#i pulled up ao3 while lying on the floor because i needed a pick me up

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Like One Of Your

Laurent LeClaire x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 7: Thigh Riding

Summary: Laurent wants to paint, but he gets distracted so easily.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

I'm just gonna gesture vaguely at this.

Warnings: kissing, thigh riding, Laurent being a little shit, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1202

 “A little to the left.” The smile in his voice is undeniable. 

“Laurent.” You turn your head back to face him, scowling, and he just chuckles.

“To the left.” He says, sweet as can be as he lightly touches your jaw and tilts your head back and to the side in the angle he requires. 

“This is ridiculous.” You repeat.

His laugh shakes you slightly from your position. 

“I need the light,” he repeats his pitiful excuse, “this spot is perfect.”

“And why do I have to be sitting on your lap while you paint?” 

“It’s not my lap, my love, it’s just one leg.” He tenses the muscle for emphasis.

“Laurent…”

He grins, leaning close and pressing his face to your neck and breathing deeply. “You only ever use my name when you’re annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” You huff. 

“Hmm,” his voice rumbles in his chest pleasantly. “I like it, the tone it gives you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Of course you do.” 

When he sits back, he’s beaming wickedly, “I need to be close so that I don’t strain my poor eyes.” He gestures to himself with the end of his dry paintbrush. He hasn’t even put his canvas on his easel yet. 

“You expect me to believe that?” 

“The truth?” He bats his large brown eyes at you, the image of innocence. 

You tut. “When have you ever told the truth?” 

“All the time?” He mock gasps, one hand to his chest. “You think when I profess my love to you I’m lying?”

“I think-”

“That when I tell you I would gouge out my own eyes if I couldn’t look upon your face ever again?” 

You can't help but laugh. “I think you’re dramatic. And,” he opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak. “And that you have a silver tongue,” You tap the tip of his nose lightly, “that you use to get your own way.”

He smirks. “Silver tongue is it?” 

You watch him as his smile grows, trying to work out what wickedness he has in store.

“How about I show you and you can see?” He pokes out his tongue quickly and dives for you, wrapping one arm around your waist so that you can’t completely escape.

You burst into a fit of giggles, pressing one hand against his chest, the other to his forehead to stop him from licking you. “Laurent!” 

“Alright, alright,” His grin doesn’t fade, but he moves back, settling into his seat. “I’ll behave, here look,” he picks up his canvas from the floor, still keeping one arm wrapped around you, and puts it on his easel. “I’m painting.” 

You slowly lower your hands. “Of course you are.” 

He smiles as he prepares his paints, making a bit of a show of it. After a few seconds you relax a little and move back into the position he’d asked of you, with your face turned towards the window. 

The quiet grows comfortable as he begins to paint, the minutes ticking by. Every so often he lets you know with a soft word that you can move and you stretch and wiggle, taking a sip of water from the glass next to you before you get back into position. 

You readjust yourself, rolling your shoulders ever so slightly as you sit, and Laurent lets out the smallest breath. 

The sound is a little above nothing, and perhaps you would have ignored it if his fingers on your hip hadn’t tightened, if he hadn’t pushed then pulled you closer a fraction. 

“Laurent-”

“Being this close to you is painful, you know that?” He mutters, his breath thick as he stares at the canvas. He’s pretending to paint, his brush not touching the surface. 

“Why?” You ask softly, recognising the slight flush of his cheeks, the thickness to his voice. 

“Because it is.” He bites his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to…”

You stay quiet, giving him space to voice his desires. 

“I want to…” he swallows as he puts his paintbrush down and fully takes hold of your waist with both hands. He tilts your hips gently, making you arch toward him before he pushes you back an inch on his leg. 

You gasp, biting back a moan as the thick material of his trousers and warmth of his thigh run along your core. 

Laurent groans, watching your face in awe. “That’s it, that’s what I want.” 

He pulls you closer, angling you even more so that your clit fully rubs along him. 

You whimper, grabbing hold of his shoulders, “Laurent,” your voice comes out so weak and desperate. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he pushes you again, swallowing hard. “Move with me, my love, move with me, please.” 

You do as he asks, your body following his wishes on autopilot as you rock and rub against the strong muscle of his thigh. 

Pleasure sparks up your spine as your wetness seeps into your underwear making the drag against him all the more vivid.

You press your lips together, shuddering as he urges you to rock particularly slowly and firmly. 

He tuts, taking his hand away from you so that he can press his thumb against your mouth. “Ah, none of that,” he breathes hard, sounding almost as wanton as you. “Let me hear you.”

He leans close, practically breathing in your air, rolling his hips in time with you as he gets caught up in your pleasure. 

“You’re meant to be painting.” You pant.

“You’re meant to be coming.” He moans against your lips. “Want to see you, want to paint you in the throws of ecstasy.” 

You want to bite back at him with a sharp comment, but your mind has turned to mush. All your possible thoughts are consumed with how his body feels against yours.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, screwing up the fabric as you grind.

Your breathing comes out in short gasps, your legs shaking as your stomach muscles clench the closer you're pushed to the edge.

“Please,” falls from your lips in a whimper and Laurent groans desperately. 

“Please what, my love? Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give you everything your heart desires.” 

You gasp, close to sobbing as he helps you to move faster, bliss so close that it colours the edge of your vision. 

“Oh, god,” Laurent groans, his voice deep and strained, “I could, could come like this, watching you, feeling how warm you are against my skin.” 

You whine, your back arching as his words push you over the edge. Pleasure runs through you as you ride out the wave.

You gasp out his name, collapsing into his waiting embrace, breathing heavily. 

He kisses your temple, holding you close as you recover from the strength of your orgasm. 

You can feel his erection straining against his trousers.

As you sit up, mouth open about to speak, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your mouth and groaning when you reciprocate.

When you break away for air he grins, “I think we should see what other things this silver tongue of mine can do?”

Thank you for reading!

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[castielscaplan]

The Lies Between Us (Dramione)

*image found on google.

Summary: Draco keeps lying to Hermione.

Warnings: angst, picturing this as an Eighth Year Fic, otherwise ive no idea what it is. lol

WC: 1K

Read on Ao3!

--

The cold stone walls of the dungeon classroom seemed to close in on Hermione as she paced back and forth, her mind racing with everything she had discovered. The truth had hit her like a punch to the gut, and now, standing in the shadows of the dimly lit room, she felt the weight of betrayal suffocating her.

She had been a fool. She had trusted him. And he had lied to her.

The door creaked open behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She knew exactly who had just entered the room.

“Hermione,” Draco’s voice was cautious, careful, as if he already knew what was coming. “What’s going on? You sent me that note saying it was urgent.”

Hermione stopped pacing but didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she could keep her voice steady.

“I know everything, Draco.” Her voice was colder than she intended, but she didn’t care. She needed answers. She needed the truth.

Draco was silent for a moment, and then she heard him take a few steps closer. “What are you talking about?”

She turned around sharply, her eyes locking onto his. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

“You lied to me,” she said, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “And I fell for it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or fear—but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t even try.

“Hermione,” he started, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “It’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” she interrupted, her anger rising as she took a step toward him. “I trusted you, Draco. You told me you’d changed. You told me you were different, that you weren’t your father, that you didn’t believe in the same things they did anymore. And I believed you. I believed you.”

Draco’s face tightened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off again, her voice breaking with emotion. “But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? You were just playing along, making me think you cared, when all along you were still—”

“Stop!” Draco’s voice was sharp, his eyes flashing with frustration. “It wasn’t a lie, Hermione. I do care. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Hermione let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as tears filled her eyes. “Care? You care about me?” She took another step toward him, her voice rising with every word. “If you cared, you wouldn’t have kept this from me. You wouldn’t have let me fall for you when you knew you were still working with them.”

Draco flinched at her words, his face paling. “I’m not working with them,” he said quietly, his voice laced with desperation. “I’m not like my father.”

“Then explain this!” Hermione reached into her robes and pulled out the letter she had found—crumpled, stained, but unmistakable. It bore the Malfoy family crest and was addressed to Draco, detailing plans and orders that tied him directly to the Death Eaters.

Draco’s eyes widened when he saw it, and his face twisted in horror. “Hermione, I can explain—”

“Explain?” she hissed, throwing the letter down on the floor between them. “Explain how you’ve been feeding them information all this time? How you’ve been lying to my face while pretending to care about me? Tell me, Draco. Make me understand.”

Draco’s hands trembled as he reached down to pick up the letter, his eyes scanning it with dread. He let out a shaky breath, then looked up at her, his face drawn and pale. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Hermione crossed her arms, her chest tight with fury. “Then what is it? Because right now, it looks like you’ve been playing both sides this whole time.”

“I haven’t,” Draco said, his voice breaking with the weight of the truth. “I haven’t been feeding them information. That letter… it was sent to me, yes, but I never acted on it. I didn’t want to be a part of their world anymore. I didn’t want to be like them.”

Hermione’s anger faltered for a moment, but the hurt was still there, gnawing at her. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. “Why did you hide it from me?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. Scared of what you’d think, scared that you’d leave. Scared that if you knew about my past, you’d never look at me the same way again.”

Hermione’s heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, but the pain of his deception still weighed heavily on her. “I would’ve understood,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I would’ve listened. But you lied to me instead.”

Draco’s eyes filled with regret as he took a step toward her, reaching out as if to touch her, but stopping himself at the last moment. “I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I messed up, Hermione. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, her emotions warring inside her. She wanted to believe him—wanted to trust that everything he was saying was true. But the weight of the betrayal was too heavy to ignore.

“You already have,” she whispered, stepping back, away from him.

Draco’s face crumpled with pain, his hand falling limply to his side. “Please, Hermione,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Don’t walk away from me. I need you.”

Hermione wiped at her tears, her heart torn in two. She loved him—Merlin, she loved him more than she ever thought possible. But she didn’t know if she could forgive him.

“I need time,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to figure this out. To figure out if I can trust you again.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable. “I’ll wait,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Hermione nodded, her heart heavy, before turning and walking away, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the dungeon.

And with each step, she felt the pieces of her heart shattering.

[vacantwatchers]

Lonely Day

wc: 609 established relationship, future fic. Read it on ao3 here.

It was rare for Eddie to come home to something that surprised him, but pushing open the front door, and he does mean pushing thanks to all the rain he'd seen forecasted causing the wood to expand, he was definitely taken by surprise. Music was absolutely blasting through the house and it almost completely disguised the sound of his husband crying.

A painful sound no matter how many times he's heard it in their twenty years together.

Such a lonely day shouldn't exist

It's a day that I'll never miss

Dropping his suitcase down by their stairs Eddie follows the sound to the living room floor, where he sees Steve's feet stretching past the couch. Moving further in reveals pretty thighs in green shorts that should have died years ago but damn it if Steve didn't take care of his clothes.

Looking further up is where Eddie got stuck, because Steve was lying there in one of Eddie’s large shirts with a pillow clutched to his chest, eyes squeezed shut tight as he screamed along with the song.

And if you go, I wanna go with you

And if you die, I wanna die with you

Take your hand and walk away

Oh, sweetheart.

He was getting close to being too old to drop to his knees like this, suddenly and without warming up, but he needed down quickly. Needed to close the space between him and his baby because he shouldn't be hurting alone. Reaching out, Eddie pulled the pillow from Steve's arms and watched his husband startle for a moment, damp eyelashes separating to show the prettiest hazel to ever exist, glossy and wet with the tears that haven't stopped.

“Eddie.”

Steve reaches for him, drags him down and keeps pressing like he's trying to fuse them together, the same way he's hugged since they started sneaking around in 1985. Like if he keeps trying their bones and muscle will meld together eventually.

Sliding his arm under Steve’s neck, Eddie pulls him closer, tighter.

“I'm here, it's alright.”

They lay there for long enough that the CD eventually goes quiet and Steve's breathing stops having that sad hitch on each inhale.

“I didn't know that would happen when I picked out the album. I just thought ‘it's new, maybe Dee would like it' and fucking here I am. The first time it played it took me by surprise, then I just couldn't stop replaying it until it broke me.”

He knew why.

Eddie hates thinking about how Steve had to apply pressure. Had to carry him out while trying to keep him conscious. Hates thinking about what would have happened to Steve if when he coded during surgery, he stayed gone.

Eddie rubs his thumb along the baby hairs of Steve’s neck. “I'm not going anywhere you can't follow, sweetheart. You can trust me on that.”

Steve huffs. “Fucking better not. I'm not built to be without you.”

Eddie smiled into his neck, pressed a kiss there under his jaw for safe keeping.

“I appreciate that you thought of me when you bought this album, the song did sound good.”

A broad hand rubs down his back before digging under his long sleeve to press against skin, warmth sinking deep. The same way it always does when Steve touches him.

“There’s a song called Stealing Society on it and I thought of your old lunch rants. Figured if nothing else that would be a hit.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and Eddie feels the pressure of a kiss against his head, “but I think I have my own favourite.”

“I'm sure it'll be my favourite too, Stevie.”

[eeveleon]

wrong place, worse time

combining two weeks prompts bc i said so!! ShikatemaMonth24 - "Smart but Stupid" + Accidental PDA

Read here on AO3

Temari was almost too comfortable to move. 

They were lying on top of the covers, her back to his chest, Shikamaru’s arms around her waist.

She hadn’t let him use the blanket because then he would fall asleep immediately, and they had to get up to go soon. Not that it had helped much - from the sound of his breathing, she was pretty sure he was fast asleep.

Temari elbowed his stomach. “You have five minutes to get up.” 

“That’s five minutes of more sleep I could have gotten before you so kindly decided to wake me.”

“Four minutes.” She elbowed him again, harder.

He grumbled, tightening his grip around her and pushing his face deeper into her hair. 

He had been that way since they left the Hokage Tower, practically booking it to his apartment to collapse in his extra-plush bed. And for some reason, Temari had felt inclined to indulge him. 

So she spent the laziest evening in her life with her mostly-secret boyfriend. Stretched out next to Shikamaru, Temari could practically feel the tension and soreness melt away from her shoulders and neck. Who knew that even after years of carrying a giant fan on her back, an office desk could still cause a whole different kind of ache. 

Though Temari wasn't exactly upset about the two extra minutes of rest. She would need her energy for a dinner with the entire Konoha Rookie class. Ino and Chouji had stopped them during their lunch break to tell them of the plans to meet at a new restaurant that night. At first, she tried to refuse the invitation but the other two had insisted, saying Shikamaru would be more likely to attend if she did two, all the while giving their teammate sly looks that he had ignored.

Behind her, Shikamaru finally got up with a loud groan. Unlike her, he had immediately stripped himself of his jounin fatigues and now had to shake them out from their pile on the floor.

Temari’s favorite thing about spending naps or nights with Shikamaru was watching him get ready after - navy blue was a good color on him. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he deftly tied up his hair in its usual ponytail. Temari raised an eyebrow, though, when he zipped on his olive green vest next. She slid off the bed. “If it’s just dinner, why are you getting dressed in your uniform?” She asked, picking a stray thread off his shoulder. 

Shikamaru finished adjusting his flak vest. “It’s a drag, but I can get called away anytime. It’s happened before.”

Temari leaned against his dresser, silently watching him check the pockets of his vest and pouch. All that was missing were the shinobi sandals left at the apartment door to make him look like the commander he was.

She felt a surge of pride as he made sure his uniform was neat and proper. Shikamaru had definitely come a long way from the lazy fourteen-year-old who never washed his chuunin vest. He had a much more important role in the village now, and the care he was putting into his appearance, even for the off chance that he was summoned, showed that he knew it and was taking responsibility for it. 

It was so hot, she was having trouble keeping her hands to herself. 

