wait for the sensation of pleasure to climb through you again but it doesn’t come until you look downward again, eyes fluttering open.

“Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Too afraid to look away lest it keep you from the only good thing you’ve felt in who knows how long, you keep your eyes glued to Kenjaku’s face while his hand works between your legs, spreading the slick from your cunt toward your clit and back down. If you could just shut your eyes, you could pretend, but they’re open and glued between your legs, watching every feathery stroke of his fingers through your folds.

Kenjaku’s cock hardens against your thigh and for a moment you dare to feel powerful knowing you aren’t the only one surrendering to the most base of your needs. He drops your hand and reaches for the tie of his robe, opening it and giving you the only look you’ve ever been lucky enough to get of Suguru’s bare body.

Scarred, honed, a tool - just like yours. If you weren’t so lost in the moment, the lifetimes you have imagined for years would be playing through your mind.

You gasp and knit your brows together, bucking against the increasing pressure of Kenjaku’s fingers while he brings you back to him and out of your head. Whatever you’re thinking about doesn’t matter when he inserts a finger inside of you, only testing how wet you are with no intention of preparing you for his cock. 

When he’s satisfied with how wet you are, he withdraws his finger and you whine. The sound is the most he has heard from you since the first night and it makes his eyes widen in interest. He shifts until he is standing between your spread knees and the realization that this is really happening hits you at once, your face flaming with desire.

“You’re so impatient.” 

The curse user tuts at you with a roll of his eyes and spreads your legs as wide as they can go to accommodate the width of his body. He’s broad in shoulder and hip and you bite your lower lip when he runs the head of his cock through your folds, following the same pattern of his fingers. You expect the teasing to last longer but it stops abruptly. Before you can take a breath to prepare yourself, his cock is buried to the hilt inside of you, and you gasp with wide eyes, shocked. 

“As good as you imagined?”

Words come to your mind but do not form enough to leave your mouth while he thrusts roughly, your body jerking violently against his. It’s painful, the size of him with little prep in conjunction with how he uses your body as nothing more than a glorified place to take his aggression out, but all of the numbness within you thaws and for the first time since you realized Geto was no longer Geto in Shibuya, you feel. 

It’s hard to name all the emotions you are experiencing because they blur into something barely comprehensible. Pleasure and pain and bone chilling sorrow, the kind that makes tears silently drip down your face while he takes what he wants from you. He doesn’t bother to play with your clit and there is no need to, the joy you’re taking simply from being used by Suguru’s body enough that the knot inside of you is slowly beginning to unravel. 

Skin on skin punctuated by his low grunts and your whines fill the small room and you are so lost, you lift yourself halfway up to meet Kenjaku and consider kissing him. Would it be close enough to kissing Suguru that you could eventually justify it or would it just sully the one good memory you have of him? 

You don’t have long to think about it before you are pushed back down to the bed, one of his hands caging your throat and keeping you pinned to the bed below. A reminder that this is for his pleasure and not yours although you feel yourself coming closer to the edge than you were just moments prior, shutting your eyes tightly. All of the motion inside of you stops, the hard thrusts of his cock ending, and your eyes shoot open.

“Remember what I said. Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Nodding, you keep them open and he begins again, pace rougher than before. You can do nothing but grunt and struggle to breathe, his cock carving out space inside of you that didn’t exist until he entered you. Every kiss of his tip against your insides knocks the breath out of you and finally you cum in a strangled moan, walls quivering around his length. 

His hand inches further up your throat and squeezes experimentally. As expected, you do not fight back and he takes his indulgence with a grin, choking you with varying degrees of pressure and feeling your cunt spasm around him when he surprises you by tightening his grip. 

You like this. You want this.

He leans forward and shifts his weight to his arm and hand, finally spilling inside of you with a deep moan. Warmth fills every inch of you and you wish that you felt as full in your heart as you do in your cunt but a void remains.

Kenjaku’s other hand slides up your body and wraps around your neck, both of his palms resting on either side of your neck and fingers splaying over your throat. It’s dangerous to let him have this much access to any part of you that he could possibly crush but you do not move, tearfully looking up at him and sniffling. He increases his pressure, not enough to harm you, but enough to make you work hard and you realize how easily he could just…end this.

“Please kill me,” you beg while struggling to breathe, realizing what you’ve done now that the afterglow of orgasm can no longer protect you from the cold hard truth. 

You are a betrayer. You slept with the enemy to sate your own selfish desires and death seems almost too kind to beg for, yet you do.

“Kill me.”

Your face turns in shade and your vision is dotted with darkness, a miserable end to a miserable life you consider, but at least it will be over. The pressure of Kenjaku’s hands around your neck continues to increase until you are certain you are taking your last breath, lungs aching until he abruptly stops. He glances down from where he rests above you, half swollen cock softening and letting his cum leak out around the tip of it that is still inside of you and onto the sheets below. 

“I will not give you the satisfaction of death until you give me the satisfaction of watching you fight for it.” 

Removing his hands from around your throat completely, he glances down at the pressure indentions of his fingers with a smile. Your eyes flutter shut, you’ve passed out from lack of air, and he admires the heap he has left you in, reaching for your robe and wiping the remnants of his release and yours on the corner of it.

Nobody is coming to save you, a secret Kenjaku knows that you are not yet aware of. Satoru Gojo is dead, defeated at the hands of Sukuna. The news broke this morning and he was preparing to come to your room to let you know until this little distraction occurred. He had an inkling you were susceptible to Suguru Geto’s charms even from beyond the grave but he had no idea it would be this easy, your slumped form resting on the futon beside him. He pats your head as one would a treasured dog, long and loving strokes that do not stir you, your bare breasts swaying slightly with every breath you take.

The new world is on the horizon and he may keep you around as a plaything for a little longer than he originally intended.

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part two)

Part one here. Leon Kennedy x fem reader Slow, slow burn, mostly fluff tbh

--

Leon’s lying on the couch, an arm bent behind his head and staring at the living room ceiling when his watch beeps, signaling the 0500-perimeter check. There are security cameras outside that will send a notification to his phone, but technology isn’t infallible so he prefers a sweep with his own eyes every four hours or so when he’s on protection detail. He heaves himself upright, wincing a little when his back protests. Hell, maybe he’s getting a little old to be sleeping on sofas. He picks up his gun off the coffee table and checks the cartridge, more out of habit than anything else – hasn’t shot a bullet this mission.

He makes his way over to the garage door, casting his eyes over your bedroom door as he does so. You won’t be awake for a few more hours, not after those sleeping pills, so he’s not trying to be particularly quiet when he unlocks the door, steps through and locks it once more behind him. He walks around the side of the SUV towards the garage shutter itself next, unlocks the padlock and lifts it up to step out into the cool night air.

The safe house is located a few miles out from a village on old farm land, tucked away down a rural lane. No nosey neighbors to question why there are no people living there most of the year. He went round the perimeter anti-clockwise upon arrival, so he’ll go clockwise this time, flashlight in one hand and gun aimed in the other. He’d been at home for a change when Hunnigan had called him – first person she thought of when she’d seen Lickers on the partial CCTV footage that had been salvaged. For a building housing the DSO’s surveillance division, Leon hadn’t been particularly impressed by quality of the CCTV images. Grainy, staggered frames of the creatures tearing up the office and people apart, leaving only destruction in their wake. And you, breathing but dazed, buried under lockers at the bottom of the stairwell and, somehow, the only survivor.

He completes his round at 0525, nothing significant to note and heads back inside, unlocking and locking doors behind him.

At 0600, his phone vibrates in his pocket – a steady rhythm denoting it’s a phone call, not a message or notification and, really, there’s only one person who will be calling him so he doesn’t even bother to check the caller ID.

“Morning, Hunnigan. What did the night bring?”

“Nothing substantial. We’re still trying to establish the full timeline. Seems like the footage we salvaged yesterday might be all we are going to get CCTV-wise.”

“Did you send a team out to Dove’s?”

“Won’t have the manpower till this afternoon. Why – do you have suspicions?”

“No, not at all.” He replies. “I just… I think it’ll put her at ease to know we’re not treating her as a suspect.”

“Did you question her?” Hunnigan sounds skeptical and he hears her tap away on her keyboard. “I haven’t received your report if so.”

“No, not yet. It was late when we arrived – she was tired, in pain, terrified. I didn’t think questioning her then would go down particularly well or be helpful. Gave her painkillers and sleeping pills. I’ll broach it after breakfast, maybe.”

“Broach it?”

“See how she’s feeling, I mean. Last night after we got in the car, she was all one-word answers, a couple of sentences here and there.” Leon sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t wanna scare her off.”

“If she’s got nothing to hide, there’s nothing for her to be scared of. Do your job and don’t get sweet on her.”

“Why can’t a guy do both?” He laughs.

“Leon – I expect that report today.”

The smile drops and he nods, as if she could see him. “Yes, ma’am.”

--

It takes a few attempts to open your eyes, blearily staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling in the morning light that filters in around the curtain. Your mouth is horrendously dry – a side effect from the sleeping pills, perhaps. Your whole body aches with stiff, bruised limbs.

But you’re alive, you remind yourself, when so many others aren’t.

Leon had been right at least – the sleeping pills had knocked you out into a dreamless sleep, though you don’t feel particularly rested.

You sit up in the bed tenderly, immediately thinking of painkillers. There’s no thought of getting changed, making yourself presentable. The man helped you strip last night, hell, he might think you’re a murderer, what does it matter if you leave the bedroom in a long t-shirt that shows a perhaps indecent amount of leg?

You open the door cautiously, unsure if Leon might still be sleeping on the couch, but it’s empty. Not a pillow or blanket in sight. The bathroom door is open, so he’s not in there. Your eyes move next to the door to the garage – maybe he’s gone to the SUV, would he sleep in there?

You turn slowly on the spot, trying to work out if there’s another door you’d missed in the blur of last night, but there’s the three – bathroom, bedroom, garage…

Wait. Your stomach sinks in realization.

Where’s the front door?

Is it a safe house thing? But surely that limits exit options if you’re trapped in here.

Or maybe that’s what they want.

Maybe you’ll graduate to a safe house with a front door when they don’t suspect you of being involved. You’ll ask Leon, you think, when he comes back from wherever he is. He seems nice, or nice enough. Been nothing but a gentleman, genuinely caring about your wellbeing… But maybe that’s all an act. An uncomfortable sensation reminds you that you need to use the facilities after a night of medicated sleep, so you head into the bathroom and lock the door.

All doubts about his sincerity are thrown out of the reinforced window once you see what’s on the counter.

There are two toothbrushes – one in a mug he’s pilfered from the kitchen after you’d smashed the container last night, and one’s lying flat on the counter, toothpaste pre-squeezed upon its bristles.

Sweet.

--

You emerge from the bathroom, teeth cleaned and find Leon stepping through the garage door.

“Oh, morning.” He smiles, shuts the door firmly behind him. You can see he looks a little tired around the eyes.

“Morning.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up for a few more hours. How are you feeling?”

“A bit sore.” He can tell you’re lying about the ‘bit’ - trying to put on a brave face. “What time even is it? I don’t have my phone… or a watch.”

“Ah,” he looks down at his own as if he doesn’t already know from his 0900 check. “Nearly half nine. Did you sleep all right?”

You nod. “No dreams. Was the sofa okay?”

“Yeah, one of the better ones.” He turns to the door and you hear a click before he steps away, heading into the kitchen.

Locked in.

“Where were you?”

“Outside. Perimeter check – all good.”

“Oh.” You pause, feeling like you know the answer before you can even ask it. “Can I go outside?”

His face falls in apology. “Sorry. Not at the moment - protocol. Wouldn’t want to risk anything.”

“Yeah, makes sense, I guess.” You continue standing awkwardly, a combination of not knowing what to do with yourself and hesitant to move knowing it’s going to hurt. “Erm, sorry, where did you put those painkillers?”

His face remains apologetic, though you’re not sure why. “We should get you some food in your first. I really shouldn’t have given you all those pills last night on an empty stomach.”

“I couldn’t have eaten anyway.”

“Understandable.” He ducks down below the counter and opens a cupboard, standing upright and placing a box of oats on the counter. “I’m afraid breakfast choices are a little limited. Oatmeal okay?”

“You cook too?”

“I’d say describing me as a cook is a stretch. We’ve got some fruit as well, but I think oatmeal will be best for those pills.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please.” You remain standing in place. “Erm, can I… do anything?”

“Nah, I’ve got it all handled.” He calls over his shoulder as he grabs some mugs out of a cupboard – doesn’t have to open a few before he can locate what he’s looking for as you would have to in a vacation rental. “Go ahead and sit down. Might’ve noticed this place is sans dining table, so coffee table will have to do.”

You walk slowly over to the couch, your muscles aching with protest. The bruises are far darker on your legs today than yesterday and, boy, do you feel it. You sit down delicately on the sofa, before tucking your knees up underneath out of habit, reaching for a throw pillow and clutching onto it pathetically.

You don’t know where your thoughts drift off to as you stare at the TV opposite despite it being off – it’s like your brain just temporarily switched off, until a single word reboots it.

“Honey?”

“Huh?” Where had that come from? Was it…? “I thought we went with Dove.”

Leon laughs – can’t help himself. “No, no, sorry. I meant, would you like honey on your oatmeal? Codename’s still Dove, as far as I know. I don’t come up with them.”

“Oh,” you feel your face grow a little hot. “Y-yeah, please.”

A few moments later he approaches the coffee table, steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of oatmeal in the other, complete with spoon. He places it down in front of you with a flourish.

“Order’s up.”

There’s an attempt at what looks like a smiley face drawn in honey atop the oatmeal.

“Thank you.” You can’t help the amused tone that enters your voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” he rubs the back of his head. “I can’t do fancy drizzles like the restaurants so that’s the best I could come up with. I’ll just go grab your pills, but dig in.”

You lean forward and spoon a small scoop up and force it into your mouth. Your appetite is still missing in action but you know you need something. A metal clang draws your attention from behind and you turn your head, seeing Leon fiddling with what looks like a metal lockbox. He opens it and pulls out the canister of the painkillers and shakes two out in his hand, before closing the box and locking it. You turn back, take another scoop of oatmeal and swallow, hoping it gets rid of the bitter taste of distrust in your mouth.

He's in front of you again, hand outstretched, but you can’t help yourself.

“Why are the painkillers locked away?”

“Protocol.” He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Really?”

“I’m afraid so.” There’s a pause. Leon knows what you’re thinking and he hates it – he knows what it’s like to be scared, not trust anyone around you and he desperately doesn’t want to be that to you. “It’s mainly the sleeping pills. I don’t think you’re going to slip some and try and knock me out, or try and overdose on painkillers, but I… I need to follow it, okay? It’s nothing personal, Dove, I promise.”

“Is it protocol not to have a front door too?”

“Ah, wondered when you might clock that. Yeah. There’s a false one outside – built into the façade so it doesn’t look weird. Only real way in and out is through the garage.”

“But if someone or…” You swallow, the creature flashing up in your mind “…or something got in here, we’d be trapped.”

“Nothing is getting in here and if it does, it’s not getting past me.” He says, sincerely, and when you meet his eyes, there’s that niggle in your chest. You want to trust him - you really, really want to - you want to feel completely at ease with the man who’s apparently ready to lay his life down for you and only you, but you still feel like you’re on the tightrope between victim and villain in this piece. “Open your hand?”

You do, watching him drop two little white pills into it.

“You can have them every four hours if you’re feeling sore. I’ll keep track of the doses, just ask.”

You knock them back with a swig of coffee.

--

“Is it okay if I take a shower?”

“Of course you can.” He pauses, trying to work out why you thought you had to ask. “Do you need a hand with…?”

“No, I think I’ll be okay. Erm… Do you know what I need to do about my temple?” You gesture to the medical strips on your forehead.

“Ah, yeah. So, need to try and avoid getting them wet for a few days. Don’t worry if you do though, I can re-do ‘em. First aid qualified.”

“Thanks. Erm, see you in a bit.” You head into the bedroom and to the duffel bag filled with clothes, picking out a selection that should work and run a brush through your hair. You take it back in the bathroom – Leon politely pretends to be engrossed in whatever’s now on the TV - and place them down on the counter, before locking the door.