Temari wiped her hands on her thighs. “Do they know I’m coming?” She asked, trying to distract herself.

“I let Choji and Naruto know, so I’m sure they told the others.” 

She nodded, even though he still wasn’t looking at her. “Do they know... anything else?”

His eyes, dark and unfathomable, pierced through hers in the mirror. “You know they don’t. No one does.”

Temari only nodded, and again busied her hands by reapplying her lipstick and tightening her pigtails. If they didn’t leave now, they were definitely going to be late. 

Shikamaru seemed to read her mind, because he pulled her away from the dresser, looking her up and down. 

“You look good.” He said, his hand trailing up her arm. 

Temari huffed, looking away. “So do you.”

He leaned in, thoughts on something other than dinner, and his breath skimmed over her cheeks before she stopped him, her hand over his mouth.

“But unfortunately for you, my lipstick stains and we’re supposed to see your friends in ten minutes.”

He sighed, an exaggeratedly forlorn look crossing his face. “Troublesome….”

Temari grinned. “Then again, maybe they’ll all be too busy getting you to empty your wallet to notice anything.” 

“Heh! They can try all they want - I’m only paying for two meals tonight.”

---

They got to the restaurant the same time as half of the other invitees, and in the flurry of greetings, no one noticed that they arrived together, standing a little closer than professional, or that one of Shikamaru’s ears was pinched to a bright red.

Chouji was friends with the owner - a distant relative - and the restaurant had arranged a long table near the far side for their large group. They were all quickly seated, and the Akimichi waiter took down their flurry of food and drinks orders with great experience.

She sat at the end of the table, next to Shikamaru. His foot brushed against hers - more than once - which she didn’t exactly mind, but hoped no one else saw. 

Though, the good thing about these Konoha Rookie get-togethers was that everyone made an effort to attend, and a quick glance around the table confirmed that - even Sakura was there, and she was as much of a workaholic as her boyfriend. With a dozen different life updates being thrown around, her and Shikamaru’s secret relationship was completely off the radar. 

All she needed to do was relax, eat, and listen, just throwing in comments here and there.

And that’s how the night went, until about halfway through.

“Nara-san!”

Temari looked up from her dinner to see a uniformed Chuunin she had seen around the Hokage’s office rush into the restaurant. He stopped next to her boyfriend and handed him a folded piece of paper. 

“Thank you.” Shikamaru said as he quickly read it. 

He took out a pencil and added his own part to the message, then turned to give it back to the Chuunin. “Take this to the guards at the northern gate. Let them know I’ll be sending more orders soon.”

Temari really liked watching him get into his Commander-mode. His voice would lose its lethargic drawl and his eyes became sharper and more focused. It was so attractive every time - she didn’t think she would ever get tired of it. 

“Yes, sir!” 

The Chuunin shot out the door, back to his post. Shikamaru stubbed out what was left of his cigarette and took a last swig of his drink. “Sorry, guys. Gotta go.” He apologized with a shrug of his shoulders.

He was met with half-hearted groans and complaints from his friends. They were used to his frequent summonings to the tower interrupting their hang-outs. 

Temari watched as he pushed his chair out and took out more than enough cash to cover his and another’s meal. She rolled her eyes. Obviously, he hadn’t understood anything from earlier.

“Should I come as well?” Sai asked, already half-getting out of his seat. 

“Nah. It’s nothing too serious.” He said, waving him back down. “I’ll send for you if it gets out of hand.” 

Shikamaru stood up and leaned over, a hand on the back of her chair. “I’ll see you later.” He murmured, and Temari instinctively turned her head to meet him in a quick, soft kiss. 

“Bye.” She gave him a small smile as he squeezed her shoulder lightly. 

She watched him leave with one last wave over his shoulder before going back to her food. He already paid, so at least one of them should finish eating. 

Temari then became aware of the overwhelming silence at the table. She looked up to see all of Konoha’s brightest generation staring at her. Feeling suddenly self-conscious - and missing the usual presence at her side - she asked carefully. “...What?”

No one said anything at first, until Kiba let out a slow whistle, and Temari noticed smiling and snickering start around the table. “What?” She asked again, more annoyed. 

Tenten, who sat directly across from her, leaned forward. “You just kissed Shikamaru.” She stated pragmatically. 

Temari scowled at her, about to reject her ridiculous claim, until the realization of what they just did hit. Her grip on her chopsticks loosened, and she felt her face heat up. 

She and Shikamaru had kissed each other - on the lips - in front of everyone.

Ino burst out into laughter. “Of all the stupid ways to slip up! And you two are supposed to be the smart ones here.”

So much for being lowkey. 

Temari opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to find the right words to say. Obviously, she couldn’t just deny the physical evidence of their relationship. What was worse, they were probably going to ask questions about her and Shikamaru now. 

“So you two are finally together!” Naruto exclaimed. “Since when?”

This was exactly what Temari didn’t want. She and Shikamaru were private people. The past few months of their relationship had been bliss - no publicity, no questions, no expectations, no external involvement whatsoever. And she honestly didn’t know how to handle them. These were Shikamaru’s friends - she was just starting to get to know all of them!

Ino must have caught on to her train of thought because the younger woman grinned teasingly. “Please, Temari, don’t even try denying it. Unless, you want to tell us that was just a normal kiss between friends? Or, sorry, coworkers?”

Her cheeks flared again, at having their usual lie thrown back in her face. “It’s... not a big deal.” She tried again to downplay the situation. 

“It is so a big deal!” Sakura argued. “Shikamaru’s been our friend since we were little kids! Of course we’d want to know if he’s with someone - especially if it’s another friend of ours.”

That made Temari feel a little guilty. It had been her idea to keep their relationship completely under wraps for now. Shikamaru had agreed, but although he liked his privacy, he wasn’t too fond of the half-lies they were giving their close friends and family. And Temari had an inkling that he wanted to do things publicly with her - like hold her hand and kiss goodbye and sit closer together at lunch. He’d never say it, but she had a good feeling about it. 

She pushed her hair out of her face, glowering at the others. “I need way more alcohol before I talk about this.”

---

The questions blurred together as the night went on. Kiba and Shino had taken her personal request as an initiative to order round after round of drinks for the table, and Temari quickly stopped keeping track of what was being asked by who. 

She had fended off the nosiest of the questions, though the simpler ones - when did they get together, who made the first move, is he a good kisser - were answered.

Ino, ever the instigator, had a look in her eyes that was bad news for more-than-a-little drunk Temari. Sober Temari could handle her easily, but with her boyfriend already on her mind, she might just answer honestly. 

“So what about him made you say yes, I need to see him nake-’”

“Excuse me!” A very irritated waiter interrupted with a glower. “Can you please calm your friends down?”

Because without any sober supervision, the drinking game at the other end of their table had gotten a little out of control. 

“Wait, Lee-!”

And with little ceremony, they were immediately herded out of the restaurant. 

Of course, the dozen shinobi (including the ninken) had to push and shove their way through the singular doorway, ending up with half of them face-down in the dirt.

Temari stumbled forward, but instead of hitting the ground, she fell into a pair of very familiar arms.

“Oi, I was gone for maybe an hour... What trouble did you all get into?”

Her eyes fluttered as she focused on her savior, only to see her very own boyfriend smiling sheepishly. 

Temari pushed him away to arms length. ”Shikamaru! Do you know what you did today?” She yelled.

”I know, I’m sorry.” He was grinning too much for it to be an actual apology. “I realized as soon as I left the restaurant - it was just on instinct, I promise.”

”Idiot, idiot, idiot!” She punched his chest with each word.

Temari dropped her head forward to rest on his shoulder as his arms came up to encircle her waist. She didn’t know who was still around to see - or sober enough to remember - but she was beginning to care less and less about that. Her boyfriend, with his tall, slim figure and long, warm fingers, was taking all her attention at the moment. 

His voice jolted her out of her thoughts on him. “I really want to kiss you again.” 

“Your friends are still watching.” Temari pouted, though she leaned up to meet him.

Shikamaru snorted, his grip tightening around her. “Didn’t care the first time anyway.” He murmured just as their lips met.

And if there was any commotion from their background spectators, neither noticed.

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

✨Writing Advent Calendar 2023 Day 24✨

Prompt: Elf

Aka: Luna and Ámbar buy an elf on a shelf and pranks Rey

Read on ao3 or under the cut.

The girls had seen it on TV: In American households, you had an elf that was supposed to spy on you for Santa. They thought it could be fun.

At dinner that night, they both looked at Sharon.

"Can we get an elf on the shelf?" Luna asked.

"Pardon?" Sharon replied.

"It's an elf doll that spies on children to make sure they behave!"

Sharon stared at Luna, and then at Ámbar.

"You know what? That actually sounds good. Maybe it can help you two behave better."

So, the next day, she had found an elf doll in a store and brought it home. The girls immediately put it in the living room.

"It really stares at you..." Ámbar said.

"I feel like I can't do anything wrong... I don't trust it..." Luna admitted.

"Good!" Sharon said. "This might have been your first good idea. If all it took for you to behave better was a plastic doll, I should have bought it long ago."

It worked well for a while. If Luna or Ámbar was nearby the doll, they suddenly put their guard up and made sure not to do anything bad.

Then, as they were watching TV and Sharon was further away doing taxes, Rey came into the room.

”Miss Benson-”

He suddenly let out a blood curdling scream. The girls turned around, intrigued.

”What’s wrong with you, Rey?” Sharon muttered.

”That doll…” He pointed at the elf on the shelf.

”That’s just a doll for the girls. You’re acting ridiculous.”

”Uh… very well…”

Ámbar and Luna exchanged looks. The girls were different in a lot of ways, but they united in one thing: Torturing Rey.

They wanted to hear his blood curdling scream again.

So, they grabbed their little elf doll and decided to put it somewhere else.

Rey came into the living room and sighed in relief when he noticed the elf had been removed.

Then he walked out to the hallway. Suddenly, he jumped startled.

The elf doll sat in the middle of the staircase.

Ámbar and Luna hid nearby, trying to not laugh too loudly as they saw his reaction.

”You children need to pick up after yourselves…” Rey sighed.

Later, at dinner, Luna had the elf sitting on an empty chair. It was not noticeable, unless you pulled out the chair.

”Miss Benson,” Rey said, walking into the room.

”What is it, Rey? You’re disrupting dinner.”

Ámbar gave Luna a nod, and Luna slowly made the elf doll peek out from the table. As it sat on the chair next to hers, she could hide her arm, and thus it looked like the elf stood up itself.

”Well, I just wanted- AAH!”

”What is wrong with you, Rey?!”

”Do you allow the girls to have their toys at dinner?” he asked.

”They are allowed to hold one doll, as long as they eat their dinner,” Sharon said. She had practically never had a childlike wonder herself, but she did understand a child’s attatchment to dolls. As a child she never played with any toys she got, but she liked stocking up dolls in a perfect row. Dolls were great, because they were like people that you could control how you wanted. So, she could understand the way you’d like to bring your doll with you everywhere. But because the girls had so many dolls, she had set up a rule to only let them have one with them at dinner.

”But did you have to bring… that doll?” Rey asked.

”The elf needs to watch me so that I don’t spill or play with my food!” Luna argued.

”You should bring it more often, it’s the first dinner in months where you haven’t spilled or played with your food,” Sharon said.

Rey couldn’t concentrate with the elf around. And it only got worse.

The girls started to leave it at the most random of places.

One time just in the floor in the upstairs hallway.

One time in the bathroom they knew Rey used.

The funniest case was hiding it in a cupboard. Rey opened it, thinking it was nothing special. Then he let out a scream as he noticed the doll lying there menacingly.

He grabbed the elf doll and threw it at the girls. ”Stop playing around.”

”Rey, what are you doing?” Sharon asked, witnessing him throw it at them.

”Miss Benson, this doll keeps being left everywhere! I can’t concentrate.”

”Oh, you’re being ridiculous! Don’t you have better things to do than bothering the children?”

”But they are bothering me!” Rey argued.

”They are just children…” Sharon sighed.

”Yes, Rey, we are just children!” Ámbar exclaimed.

”You better be nice, because the elf is watching everything!” Luna chimed in.

Rey took one more glance at it, and shuddered. He hoped this doll would break before the next year.

[natk2002]

Febuwhump 2024 - Day 24

Link to AO3 here, or read down below!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Found (TV 2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Gabi Mosely, Mark Trent (Found), Dhan Rana Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s01e13 Missing While Forgotten (Found), Post-Season 1 (Found), Gabi Mosely tells Mark Trent her Secret, Gabi Mosely Gets Arrested, Mentioned Mosley & Associates Team (Found) Series: Part 23 of NatK - Febuwhump 2024 Summary: Febuwhump 2024, Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you", After she tells everyone at M&A the truth, she has one more person to bear her soul to…

@febuwhump

There was one other person she needed to bare her soul to. The last person she’d talk to as a free woman.

“Trent,” she called him, deciding not to wait until the morning – a couple of hours here or there would no longer matter. Not when he was out.

“Gabi, I wasn’t expecting you to call me,” he responded. Indeed – she’d ignored him all day, and now, when he was off the clock, she finally decided to talk to him.

“What do you want?” He asked, a little too curtly.

“You need to come to the office,” she told him, and he realised that she’d been crying.

“Gabi, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, but I need to speak to you now – it can’t wait.”

“I’ll be there in 10.” Trent ended the call with that promise and U-turned, grateful for the sirens in his car.

“Do you want me to stay, Gabi?” Dhan asked, concerned at how Gabi, usually the epitome of strength in the face of adversity, was still curled on the floor in the middle of the room.

“No, no. You should go. This is my burden to bear, Dhan, mine, and mine alone.”

“Gabi, are you sure? There’s still time to reconsider. Nobody else has to know…”

“It’s time, Dhan. I’ve kept this from all of you at M&A for too long. And now that Sir is out; look, Trent is on his way, and he’s going to leave here with answers, and me.”

“Gabi, what about M&A?”

“You guys will carry on; I know you will. You’ve grown so much over the last couple of months, and I am certain M&A is in good hands.”

“Without you,” Dhan said, and Gabi finally pushed herself off the floor.

“Dhan, it will be fine. You should leave before Trent gets here and starts asking questions you don’t have an answer to.”

“But Gabi…”

“It’s done, Dhan. Please… leave.” Dhan looked at her, still not understanding why she’d decided that the best thing for everyone would be to go and tell Trent about, well, everything.

He took one last look back at her, realising that the next time he’d see Gabi, she’d probably be in custody.

*

Trent arrived just after Dhan had pulled out of the parking lot, and he walked into an empty office, spotting Gabi staring at the wall they kept of all the MISPERs they’d saved.

“Gabi?” He said, walking in and standing beside her, now noticing the glass of bourbon in her hand.

“600,000, Trent.”

“I know that one – 600,000 people are reported missing annually in the US. Why am I here Gabi?”

“When you called me the last time, you asked me about Sir.”

“And I distinctly recall you lying to me.”

Okay, so Trent wasn’t going to be pulling any punches.

She poured another drink and handed it to Trent – “You’re going to need this.”

Trent picked up the glass but didn’t drink – something told him he was going to be pulling some OT.

“Gabi, what do you know about Sir? You were speaking about him in the present tense – are you in danger?”

“Trent – I know exactly where Sir has been for the last year.”

“How?” Trent asked, knowing he already was going to hate the answer and half hoping he’d never picked up the phone tonight.

“Because he’s been my prisoner.” Trent dropped the glass onto the floor, the shattering the only sound for a good minute or two.

“Tell me you’re joking, Gabi. Tell me this is some hypothetical scenario you’ve conjured to help you deal with everything you see day in and out.”

“I wish I could. But it’s true, Trent.”

And as though a fog that had parted to reveal the clear skies it had been hiding, a lot of things began to fall into place – a puzzle that Trent never would have guessed was incomplete was finally taking shape.

“That’s why you never had anyone in your house.” Gabi nodded.

“And this is why you’ve been so elusive?” He asked, and she nodded again. What could she say?

Trent looked up at the wall, another question forming – “Gabi, did you use Sir to help in your investigations?”

She looked at him, and she didn’t even need to nod – her eyes told him everything.

A whirlpool of emotions churned in him, and he was surprised to feel one more prominently than others – betrayal.

“Why tell me this, Gabi? You know what has to happen…”

“I do. But listen, before you do anything – he’s gone, Trent. Sir’s missing…”

Great. So not only had he fallen down a couple of storeys, but she also had to drop an anvil on top of him for good measure.

“In that case, Gabi,” he said, pulling out his cuffs, “you know what I have to do, even more now that he’s out – I’m only doing this because I care about you, despite everything you’ve just said. Until we find him, you’re safer in custody.”

Gabi just nodded, not stopping the inevitable.

“Gabrielle Mosely, you’re under arrest for the unlawful imprisonment of Hugh Evans.”

[skyfallslayer]

The Devils Are Caught In Red Strings || Chapter 4: In The Blood

-Matt Murdock x Parker!OFC-

Series Masterlist

AO3 Link

♡Series Summary: Childhood friendships are a sacred thing... But so are secrets. This story revolves around a girl named Anya Hughes, an attorney by day and a vigilante by night. Join her into the struggles she’ll face, like her path coming back to haunt her, then facing a man who holds all the power, all while she develops a crush on her close friend. How long can she take all this until she falls apart? ♡

♡Chapter Summary: Two vicious Russian brothers working for Fisk, strike back in a way that makes Matt go feral while Anya deals with some unfortunate side effects. Meanwhile, Fisk moves to further consolidate his power in the criminal underworld. ♡

♡Date: 3/17/13 ♡

♡Rating: Explicit ♡

♡Word Count: 12,741♡

♡Warning: Spoilers for the show; Canon Typical Violence; Blood and Injury; Strong Use of Language; Lying; Poorly Executed Fighting Scenes; Vomiting; Torture Session(s); Brief Decapitation Scene (Proceed with caution); Use of Pet Names; (Unknowingly) Frenemies to Lovers; Talks of Child Abuse; Mini Dissociation Episode; Talks of Dying/Being Killed; Foggy Being A Wingman; Matt and Foggy Are Great Friends; Karen's Throwing Hands; Claire Needs A Vacation (Yet Again); Anya Could Use One As Well; Poorly Translated Spanish/Russian Via Google (Let me know if I missed anything). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! ♡

♡A/N: Here we go. Here's where shit starts hitting the fan. It's time for Fisk to show his true colors, Matt going from total softy to the devil in seconds, Foggy being the best boi, Karen becoming a total badass, and Anya dealing with the effects of her father's torment. Hope ya'll are ready. Enjoy! ♡

Her whole body felt like it was on fire. Her whole world started to spin. The nausea clinged onto her like a bad habit. Her vocal chords were melting, she couldn’t even scream anything silent. She laid on her floor in agony, bad childhood memories flushed inside, reminding her why she was in this state to begin with.

.

.

.

// She’s flawed, honey. She can’t even use her abilities without getting sick. Such a disappointment. //

.

.

.

Her head was in the sand. Her eardrums are drowning in the water. Her stomach turned in a way she thought she was going to vomit again, but nothing would come up. 

I gotta… Her fingertips twitched against the lament, desperate to move.

I gotta move. I need to– 

Someone was knocking on her door. Loudly, but at a calming pace. This person wasn’t aware of what was going on with her; This person wasn't alarmed. 

"Anya? You there?" A voice called out, making her quietly groan. She couldn't recognize who it was. She wanted to curl into a little ball.

"Hey, you there? You haven't been answering our calls. Matt and I are worried."

Matt and I? So, it's not Matt at the door. So that narrows it down to–

"Karen kind of forced me to come check up on you because of it." 

Foggy. It's Foggy. She mentally curses, and forces herself to stand.

Shit. This is bad. He can't see me–

"So, are you home or– Jesus. Maybe you're out running around. Why didn't I think of that?"

She stumbles into the bathroom, kicking off her boots and taking off her clothes. She can't let him see her wearing these clothes or she's fucked. With trembling hands she tries snagging her bathrobe off its hook, only for her super strength to take over and pull it down completely causing a loud crash.

"Anya? Was that a crash? Are you okay? Anya?!" 

She groans and slips it on, tying a knot before heading down the hallway. She could hear his frantic knocking again and his concerned shouting, and she only wishes she could pick up the pace without the worries of toppling over.

"Anya! I got a spare key, don't make me–" Foggy stops mid sentence as the apartment door swings open. He watches as his best friend clings to the door, looking like she was put through a wringer. "Jesus… you look…"

"Like shit?" Anya finishes, holding down the nausea. 

"I couldn't say it better myself." He frowns worriedly, and silently asks If he could come in, which was granted. "What happened? What got you so sick?"

"You know that Mexican food place a block from here?" She asks, forming a lie on the fly as she closes the door.

"The one I suggested we should try?"

"Yeah. That one."

"Oh." He frowns. "So… No Bueno?" 

"Si, Si, Señor." 

"Awe. If I had known I would have brought you some soup."

She hums, cracking a smile. "I'd appreciate the kindness, Fog. I think I should be okay by the end of the day."

“If you say so.” He says, setting his work bag down for a second on the kitchen counter. That made her open her eyes more, and realize he was wearing a suit and tie.

She forces herself to look at the microwave clock and groans into her hands. “And… I’m seven hours late to work.” She mutters, embarrassed. “No wonder you came to check on me.”

He gives her a look of amusement and chuckles. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“Honestly, Foggy, I thought it was still night.”

And I really did think it was last night. It was yet another mission. This time she wanted to find out who this Wilson Fisk guy is that she and No-Eyes found out about after their client killed himself. But to her surprise, these people came in like a stampede and she had to use way more energy than she usually does. She could barely remember even getting home let alone falling on the floor, silently begging for the pain to stop as she blacked in and out of consciousness.

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you guys worried.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay, Ann, really. If I had known you were this sick I would have come sooner.”

“No, I…” Anya sighs. “I should have been more aware of the time.” She crosses her arms, mad at herself. “So… anything happened at work?”

“Nope.” Foggy said, popping the ‘p’. “We closed early because of it. So, technically, you really didn’t miss anything.”

“But still, it’s my business too. I need to be there.” She replies, sighing again.

“Again, you didn't miss anything.” He said, reassuringly. “But, I think we’ll get something tomorrow. I got a gut feeling.”

That got her smile and chuckle. “Foggy, it’s Sunday. We’re closed Sundays.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She holds back another laugh. “But, you know, if you have a gut feeling…”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, my–” He holds his tongue. “You’re so…” She breaks out another laugh at him struggling to find the right word. “You know, I want to strangle you sometimes.”

“Oh, really?” Anya raises an eyebrow. “Awe, Mr. Nelson. Is this how you treat all the women you know?”

“Only the ones I truly care about, Miss Hughes.” Foggy points out with a gleam in his eye. “You seemed to be feeling better already, but I’ll give you Sunday off so you can rest, okay?”

“Will do, Boss.” She says, with a weak salute. “Now–” She lightly slaps him in the arm. “Go before I puke again.”

“Probably a good call.” He nods as he grabs his bag, sliding the straps on. “But, hey, if you’re not feeling better by tomorrow, one of us is dragging your ass to the doctor’s. Okay?”

“Okay.” Anya said, walking with him to the door. “So what’s on the agenda tonight? You going bar hopping for a wife again?”

He snorts. “Eh, maybe not tonight. I could use a break from that eel.”

She opens the door, letting him step out. “You know, Nelson, Landman & Zack’s Goldilocks is still single.” She said, with a mischievous smirk.

He gapes like a fish at her, pointing again. “You’re so mean.”

“What? You don’t want to be called ‘Foggy-Bear’ again?”

He groans loudly and walks down the hallway. “I absolutely do not want to be called that again.”

“Sure you don’t.” Her smile softens, knowing damn well he’s still hung up on his old girlfriend. “Hey, Foggy? Can you text the others to let them know I’m okay?” 

“Already on it. But I don’t know if they’ll even answer.”

She furrowed her brows in a puzzle, leaning against the doorframe. “What do you mean?”

“Good question.” He spins on his heels, walking backwards while replying, “They’re both acting weirder than normal.”

He turns back around, turning a corner to leave towards the elevator. Anya purses her lips, closing her door, wondering what was up with Matt and Karen.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, on the other side of town. The door belonging to an occupied warehouse slammed open, and one of the Russian Brothers, Anatoly, bursts through and descends down the metal stairs to the outside world.

Anatoly tries to hide the panic in his voice as he talks on the phone. “Он здесь!... Как вы думаете, кто?” (*He’s here!... Who do you think?).

He looks behind himself, worriedly. “Нет, я не знаю, как он нас нашел… де мой брат?... Слушай, заткнись!” (*No, I don’t know how he found us… Where’s my brother?... Listen, shut up!).

He rounds the taxi parked outside. “Замолчи! Мне все равно, что он тебе сказал... позвони ему!” (*Shut up! I don’t care what he told you… get him on the phone!)

Anatoly hangs up and gets in the driver seat. Just as he started the car, one of his men fell from above and onto the hood. Broken glass and blood doused the windshield. Not even phased, he backs the taxi up at a high speed, the body rolling off into the road. 

From the second story window, Matt dressed in usual attire listened as he drove off, silently cussing that he let the head Russian get away.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“You’ve been busy.” Claire said, threading the needle through his bloody skin.

“Yeah…”  Matt replies with a soft groan.

“Sorry.” She frowns apologetically. “So, how’s that working out for you?”

He grins. “You should see the other guys.”

“I have.” She points out with a nod. “The one you threw off the roof, at my place? He’s in a coma. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, I heard.”

She pauses to look up at him. “How do you feel about that?”

There was a slight hesitation, but didn’t look too remorseful as he replied, “I’ll live.”

Claire finishes up, sitting up straight in her stool. She opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of something getting knocked over caught her attention.

“Hey!” She hisses at the cat. “Get off the counter!” She snaps, banging on the side table to try to scare it off.

Matt found that funny and chuckled. “Wow, you don’t like cats.”

“I’m allergic.” Claire explains. “I was supposed to be coming in, feeding this guy twice a day while my friend was out of town, not hiding out here using up all my sick days.”

“Just a while longer. Just till we know the Russians aren’t looking for you.” She pauses again, giving him a look that he picked up. “What?”

“You said, ‘We’.”

He nods slowly. “Well… this… ‘May’ person is on the lookout too.”

“Huh.” Claire said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you two weren’t on good terms?”

.

.

““Look–”” She begins, stepping closer. ““I’m not saying we should become partners, but if we’re going to figure out what’s going on here, we should not exactly push each other away. If we come across each other, we just deal with it.””

““And… if we do, we compare notes if we find something?”” He asked, carefully.

She nods once more. ““If you're okay with it, so am I.””

.

.

The memory faded away, the one that still seemed fresh each day since that night. “We came to an agreement. We promise to respect each other's spaces, but also not push each other away either.”

Claire looks at him surprised. “Wow. That’s… That’s interesting. Shocking, really.”

“Tell me about it.” He exhales heavily. “Although, Peaches annoys me, she’s not too bad out in the field.”

“Peaches?”

“Nickname. She smells like them.”

“Well, I don’t remember smelling that. But you’re the one with the super nose.” She replies, before digging around in her medical bag. “Since you two are communicating better, you two should consider getting some kind of body armor. Especially you, you look like you’ve been put through the grinder.”

“It would slow me down too much.”

“So will a bullet.” She says, cleaning the excess blood before putting a gauze over it.

His shit eating grin returns. “You worried about me?” He asked, holding the gauze in place as she grabbed the tape.

“What if I were?”

“I would tell you I’m a big boy, and not to be.”

She copies an expression similar to his. “Right. That’s why you keep ending up here.”

“Well… maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

Claire hums, not fully convinced. “Sure I’m your gal? You haven’t exactly given me a special nickname yet.”

He tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“So what happens the night you come by and I’m already talking to someone else?” She asked, ignoring his question.

“Yeah…” Matt clears his throat, hearing that she was done taping his arm. “It crossed my mind.” He unzips his pants pocket holding out a burner phone for her to take. “Here.”

“Um…” She takes her glove off, taking it. “You shouldn’t have.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t. The burner’s for me. Memorize the number, put yours in. Next time I need to come by, I’ll call.”

“By ‘Come by’–” She gets up walking around the sofa. “Do you mean stumble in, bleeding half to death?” 

Matt catches his shirt she threw at him without looking, and subtly shrugs. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed. You really gotta ease up.” Claire said, cleaning up the mess.

“No–” He groans quietly as he slides his shirt on. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“I can take care of myself, Mike. You know–”

“It’s not just about you. It’s a little more complicated than that.” He said, putting his mask on as she types her number into the burner. “You ever heard the name Wilson Fisk?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Who’s that?”

He frowns as he starts putting his gloves on. “Just a name somebody gave me. But there’s no public record. Nothing on the internet. Not one mention of Fisk.”

“Maybe whoever gave you his name was lying.”

“I would have known if he was.”

“How?” She asked, handing the phone over.

“Heartbeat.” He said, standing up.

“Right, of course. Heartbeat, So, what, you’re just gonna go out there punching whoever you can, hoping to find somebody who knows this Fisk guy?”

“Well, apply enough pressure, someone will break.” He pulls the mask down to cover his eyes, then opens up her window to the fire escape. “Sooner or later.”

He slips through and jumps over the railing, leaving behind a smiling Claire as she shakes her head.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In a parking garage somewhere in the city, a small group of Russians were peeling off the names on the side of Taxicabs and replacing them with their own. Amongst this mess, the ever so nicely dressed James Wesley arrives at the scene, catching the leaders’ eyes as they strut over to him.

“Oof. Those look like they hurt.” Wesley says, mockingly to Anatoly’s busted up face.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I know how much your people delight in extolling the amount of pain they can endure, but maybe next time you could try ducking?” He continues, ignoring how Anatoly’s face hardened and his brother stepped close to him. “Leland’s finalized the paperwork–”

Wesley hands Vladimir the paperwork, his cold eyes looking over it carefully.

“Prohaszka’s holdings in Kitchen Cab have been acquired and transferred via third party to Veles Taxi. Your distribution infrastructure just doubled.”

“Tell your employer we are grateful.” Anatoly said, biting his hot tongue by saying that.

Wesley notices this but ignores it. “Don’t think he really cares at the moment. You were light again this week.”

Vladimir hands the paperwork over to his brother. “There was a complication.” He replies, truthfully.

“One you assured us you were addressing.”

“Do you know what he was asking?” Vladimir asks, stepping closer. “This fool who laid hands on my brother?”

Wesley shakes his head. “Not my concern.”

“It should be.” Anatoly says, sternly. “He was asking about your employer, by name. And then the night before yesterday, that masked woman was also snooping around for your employer’s name.” 

It didn’t take a genius to see the small shock on Wesley's face before he covered it up. Calmly he says, “All the more reason to settle this. You sneeze, we catch a cold. Madame Gao and Mr. Nobu have expressed their disappointment.”

“We have not heard of this.” Vladimir says, suspicious.