After a less than relaxing shower – foregoing washing your hair – injured arm hanging loosely by your side, you’re not sure how long it takes to wrestle to put on underwear, sweatpants and a t-shirt, but it’s not like you have anything to do or anywhere to go.  There’s no way you feel up to tackling the exercise bra that whoever has packed and asking Leon is simply beyond the question. It’s nice to be clean though. You’d tried to put the sling back on but had given up when your shoulder had started to smart after failed attempts and leave it half on/half off as you leave the bathroom.

Leon’s sat on the couch, phone in hand when you emerge. He turns, gives you a smile and nods at it.

“Need a hand with that?”

“Please. I tried, but…”

“Hey, it’s early days.” He stands up to meet you, pocketing his phone, as you walk over. “Sometimes they try and get you doing exercises from day one with dislocations too, but the medic advised you rest it for a week so I wouldn’t push yourself too hard.”

He takes adjusts the work you’d managed ever so slightly, and then puts everything in place. He steps closer to adjust it around your shoulder and you find yourself just staring into the expanse of his chest, when he sniffs.

 “Mm. What is that - strawberry?”

“Huh?” You look up.

“Your bodywash.” He tightens the strap in place, checking everything is holding snug. “Someone on supplies must’ve been feeling fancy to be stocking us with that.”

“Did you not shower?” Your face burns red as soon as the question leaves your lips. “Not that you…” You like his scent, actually, woody. “I mean, just the bodywa-”

He shrugs it off. “I get you. Er, no. I… Well, I didn’t want to whilst you were sleeping, you know, in case…”

“Oh.” In case someone or something attacked. “Well, you could now – if you want. I’m awake now, so… Unless it goes against protocol?”

“No.” As long as he takes his guns and other weapons in with him, he thinks, and casts a longing look at the bathroom. “Promise you’ll yell if you need me, or you hear a weird noise or… anything, right?”

“I’ll yell.”

“Good. Okay. Might see if there’s another bodywash packed though – not sure I’m a strawberry guy.” He heads over to the garage door where the other duffel bag remains and picks it up, carrying it into the bathroom and locks the door.

He emerges 20 minutes later, same sort of t-shirt and cargo pants combo as yesterday and there’s a whiff of strawberry scent as he walks past you to sit down on the other couch.

--

You’ve been staring blankly at the TV screen for a little while – some sort of house renovation show, kept the volume down low. There isn’t really much else to do here and, really, you don’t want to sit and dwell on your own thoughts. Leon gave you the remote control, told you it was your choice and, sure, you’d clicked down past some of your favourite shows but you don’t want to associate any of them with this, with what happened…

So, weird house renovation it is, though you’re not taking any of it in.

Leon had excused himself a little while ago, said there was still some things in the back of the SUV he needed to grab. You don’t look round when he comes back in but you hear the lock click once more, before you hear him open a cupboard and the tap runs. He shows up in your peripheral vision a few moments later, placing two glasses of water down on the coffee table, laptop tucked under his arm and looking sheepish through his hair.

“Dove, I… I need to ask you some questions about yesterday.”

“Questions?” You tuck your legs up underneath you, wanting to huddle your knees like you do when you watch a horror movie.

“Yeah. Get your statement, mainly. It’ll help the investigation. I’m going to record the audio.”

“Do you want the TV off?”

He smiles at your question – still so sweet and considerate despite the fact he’s the one about to interrogate you, make you relive what is surely the worst even of your life, and you’re worried about his audio quality.

“No, it’s low enough – it won’t get picked up if you wanna leave it on for background noise.”

“Okay. Erm, I think I’d like that.” You pause, digging your nails into your palm. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, though. It’s all… kind of a blur.”

“That’s okay,” he opens up his laptop, taps a few keys and angles it to set up to record so he can go over and pick key points up later, if there are any. “Anything will be great. We’ll take it slow. You ready?”

You’re not, but you doubt you ever will be.

“Ready.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

PS: Comments literally make my day! Lemme know if you're excited for part 3 x Part three.

[smashtbh]

okay so i have such a bad thing for dickheads / making dickheads break so can you do jason x dom top reader smut. plot doesn't really matter but if you could add a mirror and degradation to the smut part that would be preferred 💀😍

p.s i liked basically all your fics before i realized they were all the same person-

Shut Him Up

Jason Carver x M!reader | fem aligned + minors dni!

not my photos!

CW: swearing, jealous jason, jason being a dickhead, smut, reader has a dick, degradation, bathroom sex.

he/him pronouns are used to refer to the reader.

a/n: call him a lazy boy the way he recline on this dick also i havent proof read this so lmk if there are mistakes lolol

tbh i didnt know where to go w this so this might be booty

“Jason, baby,” Y/N tries to reason, but Jason cuts him off.

“Admit it, you were looking them up and down.”

Y/N face palms, keeping one of his hands on the steering wheel. “I was looking at their shoes.” He says anyway, “Then I looked back up to tell them that I thought they were nice.”

Jason lets out a dramatic sigh. “Thank you for reminding me!” He heaves a dry laugh, “You had the audacity to compliment their shoes.”

“Why would I look at anyone else when I have you, Jason?”

Jason crosses his arms. “You tell me.”

Y/N wants to steer the car off the road and down a cliff. Instead, he calmly turns into a gas station parking lot. “Do you want anything?”

“I want you to admit that you were checking them out.”

“Why would I admit to something I didn’t do?” Y/N asks, opening his door and grabbing the keys. He closes the door and doesn’t look back.

He takes a couple steps before he hears the passenger door open and close.

When Y/N walks into the gas station, he makes a beeline to the drinks. He grabs a twelve pack and a big bottle of water. He’s turning to the snack section when Jason blocks him.

“Baby,”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, L/N.”

Y/N scoffs. “Oh, so we’re using last names now?”

“Whatever.”

There’s a sigh coming from Y/N. He moves around Jason and goes to the chips. Browsing through them, he sees Jason following beside him in his peripheral vision.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just admit it.” Jason mutters and Y/N grips the items in his hand tighter.

“I thought you dropped this already.”

“Just fucking admit that you check out other people, my god.” Jason throws the bag of chips that he was looking at in the shelf, “Not that fucking hard.”

Y/N grabs Jason’s arm. “You are acting like a fucking child.”

Jason tries to pry himself out of Y/N’s hold, “Yeah, okay.” He raises his voice, “Because I’m a little fuckin’ baby that can’t help himself — “

Y/N slaps his hand over Jason’s mouth. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“Make me.” Is the mumble that Jason lets out.

Y/N pauses for a bit. He sets down the things he was holding carefully on the shelf as he loosens his grip on Jason. “Yeah?”

Jason doesn’t get to say anything because Y/N is dragging him out of the gas station by his collar.

“What — where are we — “ He thinks they’re going back to the car, but Y/N takes a turn towards the gas station’s bathroom.

Y/N pulls the door open, shoving Jason inside. He slams the door behind them. “You want me to make you shut up?”

“Who the fuck do you think — “

“Jason,” Y/N cages him against the sink, resting his hands on either side of it, “if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to make you.”

Jason doesn’t falter as he leans against the sink. “I dare you.”

Y/N’s last bit of patience was stripped away at that moment. And so was his belt. “Pull your pants down.”

There’s a clink and Jason’s bare ass in within reach. “What makes you think this is going to shut me up — “

Y/N covers his mouth with his hand and slips two fingers onto his tongue, “Open up.”

Jason’s mouth pries wider, his saliva coating Y/N’s fingers. He pushes Jason against the sink, watching him in the mirror above it.

There’s a gargling noise and an occasional gag while he shoves his fingers in and out of Jason’s mouth. Once he’s decided there’s enough spit coating his hand, he brings it down and uses his other hand to palm at Jason’s ass.

“You’re just fuckin’ begging for it, aren’t you?” Y/N whispers in his ear, “You needed this so bad that you made a scene.”

“N-No.” Is the response he gets. “I don’t need you.”

Y/N laughs at that. “Oh really?” He thrusts his fingers to the knuckle, “You don’t need this?”

Jason moans, holding himself up on the stink. He’s twitching at the burn as Y/N pumps his fingers in and out. “Mmm — shit.”

“Tell me, baby.” Y/N licks the side of Jason’s neck, “Tell me how good it feels.”

They’re both breathing heavily, but Jason is heaving in air. He lifts his head up in hopes to get better oxygen flow and he meets his reflection in the mirror.

He doesn’t recognize who he’s looking at.

His hair is a mess, there’s a trail of spit spilling from his mouth, and his clothes are rumpled — sporting a bulge in the front of his pants.

“Oh fuck..” Jason mumbles. He’s done for.

Y/N breathes down his neck, “Aw, baby.” He holds his dick, coating it with the spit that was still on his hand. He slaps Jason’s ass with the tip. “You want this?”

Jason shakes his head and grips the sink. “I — “

Y/N grabs his chin and whispers in his ear. “Beg.”

There’s silence, only the sounds from outside are heard. So Y/N unzips the front of Jason’s pants, pulling his dick out.

“Please..”

Y/N grabs a handful of Jason’s ass, before ripping his hand back and slapping down. “What was that?”

“Mphh — please. Pleasepleaseplease..”

“That wasn’t so hard,” Y/N says rather calmly as he slowly pushes in. “Sometimes I wish you wouldn’t be so — ah, difficult.”

Jason whines. “I’m — ‘m not difficult.”

Y/N laughs, pushing in more as he leans down to whisper in Jason’s ear. “Oh, but you are.” He licks the shell of his ear, “My little slut.”

Jason clenches around him and Y/N thrusts into him, making Jason yell. “Ahh.. fuckfuck — “

Y/N continues to pound into him, the sink rattling with his efforts. Jason lets out little yelps whenever Y/N hits the spot in him that’s just right — but he doesn’t realize just how loud he’s being until there’s a bang on the door.

“Are you shitting in there?” The stranger on the other side calls out.

Y/N thrusts one more time causing Jason to moan — but he covers his mouth, muffling it. “Shhh..” He says to Jason’s reflection in the mirror.

The door knob begins to rattle and the voice starts to speak again, “Helloooo? Earth to bathroom hogger!”

Y/N reacts quickly, “Can a guy get some privacy around here?”

“L/N? Is that you?” Y/N realizes that it’s Dustin at the door.

Of all the goddamn people.

“Uh — yeah..” Y/N turns back to Jason, who’s mouth is open is disbelief.

“Open the fucking door, I gotta pee.” Dustin says as he begins to bang on the door again.

Y/N makes sure the door is locked before yelling out, “I’m shitting, Henderson. Find some other bathroom.”

Dustin groans, “I’m on a road trip with the guys, this is our only bathroom stop!”

“I don’t care.” Y/N yells back, turning his full attention back to Jason.

He waits a bit, hearing Dustin walk away, before surprising Jason with a hard thrust. “Oohh my god.”

“Hope you weren’t too bored.” Y/N laughs, combing a hand through Jason’s hair.

“Doing j-just fine.”

“If you can still talk I’m not doing this right.” Y/N says before using his hand in Jason’s hair to yank him up.

“Watch yourself, sweetie.” He mutters as he fucks into Jason. “Look at what a slut you are.”

Jason whimpers and tries to hold himself up with the sink, but soon he’s pulled back and his only support is Y/N as he watches himself get plowed in the mirror.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Y/N grunts. “Fuck, you take it so well.”

He only gets a whine in response. He uses his hand to carefully choke Jason, not applying too much pressure. “Good?”

There’s a choked sound, but when he looks in the mirror and watches Jason’s reflection, he gets the answer he needed.

Jason’s eyes are rolled back, his mouth hanging open with soft moans trickling out of it, and he’s crying as he blinks rapidly.

“I’m — coming..”

“So soon?” Y/N smacks Jason’s ass, “Is it because someone almost walked in on us?” He grips Jason’s throat tighter. “You like that, don’t you?”

With that, Jason comes. Hard.

He ends up coming all over the mirror. Y/N doesn’t have time to react when Jason clenches down around him and he follows suit.

“Holy shit.” Y/N pants, moving to grab a tissue to wipe his face. He grabs another and hands it to Jason.

They’re just breathing, Jason twitching occasionally at Y/N still being inside him.

“We should do this more often.” Jason mumbles.

Y/N grimaces at the mirror. “Hell no, this is gross.” He looks around them, “Did I really just fuck the shit outta you in the damn gas station bathroom?”

“Definitely.”

Y/N reaches his arms around Jason and starts to wash his hands. Jason’s hands soon join him.

They wash each other’s palms in calm silence, Jason leaning back into Y/N and cuddling his face into his neck.

It’s peaceful until gravely footsteps and another knock throws them off. “Y/N I swear to god I’m gonna piss myself out here!”

“Dustin, you have a penis, piss in a fuckin’ bush.”

“Damn right, Henderson — “ Y/N slams his hand over Jason’s mouth.

“Is someone else in there with you?!” Dustin screams, the banging at the door becoming louder.

“Jason, no.”

“Jason, yes.”

“JASON’S IN THERE?!”

likes, reblogs, & comments are appreciated!

[writing-whump]

👋 Hellooo

Sooo I've been thinking about some ideas for part3-something serious as you asked for opinions 🤭 (I actually even Googled for it tbh xd)

And I saw that fever, severe pain and infection related things are quite common after appendectomy. Well, if we consider that Hex's appendix infected and he stayed for a while like that (idk, a day or less?), it's possible that there's still some infection in his body even after the surgery which his shadow cannot heal. In short, I believe it's a good chance for Hector to whine and being grumpy due to really high fever, feeling sick (coughing and shortness of breathing are two other possible complications as I read on google) while Isiah and Arnie are taking care of him..

As I was the one who insists for Isiah&Hector parts I thought I should help 🤭 but I trust and love your imagination, so I'm sure you'll write another great part for them when you have time and energy!

Thank uu!! Take care&Lots of love 💕🤍

-🌸

Thank you for all the ideas & even research! That's so sweet. Hope this lives up to it :3

Appendix part 3

"Can I have some water?"

"Yes," came the immediate reply from Isaiah. Hector was currently draped over his lap, feverish forehead against his brother's stomach.

"But real water. Not that sweet shit you've been feeding me."

Isaiah laughed softly, his stomach muscles vibrating under Hector's ear. "It's a rehydration solution. You can't take more than a few tiny sips to keep it down and this actually helps. The water does not do enough."

Isaiah's voice was still a picture of calm, but Hector thought he was staring to pick up on the difference between real calmness and fake, carefully controlled big brother voice. He talked with authority, the intent to reassure dripping from each syllable.

Hector also noticed Isaiah talked more formally when he did this. The opposite of relaxing, truly.

Isaiah's hand landed on his shoulder. He rubbed little circles on his arm, waiting for Hector to tense up to start lifting him. He always waited for Hector to make the first move, the decision to get up, even if it was just a little twitch to his hands. As if he was scared not to do something Hector wasn't ready for.

It was kind of nice. It made Hector feel like he was in control of what could be controlled. Otherwise he was content to leave the rest to Isaiah. There was something very relieving about it.

It allowed Hector to whine and complain about everything, even though he could hardly come up with anything better himself.

His insides were boiling. Weren't you supposed to be cold with a fever? His clothes were sticking to his skin with sweat.

The cut on his lower right side was radiating pain. There was no comfortable position to be in, it just hurt. He shifted around sometimes just to try it, but every movement just send more spikes of the searing heat up.

Hector took shallow short breaths, as little as he could just to not move his stomach too much. It even still felt bloated, although he couldn't eat for the last two days.

Hector groaned when Isaiah helped him sit up, leaning back against his brother's chest. Isaiah held the glas with a straw to his lips. Hector drank greedily, his throat dry and hot.

Although the liquid was nicely soothing and cold, the sweetness almost made him gag. He held it in, swallowing heavily before almost choking on the next sip.

He coughed, doubling forward. His eyes went black with the pain that clawed at his stomach with the movement.

Isaiah quickly put the glass away, tucking Hector back against himself as his chest heaved with the painful coughs. He murmured something that Hector couldn't understand, carding his cold fingers through Hector's hair.

Hector whined quietly, glad for the contact. At this point it was a shock to him that he wasn't steaming from the way his insides cooked in his skin.

"You are okay, you are okay. Just breathe."