“Hmm.” Wesley shrugs. “That’s because we’ve been talking behind your back, about how the Russians can’t seem to handle one man and one woman running around in masks.” Another shrug. “I mean, if he had an iron suit or a magic hammer, maybe that would explain why you keep getting your asses handed to you–”

“We told you what that woman can do.”

Wesley tilts his head. “Then, find a solution.”

“You wouldn’t be telling me this if you saw this woman who has the strength of men twice her size, and can paralyzed someone with just a touch.” Vladimir hisses through his teeth before getting fed up. “We’re done here.”

The brothers turn around, and start walking back to what they were doing beforehand as Wesley processes what he just said.

“She can paralyze?” He asks, but gets no response. He sighs. “Those two have weakened your operations.”

Vladimir stops to return a glare. “You think us weak?”

“This isn’t personal, Vladimir. It’s business. Distribution of Madame Gao’s product has been affected, which in turn is causing delays in other ventures. This is not acceptable. Fortunately, for all parties, my employer has agreed to help return you to solid footing.”

“How?” Anatoly asked, curious.

“By Aiding you in certain duties deemed vital to the continuation of service–”

Vladimir snickers. “He wants to take over.” He explains, trying to walk away again; But Wesley is like a dog with a bone.

“We value the services you provide, but clearly–” Wesley laughs lightly. “You need help providing them. We’ll all profit nicely under the new structure.”

“How nicely?” Anatoly asked, intrigued. This causes his brother to speak something snappy in Russian to him. 

Vladimir then sighs, saying, “Tell Mr. Fisk–”

“We don’t say his name.” Wesley reminds, watching the Russian clench his jaw and take a threatening step forward. 

“Tell… Mr. Fisk… that if he wants two pounds of flesh… he can come here and carve it himself.”

Wesley looks down, exhaling to hold his underlying anger in. “This is an offer, not an order.” He said, calmly. “The choice of how we proceed is yours. Talk it over with your brother. We’ll be in touch.”

Wesley walks away with some of his bodyguards, leaving the brothers to figure out what to do.

“Маленькая сучка. Обратитесь к Петру.” Vladimir says, bitterly (*Prissy little bitch. Reach out to Piotr).

“Почему?” Anatoly asked (*Why?).

“Почему вы думаете?” (*Why do you think?).

“Если работодатель Уэсли узнает–” (*If Wesley’s employer finds out–).

“Его «работодатель»?” Vladimir asked, fed up by that overused term (*His ‘Employer’?). “Вы знаете, почему Фиск не хочет, чтобы кто-нибудь произносил его имя? Хм? Потому что это выдаст, что он всего лишь мужчина.” (*Do you want to know why Fisk… doesn’t want anyone saying his name? Hmm? Because it would betray that he’s just a man.)

“Вот парень и девушка в масках… и посмотрите, что они с нами сделали.” Anatoly explains, slightly shaken (*So’s the guy and girl in masks… and look what they’ve done to us.)

Vladimir nods in agreement. “Ага.” He says, pondering a moment (*Yeah). “Что мы знаем о них?” (*What do you know about them?)

“Ничего.” Anatoly says with a sigh (*Nothing). “Семен, может быть, и нашел что-то... но спит как убитый.” (*Semyon might have found something… but he sleeps like the dead.)

“Иисус воскрес на третий день... Семен достаточно проспал.” (*Jesus rose the third day… Semyon has slept long enough.)

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The morning followed, and Karen sat across the Bulletin Reporter, Ben Urich, in a small diner across town.

“Did you look at it?” She asked, nervousness on the edge of her words.

“Yeah, I looked at it.” He replies, readjusting himself in the booth.

“And?”

“And… It's a story I’ve heard before. Company gets caught up in a scandal, files for bankruptcy, then quietly restructures under a new name.”

“They killed Daniel Fisher. They tried to kill me.” Karen reminds, putting emphasis on those major words. Was he seriously not getting it?

“I’m still a little unclear on that point.” Urich explains, truthfully. He touches the file on the table. “You say here Rance assaulted you in your apartment. And a man in a black mask, and a woman with purple eyes, saved your life?”

Karen nods slowly, realizing how ridiculous it sounded out loud. “Yes, but they just… they came out of nowhere. I mean… the woman literally phazed through my window. The man just showed up at my door.”

“And you’d never seen them before?”

“No.”

Urich stops and thinks, humming. “Stranger things, right?”

She sighs. “Well, what about Rance? Do you r-really believe that he j-just up and hung himself in jail?” She asked, a horrific memory coming along. “That guard tried to do the same thing to me. Why don’t you ask him?

“Farnum?” Urich asked, after taking a sip of coffee. “He’s dead. Ate the barrel of his gun in his basement.” He watches the horror flash across her face but he keeps going. “And your old boss, McClintock? Overdosed on pills or some such.” He raises an eyebrow. “You seeing a pattern here, Miss Page?”

Of course she did, anyone with a brain could see it plain as day. “Then why isn’t anyone looking into this?” She asked, confused.

He sets his mug down, leaning forward on the table. “You don’t understand how lucky you are. Count the angels on the head of a pin, and move on.”

She blinks. “So they just shuffle some papers and all this disappears?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh, don’t bullshit me.” Karen said, almost laughing. “A construction company is brick and mortar, literally. You cannot just shift cranes and trailer and office equipment like you can numbers on a page. There has to be a trail if everything is being liquidated.”

Urich casts his glance down, his wheel turning before deciding to bail. He sets his empty mug down, grabbing his things. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Karen bats her eyes again. “What?” She asked, looking up as he stood. “So that’s it?”

“Stories like this are built on sources, Miss Page. Credible sources. I did some digging into your, uh… past activities.”

Karen holds her tongue at that statement, but she still lets a little steam seep through. “Well, I did some digging, too. I read every big story with your byline. The VA kickbacks, toxic runoff, t-the Teachers Union scandal. Hell… you pretty much brought down the Italian mob back when I was in diapers. What ever happened to that reporter, Mr. Urich?”

That seems to stir something deep inside him. Enough to make the older man a bit teary eyed. “He got old… and a hell of a lot less stupid.” He admits, and wanders off.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In a hospital surrounded by all the life support equipment you could imagine, lies one of the Russians’ “clean up” members. Coming through the door with a bouquet of flowers and a balloon that was soon tossed aside by the brothers. They came to stand in front of the bed taking the terrible sight in.

“Боже мой.” Anatoly mumbles in shock (*My god).

“Дай мне комплект.” Vladimir said after a moment (*Give me the kit).

Anatoly hands him the kit before starting to move anything ‘unnecessary’ out of the way. “Это может убить его.” (*This could kill him.)

“Семена обычно посылают на такую ​​работу. Он бы понял.” Vladimir explains, calmly (*Semyon’s usually the one we send for this sort of work. He’d understand.)

Vladimir gets out a bottle of epinephrine and a syringe, while Anatoly detaches the pulse oximeter and ventilator. 

Vladimir starts putting the syringe together while asking, “Вы получили ответ от Петра?” (*You hear back from Piotr?)

Anatoly nods, shakily replying with, “Сказал, что позвонит, когда у него будет что-нибудь о перемещениях Фиска. Фиск осторожен. Если он заподозрит–” (*Said, he’d call when he had something on Fisk’s movements. Fisk is cautious. If he suspects–)

“И что? Чего ты так боишься?” (*Then what? What are you so afraid of?)

“Мы были в этой адской дыре три года.” Anatoly says, bitterly while showing off three fingers. (*We were in that hellhole for three years.) “От московских князей... до гадения в ведро. Я пообещал себе, что если мы когда-нибудь освободимся... мы больше никогда не потеряем то, что у нас было. Тем более не гордиться.” 

(*From princes of Moscow… to shitting in a bucket. I promise myself If we ever got free… we’d never lose what we had again. Especially not to pride.)

Vladimir fills the needle replying, “Когда у нас ничего не было, мы обо всем договаривались.” (*Back when we had nothing, we agreed on everything.)

His brother scoffs. “Мы заблудились... в этой богатой стране.” (*We’ve lost our way… in this land of riches.)

“Тогда давай найдем его снова... вместе.” (*Then let’s find it again… together.)

Vladimir sets the empty bottle down, waiting for a nod before stabbing Semyon in the chest, pushing the drug inside. He pulls it out, setting it on the tray. They waited a few moments before locking eyes with each other, confused.

“Вы уверены… что это был адреналин?” Vladimir asked, worried (*You sure… this was epinephrine?). His question gets answered on cue when the comatosed man starts gasping and flailing around. “Вытащите его трубку.” (*Get his tube out).

Anatoly quickly pulls the tube out of the man’s throat, spit flying everywhere when he removes the mouthpiece. “Семен. Это мы, Анатолий и Владимир.” He says, trying to sound soothing (Semyon. It’s us, Anatoly and Vladimir).

Vladimir shakes his head when he sees his man taking deep breaths. “Вот так… Дыши… Дыши… и расскажи нам о людях, которые сделали это с тобой.” (*That’s it… Breathe… Breathe… and tell us about the people who did this to you.)

“Дьявол. Дьявол.” Semyon gasps, scared (*The devil. The devil).

The brothers shared a look.

“Был ли это просто человек в маске?” Anatoly asked, puzzled (*Was it just the masked man?).

Semyon made a noise that sounded like a no, before wheezing, “Дама была там. Светящийся... как призрак.” (*The lady was there. Glowing… like a ghost.)

“Призрак?” Vladimir said, brows together in confusion. He’s never heard the vigilante woman be described like that before (*Ghost?).

“Вы видели что-нибудь? Семен? Что-нибудь, что могло бы помочь нам найти их?” Anatoly asked, ignoring his brother’s question (*Did you see anything? Semyon? Anything that could help us find them?).

“С ними была женщина. Была женщина с дьяволом и его дамой…” Semyon gasps (*There was a woman with them. There was a woman with the devil and his lady…)

Semyon waits for Vladimir to lean in to whisper something before passing on to the other side.

With cold eyes, Vladimir says, “Get Sergei on the phone.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya popped a few pills in and took a swig of her drink. She nearly gagged at the taste, but she read online it helps an upset stomach so she’ll have to deal with it. 

“How are you feeling?” Someone concernedly asked her.

She looks up from her spot on the precinct bench, finding her friend hovering close by. She flashes him a quick smile. “I’m doing alright. Better than before.”

“If you say so.” Matt said, coping her expression as he shifted down to sit next to her. “Wasn’t sure if you’d make it down here, if I’m being honest.”

She gives a dry chuckle, because she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it either. Her dizzy spells had subsided, but her nausea came in waves.

“I had to make some effort since I fucked up yesterday.” Anya said, making him laugh.

“You didn’t fuck up, Ann.” He replies, reassuringly but he hears her shaking her head. 

“Dude, I didn’t even call. I missed a whole work day.”

“You were sick. It happens.”

“Yeah, but I still should have called.” She takes a sip of her drink, wincing.

“Maybe you should have stayed home. I mean we aren’t even supposed to be working today.” He said, frowning apologetically.

“Oh, yeah…” Anya realizes, facing him. “Why did you get me out of bed? I thought you cared about me, Murdock.”

Matt grins at her teasing. “Oh, you know me. Mr. Meanie Murdock.”

“Yeah, you jerk.” She taps his shoulder with hers, taking another swig. “Ugh…”

His eye brows shoot up above his shades. “That bad?” 

“Oh, yeah. You can probably smell how strong it is.”

“Oh, definitely.” He said, honestly. The ginger in the beverage was strong, overwhelming (And she unknowingly agreed to this statement), but didn’t mention that out of politeness. “Why not drink some Ginger ale?”

“I wish I could. It doesn’t really do much for me anymore. I drank so much of that as a kid, I think I became immune.” She replies, frowning.

That was her mother’s solution for everything. Soda and skipping her next few meals; While her father on the other hand, never wanted to give her any kind of medicine when she overdid it with her abilities. He told her to ‘tough it out’, because she was a soldier. She wasn’t allowed to feel weak, wasn’t allowed to show weakness when she was forced to let him do his experiments on her. She wasn’t supposed to–

“Ann?” Matt touched her forearm, his contact making her jolt. He felt those fearful emerald eyes on him, and her heartbeat still pounding against her chest, ready to take a leap out of it. 

“W-What…?” She mutters, shakily.

“Are you okay? You spaced out?” He asked, worriedly.

“I… I did…?”

His brows furrowed together. “Yeah. You did.”

“I…” She chokes, quietly. “I didn’t realize that…”

“Ann?”

“Hmm…?”

“You’re shaking.”

“I… am…?” She looks down to find her hands trembling. She didn’t even realize she was. “Oh…”

Matt finds himself growing before carefully taking the bottle from her hand, setting it down on the floor. He then takes her two hands into his, sensing her dazing off again. He gives her quivering palms a gentle squeeze.

“Anya?” He says, softly, quietly. “Hey. Can you look at me?” She hums again. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?” It takes his words a minute to register, but she did. “There you go.” He smiles gently. “Do you know where you are?”

“Um…” She swallows, slowly hearing the chattering in the background. “T-The… the police precinct…?”

“Yeah, you are.” He pushes a few stray hairs away from her face when she started spacing out again. “Can you come back to me here? Please?”

Anya closes her eyes, taking a moment to take a few deep breaths.

In and out. 

In and out.

In and out.

Her heart starts to level out along with her breathing. 

“There you go.” Matt said, her eyes opening. “You okay?”

She exhales again and nods. “Yeah.” She replies, truthfully. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He mentally sighs with relief. “You scared me for a second.”

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, feeling guilty.

“No, no. Don’t be.” He says, delicately. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I just…” She sighs. “I just hate… spacing out into… that.”

“I know. But it’s a perfectly normal reaction for someone who went through–” He pauses to search for the right word. Abuse. He wanted to say abuse. But even he still was kept in the dark of what happened to his friend in her childhood, so he kept it cleaner. “What you went through. I know it’s hard, but don’t hate yourself for something you can’t control.”

And that’s what made her love Matt as a friend. Even though he doesn’t know the full extent of what she went through, he was still always by her side no matter what happened. He was there for her on her good days and her bad days; Just like she was with him.

“You’re too good for me, Matty.” She replies, quietly, meaningfully.

He smiles again. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Comforting silence overcame them, taking a moment to enjoy it. They both didn’t realize they were still holding hands until Matt subconsciously brushed his thumbs over her knuckles. Their breaths hitched as their eyes locked. Those milky brown and burning green orbs held a little spark, a feeling they’ve been suppressing since they were young. Their noses were practically touching; Plumped lips just a centimeter away–

“Hey.” Foggy said, strolling by, getting their (flustered) attention (Anya pulls back, hiding her reddened face in her shoulder as Matt clears his throat; Their friend is still oblivious to their interaction). “You guys okay? You ready to check this client out?”

Matt looks at her again. “You okay? Or do you want to go home?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He asked, getting a hum as a reply. “Okay.”

It took them a second again to realize that they were still holding hands, before letting go. They both stood up, smoothing out their clothes. Taking a small step away.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Anya said, putting her game face on.

Matt copies with a nod. “Yep. Let’s get another client.”

It finally dawns on Foggy what happened, and opens his mouth to speak–

“Is he in the first room like always, Foggy?” Anya asked, starting to walk by him.

“Yeah, but–”

“Great. Let’s go, boys.”

Foggy bats his eyes, spinning on his heels to watch her walk on without even thinking to stop and wait. “But–”

“She’s not stopping.” Matt said, coming up next to him.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Foggy replies, looking at him now, puzzled. “Soooo… you and Anya–”

He holds his hand up. “Nothing happened. I was just helping her.”

The dirty blond raises an eyebrow. “Helping her? How?” He lowers his voice to say, “By eye fucking her?” That got his friend to blush and get hit in the calf by his cane. “Ow…”

“I w-was not…” Matt stutters, face the color of his shades. “N-not doing that. I can’t even see, you know?”