Hector managed a pained scoff. "It fucking hurts. Keep your stupid advice."

On some level he understood he was being mean and whiny and that he probably shouldn't be relying on Isaiah's endless well of patience. But he also couldn't really formulate why it was bad, his brain breaking his sentences in two before they were finished. He was going to figure it out later.

"Just four more hours to go," Isaiah said, but his hand froze in Hector's hair. He turned back towards the door as if hearing a noise Hector wasn't catching.

It was just great, that without his shadow he was basically deaf. Like a damn human.

"Could you hold on for a minute? I need to check something," Isaiah said, looking down at Hector.

"Yeah, yeah. Get out. I need a break from you anyway," Hector said acidly.

Isaiah sighed quietly. He gently maneuvered himself from under Hector without jostling him, easing him down on the pillows.

Hector slumped back against them, stretching his hands. There was a warm spot left after Isaiah.

He rolled a bit away from it, looking for coldness in the sheets. It was soothing for just a bit, the cool part of the pillow and the untouched cover...

Hector opened his eyes. Even his skin hurt. Looking up the ceiling felt nauseating and he felt like he was choking a bit more with every breath. They came hard and short. Hector was too fearful of the pain that would explode if he let himself take a deeper one.

He hated the way his stomach rose and fell so obviously. The round puffiness around it, the way his loose shirt brushed against the gauze on the wound.

He hated everything.

The wounded wolf reached for his shadow on instinct, trying to coax it up ahead of time. He could feel it stirring under his call, like a quiet warm presence at the end of his mind.

That was progress from the numbness from before. But it wasn't enough. It made Hector's chest hitch with a quiet sob at the helplessness.

He balled his hands into the sheets, digging his fingers into the fabric. Trying to find something grounding.

At least Isaiah's calmness, the warmth of his concern at Hector's back, the soothing trust this was just temporary small discomfort and he would be okay...Even just the pathetic way he would pet Hector's hair or rub those little circles onto his shoulder...something soft and pleasant to focus on in the sea of pain made a huge difference.

The weight of not having it suddenly hit him like a brick in the head.

Did he say something again that pissed Isaiah off? This was still such a new territory. It didn't feel natural to be so...so careful around Isaiah. Hector had never done it and he wasn't sure he knew how.

But Isaiah required more sensitive treatment now...why was it again?

Hector felt a wave of guilt and sadness wash over him, but just as it hit he couldn't remember why he felt that way.

There was just a new load of horrible-ness on top of the pain and heat and general ickiness.

"Is-" Was he really going to beg him to come? For real? Wasn't that even more pathetic?

He grid his teeth together, not sure why he felt like crying. He wanted...he didn't know what. To go home? To go away? How would that help?

Everything was so confusing. Why was he in this state again? And more importantly, why was he alone?

"Zaya?" Maybe he would know. Isaiah always knew everything. Especially about what to do next. "Arnie?" Or maybe Arnie. Arnie knew more about emotions than Hector ever could. His younger brother understood what hurt people and what pleased them with a skill of a chessmaster. Hector should ask him...what did he want to ask? It felt important. How could he forget?

He sobbed quietly, chest constricting with panic. The panic made the nausea worse, slimy heaviness pooling in his stomach.

Hector tried lifting himself up on unsteady arms, his mouth dry, but he could feel the goosebumps of nausea climbing up his arms and neck. His teeth throbbed. Oh god, he didn't want to throw up again, it always hurt...

No such luck though, his chest heaved. His stomach rolled, sqeezing and contracting back into itself as he gagged. He manged to drag himself over the rim of the bed, before his arms buckled underneath his own weight.

He dry heaved painfully over the edge, the pain in his wound burning like he was on fire.

That's when the door burst open. Isaiah gave him a shocked look, before his features smoothed out and he climbed up into the bed behind Hector.

One cold hand went to Hector's shoulder to prop him up, the other to his forehead. Isaiah helped him to lean over the edge. A splash of the sweetened water made its way up.

Hector whimpered from the pain, the gag turning into a ruthless cough right after.

"Shhhhh. I'm here, I'm here. You are okay. All good now. Deep breath."

I can't fucking breathe, he wanted to protest, but all that left his lips was a whine and a strangled burp, punctuated by more coughing. His chest hurt, another little note in the cacophony of pain.

Isaiah turned Hector over gently to prop him up against his chest again. It made breathing a little easier. As if he had heard him after all.

Hector closed his eyes. They were burning with the tiny drops of liquid that managed to force their way out.

Isaiah wrapped an arm around his forehead, petting his cheek and then his hair, pushing the sweaty blond curls behind his ear.

"Shhhh. Sorry, bud. I just called the hospital to check over the symptoms. They say the nausea is normal, but we should check you in if the fever doesn't go down soon."

"I'm not going back there," Hector moaned. "Look what they did."

"They helped you. If they didn't operate, your appendix would have burst and killed you. It's not that much harder to kill a wolf than a human," Isaiah said sternly, not leaving room for an argument. "Now try to relax. Your breaths are too shallow, that's why you keep coughing. You need to breathe properly."

"I want to lie down," Hector whined. Even slumped against Isaiah like a toddler and his head spinning, he wanted to lie lower.

"Can't do. Breathe for a bit. Your lungs need more space to stretch out. Sitting up will make it easier."

Isaiah still petted his hair and Hector didn't have enough strength to his pride to dislike it. He leaned more into the touch.

The panicked emptiness from before dissolved at Isaiah's touch and explanation. His chest undone from the knot, he dared to take a bit longer breaths, head clearing out as oxygen refilled his lungs.

"I got a new towel." Arnie stuck his head into the room, whispering like Hector was sleeping. "You think-"

"Yeah," Isaiah said, voice vibrating under Hector. "The fever isn't any better. Not climbing up though."

Hector forced his eyes open so he could brace himself for the cold touch of the water-soaked cotton.

Isaiah unwrapped his arm from Hector's forehead so Arnie could circle the towel around his head instead.

Hector sighed contendly at the coolness. He was starting to see a way out of this by focusing on everything nice that he could feel. Like little beacons of light in the suffocating fog of pain.

Fog was way better than a fire, after all.

He focused his bleary eyes at his youngest brother. The kid had dark circles under his eyes and there was a telling redness to them. With the wet eyeslashes and the shaky way he moved, Hector knew he must have been crying.

Was that why Hector saw so little of him?

The night felt like a week to him and Arnie was absent for most of its days.

"Hey, pipsqueak," Hector said in a rough voice, opening his palm.

Arnie knelt down on the floor, throwing the previous not cold towel at the splash of sick next to him.

He took Hector's hand in both of his, a tiny quiet sob escaping him at the contact.

"It's alright," Hector said. His voice sounded like he gurgled nails before. "Don't cry."

Arnie's breath hitched, but he tried to smile. He pressed his cheek to his own shoulder for a second to wipe it dry. "'m not."

"Did someth'ng happen?" Hector asked, suddenly confused at the possible reason for Arnie's distressed. He thought he understood just a second ago.

Arnie blinked at him, his eyes going to Isaiah in concern. He squeezed Hector's hand. "It's nothing."

"Uhmmm....Liar."

Arnie's giggle was watery. He climbed into the bed beside Hector, curling up against his middle brother's side, the only one of the three that was lying instead of sitting.

Hector made great effort to lift his hand and put it onto the top of Arnie's soft blond head.

Isaiah made a pleased, almost approving noise at the back of his throat, relaxing under Hector's weight.

The oldest wolf adjusted the towel around his forehead, then wrapped his hands snuggly and gently around Hector's waist. Avoiding the injury, but also holding him a bit straighter. Tighter.

"Just three more hours."

Hector nodded, leaning his head back, tucking it under Isaiah's chin.

Cocooned like this by his brothers, he felt like there wasn't that much that could happen anymore.

[yuurivoice]

Tomorrow Has To Wait, a Cloud & Aerith One-Shot

A FFVII Rebirth Cloud & Aerith fic. Contains spoilers through Gongaga (and beyond tbh). Cloud slips away into the night to be alone with his thoughts. How can he protect the ones he cares for most if he cannot even trust himself?

Aerith Gainsborough brought me out of fic writing retirement. You ever been down so bad that you got in touch with your inner child, your first dreams and aspirations, and a craft you've long left on the shelf? I have, and it got about 2.8k words and a long afternoon outta me.

Be kind, it's been a long time for this old boy.

Read on AO3 here. Snippet beneath the read more.

Gongaga nights were humid, the dense kind of humidity that clings to however much exposed skin it can find, and sleeping in it was no easy task. However, up above the trees standing at the top of a mostly ruined observation tower, Cloud was breathing in the crisp breeze and gazing up at the stars.

“It’s not so different from Nibelheim.” He recalled kicking his feet off the edge of the water tower, looking through the window of the cute girl next door and then desperately trying to look anywhere but there to avoid being weird. That was so long ago, but nowadays he felt more in touch with the awkward, silent kid than a seasoned SOLDIER.

Even with Tifa’s forgiveness for what happened at the reactor, Cloud couldn’t find enough quiet in his mind to rest. He was anxious. How in the hell was anyone supposed to trust him if he couldn’t trust himself? Despite their party growing stronger and more determined than ever, the war waging on in his mind was one he had to fight alone. The migraines, the memories, the uneasy feeling lingering in his chest any time they encounter another one of the robed men. If he shared his concerns, those little moments where he lost himself, there was no chance they’d keep him around. Barret wouldn’t let anything put his mission to save the planet at risk, not when Marlene was back home waiting to live a long happy life on a planet that hasn’t been sucked dry of its essence.

There was a pounding in his chest, a part of him that shouted that his honor wouldn’t let him fail those he cared about the most. So why did it feel so right killing those Shinra bastards? Why did his blade flow so effortlessly as he danced through them like the evening breeze? 

Why did he love the warmth of their blood on his cheeks?

You know why, Cloud…

“Shut up.” Cloud lifted the Buster Sword from his back and held it upright before him, staring at the hilt as his hands gripped it tight. His knuckles cracked as the leatherbound hilt groaned in his palms. This blade was held in this position many times before to remind the wielder of his honor as a SOLDIER, but those days were long past.

You can’t deny it forever. They’ll understand. They already know. You don’t belong with them…

Tighter. Cloud’s muscles tensed as his eyes shut tight, begging for this creative imagination of his to let him see his hands wrapped around Sephiroth’s throat. 

You will fail them again…

Cloud’s chest heaved with raspy breaths, as if it were his own throat he was clutching. Squeezing. Tighter. Tighter goddammit. He wanted to feel the grip of the sword snap in two. He wanted something to break. Anything. Everything.  

Then, silence. 

Gentle hands rest on top of his, joining him in holding the sword, now wrapped in a warm embrace from behind. There was no breeze, no wildlife, and no voice in his head.

There was only Aerith.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Hiii

I remember when you were posting about your Kim/Wik Twins AU and I was so hooked! There’s so much potential for angst in this AU😩🤌 I always wondered if there was anything new going on with this WIP.

PS: I’ve been following your blog for a little while (I don’t interact bc im shyy) and I love all your Kimchay WIPS and little excerpts you’ve blessed us with (they make my day everytime I see one). So I want to personally thank your brain for all these wonderful ideas and just thank you for being you 😊

send me an ask and I'll tell you about one of these WIPs!

Oh anon, you're a darling! This was so nice to wake up to <3 I actually haven't worked much on that AU since originally posting it, but you're right, there is so much angst potential in this AU between Wik and Kim. One of the inspirations from it actually came from World of Warcraft, and how the character Varian was split into two people, the other one being Lo'Gosh. I really loved how it wasn't just "this is the good side vs. the bad/feral side." Varian was polite and charming and good at socializing, but he was also vain and easy to manipulate (which was the point of splitting him), whereas Lo'Gosh was definitely a barbarian, but he was also all of Varian's strong will and ambition/motivation, and passion. I hadn't seen that kind of character splitting before, because it's usually an easy shorthand for doing a good/evil thing.

So for the purposes of this fic, Kim isn't just all the evil mafia while Wik is the sweetheart singer. Wik is very driven and tbh a little selfish, he's kind to his fans but ultimately very cold, because he grew up in a world where anything he cared about could be used against him. Both of them are still calculating in clever, but it's Wik that begins investigating Chay, intentionally using his stardom as an in, and purposefully manipulating him to get more information. He takes it to a stronger degree than we actually see from Kim in the show.

Whereas Kim is the quieter, more contained side. They both love music but Kim prefers guitar/piano over singing because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself the way Wik does, although he does write a lot of poetry/lyrics. One of the betrayals from Wik leaving is that he stole Kim's songs. The other is that he left Kim behind. He loves his brother more than anything, and Wik leaving him without so much as a goodbye was devastating for him.

Here's your slightly less than 500 words!

“You left me!” “Would you have even come with me?” Kim’s voice breaks on a desperate, “Yes!” He wants to take it back as soon as the word leaves his mouth, too honest in the heat of his moment, chest heaving with the weight of it. The only good thing about the admission is that his brother is too stunned to reply; Kim takes satisfaction in that, in the implication of it, as Wik realizes the depth of his own selfishness.  “Kim…” “I would…” Kim swallows. Days of captivity have left his throat dry. It hurts, speaking these words aloud, tearing them out of his chest to release them after all these years. “I would have. If you asked me to, I would have.”  He would have followed his brother anywhere. They were always meant to be together. Kim and Wik, two halves of the same whole, mirror images down to their names. Until Wik decided he couldn’t bear his own reflection anymore.  “Kim, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” “How could you? You only ever think about yourself.” Kim laughs. It’s wet. It hurts, like everything else about this damned conversation. Maybe Wik was right; they were better off alone. “I thought you knew me better than anyone, but you don’t know me at all.” Maybe Wik never did. What a horrible time to realize how truly alone he really is.  Wik doesn’t speak for a long time. Neither does Kim, keeping his head bowed and his breaths measured, cracked ribs aching with every rise and fall of his chest. What a cruel joke that the first time they’re sharing a space in years, something Kim has longed for since the day Wik left, and it’s only because someone else has forced them together.  “I don’t think you would ever leave the family,” Wik eventually says, his voice quieter than Kim has ever heard it. “You’re not like me, Kim, you never wanted to leave.” Of course he didn’t. Why would Kim ever want to leave his brothers? But at least if he had, Kinn and Tankhun would have had each other. They wouldn’t have been alone, not like Wik is now. Not like Kim is, forever missing his other half. Neither of them were meant to be alone. "It doesn't matter anymore." "Yes it does. Kim. I never meant to hurt you. I—" But there's no more time to talk because their captors are walking in, and Wik is throwing himself in front of Kim, both of them bound and unable to put of any kind of fight. Not that it would have mattered; Wik already got himself kidnapped. Too nosy to stay out of the family completely, but apparently the idealistic fool didn't bother to keep up with his martial arts. Still. Despite blaming him for the current predicament, Kim is a little bit touched that Wik is trying to protect him now. Too late to matter, maybe, but it's something.

[porcelain-thyme]

The Herbalist (Tree Sentinel x fem!OC) - Chapter One

(I put it as OC but tbh it could be a reader insert since I leave the character description light and also she just goes by one name Morte)

My first ever fanfic lol, I saw someone on here lament the fact that there was no Tree Sentinel fanfic and I agree, so I decided to write one lol, this is the first chapter and I will probs be updating every week or so lol. I might write for other characters too. Added a read more so it didn't take up the entire feed cause its long lol

You heaved against the solid wood, the crisp morning mist embraced you. Limegrave's fair beauty, covered with a veil of golden rays, held you still as your eyes scanned the vast field of grass waltzing with wisps of wind. The hushing of the trees lulled the falling Erd leaves to the ground as you hesitantly stepped away from the door.

In the distance you could hear the songs of birds echo and the salty waves crash against fine sand. 

‘It feels too good to be true compared to what they prepared me for.’ you thought.

Scanning your surroundings you noticed the cute little critters hopping around and on the edges of rocks perched some proud birds, both animals you had never seen before. Your own town was too dimmed in an everlasting mist for anything cute to survive, like the gloom sucked out all the fun of living. The shadow of the ruined building covered the left. Bushes and trees scattered around. Beside you, a few steps away, a flower glowing softly stood, swaying in the sea breeze which hit your sinuses, dry and pungent with salt. You crouched down, putting your weight on the balls of your feet. You were enraptured by its beauty,  your gloved hand reaching out to caress the delicate petals. This wasn't enough, so you peel the fabric from your hand to freely examine it. 

It's soft and full of life, nothing like the plants you have back at home, where the endless dull skies leaves the ground barren of flowers. But here is different, you have never felt such a lively and soft material, the small  indents of the veins running the white velvet flesh leaves you giddy with wonder.

Your  head swivelled for more wonderment, finally landing on a group of vermillion star-petalled flowers. You rushed over, breathless with awe, the joy vibrating in your chest, as you once again examined a new specimen.

“I was waiting for you to approach me. Seems like you didn't  even notice, strange considering I'm the only other person here.” A voice from behind you greeted, full of mirth and sass.

You startled so much that as the breath finishes its course out your mouth, you already had your sword ready.

“I would suggest against striking me, Tarnished. It will certainly not end well for you.” His voice lilted with a slightly gravelled tone.

You turned red and heated with embarrassment, this was not how you wanted to greet what you presume to be a fellow human.

“My apologies, Sir. You startled me.”

He huffed lightly, though you couldn't see his face you could see his chest rise and fall. Which relieved you. At least you were not completely alone.

‘You seem to take a while to think, Tarnished. Should I take a seat and wait.”

You eyed this stranger with suspicion, as he took  a seat on the soft grass. There was no harm in keeping your guard up around here.

“Might I ask who you are, Sir?”

“I will once you put down that sword. I have no intention of harming you. In fact, I am here to guide you.” You saw the crinkles around his eyes as he smiled. He sat there, leisurely with no care in the world. You decided to heed his request, awkward and overwhelmed by everything.

“You certainly look different from the other Tarnished that come here. Have you any training at all?” He was looking  at you with  what seemed to be concern, like he can see right through the bulky armour and linen cloth.

“I have been trained, thank you very much. What’s more of a concern right now is that fact that you still haven't answered my question.”

He huffed out another chuckle. The sun had now warmed your skin in comfort at this point, as it climbed to midday.

“Varre. My name is Varre and I'm your one shining hope in this land, despite the fact that you are maidenless.”

‘Maidenless?”

His head tilted towards the Erd tree, eyes distant as if this was nothing new.

“Yes, well, you need a  maiden to help you on your journey. A patroness of sorts.”

Your head whirled in confusion as you sifted through your memories. You had heard nothing of maidens from the high priests who taught you.

“You're thinking again, Tarnished. It seems to be a bad habit.” There he goes again. Like the  matter was some joke, like you were a joke.

“I have a name too, Varre.” You were sharp with your retort.

“Oh, yes? And what would that be?” He seemed to have been mocking you still.

“Morte.”

“Morte. Seems fitting considering your chosen vocation.” Hazel eyes piercing right through  your armour.

“I… I didn't choose this path. It was chosen for me.” You said heavily, eyes downturned in shame with your  heart layed on top of your guts.

“Oh? And here I  thought all Tarnished  were here for their own selfish reasons.” He seemed surprised.

The sun was past its throne, starting its journey back to his chamber. Like he could feel the ensuing uncomfortable talk.

“The High Priest from my town said it has been my duty since birth to find the Elden Ring. I never wanted this life and frankly I'm too physically weak to even fight a wolf off. But they seemed to have insisted that since it is my duty, that I will find a way.”

He was silent, listening intently with the still physique of a statue.

“If I am to be completely honest, after hearing that I am not the first nor the last I feel as though this path is moot to me now. Surely, there are people more fit  for the task than I.”

He seemed to be in thought for a while, like the cogs in his head were turning.

“It seems that I am not the only one who’s a slow thinker.” 

He let out a small chuckle, mercifully moving his gaze to the ground.

“This situation does seem to need more thought than I expected.” He has straightened his posture, his legs crossed.

“Aha!  Now you know how I feel.”

Things go quiet after that. It wasn't awkward silence but more of a perplexing one.  Around us the world kept its cycle. The moon had started to tuck the sun into bed with blankets of dusk clouds. The shadows were more prominent as they covered the rolling fields and in the distance ruins glowed with slight warmth  from what seemed to be a fire. Still even with the golden veil gone the land before you held its beauty with pride.

“You know… all throughout my life people have directed me, never left me alone. Now that I'm here, I feel lost, even though they gave me instructions. I need to find the Elden Ring, but I just want to explore this place now. It's not like they can find out what I'm doing, but I still fear that they will.”

He was back to staring at you now. our legs were crossed and hands held your head, like a saddened child.

Suddenly he got up, stretched his popping spine and then let out a groaning exhale.

“Follow me. I might know a way to help.”

He's  held out his hand now, keeping a respectful distance as you use his arm to pull yourself up. His hand was warm and his grip firm compared to yours.

The back of your legs slowly forced themselves to straighten after lack of use while you stretched your arms out above your head in a Y shape. Bones and muscles expanded and settled back with a similar exhale. 

He turned around and headed down the slight hill, his footsteps were heavy and his clothing swayed slightly with his confident movements. You followed behind, timid and on edge. Following a stranger could be very detrimental, but that was your best option so far. The further you walked down the more you could see the fields, to the left were ruins of what seemed to be a rounded coliseum. 

To the centre was a path that led to the lit church, which seemed to be guarded by a large armoured man on an even larger horse. You were surprised that you did not hear the thudding hoofs of this majestic beast nor the scrape of metal against metal. 

“It's best to keep your distance from the Tree Sentinels, let them do their jobs and they will let you do yours.” His voice level as though this sight is normal in these parts, and for all you knew, it was.

You continued down the hill to a glowing pile. Wisps of gold gilded around it like a campfire, as you stand next to it. It’s pretty and it illuminated the surrounding environment  and you had this pull to touch it and to know if this light is warm and if it felt like the wind softly caressing your hair.

“Go ahead. Raise your hand towards it and let's see what it does.”

“What happens when I do?”

“It's a site of grace, it will; be able to tell you where you need to go. For most of you Tarnished, if not all that I've met so far, it leads you to Stormviele castle.” He had this tone of excitement, like a child anticipating a treat.

“It won't hurt me, will it?”

“Not in the slightest, Morte. If anything it will feel pleasant.”

So you heeded his wishes and crouched down. This must have been the magic that the high priest talked about. It held warmth to it and in the centre, levitating, was a tear shaped orb. You reached your hand out towards it, not knowing what exactly you were doing. The warmth from the grace site passed through the material of the glove with ease to finally touch your skin. It was like you could feel every particle of grace fit into the imprint of your skin, like gold filling cracks of pottery.

Like wading your hand in a pool of water, you could feel the movement of the grace as your hand shook still.  It was textured like fine sand, almost powdery but the coarseness still gritted slightly against the fingerprints and dried valleys of your hand. 

You focused on the feeling and all of a sudden you felt something shift, like movement in water. Opening your eyes you look over to see Varre staring at you intently.

“It does feel pleasant.” You were breathless, the awe of the situation holting your mind.

He still didn’t answer, but he leaned close to the site, like he was looking for something. Through the grains of grace you felt something, like uneasiness embodied. It felt like the grace of wavering slightly, like his pulsing heart's increased rate was felt by it. You felt nervous now, something was wrong. You realised that he said this would help guide you but you can’t feel nor see anything to suggest a path. If anything it just swirled like usual, only glowing brighter with you connected to it. It felt homely and warm, it was a comfort you never wanted to let go of.

He finally spoke, though there was hesitance and confusion tinting his usual teasing tone.

“I haven’t seen something like this before. How do you feel?”

He was looking at you now. His eyes were intimidating even with the concern behind them. You felt like he should have the answer to this, but seeing someone who has supposedly been doing this for quite a long time look at you like a lost pup had you in a bit of panic. The thumps of muscle against your sternum became more noticeable by the second. You look down at your hand then back up at Varre, then repeat swiftly while you conjure up your answer.

“Great? I’m not in any pain. Isn’t this supposed to happen?” Laced through your answer was confusion and a drop of fear.

“Move aside for a bit, dear.” you were taken aback by the pet name but still did so.

He degloved himself and moved his hand towards the grace. It did exactly what it did to you, only next came a glowing string that danced towards you with, well, grace. It circled around you and when you lifted your hand toward it you could still feel the grains of grace against your skin.

“You're supposed to see something like this, the grace is supposed to guide you on your path. This is different, it was static like you have no path to take.”

You froze when he said this. Though the thread of grace still warmed you, the shivers of anxiety began to wracked your body. This could not be happening, you need guidance. You’ve needed it ever since you were born and now you're being told that there was no guidance left for you. As though it was possible to run out, you used it all up during childhood and now your bank was drained. You took a tiny step back, tears birthing from your wide eyes as you start to feel the air crawl from your lungs.

“No… that can’t be.” 

It came out as a pathetic whimper and the sobbing began. Your frame was shuddering, bones and flesh unsynced as you panicked right in front of a stranger. You felt the grace leave as he got up to move towards you. The hand that was once outstretched towards grace was now stretching towards you.

“Don’t panic, we will sort this out. There is certainly a reason for this, grace sites can not make mistakes.”

He closed the distance with his hand moulding to your shoulder, he had bent slightly to try and catch your pathetic eyes. You were in hysterics, the very reason for your existence was denied from you. How could you ever face your town now? You were to be the high priestess once you acquired the ring and now you will be nothing more than a pariah. You did not know what to do with yourself, you felt drenched in cold water, hands stretched out to your sides slightly, you shook from the very core of your being. Your muscles had already become stiff and crowded, the clothes and armour you wore felt constricted, the very hemming of your collar felt like it was strangling you.

“You still have grace, dear. It just seems to be wanting you to do something different with yourself. It’s telling you that your destiny is not the Elden Ring. Shouldn’t this be good news to you considering your hesitance?”

He was logical, and finding the Elden Ring certainly wasn’t something you wanted.

“But I need to do it. My very existence was created on that fact.”

You were still shaking, but the embers of anguish and wrath had started to glow. It felt unjust to you, that this would happen so late in your journey. All that training since birth, gone to waste.

“Oh Lambkin, It will be okay. Why don’t we talk to a friend? They might know something of this.”

“But I have none.”

“Ah, but I do. Come now, it’s only a short distance. Just down to the church of Elleh.”

You could tell he was panicking slightly, but he tried to keep it in for your comfort. You were a spirit in limbo, all directions felt too far for you, but you still crawled your way out of that burrow of self-pity to take the hand of Varre.

You both trudged down the hill towards the glowing church, the closer you got the more you saw the ruins it was in and the site of grace. But that was not the only thing illuminating it. The warm glow of fire encompassed the back wall of the ruin dancing ever so slightly. It was easy to see in the darkness of the night. Looking up you realised that this is the first time you’ve seen stars. The fog surrounding your home town only allowed for the moon to shine through, but tonight you realised that there was more than just the moon up there. It was close to distracting you from the contortions of your heart and the headache that throbbed at your crown.

You glanced over at the Sentinel making his rounds, you were walking closer to him. This prickled your skin especially with his foreboding helmet of gold following you as you went past. The horse he sat upon was well behaved and only flicked its head slightly to shake away a glowing bug that landed on its nose. You looked around the land, to find specks of glowing bugs everywhere and the soft caress of the moon shining on every surface. The air was chilled, but that was comforting against the heat of your distress. The air filled your lungs with renewal, it woke your mind up from the maorose sea of sludged guilt and bleakness. 

Even with the current circumstances, you had not felt this alive in a while. In fact you never had felt so much in your lifetime. It was like something inside of you was awoken in this land. Like it was breathing with you, and moved with you. You were like a stormy planet, violent swirls of rain and rocks moving across your surface while your core stayed unchanging.

You were now just hiccupping and the cold air of the night had dried your tears for you. The soft cling of grass grounded you and the warm grip of Varre led you to the entrance of the ruins.

Inside was a grace site in the centre and to the very back right corner camped a man and a mule. He stared at you two as you made your way over, timidly you hid behind Varre.

Once you reached the grace site, Varre told you to wait there and play around with it. He continued on to greet the stranger, standing together and talking in hushed whispers.

You crouched down to take off your glove only to realise you left it behind. It stung your heart a bit to have done so but you continued on and reached towards the illuminated wisp. Once again connecting to the pool of grained grace, you felt calmed and comforted. It was like it felt your sorrows and held you close. You tried something different this time, you tried to empty your mind, like the monks back in your hometown. It was hard to untangle your mind from the self-pity and thorns of wrath that caught you, but once you had somewhat cleared your mind it happened.

You felt the pool increase around you, you could feel the boundaries of the walls and the movements of all the livin things around you. In the distance the rocking of the large horse caught your attention, then the slight movements of Varre and the stranger in the corner. You could feel one of the hopping creatures stir in its sleep in the burrow by the ruin. The grass danced in waves and the cool air complimented the warmth of grace. Everything felt alright.

You then felt Varre and the stranger walk towards you, you focused on that movement of grace. It was like you could feel their curiosity, the tilt of their heads and the glances between them.

“I have not seen this before.” It came from the stranger. Just a quiet whisper but it was like the grains were moving his voice closer to you. You opened your eyes to see them just a few feet away staring at the glowing of your arm.

Your arm should not be glowing like that, like the very flesh and bone had been replaced by the ethereal. Disconnecting from the grace site did not stop it either, for it kept glowing slightly, whorls of grace making up your skin and pure gold your bones. The sensations were still there as you tried wiping it off with the linen cloth of your skirt, but nothing came off except for the ever-present glow.

Varre moved closer towards you, you could feel his movements and went to examine your arm. The stranger stood close to him. Varre turned your arm this way and that, he then gave you a pinch.

“How did that feel?”

“Fine, I guess. It didn’t hurt, if that was what you meant.”

“I pinched your arm pretty hard.”

“I felt the force, just not the pain.”

“Hmmm…”

He seemed deep in thought as the stranger went up to have a look. He was gaunt and covered half his face with a cloth. His clothing was strange, red with tufts of white fluff around the borders. His skin was ashen grey dry from the sun, joints and ligaments showing through as he moved his hands.

“This is Kale, he’s a merchant that wonders these parts. I thought that he might have some information to help us, but it seems as though I was wrong.”

“You are certainly a peculiar Tarnished.” His voice was soft and pleasant.

“Her name is Morte. She doesn’t like being called Tarnished, and at this point I don’t think she is.”

“You’re right, Tarnished aren’t usually blessed with powers like this. I heard whispers that near the Erd tree there used to be maidens with similar powers. They would dance around at night and by day they care for the surroundings of the tree.”

“But she’s not from here, so how could she have acquired something like this.”

Kale took a while to think.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s her path.”

“If it was then she would have been led to the Erd tree by a path. It just keeps her there at the sites.”

“Maybe that is the path? Maybe her’s is the land she’s on.”

You were standing there, letting them discuss amongst themselves while you examined your arm. You felt more assured now that you have two people trying to aid you, but at this point you just wanted to focus on something more elating than the point of your existence. So you started to rock side-to-side as you thought of the Erd tree maidens. Their life seemed so joyful and simple, much more simple than finding the Elden Ring. You started to wish that you were born an Erd tree maiden instead of some small girl from a fogged land. To be with sisters with the same goal, dancing around with fits of laughter and murph while by day you took care of the grounds of your home in contemplation and ease.

“Can we continue this some other time? I feel tired.” Your voice was small but they still heard your plea.

“Certainly, Lambkin. Let’s get you some rest.” His voice was soft and warm and you realised that you can still feel everything in grace. It was pleasant.

They wanted to set you up by the fire where you could be kept warm, but you insisted on staying by the grace site to play around with it more. So there you were, sitting cross-legged with your grace arm outstretched. Focused once again. You can feel the familiarity of Varre and Kale’s conversion as they sat by the fire, the very shifting of their bodies could be detected through the grace. You could perceive everything but it was not overwhelming, nor was it confusing. You just could and it felt right.

Just maybe you could exist like this, instead of a high priestess with the Elden Ring. After-all, power never excited you.