Foggy gives him a knowing look. “Even if you can’t, you can still see it in those eyes.”

He groans. “Foggy–”

“Come on, Matty.” Foggy gives him those puppy eyes. “Can you atleast… ask her out on a date? Go for coffee, that's just the two of you? I mean, I see how you look at her. That’s not a look a friend gives to another.”

Matt licks his lips, nervously, readjusting his stance. “She had an episode, Foggy.”

His face fell immediately. “Oh.” Foggy shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms in a serious manner. “How bad was it?”

“Not… too bad like last time. She just spaced out this time.”

“I see.”

Matt sighs, grip tightening and loosening around his stick’s handle. “It’s my fault. I said something I shouldn’t have said.”

“Matt, it happens. Don’t take it to heart.” 

“I know, but still. She’s my friend.”

“Which is exactly why I say you should go for it.” Foggy continues, and cuts off his partner when he tries to deny. “You can’t deny these hazel eyes, Matt. They see all, and all the truth.”

Matt tries to spew denial again, but decides otherwise. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Yes.” Foggy said, pumping his fist and getting a smile out of it. “And please do. I can’t stand those… googly eyes.”

“Again, I can’t see.” Matt said, with a chuckle. “But one of us still needs to take her home. Just in case.” 

“Way ahead of you, lover-boy.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Cruising along the streets of the kitchen, the man we finally know the name of was lost in thought as his right hand explained everything going on, carefully shredding the dangerous waters of his boss’s mind.

“Anatoly may be the way in.” Wesley begins, glasses in hand. “He seems more amenable to the proposition, or at least not quite as… vitriolic as his brother.”

“Well…” Fisk says with a slight nod. “Confrontations can be expensive. I’d prefer to handle this quietly. How are we on the timeline?”

“Within a reasonable margin. Assuming we can settle with the Russians quickly.”

“We will. One way or another.”

“What about the masked idiots?”

This causes Fisk to sigh. “If the brothers can’t handle them, I’ll find another solution.” He replies as the car comes to a stop. He starts to get out, only to then grab Wesley by the arm. “No. You stay with the car.”

“Sir–” Wesley said, worriedly.

“I need to attend to this alone.” His pupil hesitates, but complies. “Thank you, Wesley.”

Fisk enters the art gallery from the other night, taking a easy stroll around, eyes searching for that special someone. That special someone who finds him first.

The brunette woman flashes a smile. “Well, hello there.”

“Hello.”

“How are you enjoying ‘Rabbit in a Snowstorm’?” She asked, coming over.

“You remember.” He said, bashful.

“Of course… it’s one of my favorite pieces.”

“I hung it in my bedroom.” He replies, taking a small step forward. “It’s the last thing I see every night.”

“That’s either very romantic or very sad.”

“I like to tell myself it’s the former.”

She chuckles. “Don’t we all?”

“I wanted…” He trails off, nervously. He takes another step forward. “I wanted to thank you for it… personally.”

“That’s really not necessary, but you’re welcome.” Her smile grew brighter. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He shakes his head. “No, I…” Fisk takes a step back, recollecting. “Yes. I was actually wondering if you cared to join me for dinner.”

“I’m the only one working here tonight.”

“That’s okay.” He replies, rubbing his hands together. “Another time then.” He walks away.

She tilts her head, amused. “That’s it?” She asked, chuckling. “You’re not gonna offer to buy every painting in here so I can close up early? A guy actually tried that once.”

Fisk lets that sink in and walks back over. “A woman that can be bought… isn’t worth having.”

That line seemed to win her over. “I’m partial to Italian.”

“We agree on more than art.” He replies, smiling.

She holds out her hand. “Vanessa.”

Shocked by the move but he still takes it, giving her a light shake. “W-Wilson.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Back at her ‘hideout’, Claire was placing a bowl of food for her friend’s cat. She walks away to blow her nose, quickly taking note that the feline wasn’t touching it.

“Eat it, you little bastard.” She says, sniffling

Claire starts trying to take her allergy pills only to hear scraping and rattling outside her door. Carefully she takes her phone out, and quietly walks towards the front, peaking through the peephole. Luckily, all she saw was an older woman pushing a cart full of groceries. She chuckles at her paranoid self, and finishes taking her pills, unaware of the ever growing silhouette outside the window.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The lawyer trio walked outside into the night, annoyance written on all their faces. They were supposed to be home relaxing, enjoying their day off; But when they got a call from Brett saying they had another potential client, they couldn’t say ‘No’. Which… you probably guess how that went.

“My mom wanted me to be a butcher, you know that?” Was the first thing Foggy said, making his friends sigh.

“Oh, not the butcher story.” Matt said, casting his head down.

“Oh, Jesus…” Anya mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I said, ‘No, Mom, I want to be a lawyer’. I don’t remember what I said next.” Foggy continues, stringing them along the sidewalk.

“No, you never do.” The blind man replies with.

“But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t about bailing out a piss-drunk electrician who nearly burned his house down. Let’s cross.” He guides Matt across the street with Anya following next to them.

“Ed’s wife left him, Foggy. It was an accident.” She says, before pondering on that. “Admittedly involving cigarettes and gasoline, but still.”

“I could be carving my own corned beef. Making my own pickles, having a little shop of my own.”

“You got your own office.” Matt points out.

“We have office space. An actual office would involve… plantery and equipment, fax machines or whatever successful people use.” Foggy explains as they finally cross the street, stopping on the sidewalk.

Matt chuckles. “I don’t think they use fax machines anymore.”

“How would I know? Which is endemic to the problem.” Foggy faces them. “Guys, what if we’re doing this all wrong? What if Landman and Zack were the way to go?”

“You hated interning there.” Matt and Anya reply in sync.

“I hated being broke, and that is still creepy.” He said, pointing between the two.

“Come on, Fog, you think Landman and Zack would have helped out Ed?” Anya asked, watching him take a step off the curb to look for a cab.

“No. But they had free bagels... every morning.” Foggy replies, making them laugh a little. “And they had furniture that didn't smell like a pack of cigarettes. And elevators…” He blissfully sighs. “God, I miss the elevators.”

“We're doing good here, Foggy.” Matt reassures him.

“Are we?” He asked, hailing a cab.

“Yeah, we're making a difference.” 

“If you say so.” He opens the cab door just as Matt’s (burner) phone starts to ring. “You coming, Hughes?”

“We’re splitting the fairs, aren’t we?” She teased making him snort. “Matt, you coming?” Nothing. “Matt?”

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “You get a new phone? Can we afford that?”

Matt answers the phone saying, “Hey, one sec.” He covers the phone with his hand. “ Guys, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“It's a girl, isn't it?  You got a new phone just for your girls.” Foggy said, shaking his head. “My life sucks.” He gets into the cab.

“Don’t stay out too late, lover boy.” Anya poked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She gets in as well as he nods.

“Get home safe.” Matt replies, the door closing. Once he hears that he brings the phone back to his ear. “Hey, what's up?” But all he heard was ruckus on the other end. “Claire? Claire, can you hear me?” He hears her scream on the other end. “Claire!”

Without any hesitation, Matt took off running.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Get home safe.” They heard him say before they closed the door.

Foggy quickly tells the driver where to go before settling down with a heavy sigh. He casts a gaze to his college friend who was trying to look preoccupied (probably because she knew what he was going to ask).

“So when are you going to ask him out?” He asked, point blank.

She bats her eyes his way. “What? Ask who?”

“Matt.” He watches her groan as her cheeks flushed pink (Which she tried to hide by looking away). He throws his hand up. “Come on, you’re like… hung up on him.”

“We’re just friends, Foggy.” She replies, even though it stung. “I’m sure Matt doesn’t see me as anything else if he’s interested in other women.”

Foggy gives her a look. “You don’t know that. Maybe he’s thinking just like you.”

Anya chuckles dryly. “You don’t know that, man.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” He lies, which she completely missed. “But, I still think you should at least ask him out on a date, OR–” He pressures before she cuts in. “Subtly confess.”

“And if he turns me down because he doesn’t feel the same way…?” 

“Then, friend or not, I will come after him for hurting you. End of story.” 

Another laugh. “With your… fisticuffs?” 

He smiles. “With my fisticuffs.”

She sighs fondly and lays her head on his shoulder. “Thanks, big bro.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “I’m not that much older, you know.”

“Sure.” She hums at the comfortable silence, which was eventually broken when he said,

“I still think you should say something to him. I think you guys could be really happy together.”

She frowns. “I don’t think I could make him happy in that way.”

He raises an eyebrow, knowing damn well they could be really happy together since they both told him that they liked each other (although, he would never rat one or the other out). “But Matt loves you already as a friend. What are you so afraid of?”

What am I afraid of? She stays silent at his question, not wanting to tell him what she was truly terrified of.

Well… 

.

.

.

I’m afraid my past will be too much for him.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Karen sits in on one of the back rows of an auction house. She subtly looks around, holding her sketchbook close, listening half heartedly too. She was there for one thing and one thing only. Investigating. 

The Auctioneer starts rambling, pointing at an item on the screen. “5 and now 50. - 50 right there, and now 55. 55,000 here. - Now 60. 60,000. Who will bid 60,000? Do I have 60,000? - 55, going once, going twice. Sold for 55,000. Next up, lot 87… Liquidation of Union Allied Construction LLC.”

She keeps her reaction to that mellow, and places her pencil an inch above the paper, waiting.

“Forty-two desktops with Thunderbolt display, 14 copy machines, 62 IP phones, as well as supporting equipment listed in your catalog. Estimated value, 540,000. - We'll start the bidding at 70,000. Do I hear 70,000?”

Karen watches an older gentleman raise his paddle and starts sketching him, which she would repeat with everyone else following.

“70,000 right here, and now 75. - 75,000? I have 75 over here, and now 80. Do I have 80,000? - 80,000. 80,000 in the back, thank you. And now 90…”

Unknowingly to the blonde, Ben Urich had sat down behind her, looking distracted. 

“Stop what you're doing. Don't turn around.” He says just above a whisper, making her freeze up. “This is how you get caught.”

“The hell do you care?” She replies, cold.

“To your right, a woman in a white blouse–” He begins, almost jolting from his seat when she starts to turn. “Eyes front. Jesus!” He sighs. “To your left, a man in a navy blue pinstripe suit.”

Karen quickly takes note of both. “Who are they?”

“Don't know. But they aren't bidding either.”

She scans the room with her eyes again, swallowing. “What do I do?”

“Spend the next hour raising your paddle. Win something. One of the smaller lots.” Was his suggestion.

She frowns. “I don't have any money.”

“Figure it out. Meet me at the diner when you're done.”

“How did you know I was here?” Nothing. “Ben?”

She quickly glances behind, finding the seat empty. She sucks in a breath as the bid finishes, trying to figure out how the fuck she was going to do this.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya already shedded her work clothes off and was slowly starting to put on her nightly ones. She fiddled with the straps on her cargo pants while thinking over her routine.

I should take it easy tonight. I shouldn’t use my abilities. No phasing, no paralyzing. Maybe use a little energy to escalate somewhere high, but keep it simple.

She nods at that, and slips on her hoodie. 

And maybe… not do the eyes unless I come across someone. That should help lessen my chance of getting sick again.

She lets out a sigh, one that was mixed with frustration and exhaustion. She was supposed to be this ‘extraordinary’ soldier with powers, she wasn’t supposed to pass out after reaching a ‘limit’. 

But again, I’m a girl who had a father who wanted to be a god. Jesus. She quickly braids her hair before tying the bandana over her mouth. She shakes her head.

Okay, gotta stop thinking about that. I need to relax and focus tonight. I gotta take it easy. She slipped on her boots and gloves, then opened up her window. She lets the cool breeze hit her face, welcoming her into the night. She smirks.

Alright. Let’s do this.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In Claire’s trashed apartment, a young man, Santino, sat on the floor also banged up. His panting increases when he hears someone entering the room.

“It's okay. It's me, Santino.” Matt says, slowly coming over to crouch down in front of him. He pulls up his glasses, slowing off his features. “¿Me recuerdas?” (*Do you remember me?)

“Sí.”  Santino shakes his head, still trembling despite recognizing him. 

“Claire fue llevada por gente muy mala. Los oí decir su nombre. Necesito su ayuda. Por favor.” (*Claire's been taken by some very bad people. I heard them say your name. I need your help. Please.)

He sobs, looking ashamed. “No dije nada. No al principio. me llevaron al techo como tú lo hiciste con el hombre…Me dijeron si le decía algo a alguien… volverán por mi madre.” (*I didn't say anything. Not at first. Then they took me up to the roof like you did with that man… they told me if I said anything to anyone… they'd come back for my mother.)

“¿Sabes a dónde llevaron a Claire?” Matt asked, hopefully (*Do you know where they took Claire?).

Santino shook his head again. “No. Lo siento. Esos hombres la van a golpear por mi culpa.” (*No. I'm sorry… Those men are going to hurt her because of me.)

“No, no es tu culpa, Santino. Es mío.” Matt assures, touching his chest (*No, it’s not your fault, Santino. It’s mine). “¿Hay algo más que hayas oído o visto? ¿Algo que me pueda ayudar a encontrarla?” (*Is there anything else you heard or saw? Anything that might help me find her?)

The boy nods while thinking. “Los vi entrar en un taxi. Pero no por atrás, por delante. Como si fueran de ellos.” (*I saw them get into a taxi. But not in the back, in the front. Like it was theirs.)

“¿Cuál fuera compañía? ¿Viste el nombre?” (*What was the company? Did you see a name?)

He nods again, saying, “Veles. Veles Taxi.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya sat down on a rooftop ledge, scanning the skyline and listening carefully for anything out of the ordinary. She only perks up when she catches a whiff of the familiar scent of axe body spray.

She cocks her head, but doesn’t look back. “No-Eyes?” She calls out, sensing him coming closer.

“Are you doing anything?” Matt asked, urgently, his light footsteps seemed louder (Angier) than usual.

“No. I was taking it easy tonight.” Anya replies, fully facing him. “Why?”

“The Russians got Claire.”

Her eyes widened. “What?” She stands up. “You got a lead?”

“Santino told me that they saw the men who supposedly took her get into a taxi with the name, ‘Veles Taxi’.” He replies, sensing her respond to that name. “Ring a bell?”

“Sounds familiar.” She starts jogging her brain, conjuring up a memory from her childhood. “I got it.” She started walking towards the direction she thought of, and he was following closely behind. “It might be a long shot, and hopefully it’s still there, but I remember seeing this place in my childhood.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

At a fancy restaurant in the nicer part of Hell’s Kitchen, Fisk sat across from Vanessa, tasting the wine the (nervous looking) waiter poured.

“Yes.” He says, taking a liking to the taste. The waiter then pours some into his date’s glass. “I hope you like it.”

Vanessa picks up her glass, smelling the aroma before taking a sip. “It's delicious.” She says, with a smile.

“I don't know much about wine.” Fisk admits. “My assistant, he recommended it.”

“Maybe I should be out with him.” She teased, but didn't see him laughing. “That was a joke.”

“Yes… of course.”

She chuckles. “A bad one, but... mmm... You don't do this much, do you?”

“No. I've been preoccupied��” He fiddles with his cufflinks. “for a long time.”

Vanessa watches him closely before saying. “This is nice. I didn't even know it was here.”

“Yes, it just opened last month.”

“The city's really changing.”

“Not fast enough.”

“I don't know. Be a shame to see all the character scrubbed away.”

“You didn't grow up here, did you?”

She laughs again. “What gave it away?”