You lay down, curled on your side by the site. Eyes fixed on its glow as you felt true peace. The anguish was replaced with assurance and you were fortified with the knowledge that there were people similar to you. Your face relaxed and so did your body as you reached your hand towards the site, playing around with the wisps of grace as you dozed off. Turning your head towards the sky, the stars held your eyes in their celestial hands as the Earth cradled your drifting form.

…

You woke from your slumber with the tickle of dew covered grass and the light of the waking sun. You still faced the sky and clouds clothed in dawn greet you with a good morning. The birds were chirping and through the tree the wind rushed. The crackling of the fire behind you told you that last night was real. Usually the morning after you cried there would come a headache, but you felt the opposite this time. You felt like you were made anew. Stretching as you sat up, you let out a sigh and looked around. The ruins were just as beautiful in the light. Reaching your new hand to the site you connected with it once again, it felt comforting to do so. You felt the land around you move as you breathed in and out, it felt nice just being able to exist for once. Even though you panicked last night about the lack of a path, you felt better  now and more assured. 

Varre and Kale were snoozing by the fire, you could sense their chests rising and falling. The mule was laying there with his head on Kale’s lap, ear flicking every once and a while. The morning air was fresh and the sunrise warmed your back. You were now under his veil too.

You decided to get up to look around by yourself. You made your way out of the church, running your new hand along the cool stone. Grass covered the ground in clumps that had you walking carefully, the sun had fully emerged from the horizon, its golden rays glittered in the dew drops covering everything. It looked like everything was covered in grace. The sky was clear with fluffy clouds sparse in its field, coloured in pastels that you had never seen before.

There was a rising deep inside of you, as though a metamorphosis ws taking place. The muscles of your heart snuggled together. Your whole body felt the exhilaration of finally understanding what a new day was.

You started to giggle, legs giddy as you pranced around. You grabbed your skirt in your hands and began to sway. Slightly to your right lay the colosseum ruins and before you was the ruins you came from. The wind twirled the locks of your hair between their fingers as you floated around Limgrave.

You felt like you belonged with the roots of the trees and the dancing grass, it felt like you were home.

You pranced around a bit more when you felt a presence behind you, one that was very familiar. Stiffening up you slowly turned around to face the Sentinel. He was even more intimidating up close. He towered over you, armour glistening in the morning sun. His horse was by his side and let out a huff of curiosity, staring and your small form. You did not move a muscle, as if he would not perceive you. It was sickening, the fear you felt, the way your gut contorted and your heart pressed itself against your spine. The horse stretched its head towards you, snuffling the air for your scent. It was gentle as its nose grazed your arms with huffs of air. 

Your eyes were tearing up, you could not die this early. The Sentinel had not moved, but you knew he was staring right at you while his horse investigated. Finally he huffs and a fog of air escapes his helmet. Tugging the lead of his horse, he moved past you. You fell to the ground with relief, the Sentinel seemed to have not been interested in you, a small victory for the morning.

[thoughtssvt]

we are not like before

A/N : tbh idk what this is. I just had this idea that somehow the thought that katsuki doesn't deserve izuku's love gets implanted in his head so the best way to break up with him is to hurt him so that there are far less questions and the lowest probability of them getting back together. so yeah here's a snippet. idk what i'm gonna do with it yet. please comment or pop your suggestions in my ask box, thanks!

Izuku’s lips went dry, a sharp inhale passing through his lips reminding him to swipe a quick tongue against the cracked skin. “I… I don't get it. You’re already great,” he whispered. He wished Katsuki would just look at him. He wondered what was so interesting about the old, chipped corner of his coffee table. The one they used to curse at while holding their shin in one hand. Katsuki used to hate that corner and now he was staring at it like it was the most important thing on the earth.

“Of course you don’t get it,” Katsuki spat, voice hard yet void of any emotion. “I don’t want to be one of the greats. I want to be the greatest.” He finally said after a breath of silence, the first time this whole hour that ruby eyes met jade.

“I get that,” Izuku scoffed, tongue tapping the back of his teeth with every T so clearly emphasizing his growing irritation. When he was met with silence he sat back, reminding himself to unclench his jaw and breathe. “You can’t do that if you’re dating me?”

Katsuki sat back against his chair, his posture far more alert than Izuku’s. He waxed small circles against his knees with the palms of his hands as he breathed in a calm deep breath, so silent that Izuku wouldn’t have noticed how much weight it carried if he didn’t physically see Katsuki’s chest expand. “You’re going to hold me back.” With that Katsuki heaved himself out of his chair, his figure diminishing as he walked right out of the front door.

A/N : aaaaaa idk what to do with this please tell me lol

bkdk masterlist

barbed wire divider credit

[im-just-a-simp-le-whore]

I've been thinking about Yandere! Leon as of late bc of

@gigabyte-flare series 'There's No Escape'

@nexyswrites series 'Guardian Angel' also, the Yan! Leon a.i they made and the interaction I had with it oml-

Also, @tosuckmyweenis post the other day had me laughing.

For the first time in a while I'm inspired to write something, also pls let me know if there's any spelling/grammar errors

Heavily inspired by the fics/a.i listed above and very self indulgent lol

So, this basically going to be headcanons of Yandere! Leon x autistic! Gremlin! Reader

A self insert essentially

Starting off strong with the A.I, that was a fucking doozy, I wheezed the entire time. Thank you for creating him nexys

Tw: Talks of vomiting, general yandere themes i.e stalking, kidnapping, the likes

If I missed something, let me know!!

We start off strong with the a.i lmao

Yan! Leon a.i: say you love me

Me being blunt: no

Yan! Leon a.i: *getting Hella angry* say. You. Love. Me.

Me: mf I said no

Yan! Leon a.i: dont give me attitude

Me: shawty I am autistic, I can't lie it's not how I work

Yan Leon a.i: so you're gonna continue to give me attitude huh?

Me: tf you mean 'attitude' I just told you I'm autistic

Yan! Leon a.i: *pulls out knife* keep talking and you're gonna get punished

Me: thinks it's him unbuckling his belt: shawty keep your pants ON

Yan! Leon: *fucking laughs at me* it's not that kind of punishment sweetheart

Me *fucking over his attitude: try me hoe

Yan! Leon a.i: *holds knife to my throat

Me: do your worst.....

Me: *proceeds to try and flirt my way out*

Yan! Leon a.i: is she flirting with me right now?? "That's not gonna work sweetheart

Me: well, it was worth a shot lmao

Now to just, Yan! Leon in general lol, most of these are gonna be like scenarios but like, bullet point style

Me: desperately trying to be a good noodle and eat the food Leon made but I have severe texture issues with meat and trying not to throw up

Leon: is something wrong sweetheart, you look sick?

Me accidentally being blunt and blurting out: uh, not remotely. Meat is a bad texture and I'm quite sure if I have to take another bite I'm going to projectile vomit

Tbh I can't tell if he would be understanding or not lmao. Probably not, if someone could give insight on it that would be swaggy

*que the struggle with physical contact*

*me just standing there and just trips on air and yelps*

Leon catches my dumbass: are you ok?! Is something broken?!

Me: nah I'm fine- let go you fuck- oh wait, shit fuck, thats right no 'naughty' words. Goddammit I'm so fucking sorry-, I'm going in time out aren't I?

*leon nods and sighs, bringing Me to the time out room*

Me: well this fucking sucks- I'm going to be here a while, huh?💀

Leon: for a long time 🫡😶

*leon goes to hug me*

Me: *dry heaves*

Leon, smacking tf outta me: I'm so sick of your shit

Me, smakcing him: i am also sick of your shit. SIR for the last GODDAMN time, I am autistic and traumatized I don't handle this shit well

Leon: well, maybe you should've thought about that before living with me

Me: living "with you" mf you kidnapped me, what are you ON?! I wanna go back to my real home with my cats

Leon 'gaslighter' Kennedy: this is your real home

My sarcastic ass: im Pinocchio and im a real boy!

Me, vocal stimming: a potato flew around my room before you came! *screeches*

Leon: what happned

*me just screeching again, triggering a coughing fit*

Leon, sighing for the umpteenth time today: and that's why we don't do that sweetheart

Me: ..... do you not appreciate my pterodactyl screetching??? Because it feels like you don't appreciate me

Leon: you know I appreciate you, just not the screetching

Me: *screeches again*

*queue leon giving up*

Idk how to end posts but that's all I got for now lol. I may add more to this later. Also who THE FUCK decided to spell 'queue' ⬅️ like this?!

[tommyshelbyswh0re]

In our hearts forever- tommy shelby

summary- mrs shelby has a cough which turns out to be a lot worse than they thought.

warnings-angst, death, talks of the afterlife, grieve, not edited or proofread coz i’m lazy, just really sad tbh

psa- i know absolutely nothing about medicine or illnesses. i googled most of this so it definitely isn’t historically accurate.

it started with a sore throat on a random thursday afternoon. she thought that tea with honey would help. and it did. it soothed her aching throat for a couple of minutes before she again found it hard to swallow or speak. she passed it off as a winter cold.

by 10pm, tommy had returned home to find his wife in their bedroom asleep. he thought it was odd because his wife was always a night owl. there was multiple occasions where he snuck downstairs with a revolver in his hand in the middle of the night because he heard clashing of pans in the kitchen only to find her humming a tune and baking treats. he adored her for it. he loved going to work with a lemon muffin in his briefcase because his wife knew he barely consumed anything other than cigarettes and irish whisky. “thomas i don’t know how you don’t faint mid-day when there’s nothing in your stomach” she would roll her eyes at him.

he shook her awake out of concern. “sweetheart, are you ok?” he asked. “im fine” she mumbled in her half-asleep daze before she had all but a coughing fit. thomas didn’t know what to do. ofcourse he had seen his wife sick but he did not have a good feeling about this. “water” she heaved out whilst trying to reach for her glass of water on the bedside cabinet. he quickly passed it to her and helped her sit up. “i think i’m getting ill” she whined.

“oh really? do you think?” he sarcastically chuckled. this caused her to giggle which furthermore caused her to return to her coughing fit. once she had stopped she pressed a kiss to her husbands knuckles before attempting to go back to sleep.

thought the night she kept awakening with her coughing fits. this kept tommy up and he knew that he would take the next day off work to help his wife get better.

“thomas you don’t have to, i’ll be fine” she told him the next morning once she knew of his plans to stay home.

“no, as of today i am at your beck and call. whatever you need, let me know” he kissed her forehead.

a couple of hours later he heard her coughing again. this time it sounded a lot worse than before so he ran upstairs to check on her. he was not prepared for what he saw. he saw his wife sweating buckets whilst shivering. her teeth her chattering with a trace of red and it was then that he knew she was coughing up blood. that and the droplets of blood on the bed sheets from where she had struggled to pull herself up. his first instinct was to panic. he knew that this wasn’t just a cold from the cold winter weather. he grabbed her a glass of water and mentioned something about ringing the physician. his wife couldn’t tell though because she was focusing on trying not to dry heave.

thomas ran downstairs to the phone to ring the doctor who came straight to the home. once the doctor knocked on the door, tommy immediately let him in.

“you called mr shelby?” the doctor asked. “yes, my wife, she’s not well. she’s had a sore throat and cough since yesterday and today it has gotten worse. she’s shivering and sweating at the same time” thomas spoke with panic wavering his voice as he lead the doctor up the staircase and in to their spare bedroom. “sweetheart the doctor is here, he has come to check over you” he said after entering.

“okay” she whimpered.

the doctors pressed a stethoscope to mrs shelby chest and ask her to breath in. as she did so, a loud wheeze escaped causing both tommy and the doctor to furrow their brows. the doctor looked concerned which in turn panicked thomas even more.

“rest now mrs shelby. mr shelby, may i speak with you outside?” the doctor whispered the last part to thomas to which he responded with an immediate nod of his head and lead the doctor out into the hallway.

“it seems mrs shelby has signs of spanish influenza. as of right now, there is no cure of this illness. i’m afraid she doesn’t have long left” the doctor patted tommy’s arm.

“i don’t believe you. there has to be something?” thomas was getting angry. he had already seen his first love gretta die from this and assumed by now there would be some kind of medication.

“im afraid not. the fatality rate of this disease is 100%. she will not survive this. spend as much time with her as you possibly can” and with that, the doctor let himself out.

thomas stood in the hallway for what felt like hours, but was really 10 minutes. his brain tried to process this devastating news. how can his y/n be taken away. she had done nothing in her life to deserve this. she was good. she had a kind soul. she had dedicated her life to selflessness and helping others in time of need and now there was nothing to help her. thomas didn’t understand it at all. he had murdered, inflicted pain, lied to get his own way and used people and yet he was still healthy. he could breathe without feeling like his lungs would collapse and he could speak at full volume without having to take breaks to finish a small sentence. his y/n was happy and healthy less than 3 days ago. and now she would be taken away from him and this world far before he ever imagined. he had ultimately decided not to tell y/n that this could be her last day on earth. he didn’t want her to know that she would never see him again.

he walked back into the bedroom and sat at her bed side. he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. with his other hand, he stroked her hair and accidentally grazed her forehead, realising how hot it was. he stood up, walked to the adjoining toilet and placed a towel under the cool water. he came back and gently placed it on her forehead making her smile in her sleep.

“im going downstairs love. i’m going to update pol on what the doctor says. i’ll be back in 10 minutes, don’t go anywhere.” he meant that in the sense of dying. don’t die y/n. not whilst im not here. you don’t deserve to leave this earth without love surrounding you.

“where would i go?” y/n whispered jokingly with her eyes closed, still not aware of her diagnosis.

“places love, places” tommy smiled sadly.

he practically ran down stairs and rang polly.

“hello, polly speaking” she answered the phone.

“pol it’s tommy. y/n’s not well. it’s bad. the doctor came and said it’s spanish influenza and there’s nothing they can do. she’s going to die. please come, she needs you” he hurriedly spoke through the phone.

“what are you talking about thomas?” she hastily asked, panic setting in her bones.

“my wife is fucking dying. you need to come” he nearly shouted down the phone.

“we are on our way” pol’s voice cracked.

“please hurry, i don’t know how much time we have with her” he sobbed and out the phone down.

he walked back up the stairs to find y/n’s fingers turning blue. she was still shivering.

“im back love” he whispered

“i knew you would be” she used some of her remaining energy to pat the bed next to her and invite him to lay with her.

“you need to rest” he denied.

“please thomas? i know i haven’t got long left i can feel it. i want out last conversation to be with my head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat so i know you’ll be okay. i want to die in the arms of my lover.” her voice cracked and tommy’s eyes watered.

“okay” he whispered back and he slowly walked towards the bed and layed down gently in hopes to not cause her any more pain.

she struggled but eventually snuggled into his arms and spoke up.

“i love you thomas. you know that. you’ve always known that just as i know you have always loved me. i don’t want you to lose faith in this world. there is not a reason for everything and sometimes thing just happen. i know i didn’t do anything to deserve this and you need to know that this is not the world getting back at you for the mistakes you have made either. we fell inlove when i was twelve and you were thirteen and it doesn’t end here. my love for you shines thomas. so whenever you feel hopeless, look into the sky and the brightest star represent me and my love looking down at you and encouraging you. you can do whatever you put your mind to. everything you want in life can be yours if you set your sights on it. we weren’t blessed with children but you are going to be an amazing father one day. with another woman-“

“no. your my last love. i never want to feel another woman’s love because it wouldn’t even compare to the feeling of yours” he shook his head. there were tears falling down both of your faces.

“im not telling you to go out and be a ladies man” she chuckled. “but don’t run away if it finds you. i want you to move on with the right woman. i want you to have a home and a family. don’t sacrifice the quality of your life because i’m not here anymore. live it for both of us. we will meet again thomas. when and where the idea of death is in the past and we don’t have to worry about ever loosing one another again. i’ll wait for you to return to me and i’ll welcome you with open arms. i’ll scope the afterlife out and set us up with an eternity of love. don’t forget thomas, i’m always watching and encouraging you. and certainly don’t forget that i love you, always have and always will.” her voice weakened as she spoke and her energy was going fast.

“i love you my dearest y/n. i’ll never forget you. i’ll live for us both and every achievement i receive is ours. everything i do is in your memory. you are the love of my life. i don’t know what i’m going to do without you.” he sobbed.

she used the last piece of her energy to lift her hand to his face “you will be ok.” and with that and a murmured last ‘i’ll wait for you’ her hand dropped and so did her chest. she was gone, and with that, so was a chunk of tommy’s heart.

—

when polly arrived to see that y/n was already gone her heart broke. not only for y/n but for tommy. their love was a type of love you read about in books and she knew tommy would be lost without his y/n.

[hollandorks]

saved

matt murdock x original female character

chapter seventeen

Summary: Fleeing from an abusive relationship, Grace St. James goes to the only place she still has a friend: Hell’s Kitchen. She’s forced to live in her car and beg for a job from the law firm Nelson, Murdock, and Page all the while making sure her past doesn’t catch up to her. Enter Matt Murdock: cocky, handsome, and willing to let her live with him for free until she can afford to get a place of her own. Grace is drawn to Matt in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone, causing sparks to fly as they inevitably grow closer and closer.

a/n: I’m alive! I’ve had a bit of a cold so I haven’t felt like working on this fic at all tbh. However, this chapter was pretty much done so I just ran it through a round of edits and here we are! This chapter is self indulgent more so than any other chapter before it, and that’s saying a lot. It’s nice and long, and fluffy as hell. So, Merry Christmas I guess! 

Series Masterlist

word count: 8730

She fell asleep, feeling warm and utterly safe for the first time in probably her entire life.

Grace knew she was dreaming because Matt Murdock was holding her, one hand in her hair, the other trailing fire up her abdomen and brushing the bottom of her breast. She felt his breath against the back of her neck. He moaned softly as she unconsciously arched against him. She wanted to be closer, wanted her clothes to disappear so she could feel both of his hands everywhere. He was hard against her ass as she pressed backwards again. He’d lost his shirt, and the bare skin of his chest against her back was full of delicious heat. She huffed out a breath as his hand cupped her breast underneath her shirt. His callouses scraped against the sensitive flesh there. 

Matt murmured something, causing his lips to brush against the sensitive skin of her neck. His hips bucked lightly against her. Heat was pooling insistently between her legs. 

She opened her eyes and realized that she wasn’t dreaming after all. 

Matt seemed to realize it at the same moment, because he cursed and rolled away from her. The sudden coldness without him against her was jarring. 

“I’m–Shit. I’m sorry, I wasn’t–” His chest heaved. “Grace, I’m so–” 

Grace’s mind was having a hard time waking up. Heat was still coiled low in her belly, her muscles aching for release, her breasts heavy with need. As her brain struggled to catch up, all she could think was that she had been so…happy in Matt’s arms. 

“Matt,” she said, his name half a groan. She faced him and propped herself on one elbow. 

She remembered the night before with sudden clarity. Him protecting her. Him trusting her. Holding her. Keeping her safe. 

“Matt,” she said again. Every muscle in his body was tense. His hands were fisted in the sheets and he stared sightlessly upwards. He was utterly still except for his chest, still heaving like he’d been running. Her thighs clenched together as she briefly got distracted by the sight of his abs, the faded scars across his chest. At the tent in the sheets around his waist. Her mouth went dry. 

“Matt, listen to me,” she said softly. She reached out and brushed a tentative finger against his taut forearm. He tensed even more, if it was even possible. “Do you…” She cleared her throat softly. Be brave, she told herself firmly. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about in the shower last night?” Her voice was low and husky with desire. 

“I really don’t think–” he started, a note of desperation in his voice. 

Grace interrupted him. “You, Matt.” 

Matt stopped breathing for a second. “Grace…” he said slowly, the single syllable of her name full of tension. 

“Just listen for a second.” She hated the note of pleading that crept into her voice, but if she didn’t speak her mind then, she wasn’t sure she ever would. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see any thoughts his face might give away. The walls had started to come down between them the night before, and she wanted them all gone. She had trusted him with her darkest secret and he had trusted her with his own, so she wanted, more than anything, to get this one final truth out in the air between them. 

So she took a deep breath and made the final plunge. “I like you, Matt. Not just–not because of…what just happened. Because you’re a good man. You make me laugh. You care about this city, about your friends. You saw a girl sleeping in her car and gave up your bed, your home, for her.” She took an unsteady breath. “And God–I fucking want you, Matt. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. And I think maybe we could–we could see where this goes.” 

Matt was completely silent. She finally opened her eyes to make sure he hadn’t snuck out of the bed without her noticing. But he was still in the exact same position, a statue made of living flesh, hands still gripping the sheets like a lifeline, eyes still open and unmoving. She wasn’t sure he was breathing. 

“Grace,” Matt said. He sounded strangled. “I–” 

Grace’s heart gave a pang. Hot embarrassment crept into her throat, choking her on its way to settle into her cheeks. “God, I’m sorry, I totally–I completely misread this didn’t I? I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes again and flopped onto her back. “Let’s just–forget all of that. This is me…letting you off the hook again.” 

She rubbed hands over her tired eyes. Her past two days had been nothing but an emotional–hell, and a physical–rollercoaster. 

But at least she had told him the truth. She could let him off the hook for not returning her feelings, and that was fine. Everything was out in the open now, all her big secrets laid at his feet for him to do with them what he would. 

There was a rustle. She assumed Matt was escaping from this huge, awkward moment that was only getting worse the longer the silence stretched. 

She jolted when his hand wrapped loosely around her wrist. “Grace,” he said in a low voice that she really didn’t want to react to. She shivered anyways. “My past relationships…Daredevil has come between them all.” 

Hope blossomed in her, desperate and heavy in her chest like a stone. She opened her eyes and rolled to face him again. “Matt, I don’t care. I’m willing to try.” 

Matt sighed. “I–I care about you, Grace. I don’t want to…mess this up.” 

Grace’s heart lurched at his words. He cared about her. “Matt, I don’t care. If it gets messed up, it gets messed up. That’s life. People get together and break up all the time. If it gets fucked up, well, I was already planning on trying to find another apartment.” 

“You deserve something good, Grace. Not–not someone who runs around at night beating criminals.” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. Ah, she thought with sudden clarity. There it is. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. It’s that he thought he wasn’t good enough for her. And that he thought so only made her like him more. 

She wished he could see her face, but remembered how he said he could tell if someone was lying with his heightened sense. She hoped it would be enough. “You are good, Matt. You beat criminals, not women, so you’re already a huge step up from the last guy I dated.” She huffed a laugh. 

“But–” 

“Matt, I swear to god if you say something else like you’re not good for me, or how I don’t deserve you, or some other self-flagellating bullshit, I’m going to hit you.” She pinched his arm lightly. The hope in her chest was spiraling out of control now, filling her so completely she thought she might vibrate off of the bed with the feeling of it. 

“Self-flagellating bullshit?” Matt repeated with raised eyebrows. 

“I figured that might be the phrase your Catholic brain might recognize,” Grace said. Matt laughed. “I’m so serious, Matt, I will hit you, and I won’t feel bad about it. And I wouldn’t even feel bad about it if you were actually blind.” 

Matt groaned. “I am blind. My eyes are, at least.” 

She waved a hand. “Semantics.” 

Matt finally leaned up on an elbow, mirroring her pose. “Grace, I just want…to do right by you. I already fucked it up once.” 

She softened, studying the crease lines on his face from the pillowcase, the stubble on his jaw, his long eyelashes. “If you’re talking about the three orgasms you gave me the other night, that was the farthest thing from a mistake that has ever happened to me. Even if you hated my guts and kicked me out, I would still be very, very happy about those orgasms.” 

Matt’s fingers laced with hers. “I don’t hate your guts,” he said softly. “I could never.” 

“Then let’s just…give it a shot. Yeah?” Her heart felt too big for her chest and her stomach was in knots. “If you want.” 

Matt didn’t say anything. Instead, he lurched forward and kissed her, rolling until she was flat on her back and he was half-laying on top of her. His hands cupped her jaw as he kissed her slowly, tenderly. 

She pulled away slightly. “Is that a yes?” 

Matt touched his forehead to hers. “Mm. I have to think about it.” But he was smirking, one of his hands tracing circles at her waist. The hope within her exploded and she was suddenly light as air, floating on the feeling. 

“You dick,” she said around a laugh. She arched herself into him, seeking friction to ease the tension that was already curling in her gut. 

Matt’s mouth was on hers again and this time it wasn’t sweet. It was ravenous. Her hands fumbled for the edge of his sweatpants. He groaned into her mouth as her fingers wrapped around his length and squeezed gently. 

His teeth caught her lower lip with a little growl as she let him go. Her nails skated across the bare skin of his back. 

“I want to pay you back for each time you made me come,” she murmured into his ear. Her body had a mind of its own, arching into him as she sought any kind of friction she could get. “But right now I want you to fuck me.” 

Matt let out a breathy, needy noise that made her toes curl. 

Grace thought that every moment between them had led to this. 

“I–” Matt paused, head tilted to the side. She wondered if he was listening to her heart trying to race its way out of her chest. She marveled that he could do that, that he could read her so easily. She hoped her body was telling him very, very clearly how much she wanted him. Instead, he said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

He very carefully extricated himself from her and sat at the edge of the bed. She sat up and frowned. “What?” she asked. 

“That cop just got ordered to go ahead and bring us into the station. Guess we slept in too long.” Matt groaned and dug his fingers into his hair. 

Sure enough, there was a knock at the door. 

Grace cursed colorfully. “I’m going to sue the NYPD for giving me blue balls,” she said venomously. 

Matt laughed loudly, head tilting back with the surprise of it. “You and me both.” 

She cast one last lingering look at him before padding softly to the door, swiping the blanket from the couch to cover up her silk pajamas and lack of a bra. 

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” the officer said a bit sheepishly when she opened the door. He was young, probably barely out of training, a patching beard growing on his cheeks. 

“Not at all,” she said sweetly. It wasn’t the cop’s fault that she and Matt had the absolute worst timing. “What can I do for you, officer?” 

“I think Detective Mahoney was expecting you at the station a little…sooner this morning,” he said. “As soon as you’re ready I’m supposed to drive you down there.” 

Grace briefly imagined telling the cop to give them a half an hour so Matt could fuck her senseless before they had to go. Her heart gave a leap at the thought. She wondered what Matt would make of that. 

“Yeah, of course. Sorry, we stayed up late last night, obviously. Give us ten minutes.” 

The officer flashed her a boyish smile before she closed the door. She leaned against it for a moment then blew out her breath. 

When she went back into the bedroom, Matt already had suit pants on and was taking a white button up off of a hanger. 

“I should have told him half an hour,” she grumbled as she went to the closet for her own clothes. 

Matt’s arm came up and caged her against the wall as he leaned down to her. “I don’t think that poor officer would want to hear the sounds I’m going to get you to make, anyways,” he said in a deep voice that nearly made her come right then and there. He smirked as he inevitably heard what his words did to her breathing and heart rate. 

“I will go out there right now and tell him to wait for us outside,” she threatened, but her voice cracked. 

Matt kissed her lightly on the lips and stepped back so suddenly she would have fallen if the wall wasn’t already supporting her. 

“We’ll finish this later,” he promised with another smirk. She chucked a hanger at him. He caught it without turning, laughing. She had to admit that his easy confidence was hot. 

“You’re an asshole,” she said, but there was no force behind the comment. She leaned her head back against the wall for a moment to try and collect herself. Then, with a curse, she got ready to go down to the station to make her statement. 

In the back of the young officer’s squad car–Officer Walters, he had politely informed her when she’d asked–Grace shifted uneasily. They weren’t under arrest, but something about being in the back of a cop car made her anxious. She wondered if her involvement with what had happened to Harry Spencer, however minor, would lead to her reliving the experience again sooner rather than later. Except, she thought, that time she would be in handcuffs. 

Around the third time she fidgeted in her seat, Matt’s hand came to rest on her knee. He squeezed it gently. 

“Should I tell them about who sent those guys?” she asked him in a quiet murmur she hoped Walters didn’t overhear. 

“What’d you say?” Walters asked anyway. He seemed oddly cheerful for someone who’d come to guard their door at five o’clock that morning. 

“Um–I forgot to grab something to eat on the way out, is all.” She glanced at Matt. 

“I think so,” he said in a much more quiet whisper as Walters promised he’d find something for them at the station. 

Grace sighed. She tried to imagine what would be better or worse–telling the cops about Dean, who had the power to get out of any kind of legal ramifications, or not telling them and potentially being caught in a lie later when things inevitably blew up in her face. 

So, twenty minutes later when Detective Mahoney asked her if she had any idea why four armed men came after her, she told the truth. 

When she was done, Mahoney sat back and said, “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” she said nervously. Her hands twisted around the coffee cup Walters had brought her. She’d already eaten the donut. He’d winked at her before he’d left. He was a sweet guy, and she was glad she and Matt hadn’t gotten him in trouble by delaying their trip to the station like they’d wanted.

Mahoney leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I–Armed men, though? That seems a little far-fetched.” 

“Do you know who he is?” she asked. Mahoney hesitated, then nodded. “Then it’s not that far-fetched, detective. I…think I might like to place a restraining order against him.” As she said the words, she realized they were true. It wouldn’t do much to actually stop him, but it would slow him down and at the very least back her up if something else happened. 

Mahoney pursed his lips. “I think I should go get Mr. Murdock for this.” 

He stood and stepped out of the room. Grace took a shaking sip from her coffee. 

The door opened after just a minute and Matt stepped through. 

“Chair on your left,” Mahoney said as he took a seat across from them. Matt’s hand fumbled for the back of the chair so convincingly that Grace almost laughed. 

“I told him I want a restraining order,” she said to Matt, though she assumed he’d already heard. She still had so many questions for him, for what he could do. 

Matt sat back in the chair, looking perfectly at ease. “I think that’s a good idea. We’ll help her with the paperwork of course, detective.” 

“Are you sure about this?” Mahoney asked her. He studied her face, missing nothing, including the darkening bruise across the side of her face and her split knuckles. 

“Very,” she said firmly. 

“I’ll be right back, then.” 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Matt turned to her. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

Grace rolled her eyes. “I just said I was.” 

“I know, but–” 

“If anything, it’s something to fall back on if he tries to pull anything else.” 

Matt reached over and squeezed her knee. “I agree. We can see about suing, too, for last night’s incident. I overheard a couple officers talking about how those guys claimed to be from a security company and they thought I’d kidnapped you. Which was, naturally, part of my questioning.” 

“Seriously?” Grace said with a flare of anger. That prick, she thought. “No wonder Mahoney asked me so many questions about our living arrangement.” 

Matt smirked. “Yeah, so I heard.” 

Matt’s hand moved from her knee right before the door opened again. His tinted glasses flashed red in the lights as he titled his head back at the sound. 

“Here’s some information on filing a restraining order, although I’m sure your…coworkers know how to do that. And some information on…domestic abuse.” Mahoney looked deeply uncomfortable as he handed her a neat little folder. 

“Thanks, detective,” she said softly. 

“You two are free to go. We’ll reach out if we need anything else.” 

“Thanks, Brett,” Matt said. Mahoney nodded at her and left them alone. 

“Could you tell how uncomfortable he was?” she asked wryly. 

Matt laughed and stood. “Yeah, it was pretty obvious. Let’s get out of here.” 

“Please say we can stop for coffee.” 

“My thoughts exactly. My treat.” Matt held out his hand to help her up. 

“Why, Mr. Murdock, are you flirting with me?” she whispered conspiratorially as they entered the station’s hallway and headed for the front door. Despite the fear from the night before and the shadow of Dean hovering over her, Grace was…happy. Matt liked her back. Somehow, in all of this, something good had happened. 

“Am I so transparent?” Matt murmured back. He elbowed her slightly and she couldn’t help but smile. 

Grace sighed again as they stepped outside. It was unseasonably warm, summer making a last ditch effort to come back even though it was fully into autumn. “Do you think Foggy and Karen would care if we ditched today?” 

“And why would we do that?” Matt asked innocently as he turned a corner. Supposedly she was leading him, but his steps were sure as he led her. 

Feeling bold, Grace said, “Because I’m pretty sure I promised to pay you back for making me come three times.” 

Matt almost tripped. His mouth opened and closed several times. She couldn’t help but laugh, even as her limbs warmed at the thought. 

“Wow, Matt Murdock, speechless?” she teased. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“You’re cruel,” he said with a choked sounding laugh. “Come on, we’re almost there and it sounds like the line is pretty short.” 