Fisk smiles for a split second. “When I was a kid, I used to dream what it would be like to…” He stops to think. “To live somewhere far away from Hell's Kitchen. Somewhere beautiful.”

“What made you stay?” Vanessa asked, curiously.

“I didn't. When I was 12 years old, my mother, she sent me to stay with relatives. Had a farm, middle of nowhere. Those were good years.”

“But you came back.”

“Yes. Time and distance, they afford a certain clarity. I realized that this city was a part of me, that it was in my blood. And I would do anything to make it a better place… for people like you.”

That made her smile fondly at him, and raised her glass. She waits for him to follow before saying, “To a better place.”

Then they both toast with their wine glasses.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, poor Claire was slammed to the floor, face covered in blood and deep bruises. She was soon picked back up and thrown into the side of a cab, letting her whole body slide to the floor. She started coughing roughly as the Russains looked at her with rage.

“You answer, he stops hitting you. Everyone is happy.” One said, and she shook her head.

“I told you… I don't know who they are…” She croaks, breathing heavily and sits on the ground.

Sergei clenches his jaw and slams the baseball bat in the window next to her head. She screams as the glass shatters around her.

“Tell me their names.” He hisses, tightening his grip on the weapon.

Claire whimpers and mouths, “I don't know.” Then whispers, “They never told me…” She screams again when the bat hits the cab. “They never told me!!”

One of the Russians stops Sergi from going again. “Сергей... Владимир сказал нам не убивать ее, пока она не заговорит.” (*Sergei...Vladimir told us not to kill her until she talks.)

Sergei frowns, sighing. “This gives me no pleasure. It really doesn't. But I have been given a job to do. So please, answer the questions that I was told to ask.” He holds the baseball bat under her chin, lifting it up. “Or I will begin breaking you, a piece at a time.”

Suddenly, the lights go out.

Sergei looks around before facing one of his men. “Михаил, проверь выключатель. Проверьте прерыватель!” (*Mikhail, check the breaker. Check the breaker!)

Claire starts sobbing as the men scramble to turn the lights on. Eventually, some of them just started turning the lights underneath the taxis on. Soon, the quiet chattering started getting louder, before someone started screaming.

“Mikhail? Mikhail!” 

Claire throws her head back, laughing like a maniac. “You want to know their names? Ask them yourself.”

There was a loud rattling noise that seemed to encase everyone present. Everyone looked around nervously, trying to find the source of the sound. Claire, knowing what’s going on, slumped down further in her spot, protecting herself.

The rattling turned out to be some wiring, which soon wrapped itself around one of the Russians’ feet and dragged them across the garage floor. Upon contact he started shooting off his gun, creating a domino effect. 

Bullets were falling like they were raindrops, all targeting in areas they swear they heard a noise. The vigilantes stayed in the dark, hidden from their eyes as they attacked when they spotted an opening. Matt was throwing anything he could get his hands on, while Anya was freezing anybody that got close. 

Sergei, who was wandering around nervously, was watching the silhouettes of his men disappear into the darkness.

He bites his lip and grabs Claire. “Up.” He snaps, and tries to leave.

“Let her go.” Matt said, his voice echoing off the walls.

“I'm walking out of here.” He says, pointing the gun in different directions.

“No, you aren't.”

“I'm not playing with you, man. I'm walking out of here… I'll blow her brains out!!!”

“My acquaintance isn’t playing around either.”

Anya lands on top of a nearby taxi, startling him. Out of instinct he shot off a bullet, which misses a vital spot on her skin when she phases. The vigilante watches as the man becomes pale and shocked, taking a small step back as she glares with her glowing eyes.

“Призрак.” Sergei mumbles, shakily (*Ghost).

Matt comes up from behind, apprehending Sergei’s arm in an armbar. The Russian shoots a bullet scaring Claire, who was soon pulled free by Anya. Matt twists his arm making him cry and drop the weapon.

“You okay?” Anya whispers, painfully as she leans against the cab. But she doesn’t get an answer when she watches the nurse reaching for–

“It hurts, doesn't it? Being in pain, being afraid–” Matt whispers, darkly.

To his (and really anyone’s) surprise, Claire grabbed the baseball bat and hit Sergei over the head with it. The world got quiet again, except for the sound of the aluminum bat dropping and Claire’s hurtful sobbing.

Matt’s whole demeanor changed, immediately pulling her into a comforting hug. “It's okay.” He says, cradling her head, making her sob harder. “I'm here. I have you.”

While this was happening, Anya was dealing with a spinning world again. She suddenly felt her veins running hotter than usual and her heart pounding even more than before. And she got really, really nauseous. She couldn’t stop herself this time…

She pulled her mask down and vomited up acid.

Matt and Claire pulled apart upon the sound, and looked in her direction.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked, worriedly as he finally started fully taking notice of her condition. The hefty panting and the heavy heartbeats. It was… overwhelming; Painful sounding. “Peaches?”

“May–” Claire begins, taking her in. “You’re… you look like you’re… glitching.”

Anya was shaking, shaking badly. But Claire had a point, she looked like she was a computer glitch. Her whole body would phase in and out, almost causing her to slip through the taxi her hand was laying against. She felt like she was about to pass out.

“I’m…” Anya chokes, and hunches over again when the nausea returns.

“You’re shaking.” Matt said, taking a step forward. “Let me–”

“N-No…” She winces. “Y-You can’t… d-do anything…” She bit her tongue when she felt her head starting to pound like a hammer. “I j-just… have to… l-let it pass.”

“Peaches–”

“I-I have to let it pass.” She says, sounding like she was being tortured.

She has to let it pass? What does that mean? Matt frowns, severely concerned. 

Is this supposed to be normal?

“May, what’s going on? Why do you have to let it pass?” Claire asked, the nurturing side of her coming out, making her take a step towards her as well.

“I-I…” Anya pants, feeling like she was about to cry. “I overdid it. My abilities. I overdid it…”

“What?”

“Overdid? Is this normal?” Matt asked, deciding not to give her any more space, and walked over. “Is that why you said you were taking it easy tonight? Why didn’t you–”

“N-No-eyes…” Anya pants, her orbs landing on their nurse friend. “You got Claire?”

Matt tilts his head, confused. “Yeah, I got her. But–”

“Get her to safety.”

“What? What about– hey!”

Before he could stop her, Anya had used all her strength to push off the vehicle and run. She never stopped once no matter how many times they begged her to stop and come back.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Karen arrived at the diner, sliding in the booth across from Ben. She was still looking around nervously like earlier; Afraid of getting caught or chased by the people who worked for her old employer. 

“You bid on anything?” He asked, while eating some eggs with a dab of hot sauce.

“Yeah. Some, uh... office equipment from a realtor. Nearly as old as I am.” She said, waving from the waitress.

“Win?”

“Yeah, 3,500 I don't have. I charged it to the law firm where I work. Probably just got my ass fired.”

“Beats the alternative.”

The waitress comes up with a steaming pot. “More coffee?”

“Uh, can I have a decaf?” Karen asked, politely.

“Oh, sure thing.” She walks away.

“Thanks.” Karen takes a brief moment to gather her thoughts. “How did you know I was gonna be there?” She asked, suspicious.

“Wasn't looking for you.” Urich replies, truthfully, as the waitress pours Karen’s coffee.

“I thought you weren't interested.” She said, realizing he was being honest.

“I said you should move on. Didn't say anything about me.”

“So I was right. About the office equipment. Union Allied or whatever it is that they're calling themselves now, they're buying it back. I mean, you follow that, maybe you find the guy behind the curtain.”

Urich pauses and puts his fork down to give her his whole attention. “You said you read a bunch of my articles. Remember the one about the, uh... the runoff? What that company was dumping into the river?”

“Yeah, sure.” She said, grabbing some sugar for her drink.

“Fished the guy that tipped me off out of that same river a month later.” Urich explains, watching her try to hide her discomfort. “And that fella trying to clean up the Teachers Union? Moved out of state… after flyers went up saying he was a pedophile. They underestimated what people in power will do to stay there. Didn't think you'd make the same mistake after what happened to you.”

Karen nervously takes a sip of her drink. “What about the woman? From your first series of articles about the VA? What happened to her?”

He frowns. “She met the worst fate.” He sits up straighter. “Married beneath her...to a workaholic who never appreciated her.”

Karen’s body slacked at the weight of his words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–”

“We need to be smart. Smarter than they are.” Urich explains, seriously. “Don't visit me at the office anymore, and don't tell anyone else about this. If that doesn't work for you, get up and get the hell out of my life”.

She nods. “That works for me.”

“Good.” He clears his throat, leaning forward again. “First thing, sign the agreement from the Union Allied lawyer.”

“What? No!” She shakes her head. “No, I sign that, I can't ever talk publicly about this.”

“Yeah… but I'm not signing it.”

And those words made her smile.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Back at the garage, the brothers returned with some of their men, shocked upon what they found. Their teammates were scattered across the ground, some still unconscious while others were getting up at snail like pace.

“Сергей. Сергей…” Vladimir says, crouching down to his man. “Кто это сделал?” (*Sergei. Sergei… Who did this?)

“Мужчина и женщина в черном…” Sergei says, clearing his throat (*The man and woman in black…).

Anatoly’s phone rings and he quickly picks up. “…Хорошо. Оставайся там.” (*…All right. Stay there.) He looks at his brother. “Это был Петр. Фиск вышел из укрытия. Нам нужна его помощь, брат.” (*That was Piotr. Fisk has come out of hiding. We need his help, brother.)

“Я не преклонюсь перед этим человеком!” Vladimir says, bitterly as he stands up (*I will not bow before that man!).

“Тогда я пойду... И поклонюсь за нас обоих.” (*Then I will go...And bow for both of us.)

Vladimir looks away, thinking it over quickly. What other choice do they have at this point? He clenches his jaw, facing him again. “Идти. Заключить сделку.” (*Go. Make the deal.)

And with those words…

He only wishes he realized what he had just done.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Are you sure about dessert?” Fisk asked, a smile stretched across his face. “They have an incredible Zuppa Inglese.”

She copies his expression. “Don't children have that at birthday parties?” Vanessa teased, making them both laugh.

“Yes. When I was a kid, I loved it… Probably loved it a bit too much.”

“Well, now I have to know what it tastes like. You wanna split one?”

“Yes.” He gestures for the waiter who rushes over. “We'll have a Zuppa.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chocolate was always my downfall.” Vanessa whispers like a secret. “Milk chocolate, not the dark stuff they say is better for you.”

“I can order something else.” He assures, and she shakes her head.

“No, no, it's good to try new things. Get out of the comfort zone.”

“Yes, we get caught up in what we're doing… who we think we are.”

“So…” Vanessa begins, curious what’s on his mind. “Who are you, Wilson?”

“Tonight, I'm just a man... enjoying the company of a captivating woman.” He says, getting her to show her pearly whites once more. But there moment won’t last long when Antaloy suddenly shows up, Wesley on his tail.

“I told you he's indisposed.” Wesley says, trying to stop him but he’s shaken off. 

“Sir, I need to speak with you.” Anatoly announces, bodyguards standing in his way.

“What is this?” Vanessa asked, worriedly as her date stood up (making the whole restaurant stand up as well in fear).

Fisk moves one of his guards out of the way to get to her. “We need to go... now. I'm sorry.” He said, truly apologetic. He guides her towards the door, the Russian still trying to get through.

“I want to tell you, my brother and I, we gratefully accept–” Anatoly continues, being sincere about his words.

“Wesley will take care of you.” Fisk tells him, before whispering to his assistant, “Put him in a car.”

“Understood.” Wesley said, knowing where this will end.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Promise you won't get mad.” Karen said to Foggy, who came back to the office to drop a few things off (he wasn’t expecting to see her until tomorrow).

“You bought a fax machine? From the early '90s.” Foggy asked, finding irony in since he was literally complaining to Matt and Anya about having a machine earlier.

“Oh, it's not that old... I think.” She says, nervously. “Um, but the rest of the stuff's coming tomorrow.”

“The rest?”

“Yeah, like, a printer and conference phones and a copier and... Yeah, there was an auction and, you know, we needed stuff, so I, um…” She frowns, fiddling with her hands. “Charged it to the office. But don't freak out, okay? I got a thing, uh, some money coming in from… You know what? It doesn't matter. You mad?”

He touches the fax machine, taking everything in. “Did I ever tell you my mom wanted me to be a butcher?” He asked, reeling back to his ‘coping’ story.

Karen gave him a strange look. “A butcher?” She said, confused about the direction this was suddenly going.

“Yeah. You know what I told her…?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Back in Matt’s apartment, he had Claire set across from him at his dining table; A box full of amateur medical supplies next to him.

“This isn't gonna feel great.” He says, carefully dabbing the cut on her forehead.

“Ow.” She winces at the medicine seeping in. “You got pretty good hands for a blind guy.”

“Used to patch up my dad.” He replies, searching for a bandage.

“He ran around in a mask, too?”

“He was a boxer. Took a lot of beatings.”

“Huh. So you take after him then.” She says, making him laugh as he applies a butterfly bandage. “Ow… Shit.”

He frowns. “I'm sorry.”

Claire sighs. “It's okay. You've had a lot worse.”

“I m-mean…” He stutters, looking guilty. “I'm sorry for getting you into this. I… I never thought that I'd be putting anyone else at risk.”

She shakes her head subtly. “It was my choice. You didn't ask me to pull you from that dumpster.”

“No, you did it because you're a good person. And you almost got killed… because of me.”

“Tell me it was worth it. Tell me that you've got a plan… an end game.”

“Claire–”

“Anything?”

He sighs quietly. “I-I'm just trying to make my city a better place, that's all.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “I think maybe it's a little more complicated than that now.” She points out.

“Nothing's changing out there.” He says, saddened. “No matter what I do, I'm just… I'm making things worse.”

“Tell that to the boy you saved from the Russians. Or all the other people you've helped.”

“And what about the people I've gotten hurt? What do I…” He inhales sharply. “What do I tell them?”

Claire lets his words sink in, which stirred all the emotions inside. “Feel my heart.” She blurts out, making him freeze. “Come on, feel it.” She picks his hand up and places it on her chest. “What is it telling you?”

Matt grows silent to figure it out, which makes him feel even more guilty than before. “That you're scared.” He whispers.

“Because I am.” She chokes with a small nod. “More than I've ever been in my life. And I am not alone.” Her eyes glass over. “But you can do something about it... for all of us, Mike.”

“Matthew.” He says, sensing her surprise gaze. “My name is Matthew.”

“Matthew?” She asked, after a while. He nods. “Well, alright. Nice to properly meet you, Matthew.”

That gets him to smile a little, relieved that she didn’t sound angry at him. “I’ll get the bed ready for you. And I’ll get you a towel if you want to shower.”

“That’ll be nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He starts tidying the first aid kit up, feeling Claire’s eyes on him while he does it.

“Matthew?” She finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think May, or whatever her real name is, is okay?”

He falters his movements, frowning. “May?” He said, hearing her nod. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“And you sure you don’t know who she is? Or at least have her number or something?” Claire asked, watching him shake his head.

“We never met until a few days before you found us in that dumpster. Never really had the chance to get to know each other.” Matt explains, upset at himself which was evident. “Now, for stuff like this, I wished we had contact with each other.”

She looks away, crossing her arms at the news. “I wish you could have seen her, Matthew. I wish I could explain it.” She replies, sighing. “It’s like…” She purses her lips, thinking of the right words. “It’s like she’s… not supposed to have those abilities.”

Matt casts his blind gaze outside, the neon lights reflecting off him. The colors were changing along with his emotions, one not staying intact for very long. He didn’t know how to feel about this situation. It’s not like they're friends, or partners really, they're more like… acquaintances…? However, he could agree with Claire on one thing. And that was–

.