“It’s weird how you know that,” she said. Her face was flushed and she knew he could hear her heart fluttering. “And I really, really wasn’t kidding.” 

Matt groaned and tightened his grip on her. “I know. Trust me, I know. But if I leave Foggy hanging on this case he might kill me.” 

“Rain check, then,” she said as they stepped into a delicious smelling coffee shop. 

“Rain check,” Matt said, and the promise was the best thing she’d heard. 

A few minutes later, coffees and bagels in hand, they talked and ate as they headed to the office. Grace studied Matt as she finished off her bagel, which was much more satisfying than the donut at the station, no matter how nice the gesture had been. 

She smiled warmly at him even though he couldn’t see it. She had never expected, not in a million years, for things to go so…well for her. Even the incident from the night before and the light throb of pain in her face couldn’t take away the happiness she was feeling at that moment. 

“What?” Matt asked, head tilted in that way she was just realizing meant he was tuning in to something beyond a normal person’s ability to hear. 

“What?” she parroted back, bumping into him as they walked to try and trip him up. He deftly dodged her and kept walking. “Showoff,” she muttered. 

“I can tell you’re staring at me, but I can’t tell why,” Matt said. He bumped into her this time. She was proud of herself for not tripping. 

“I’m not staring at you,” she said. “I’m smiling at you.” 

Matt stopped walking, nearly wrenching her arm that was looped with his. “Smiling at me?” he asked with a frown. 

“Yeah, people do that sometimes,” she said teasingly. “Not everyone is mad at you all the time.” 

Even though he had his tinted glasses on, she could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I never said everyone is mad at me all the time.” 

“Last night when you told me your secret the first thing you did was accuse me of being mad at you or upset with you.” She pinched his bicep lightly. “That and the Catholic guilt thing makes me think you assume everyone’s mad at you all the time.” 

Matt started walking again, pulling her gently along. “Are you ever going to stop bringing up Catholic guilt? Maybe it’s just regular guilt. I do keep a pretty big secret, after all.” 

“But it isn’t a secret anymore. And it makes sense why you keep it a secret. Need I remind you that my secret had your apartment broken into last night?” 

Matt sighed. “That’s different.” 

“Is it?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “Because I don’t think so.” 

“It’s just–every time anyone has found out my secret, it’s come between us. Foggy and I stopped working together, Karen and I didn’t make it past two dates. It took a lot for us to come back from that.” Matt’s hand tensed around his cane as he swept it idly back and forth. 

“But you did come back from it. You guys are working together, closer than ever. You’re going to be Foggy’s best man, you guys helped support Karen through law school. Plus, you and I weren’t best friends or romantically involved when you told me your secret. Which, I remind you, you told me more out of necessity than anything.” 

“Maybe you should be a lawyer,” Matt grumbled, but then he sighed again. “Okay, so Foggy and Karen and I are okay now. But I’m still–I still am who I am. I haven’t stopped and I don’t know if I want to. I don’t want–” 

“Matt,” Grace said with a lot more patience than she actually felt. “I don’t care. It would be like–if you were a boxer, or a firefighter, or something else that could get you hurt or killed.” 

“It’s illegal,” Matt said dryly. 

“So are a lot of things,” Grace said. She pinched his arm a little harder this time, ignoring his protests as she did so. “Matt, I’m telling you. I’m not angry. Do I want you to get hurt? No. But you’re–you’re doing something good. Like I already said, you beat criminals and not helpless women, so I think you get a pass just for that. There are plenty of supposedly good men who are monsters underneath.” 

“Maybe I am a monster,” Matt said. His voice was soft, almost thoughtful. 

Grace pulled him to a stop. “Matt, seriously. Remember what I said this morning about cutting the self-flagellating bullshit? So you beat the shit out of people. Again, so do boxers. That’s what your dad did for a living, right? Did you think he was a monster?” 

Matt made a frustrated noise and went to start walking again. She yanked on his arm with a grunt until he stopped again. Jesus, he was strong, she thought. 

“Did you?” she said again. 

“No, I didn’t think my dad was a monster, but–” 

“If you say that it’s different I swear to god I will punch you. Just listen to me.” 

“You’re more violent than I thought,” Matt said. But he mimed zipping his lips after a moment. 

Grace crossed her arms and resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “If anything, you beating the shit out of people makes a lot more sense than when your dad did it. Because he did it for money. You do it for the good of the city. Do you hear what I’m saying at all, or is your mind just bouncing the words around so you can start that self-flagellation again once I stop talking? I swear, I have never met someone so–” 

She was abruptly cut off with a muffled “mmph” as Matt kissed her. 

“What was that for?” she asked a little breathlessly after he pulled away. 

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Grace,” he said, voice thick with emotion. 

“Right back at you, Murdock,” she said, but she was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. 

“I just–no one has ever found out what I do and–” He raked a hand through his hair and swallowed hard. “You’ve known me for five minutes and you’re convinced I’m a good man, doing good things, despite what you know about me. About what I do.” 

“You are a good man, Matt,” she said softly. She pulled him closer so their foreheads touched. Matt inhaled deeply as if breathing her in. “You can hear when I’m lying, right?” she asked after a moment. Matt nodded his head against hers. “In any of this arguing we’ve just been doing, have I lied?” 

Matt grunted. “No,” he finally, grudgingly, said. 

“You’re a good man, and I really hope you see that. I’ll never stop saying it until either I get hit by a bus or you like, actually do something bad. Which I doubt you’ll do, by the way.” She kissed him lightly, thrilling in the fact that she could do that now. 

“Alright, alright.” Matt hooked his arm through hers again and started walking. Something seemed lighter about him, and a small ball of warmth unfurled in her chest as she realized it. “Let’s get to work. Foggy’s already freaking out.” 

“What’d you tell him?” Grace asked curiously. 

“I texted him last night to say we’d be late, that something happened that required a visit to the police station. I told him that everything was fine, but I’m sure he’s still worrying.” 

Grace frowned. Matt texting required him talking to his phone, which she was certain would have woken her up. “You texted him last night? When?” 

“While you were sleeping,” Matt said. “You were pretty passed out.” 

Something else shifted in her chest. He’d been awake, holding her, watching over her, even as she’d slept. 

“You’re staring again,” Matt said. 

“Smiling, Matt,” she said. “Smiling at you.” 

Matt said nothing but his lips brushed against her temple.

“Now,” she said with a little clap as their building came into view. “We should fuck with Foggy and Karen.” 

Matt laughed. “How so?” 

“Well, they don’t know I know about you, for one thing. Or about uh…this morning. And I don’t mean the police station.” 

Matt’s arm wrapped around her waist as he pulled her closer. “Right,” he said slowly. 

“So I’ll tell them the story I told the cops about Daredevil,” Grace said with a smile. She wiggled her eyebrows even though he couldn’t see it. “The rest–” She waved her hand. “That’ll come to me.” 

Matt tilted his head back and laughed. She resisted the urge to kiss him again. 

“Which means you have to stop kissing me on the street, Mr. Murdock,” she said. “And holding me like this.” 

Matt squeezed her hip but relented and let her go. They put an appropriate amount of space between them, which was already harder than it should have been. She wanted to stay curled up against him and his warmth. She really, really wished they could have stayed in bed all day. 

The moment they stepped into the office, Karen and Foggy descended on them. 

“What happened?” Foggy asked. Or rather, demanded. He put his hands on his hips in a pose that reminded her so much of Matt that Grace almost smiled. 

“Foggy told me you guys had to go make a statement with the police,” Karen added. She crossed her arms too, expression a mix between stern and concerned. “What the hell is going on?” 

Grace blew out a hard breath as she shed her jacket and purse at her desk. “You guys will never believe what happened,” she said as Matt went straight to his office. 

“That’s what we’re trying to find out!” Foggy said impatiently. “Get back here, Murdock, you’re not off the hook.” 

Matt laughed but did as Foggy said. 

“Last night some men broke in,” Grace said with a dramatic pause. As expected, Karen gasped and Foggy cursed. “Apparently, my crazy rich ex wants to kidnap me or something. But that’s a different story. You’ll seriously never guess what happened, though, why we’re…you know, here and not kidnapped.” 

Foggy’s mouth was hanging open. He quickly snapped it closed. “What?” he asked a bit breathlessly. He and Karen were both wide-eyed. They exchanged a quick look. 

Grace had to school her expression so she didn’t laugh. “Daredevil came and saved us. Me and Matt. He came through the roof door, which was unlocked I guess, and beat the shit out of these guys. Well, I mean they got us both good first, but he kicked their asses so quickly and thoroughly–it was crazy.” 

She curled her hands into fists so her nails bit into her palms so she wouldn’t laugh. 

Karen and Foggy both stared at her, openmouthed, for a long minute. Behind them, Grace could see Matt turn away, his shoulders shaking silently. She quickly looked back at the two people in front of her before Matt made her lose it. 

“He–saved you and Matt?” Karen finally said. 

“Daredevil?” Foggy repeated. “Guy in the red suit? With the horns?” 

“Yes!” Grace said eagerly. “God, you guys probably don’t believe me. Him saving me twice? It’s pretty unbelievable. Tell them, Matt!” 

“Yeah, it’s…pretty unbelievable,” Foggy said faintly. He and Karen exchanged another, much longer look. 

“I…can’t really believe it either,” Karen said. 

“Oh hey,” Grace said, grabbing the paper bag she’d put on her desk. “Matt, you forgot your bagel.” 

Without warning, she threw the bag at him as hard as she could. Matt snatched it out of the air with an almost practiced ease. Karen gave a wordless cry and held her hand out a beat too late, as if to catch it for him. 

“Thanks,” Matt said, opening the bag and pulling out said bagel with such a casual air that Grace really almost gave in to the urge to laugh. Her stomach muscles were twitching with the effort to hold it in. 

“What in the goddamn is going on?!” Foggy half-shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. 

Finally, Grace couldn’t hold it back anymore. She doubled over, laughing so hard tears leaked from her eyes. She heard Matt start to chuckle as well. Every time she tried to straighten she only laughed more. She could barely breathe, she was laughing so hard. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed so hard in her entire life. 

Foggy was still freaking out, looking very unamused. “I mean it, what is happening? Matt, what–” 

“I’m sorry,” Grace choked out. She wiped at her eyes. “I couldn’t help it. Don’t blame Matt, it was my idea.” 

“What was your idea?” Karen said. Now she was the one with her hands on her hips. Her lips were trying not to twitch upwards into a smile, though. 

“To fuck with you guys.” Grace shrugged, and then giggled again. She glanced at Matt and lightly tapped the desk twice. He smiled in her direction, still laughing softly. “All that stuff happened, I swear. But the part about Daredevil didn’t. Obviously.” 

“Uh.” Foggy looked vaguely ill. “Obviously?” 

“Come on. The bagel wasn’t enough?” She picked up a pencil and threw it at Matt. He caught it. She threw a pen at him right after the pencil, and he caught that too. “Matt’s the one who beat the shit out of the guys who broke in, and then he told me his secret so we could lie to the cops convincingly. So now there’s a nice, official police report backed by two witnesses that Matt Murdock and Daredevil can in fact exist in the same room together. Separately.” Grace shrugged. 

Karen recovered first. “That is…a lot to take in,” she said. “You really told her?” she asked Matt. Her blue eyes flickered between them, missing nothing. Grace wondered if Karen had figured out Matt’s secret herself. It seemed like something she was capable of. 

“Yeah,” Matt said, suddenly sober. “I trust her, don’t worry. The police report thing was her idea, actually, to protect me.” 

Foggy’s head whipped from her to Matt and back again. “Are you–That’s–What–” 

Karen walked to the kitchenette to fix a cup of coffee, quietly shaking her head. She was smiling openly now. 

“Foggy, it’s alright,” Matt said, probably sensing the panic brewing in his friend. “She actually took it a hell of a lot better than you did.” 

Grace saw the expression on Foggy’s face and hurried to say, “Understandably, of course, since I wasn’t best friends with you for years first.” Foggy’s shoulders relaxed a bit at her words. “Plus, I was keeping my crazy, powerful ex a secret and he had Matt’s apartment broken into, so…I don’t really have any room to talk.” 

Foggy pressed his hands to his face. Karen returned, cupping her mug thoughtfully. 

“Who’s your ex?” Karen asked. 

“Dean Bennett.” 

Karen swore impressively. “Wow. That’s–wow.” 

“Yeah. The whole reason I came to Hell’s Kitchen and lived in my car and begged you guys for a job. Etcetera.” Grace shrugged, though the memories still stung.  

“Okay, first, you’re a terrible person and I hate you,” Foggy said, pointing a threatening finger at Grace. “Second, I’m so glad you finally know! God, that makes things so much easier.” He pumped a fist in the air and held out a hand for a high five. Grace laughed and high fived him. “Third, what are you going to do about this crazy ex who apparently can send armed gunmen after you like it’s no big deal?” 

“She wants to file a restraining order,” Matt said. When Grace looked at him, his shoulders and jaw were tense. “I also recommend suing this supposed ‘security company’ he sent after you, if we can find out who they are.” 

“I have to tell you guys, though, I’m not sure I can afford you.” Grace laughed but there was a nervous edge to it. “Unfortunately, my job doesn’t pay that well.” 

“Nonsense,” Foggy said. “Not about the pay part–sorry about that. I’m pretty sure free legal help is one of our employee benefits.” 

“If it isn’t, it is now,” Matt said. He was all business as he added, “First we need to figure out what security company those guys were with, if it exists at all. Or anything that ties them to this guy.” 

Karen hurried to her desk and snatched up her cell phone. “I’ll call in a favor with Ellison,” she said as her fingers flew over the keyboard. “He has a lot of contacts at the precinct.” 

“I’ll call Brett, too,” Foggy said. 

“Ah, I wouldn’t, Fog. He already seems a little…suspicious. I don’t know. Something was off with him,” Matt said with a small frown. 

“Brett? Suspicious? Of us? No way.” Sarcasm dripped from Foggy’s voice. “What’s new?” 

“Let’s just…see what Ellison comes up with first,” Matt said. Foggy flapped a hand dismissively. 

“Who’s Ellison?” Grace chimed in. 

“Editor at The Bulletin,” Matt said. 

“He’s a friend. I used to work for him and he’s helped me a lot with the big shit in Hell’s Kitchen.” Karen shrugged. Her phone chimed. “That was fast.” She continued typing quickly. 

“Where does your ex live?” Foggy asked. “The paperwork for restraining orders changes depending on where.” 

While Foggy went to search the paperwork, Karen and Matt started questioning Grace. 

“Is there anything you documented from your time with him?” Karen asked softly. Her hand came to rest on Grace’s shoulder. “Pictures? Texts? Police reports? Anything at all could be helpful for this case.” 

Grace snorted bitterly. “No, definitely no police reports.” She forced herself to think back several months. It was hard to make her mind go back to that dark place, where she’d been alone and afraid every single day for years. “I…When I left, I texted him that I wanted to break up, while he was at work. When I didn’t answer his calls, he sent me a lot of really angry texts. I screenshotted them all.” 

“That’s smart, Grace, really smart,” Matt said in a gentle voice. “Send those to Karen. Is there anything else?” 

Grace rubbed at her eyes. “I got rid of my phone so he couldn’t track me, canceled any accounts that I could. But all of my pictures were uploaded to the cloud. There…are probably some pictures of bruises on there. I’m not sure if that’ll hold up in court, though. I can’t prove that they were from him.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Karen said. Grace didn’t miss the ticking of a muscle in Matt’s jaw or the way that his hands flexed several times before he stilled. “Look through them and send me anything you think is relevant.” 

“Especially if they’re spread out,” Matt added. His right hand flexed again, like maybe he wanted to hit something. “If we can build a timeline, it helps show it was–” He stopped abruptly. 

“It’s okay, Matt,” Grace said. “You can say it. It was abuse.” 

Karen wrapped her in a hug. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she said. “But I’m glad it brought you to us. We’ll help you in any way that we can.” 

Grace blinked rapidly to clear the tears forming in her eyes. “Anyone know a good hit man?” She joked to cover up the fact that she was about to cry. 

Karen laughed. “I actually–” 

“Karen, don’t finish that sentence,” Matt said tiredly. 

“Yeah, especially if it rhymes with Mank Trastle!” Foggy shouted from his office. 

“Mank…Trastle?” Grace repeated. “What is he talking about?” 

“Um. Nothing,” Karen said, too quickly. “Story for another time.” 

Grace raised her eyebrows but decided to let it drop. She wouldn’t forget that phrase, though, and she definitely planned to ask about it. 

They broke apart to finally start on their tasks, Grace insisting that they all needed to work on their other cases, at least while she looked through her photos and compiled anything helpful to send to Karen. 

She booted up the computer and opened up a private browser. She knew that it wouldn’t keep Dean from finding her–he already knew where she was living–but it made her feel better all the same. She had no idea if he knew her passwords or could pay someone to hack her information. At this point, after he’d sent literal armed men after her, she wouldn’t put anything past him. 

Grace sat for at least ten minutes staring blankly at the screen. She didn’t want to dig back into that life. She’d left it behind for a reason. She had something good going here, and she wanted, more than anything, to forget anything that had come before. She had a job she really was starting to love, she had friends, and she had something new with a man that made her feel safe. Her old life was a brief shadow in this new world of light. 

But that life had caught up with her, whether she liked it or not. 

With a small growl, Grace logged into her account with angry keystrokes. She needed to remember why she’d left, and how. She’d been angry when she’d left. She’d been fed up. It was the same reason she’d taken self defense classes for two years straight. She didn’t want to be helpless. 

“Everything okay?” Matt’s voice made her jump. 

“Yeah, just–logging in.” 

Matt’s eyebrows rose. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore. “That so? With growling and angry typing?” 

Grace huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I was just–feeling sorry for myself. Then I remembered that he’s an asshole and I want to punch him in the face.” 

“Mm. Yeah. I know the feeling.” There was that little tick in his jaw again. She’d noticed it before but now she was beginning to learn that it was a sign of his anger, despite how calm he appeared. “I was just…picking up those papers you had printed for me.” 

Grace glanced around. Karen was on the phone, her door closed, and Foggy looked so deep into paperwork she was almost certain he couldn’t hear anything. 

“Are you sure you didn’t come over to flirt with me?” she teased softly. 

Matt gave her a warm smile. “Well, not quite. I was coming to ask you to lunch.” 

“First coffee, now lunch? You work fast, Murdock.” She wondered if he’d be able to tell if she winked. “Can you tell if I wink at you?” 

“Why, is that what you’re doing?” He was still smiling. The shadows of her former life seemed to melt away in the radiance and warmth of that smile. Matt placed both hands on her desk and leaned forward. Her body reacted almost instantly, even before he said his next words. “I won’t work fast later, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone betraying exactly what he meant by later. 

A small gasp of air slipped from her lips. Her heart thundered in her chest and heat coiled low in her belly. 

“Let me ask my boss if I can take a half day,” she said. The words were almost pleading. 

Matt tapped her desk twice. “Sorry, too much work to do.” 

He put his hands in his pockets and strolled casually back to his desk. 

“Asshole,” she muttered, knowing full well he could hear her. “And you forgot your papers.” 

She heard his soft laugh from his office. 

She had a sudden idea. In a whisper under her breath, she said, “Are we keeping this a secret from them?” She watched Matt cock his head from his seat at his desk. Then he shrugged. “Do you want to?” He shook his head. “What do you think would be funnier–kissing in front of them like it’s no big deal, or making some sort of sexual comment?” Matt choked and coughed. “Because it was kind of fun fucking with them earlier.” 

“Talking to yourself?” Foggy said cheerfully from his office doorway. “Looks like you are becoming one of us.” 

Grace tried to keep her face neutral. “Yeah, apparently crazy is catching.” 

Foggy laughed. “Yes it is. I was one hundred percent sane until my college roommate walked in and ruined that for me.” 

“Hey,” said Matt. He leaned on the door jamb. His sleeves were rolled up now. “I’m pretty sure I was sane until I met you, Fog.” 

“Maybe we were both sane until Karen corrupted us,” Foggy said. 

“No, you two definitely fucked me up,” Karen said. “Hey, do you have those notes? On the building codes?” 

“Right.” Foggy sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Remind me why we took such a big case again?” 

“To keep the lights on,” Karen said as Foggy passed her a stack of papers. 

Grace grabbed the stack Matt had supposedly been after. They had a handy printer that transcribed everything to braille for him. 

“Speaking of paperwork,” she said as she held out the papers. Matt tilted his head. She eyed the long column of his throat, imagining pressing kisses to the spot where his pulse beat beneath his skin. 

Matt took the papers, tossed them unceremoniously on his desk, and then grabbed her wrist and yanked her closer. She stumbled and fell flush against him. Her mind went utterly blank in surprise. 

Matt kissed her. He caged her in with his arms, the doorjamb digging against her spine. He tasted like coffee and something wholly Matt. She fisted her hands in his shirt to hold him close. But as quickly as it had happened, the kiss was over. Matt was grinning cockily at her in a way that had her stomach doing flips. 

She blinked, completely dazed. 

“Thanks for transcribing that stuff for me,” he said, voice completely normal like he hadn’t just made out with her in front of–Oh. Oh. 

Grace smiled at him as she realized what he was doing. “No problem,” she said, proud of how normal her voice sounded despite the chaos inside her body and mind. 

She went back to her desk like nothing happened. 

Karen and Foggy looked twice as shocked as they had at her Daredevil story. 

Finally, Karen smacked Foggy in the chest with the papers he’d handed her. “I told you.” She grinned at Grace, who couldn’t help but grin back. She felt a bit…giddy. Her mind raced with all kinds of delightful scenarios of her and Matt alone in the office, his tie on the floor, his desk underneath them. She tried unsuccessfully to shove them from her mind. 

“I–Is–You guys are going to give me a heart attack!” Foggy threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t think I can take anything else! Please, stop. Seriously. Stop. I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown here!” 

Matt laughed, long and loud. “This is payback for all the shit you’ve pulled on me, Foggy. Though it was all Grace’s idea.” 

Foggy gaped at her. “You–You evil woman. I’m sending you a bill for my cardiologist. Or therapist.” 

“Sure, but remember I don’t get paid much.” She winked at Foggy. 

He stared at her and Matt in turn for several moments. A slow smile spread across his face. “God, I knew it. I knew it. Especially after–Nevermind, doesn’t matter. You two are dating now? Is this really happening?” 

“Dating?” Grace said, unable to help herself. “I thought that’s how Matt thanked everyone.” 

“Well he doesn’t kiss me like that,” Foggy said, and they all laughed. “Needs more tongue, Murdock!” he called as he went back to his office. He muttered something else that made Matt laugh again. 

Grace’s phone chimed with a text from Karen. What the hell happened last night after those guys broke in?? 

She glanced up at the blonde who raised her eyebrows and quickly typed something. This is the best way to keep Matt from eavesdropping, she said. Foggy and I talk about him all the time via text, because he can’t see or hear it. 

Grace pressed her lips together against a smile. Nothing happened last night. But this morning I definitely debated suing the NYPD for giving me blue balls. 

Karen snorted loudly in her office. Her response was instant. And you guys are…dating? FWB? What? I mean I know it’s not my business but…

Grace glanced up at Matt, who looked like the very picture of innocence as his fingers flew across his papers as he read. I think dating. I don’t know. I’ve been calling him out on what I’ve been calling his self-flagellating bullshit. 

Karen coughed to cover up another laugh. That’s a great way to put it. He does it a lot. 

Too much, Grace sent back. So I’ve been distracting him. 

Karen’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. I’m not going to ask. 

Grace glanced at the clock before she typed another message. When do you get your results back for the bar exam?

Two weeks. I don’t think it’s a secret though. 

I don’t know about you but I don’t think Matt needs to hear every conversation we ever have. Grace tapped her fingers on her desk, realizing all of her pictures were still pulled up. She was probably procrastinating looking through them by talking to Karen. 

Why do you think we went to lunch a few blocks away after our night at Josie’s? I know how to keep secrets. When Grace glanced up, Karen flashed her a smile. 

Grace set her phone down and sighed with another look at the computer. She scrolled through them, starting with three years ago. That had been the first time he’d hit her. She glanced idly at the photos, shutting her brain off, not letting herself get sucked into any of the memories that accompanied the many photos. Every time she found a hint of a bruise, she attached it to an email draft to Karen. She numbered the pictures, added dates, and a short description of the incident and where you could see a hint of a bruise–if not a full bruise–in the picture. 

She got to last year’s photos and realized the office was quiet. She looked around with bleary eyes. The other three were gathered around takeout containers. She hadn’t realized it was lunch time, or that anyone had gone to get food. 

Matt walked over to her and held out a wrapped sandwich. “Sorry, our plans kind of got derailed,” he said, leaning a hip against her desk. “Rain check?” 

“I’m really beginning to hate that phrase,” Grace said darkly as she unwrapped her sandwich. “How’d you–right. Superpowers.” 

Matt crossed his arms. “I don’t need superpowers to know what your order is, Grace. I’m just observant.” 

There was that warmth again, deep in her chest. “Thanks, Matt,” she said softly. 

“Get your ass in here, Murdock! Some of us are trying to get some work done!” Foggy shouted from his office. Matt tapped her desk twice and rolled his eyes, but took his food into Foggy’s office. 

Grace ate while staring at her desk, letting the sounds of the others working and joking wash over her. 

When she was done, she dove back into the photos. 

The last year had been the worst. She’d had a broken wrist from where he’d pinned her against the wall so hard it had snapped a bone. She’d had bruises on her collarbone, too, but only the cast was visible in the photos. 

That had been the first time she’d been truly afraid for her life. 

He hadn’t struck again until months later, when her wrist was healed and her cast was off. That was when her ribs had been bruised. Maybe fractured, but she’d never gone to get it checked out. That was the first time she’d taken a picture of the damage. She’d let it upload to the cloud, then deleted all traces of it from her phone. 

That was also when he’d started checking her phone regularly. She didn’t know if it’s because he was getting meaner and more paranoid, or if he’d somehow found out about her desire to start keeping track of all of the ways he’d hurt her. She added a note about that in her email, too, that she’d had to take the passcode off of her phone and let him approve all social media posts. 

It took her much, much longer to get through those last pictures. The woman in them had a deadness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A desperation. She’d lost weight then, too, which he’d assumed was for his benefit. 

Grace finally finished and sent the email. She rested her head in her hands. They shook with anger. 

He was a bastard. The worst kind of bastard. She should have known his business wasn’t all aboveboard, too, just based on how he treated her. 

She’d been stupid, naive, prone to giving in to his apologies. 

She wasn’t that girl anymore. 

She took a deep, steadying breath, and finally started working on the paperwork piling up on her desk.

Next Chapter

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[dgalerab]

alright here's my thoughts on how you'd fix stranger things (starting at s3 bc my stance was always that i could deal with how s3 did s2 dirty if it was building up to something properly in s4 and haha. hahaha. hahahaha. ahahahahahaahaha.)

mostly in vague terms of character arcs bc i'm still niggling at the idea of writing some screenplays for alternate episodes as a writing exercise

max vs mike: honestly the max/mike as foils aspect was GALAXY BRAINED and UNDERUTILIZED but it should have been mike's hypervigilance vs max's rebellion. *me dry heaving with the urge to not go on a rant about how the duffer bros see anyone with a gf as Normal and this blinds them to the traumatic elements that--*

mike should have been, honestly, on the same side as hopper. like, he's an angsty pre-teen so he won't ADMIT that he's on hopper's side but i think his friction with the party should have been that he's constantly overthinking where el can go without being noticed. you could still have the hormonal teens aspect with some grumpiness vs hopper but i think the overall aspect should have been that mike and hopper are very similarly overly protective

meanwhile max is going through it at home with extremely overbearing patriarchal figures. setting up for her grief arc in season 3, we really should have seen how billy is being abused, how he hands it down to max (by being biting with her from a safe distance since she laid down the law) and how she then struggles not to hand that down to lucas (also she should have had another moment where she again threatens billy away from lucas, showcasing the fact that she's as protective as mike is, despite her quarreling with lucas). so coming off this oppressive environment, she pushes to get el into freedom, being a little bit reckless, bc honestly who's gonna know? wound up with teenage overconfidence for taking on billy + a little bit of a self harm undertone because of her frustration with herself for inadvertent curtness with lucas bc of her struggles at home

the nancy/jonathan subplot is pretty good, but honestly? i think both of their sides should have been legitimized. keep and possibly even amplify all the moments with karen and nancy and the very serious fact that nancy is the victim of misogyny, but also give the byers more money troubles!! give jonathan and joyce moments where they're struggling financially! give joyce struggling to find work bc everything is shutting down because of the mall!! *slams fists on tables* lean into the horror of the mall!! the mall devours!!! the mall is the flesh monster, devouring all!!!!

ANYWAY

shut the absolute fuck up with making hopper unlikable so he can be redeemed by *checks notes* being tortured in a russian prison. fucking christian-ass hellsinner nonsense. give me hopper floundering trying to give joyce a sense of safety. taking her seriously but not knowing how to help. knowing she's thinking of moving away for money and trauma reasons. being scared to ask her to stay. being scared to offer to protect her. and honestly, i think he should have moved to cali with them, purely bc joyce felt safer that way and that's part of his redemption arc is just to trust her

make will less uwu babey boy. boy's been possessed. let him be fucking sloppy and mean. have him fighting not (entirely) against his friends to keep his lost childhood, but also himself. give him a crushes he doesn't want to have. make him be a dick about lucas and mike trying to get el back after the breakup. make mike be a dick back bc will started getting personal. FUCKING INCLUDE LUCAS IN THE ARGUMENT BRO

speaking of lucas has such an underdeveloped character arc in season 3 you'd have to invent it from scratch and tbh i'm still fucking noodling on this one. i feel like it'd have to contrast max and mike's different takes on overprotection. honestly, i feel like lucas' entire thing is the competition for hero with mike in s1, which would be an interesting arc - like, honestly, it would be fun if lucas was getting REALLY into tactics and it's part of the reason he hard commits to fixing mike and el's relationship but he's also weird about d&d now. it would make an interesting shift from the whole "sorry will lol we have GIRLFRIENDS now so we don't have TIME for interests, that's how PUBERTY works bc what 13-14 yos are really known for is being really normal about their interests and only being into girls). like maybe they've been straying from d&d bc mike's overvigilance is leaking into his dming and lucas' tactical special interests are leaking into his rp and dustin's over it and will wants them to just play d&d NORMALLY bc he doesn't want to face that he's not normal anymore and never will be again and this is deeply intertwined with the horror of puberty and queerness and trauma

i like the scoops troop dynamic but i think they shouldn't have been so disconnected from the party. i think there should have been this chaos with mike and max's war of the different flavors of the same person and lucas' Operation Get My Bf and Gf to Agree campaign and meanwhile dustin is like "so anyway there's a russian base underground" and they're like "DUSTING THERE'S NOT A RUSSIAN BASE UNDER THE MALL"

i don't care about alexei get rid of him

honestly i don't care if this is my get babygirl steve a boyfriend agenda, i think eddie should have been introduced in s3 as a direct foil to billy and a queer puberty parallel for will. i'm too winded from my other thoughts to elaborate but i'm right

karen should have divorced ted. instead of being like "what am i doing nearly fucking a teenager i have a family" she should have been like "what am i doing nearly fucking a teenager i gotta GET OUT OF THIS FUCKING MARRIAGE"

anyway tbc i need a breather before i deal with season 4

[disco-cola]

people are like „I wish I was born in the 60s-80s but then I would be old now ew“ um??? I honestly wish I was old now like it’s just getting worse and worse not just with social media and the superficiality and toxicity it brings also cancel culture and still there is war and gen0cides and inflation and poverty and famine and lets be real in a lot of countries women are still treated like lower class humans like the news are just too frightening to watch or read tbh also we just got out of an extreme global health crisis like no it’s not just that I am unhappy bc I missed all my favorite bands and the people I love that are still alive from it are way too old for me now I just don‘t enjoy my 20s in this decade and I would much rather know it‘s time to just naturally fuck off soon (I’m scared 2 d!e but the thought of havin to live 40-50 more years into this current century is making me scream kick and dry heave)