.

.

“Yeah, I don’t think she’s supposed to have those either.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya stumbles through her apartment, barely thinking and seeing straight. But somehow, miraculously, she finds herself inside the bedroom closet, tearing it apart.

W-Where is it…? Where is it…?

She dumps out boxes and bags, emptying out pockets. She felt the nausea return again, and dark spots danced in the corner of her eyes.

Where is it? Where is–

She knocked over what she thought was a shoe box, watching as a vial rolled across the carpet, followed by a syringe. She practically fell over to get it, snagging it and holding it close as she sat against the door.

.

.

// One more dose of this, baby, and you’ll be stronger, more stable than before. Just one more dose. //

.

.

One more dose. Her father’s words lingered in her head, as her sweaty palms brought it closer to her face. The indigo colored serum was calling her (or maybe taunting her?) to take it. Just take it just like he wanted. To complete what he wanted. 

She swallows the burning bile in her throat, shakily grabbing the syringe. 

It was now or never. But then–

.

.

// Benny… you shouldn’t give it to her. //

.

.

Anya halts her actions. A very, very fuzzy memory was coming back. One she could hardly place in the timeline of her life.

.

.

// Maya, this is our chance. The breakthrough we’ve been needing. //

// I know it is. But look at the chart. Her heart’s in overdrive. If you give her the last dose it might kill her, and then all your hard work would go to waste. //

// I know. But we can’t waste anymore time. He’s getting inpatient. //

// Yes, but… if she dies, then you’ll have to start over. And with who, then? //

.

.

She exhales painfully, the items starting to slip out of her hands. Her eyelids felt like lead as they started to droop. And then…

She passes out again.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Will I see you again?” Fisk asked, hopeful as he walked his date back to her place.

Vanessa sighs as they stop in front of the building entrance. “I don't usually date customers.” Was her answer.

“You came out with me tonight.”

“And here we are, so…”

“I can… return the painting, and then I'd no longer be a–”

“I'm not interested in gestures, Wilson, or your money, or… whatever that was all about at the restaurant. I went out with you because…” She stops to choose her next words carefully. “There's something different about you. Not so sure it's a good thing now.”

“Like you said… I don't do this much. And I'm sorry that our night, it went sideways. But...I  enjoyed our time together very much, Vanessa.” Fisk said, truthfully. “If you don't feel the same… even a little bit… just tell me, and I promise you won't see me again.”

Vanessa looks away, conflicted. “I…” She stutters, biting her lip. “Don't know how I feel.”

She doesn’t let him reply because she’s already inside the building before he could. While Fisk’s heart started to hurt it suddenly turned into hatred.

Hatred for a certain young Russian.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile in the back of a familiar SUV, a long overdue conversation was being discussed.

“-And even after all that, you didn't even get a name out of the girl?” Wesley asked, unusually calm about all this.

“No.” Anatoly admits with a smack of his lips. “The man and woman in black came before our men had finished.”

“You were right to reach out to us, although… a call would have been more appropriate.”

“Look, I… I wanted to speak with him in person. Try to put the past behind us.” The Russian said, getting a hum which was right on cue for the vehicle to stop. “Why are we stopping?”

“They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't. It's… smoke trapped in a closed room, swirling...changing. Buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking.” Wesley starts poetically saying. “But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can… never be completely erased. It lingers. Like the scent of burning wood.”

Anatoly gives him a strange look, which Wesley ignores to answer his cell phone. 

“Sir?” Wesley said, listening closely. “Yes, passenger side.”

“Was that him?” The Russian asked, hopeful.

“Hmm. He'd like to have a word with you.”

Anatoly nods and mumbles something in his native language seconds before the door opens. An angry Wilson Fisk reaches inside and yanks him out, throwing him onto the ground. They both exchange some hits, equally spilling blood. At one point, Anatoly pulls out a knife, swinging it defensively. What thought could do some damage, he ends up seeing that Fisk’s suit was barely touched by the blade.

Fisk ends up pinning him to the SUV, breaking his wrist the weapon was in. “You embarrassed me.” He hisses, cradling the sides of the Russian’s head. “You embarrassed me in front of her.”

He then starts heading butting him a few times, then tossing him back at the ground. Anatoly tries to crawl to the car, and starts begging Wesley to help him in Russian; But Fisk’s right hand makes no movements that he’ll help. Instead, Fisk drags Anatoly by his hair to the car, laying him in the gap between the floor and the door…

Fisk slams the car door.

Over. 

And over.

And over.

And over again.

As blood bathed the concrete with its glorious red color, Fisk never stopped until his enemy’s head was completely taken off.

Inhaling heavily, the man admired his bloody self in the window reflection. Frowning, he takes a few steps away, body still tense even after killing the bug. Wesley walks over carefully, offering his boss his handkerchief.

“Tell Mr. Potter, I'll need a new suit.” Fisk said after a moment, and wiped his face clean.

Wesley nods with a hum. “What about this?” He asked, gesturing to the body behind them.

“Take what's left of him and send it to his brother.”

“It'll start a war.”

.

.

.

“I'm counting on it.”

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

-Taglist Is Open-

@uncle-eggy @fangirling-galore @superbreadsoul

@twsssmlmaa @winterschildren17

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart - Chapter 5

Silco is a man of many words, but is he a man of action? He has many promises to keep…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act I | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | TW: Stalking | WC: 2.27k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

taglist: @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

The scissor lift raises you to the top of the wall. You lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the mural: it’s dry, and none of the paint seems to have washed away. Seems like your earlier precautions were adequate. 

It might not be a good time to pick up where you left off, though. The weather report predicted it might be a couple more days before the rain stops completely. No point in making some more progress only for it to potentially wash away. 

You feel a desire to linger, though. Silco might still stop by. At least you hope so. After he spent the night at your place, you’re more positive that your relationship has progressed from ‘acquaintances’ to ‘friends’, if not something more. Recalling the events of that night makes you laugh quietly to yourself.

________________________________________

After making Silco repeat his promise, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Ostensibly to brush your teeth. What you really need is a moment to compose yourself. 

You look at yourself in the mirror and shake your head. What the heck is wrong with you that you’re getting so worked up about a stranger dying? Because that’s all he is to you, or should be to you. People die in Zaun every day. Sometimes it’s not even at the hands of Enforcers, but just plain bad luck. 

In another life, you probably could have been one of the Children of Zaun. Maybe working alongside Silco. After all, you do love the Undercity just as much as any one of them. Even if it weren’t for your lack of fighting prowess, you’re sure you could have made yourself useful to them in some other way. 

Who are you kidding, though? Your current job is much less hazardous— and more preferable— than getting into scraps with Enforcers. Probably the most dangerous thing you’ve encountered in ages was a poorly trained Poro at the home of a Piltie merchant family. While the Children risk arrest, bodily injury, or death on every single mission. 

No, if the Children find exhilaration in their exploits, it’s too anxiety-inducing for you. Hadn’t the overwhelming stress of tonight’s events proved you weren’t cut out for that kind of life? 

What would Silco even think of you joining the Children? 

Your head droops against the mirror. It’s too late at night to be asking these kinds of questions. You’re so tired that your sense of judgment is compromised. Not to mention how stupid it would be to throw away everything you worked for just for some guy. And he hadn’t even asked you to join the Children. 

Or had he? Was he joking when he asked you to join him on his next mission? Or was he being sincere? 

“Time for bed,” you mutter to yourself. Serious life decisions can wait until the morning, after a good sleep and breakfast. And after Silco leaves.

When you exit the bathroom, you find your guest lying on the ground at the foot of your bed. He’s folded his backpack into a makeshift pillow. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, yawning. 

“Could I trouble you for an extra blanket?”

“Get in the bed,” you point at it. 

“Excuse me?” He props himself up on one elbow. Looking at you, confused.

Oh, right. He doesn’t know that you have a sleeping bag. You pull it and an extra pillow out of a storage box. 

“The ground is more than good enough for me,” he protests.

“Get in the damn bed, Silco. And go to sleep,” you say as firmly as you can, considering that you’re ready to flop onto the floor yourself. Instead you walk over to the light switch. Ready to turn off the lights.

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he gets up and tucks himself in. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

“Don’t mention it,” you grunt.

You turn off the lights. When you crawl into your sleeping bag, you sigh loudly. The warmth encompasses you entirely and lulls you into slumber. 

Silco calls out your name into the dark.

“Mmm?” you hum, too sleepy for words.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Silco.”

You wake up first the next morning. Something must be wrong with your alarm clock, as its usual low beeping seems extra loud today. Of course, last night of all nights, you just had to forget to turn it off. 

You hurriedly smack it off, but when you look at Silco he continues slumbering peacefully. Thank goodness for small mercies. 

It’s hard to make breakfast silently when your apartment is so small. Even though you’re doing your best to keep the noises to a minimum. He wakes up and shifts in the bed, rolling over to look at you. 

“Good morning,” you chirp at him. Determined to make up for your grumpy attitude last night. “Hope you’re hungry.” 

“Good morning,” Silco yawns. He sits up and frowns. “You made breakfast?”

“Yeah, it’s almost ready. Your clothes are in the dryer.” 

“You needn’t have troubled yourself, I should get going—”

“It’s still raining, buddy. You’re not going anywhere.”

You point out your window, where the skies are still steel-gray and wet. Silco opens his mouth as if to argue, but the harsh tapping of the rain on the window drowns the thought before he can give life to it. He dips his head, bemused. 

“I must have been a better man in my past life to be honored with such generosity,” he stretches his arms high. Unfolding himself like a cat as he steps out of your bed. He pulls his clothes out of the dryer, then heads to the bathroom.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I made a little bit of everything,” you call out to him. You start plating a full spread: bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, and fresh fruit.

Silco exits the bathroom wearing his outfit from last night. You let yourself sneak a glance at him out of the corner of your eye: his waist is somewhat narrower than his broad shoulders… what it would feel like to wrap your arms around—

“Do you normally eat breakfast standing?” He looks amused at the notion.

“Oh, no. Can you help with the table?”

 You point to your drafting table. It’s adjustable so it’s good enough as a makeshift dining table. Despite its heft, he pulls it to the center of the room with ease. He pushes it level just in time for you to set the food out. 

After handing out refreshments and dining utensils, you both dig in. 

“Would you mind me asking what you were doing at the councilor’s last night?” he asks. 

“Salo wanted a status update on the mural,” you say. “Could you pass the salt?”

“Really,” he doesn’t phrase it as a question. Silco hands you a salt shaker. “Was that the full extent of his intentions?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “What else could he want?”

He pushes his eggs around with his fork, as if he might find the right words to say on his plate. 

“You were dressed quite… well. And you were upstairs.”

“So?” you continue munching away.

“His sleeping quarters were upstairs.”

You look up from your food, nonplussed.

“Perhaps you weren’t off the mark about Salo wanting a Zaunite mistress,” he jokes. 

“No way,” you snort. “As if a gentleman of his caliber would ever deign to consort with the fissure folk.”

“You were invited to dinner at his home, no?” he smirks.

“I’m his employee. That’s all,” you shake your head. 

“You’d be surprised at how many men find that appealing, as opposed to a deterrent.” 

“Salo may be a Piltie prick, but I doubt that a Zaunite would ever be good enough for him,” you state matter-of-factly. “Most Topsiders will never see us as worthy, no matter what. I thought everybody knew that.”

“I must admit I don’t know many from the Undercity who work in such close proximity to Piltover’s elite,” he says. He resumes eating. “You’re the only one I know, actually,” he adds thoughtfully. 

“I’m not much better than ‘the help’ to them,” you grimace. “If anything, Topsiders like to hire me to show off how charitable they are. Giving a gutter rat the opportunity to ‘rise above the circumstances of their birth’. But not too high, of course.”

You spoon more food into your mouth to stop yourself from rambling more. Gods, you’re complaining about your clientele not respecting you when too many Zaunites are straight-up unemployed and living in poverty. You’re luckier than most. Better remember to be grateful for what you got and stop complaining.

“Those sound like less than ideal circumstances to work under,” Silco looks at you sympathetically. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say hastily. “I’m really lucky to have a job I love. And it pays well.” 

You put your fork down and look out your window. The cloudy skies are whitening, and the rainfall is now a soft and gentle drizzle.

“Everyone in the Undercity deserves a better life, whether they can or can’t work for it,” you say quietly. “I just wish more Pilties knew that too.” 

He nods in agreement. “That’s perhaps the most difficult mission the Children have yet to complete: to earn the respect of Topside.”

“Maybe if we work together, we can get it done,” you grin at him. 

“Our joint efforts would be a force to be reckoned with,” his lips quirk upwards. “We could burglarize the whole of Topside together.” 

“We’ll teach them to respect us!”   

“The Nation of Zaun would flourish under our leadership,” his smile widens.

“Wow… ‘the Nation of Zaun��... I like the sound of that,” you say in awe. 

The conversation moves on to lighter topics after that. Considering the rocky start to your relationship, you have a decent amount in common with Silco: you were both born roughly around the same time and raised in orphanages, albeit different ones. Your childhoods were lean and tumultuous. 

The similarities end there. Whereas your career as a painter pulled you up and out of Zaun, Silco worked as a miner for many years. He and his companions managed to carve out the Lanes, and the Children of Zaun was founded. 

It’s fascinating to hear Silco’s history. His story and Zaun’s are one and the same, even if the Undercity was founded long before his birth. You could listen to him tell it over and over again. 

When you’re both finished eating, the two of you squabble over putting away the dishes. He insists on helping. You’re not having any of it though, and you instead direct him to your storage box where he can find the blueprints he requested all those weeks ago. He packs those up along with the photos from last night. 

Silco looks out the window to see that the rain has finally stopped. He turns to you with regret on his face. 

“I’ve abused your hospitality for far too long,” he says. “I must be off.” 

“Silco, it’s fine,” you reassure him. “You’re not the worst guest I’ve ever had.”

“Do you host such delightful sleepovers for many?” he asks. His tone is casual, but his eyes are bright with curiosity.

“Only when I’m babysitting,” you answer. “Sometimes actual babies.”

He cocks his head, about to ask for details. You’re distracted by the thunk of a metal cylinder dropping into your pneumatic tube receiver. 

“I have to take care of this,” you sigh. “Do you have everything?” 

“Yes, thanks to you,” Silco pats his backpack. 

As you walk him to the door, you feel tempted to reach out and grab his arm. Instead, you clear your throat to get his attention.

“Silco… you’ll come find me before the raid, right?”

“Of course,” his eyes are gentle and bright. “I would be remiss not to warn you. Should the worst come to pass—”

“But it won’t, right?” you cut him off. “You made a promise.”

He places a hand on the doorknob. He pauses contemplatively before answering, “Yes, I did, didn’t I.” 

“Yeah. You better not break it.”

Silco opens the door. His black hair is dark against the backdrop of the bright skies. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiles.

He finally leaves. It takes all of your willpower to force yourself to stay inside. Even though you really want to watch him leave.

________________________________________

You haven’t seen Silco since that day, but you’re not worried. There’s no way he would break two promises. 

You carefully drape the plastic sheeting back over the wall. Regardless of whether you can work today or not, right now is a good time to take stock of your supplies. Some of your brushes might need replacing and you’re definitely running low on certain paints. 

As you take inventory of your materials, a stinging tingle crawls up the back of your neck.

It’s happening again. Someone is watching you. 

You swing your head around frantically. There’s nobody there. But the tingling doesn’t stop. In fact, it’s getting worse. 

The stinging turns into a stabbing pain.

Running footsteps approach you. 

You instinctively crouch down. Pushing your face into your knees. Covering your neck with your hands. Trying to control your hyperventilating.

You slap a hand over your mouth. 

The footsteps grow louder…

Then louder…

Then they pass. Fading away into the distance.

You take a deep, gulping breath. The back of your neck relaxes.

As you stand, you chastise yourself for being distracted. Whoever— or whatever— was watching you might be gone now, but the Undercity is never free from danger. 

If it comes back again, you might not be so lucky.

Chapter 6

[randomshyperson]

Left Behind - Wanda Maximoff x Reader - #01 "Muddy Waters"

Summary: The one where you lived in the apartment under the Maximoff family in Sokovia, or, your journey as a Sokovian civilian to Avenger.

A/N: i want to know what people think of this, I feel like it's sounds good in my head but not exactly good in words. Also, this is shorter than what i usually write, i'm trying the "short" chapters a while.

Warnings (under constructions): Violence, mentions of fighting, cursing, light power abuse, war environments.

Words: 2.769 K

Dictionary for this chapter: Parshivets - brat || bratan - brother || dvornyaga - mutt || plague - chuma || Prostite - sorry || Vrediteli - pests || svin'ya - pig || devochka - girl || borot'sya - fight

All Works Masterlist || Read on AO3 || Part Two || Series Masterlist

//-//

Chapter One - Muddy Waters

Sokovia, 11 years ago.

You ran to catch up with one of the boys who was running away from you.

You didn't know his name, but you think he lived in the apartment below you, and since everyone always played together, and there were many children, you didn't know everyone's name. The only thing you really needed to know was who you had to pick up.

"Parshivets!" You heard your brother's voice shout through the window into the area where you were. "Come to dinner!"

"I'm kidding, bratan" You retorted as you stopped running and looked up, gesturing to your apartment window.

"Come up now, papa is telling you to!" Your brother ordered before sticking his head inside again.

Grumbling angrily, you waved goodbye to the other children.

When you reached your floor, you saw the Maximoff twins coming out of their apartment, and smiled at Pietro who noticed you from down the hall.

You hoped that your father would let you play with them later.

//-//

There was dust covering your eyes and nose.

You coughed, running your hand over your face, trying to understand what was happening around you, the sound of sirens and explosions muffled by the ringing in your ear.

"Papa?" You called out with hoarseness in your voice, still somewhat aroused. You blinked and realized that what was your room was now just a pile of rubble.

Feeling a sharp pain in your torso, you looked down, letting out a surprised exclamation at the iron wedged in your belly. You whimpered in pain, trying to move. "Papa." You called out again, completely confused and frightened.

You heard voices in the distance, and sounds on the rocks, but your eyes began to heavy again. Maybe you were going to fall asleep, and maybe sleep would take the pain away, so you closed your eyes.

//-//

"She needs medical assistance." A male voice sounded muffled in your ears. You blinked in confusion, the sky above you as something moved below. You were being carried.

"We have vacancies in district twelve." Said someone on the other side, you tried to look, but your whole body ached and you grumbled. The noise attracted the attention of the soldier carrying you on the stretcher, and he looked at you tenderly.

"Don't worry, kid." He spoke. "We found you in time. You are safe."

You felt your throat dry, and you wanted to ask for water, but you were too weak to speak.

"Papa." It was the only thing you could mumble before everything went dark again.

//-//

When you awoke again, you had a large white bandage around your waist, and the pain had subsided greatly. You were in one of the medical tents that you had seen once in the distance when you ran past the area where the soldiers were staying.

You looked around, frightened and confused, trying to understand what had happened. There was a man in a black suit walking around the stretchers, a notepad in his hands.

"Another casualty." He comments as he scribbles something on the sheet after looking at the girl lying a few beds ahead of his. You felt your stomach turn when you realized she wasn't actually asleep the second after. "It's already twenty-four."

The nurse next to him grumbled in agreement, and then she looked forward and noticed you awake, a gentle smile filling her expression as she turned away from the man to walk over to you.

You drank all the water she served you, and accepted the hug she gave you after telling you that your father and brother did not survive the attack. The man in black tried to reassure you that the orphanage in the district was the best in Sokovia, but you kept crying.

//-//

You stood still with your hands behind your back while the nurse measured your height.

"Look how well behaved you are." She comments with a smile, making you smile as well. She takes a few notes on the placard in front of you and then stoops down to your height. "Are you ready to join the other children?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, denying with your head. The nurse tilts her head to the side slightly.

"You don't have to be afraid." She says. "You're a big girl now, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." You reply.

"Then why are you scared?"

You shrug, looking down. The nurse sighs lightly, looking toward the door. You know that the children who have already been evaluated are outside the hospital, waiting for the bus from the orphanage.

"I miss my brother." You mumble softly next, causing the woman to glare at you. "He was better at playing than I was. And he always introduced me to the other children."

"You're going to have a lot of brothers now." It was the best thing the woman could think to say, and you nodded in understanding, ignoring the urge to cry. She handed you a lollipop on the way out and told you to behave. You said you would, but your fingers were crossed behind your back.

//-//

The orphanage was a dirty, dark place. The building was old and made strange noises if you stepped in certain places. And there were many children.

The war in Sokovia had left many marks on their country, and it was noticeable in places like this.

You were going to share the north dormitory with fifteen other children, and you had several rules to follow in your new home. The orphanage sisters repeated the guidelines all the way to the building as you walked down the bus corridor. You talked to no one along the way, your attention on the landscape visible through the window.

When you arrived, and were taken to your rooms to put on your uniforms and get ready for dinner and to be assigned the tasks you had started in the morning, you followed obediently, without really being present in the environment. Everything seemed a bit stuffy.

//-//

You stopped sweeping when the sound of voices caught your attention. And well, they caught the attention of all the other girls who were on the same shift as you, because they all looked away, and rushed to the windows to look out. You imitated the movement, and you could see outside a small circle of children forming in the backyard. It was a fight.

Your classmates ran outside, and you sighed, figuring that you weren't going to finish sweeping by yourself, so you'd better join them.

When you reached the small mess, you observed two boys pushing each other in the circle, exchanging insults, but not really hitting each other. The other orphans watched the scene curiously, waiting for the fight to escalate. You hoped this wouldn't happen, since the taller boy was accompanied by three others.

"You're a cheater, aren't you Maximoff?" Accused the blond boy with irritation. You blinked in surprise as you recognized the smaller boy. Your former neighbor, Pietro.

"And you're a bad loser, Sidorov." Retorted the other boy taking a step back to avoid the blond's hands.

"I'm not a loser, cheater." Sidorov thundered, lunging forward again and pushing Pietro to the ground.

You and the small crowd held your breath. The blond boy stepped forward again and hit Pietro in the nose.

Sidorov's friends laughed and Pietro grabbed the blond by the legs, knocking him to the ground. As they rolled in the dirt, the orphans began to shout "borot'sya" and you looked around. Your gaze caught Wanda Maximoff moving through the crowd and advancing toward her brother.

One of Sidorov's friends held her by the arms and she shouted at them to stop fighting. You bit your lip, feeling your heart race. You weren't friends with the twins, and you had no desire to get into a fight that wasn't yours. But they were the most familiar thing around at the moment, so your feet were moving.

You broke through the crowd and grabbed the garden hose, running toward the direction of the fight again. Sidorov was mounted on Pietro having managed to immobilize him, but before he could land the punch, you wrapped the hose around his neck and pulled him backward.

As he let out an exclamation of pain and surprise and fell backwards, trying to shake off the grip, you pulled Pietro off the ground.

"You could have killed me, girl!" gasped the boy on the ground with hatred in his eyes, their friends let go of Wanda to advance against you and Pietro, but someone shouted that the nuns were coming and you grabbed Pietro and Wanda's hand, pulling them to run away with you.

//-//

Breathing hard, you propped your hands on your knee.

"Did we lose them?" Pietro asked just as breathless as you. Wanda looked back, equally tired from the race.

"Yes." She replied as she looked around.

"Great." You grumbled standing up properly. You cleared your throat and shifted your weight between your feet, not knowing exactly what to say next. Pietro approached you, extending his hand.

"Thanks for helping me out back there." He says with a smile. You ignore his hand to raise your finger toward the bruise on his left eye, but you don't touch your face, leaving your finger in the air pointing toward the wound.

"You look like a badass now." You tease, causing the boy to laugh with flushed cheeks. "It's better than your dorky face at least."

"Hey." He retorts with false offense, still smiling. You look at Wanda next, and she is already looking at you curiously.

"You are Y/N." Wanda says. "You lived in the apartment downstairs."

Looking away, you mutter in agreement.

"We didn't know that other people survived the collapse." Pietro comments next, and you nod.

"Well, here we are." You say with irony, causing Wanda and Pietro to frown. Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I don't like to talk about it."

"It's okay, neither do I." Wanda commented and you gave her a short smile.

"We should get back." You say next, and the twins nod in agreement.

You walk ahead, kicking up a few rocks on the way, looking back a few times to see if they are still behind you.

They are.

//-//

Sokovia, ten years ago.

"Time to wake up little brats"

You grumbled in irritation as you heard the voice of the nursemaid, then the shrill noise of the bell. Gingerly rummaging in your covers, you got out of bed, equally as all your dorm mates.

"Today the governor will visit the orphanage and I expect you to be on your best behavior, or know that you will be punished if you embarrass Father Novikov." Warned Madame Ivanov, the housekeeper of the Sokovia Municipal Orphanage, or your home since the apartment complex where you lived was destroyed when a bomb fell on the structure during one of the civil war conflicts. "This will be my only warning to you, Vrediteli, I will take special care of those who do not behave."

Madama Ivanov looked directly at you, and you clenched your jaw, ignoring the urge to roll your eyes.

"Bath and breakfast." She ordered next. "And after chores, everyone properly dressed in the main courtyard."

Your colleagues moved first than you as soon as Madame left the room. You sighed, sitting up in bed. You hadn't slept very well the night before, dreaming of explosions again. But you didn't have time to think about it, and yawning, you got up again, heading toward the bathrooms.

//-//

You were covered from head to toe in mud. Madame Ivanov and Madame Pavlova looked at you wide-eyed, as did the rest of the room, and you swallowed hard. The room was completely silent, no one ventured to say anything. The perfectly aligned suit of the governor of Sokovia, now with a dark mud stain on his chest.

"Oh, look at this." The man spoke next, you remained static, staring at him wide-eyed. He chuckled, and you almost relaxed. Then a loud slap hit your face and you gasped in pain and surprise. "Do you have any idea how much that suit cost me, pest?" He asked between teeth, and you felt your stomach turn in anger. The man threatened to advance toward you again, and you didn't hesitate to punch him in the balls, drawing an angry exclamation from him and shocked sighs from all your colleagues.

"Don't ever touch me again, svin'ya" You retorted angrily before running away, intending to escape the punishment of the sisters who were sure to catch up with you eventually.

When you stopped running, you were many blocks from the orphanage, a spot below your ribs hurting badly. The mud dried against your skin and you grunted in disgust at the sensation.

Changing the direction of your steps, you snuck through the alleyways of the city, ignoring the looks of disapproval and curiosity people cast at the sight of a ten-year-old covered in mud in the outlying part of town.

You reached the small laundromat in the mall a few minutes later, and snuck into the northern outer entrance, trying not to be seen by the employees as you reached one of the tanks. Fortunately it was lunchtime, and the place was quite empty. You cleared your throat as you reached one of the windows, and the noise attracted the attention of the girl inside, distracted by the dirty fabrics in her hands.

"Damn it, you' scare the shit out of me!" Wanda exclaimed to you, and you laughed expectantly. She opened the window latch next, and you jumped in. "Why are you covered in mud? And why are you here?"

You shrugged, taking off your T-shirt and pants. Wanda hurried to fill a bucket of water as you walked over to one of the empty faucets, leaning over to wash your face.

Clean, you sighed.

"Sorry for showing up unannounced." You ask remembering Wanda's work rules. She would wake up earlier than you, and go to work in the laundry while you and Pietro would take any service you could get since steady jobs like Wanda's were very difficult. And since labor laws didn't apply to children, you and Pietro took Wanda's lunch whenever possible, and helped her wash clothes so she wouldn't be so tired. The rule was always to let her know because her boss couldn't find out about it.

"No problem." She retorts as she looks around for dry clothes for you. "But will you tell me what happened?"

You bite the inside of your cheeks, ducking your head.

"I was fighting." You grumbled and Wanda stopped the motion of reaching for a t-shirt in the upstairs closet, turning to you next with a worried look.

"Again, devochka?" She asked as she approached and used her hand to gently lift your chin up, searching your face for any sign of injury. Without the mud, the purple in your left eye was visible.

"Prostite, Wanda." You muttered in shame, but Wanda sighed shaking her head.

"Why were you fighting?"

You shrugged and Wanda bit her lips. "I tried to kick Nikolai but he shoved me in the mud, and punched me in the face. So I did as you taught me and ran. Only I ended up bumping into the governor."

Wanda's eyes widen at the story.

"So?"

You ducked your head again.

"He slapped me in the face." You say. "And I punched him in the balls."

Wanda blinked in surprise at the confession, and then laughed. You widened your eyes, surprised that she wasn't angry, and she shook her head with amusement, ruffling your hair.

"You've gone crazy." She commented. "The sisters are going to put you in charge of cleaning the bathrooms for the whole month."

You shrugged again, and Wanda walked away, going back to looking for a set of clothes for you.

"Where's Pietro?" She asked as she handed you a set of gray clothes that were probably laundry uniforms that got too old to wear.

"Gathering coal for Mr. Sidorov." You replied as you dressed. Wanda grumbled in understanding as she dipped your muddy clothes into the water.

"I'll bring your clothes to you when I'm done." She comments as she turns to you again, and you nod in agreement hurrying to climb in the window.

"Hey, Wanda." You call out before leaving, glancing at the girl as you lean on the window. "I'll bring you some candy. In thanks." You say with a smile, and don't wait for a reply, turning around.

//

Tag list> @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia //   @ichala​ ||  @madamevirgo

[fett-djarin]

Hand to Hand Practice

helo its another Paz Vizsla x f!reader!

MINORS DNI

Crossposted to AO3

Rating: 18+

Length: 2.2k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, sparring, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, PiV, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), slight spanking, somewhat of a size kink? Please let me know if I missed anything!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Thump.

Your back hit the floor. The breath was knocked from your lungs from the impact. That bastard--he threw me!

“Come on girl, that’s the best you’ve got?” Paz taunted you from a few feet away. You huffed, swiping a hand across your forehead to wipe away the sweat that dripped from your temples.

“You know I can’t throw you around, Paz,” you snapped back at him, glaring venom at the ceiling. His amused chuckle crackled through the vocoder. The dark T-visor of his helm appeared above you, looking down at your prone form. Paz held a hand out for you to take. His palm dwarfed yours, and he pulled you to your feet with seemingly no effort.

You groaned, feeling your spine pop as you stretched. Paz moved back to his spot. He bent his knees, crouching slightly and distributing his weight in a defensive stance. He beckoned you forward with a curl of his fingers. “Again.”

There wasn’t much room to spar in his ship, so Paz had shoved everything not bolted down to the sides and tossed a few heavy blankets on the floor in place of a mat to spare you from being thrown straight onto metal. Because you were thrown. Quite often. Paz let you get a few hits in before bodily lifting you and ending your assault. You were a good shot with a blaster, one of the best--you were hardly ever in close-quarters combat. You knew the basics, but hardly ever used them or practiced. One bounty got too close for comfort, and you sported a new scar on your arm because of it. After it healed, you asked Paz to practice with you, maybe teach you some new maneuvers.

And to teach you, the big Mandalorian challenged you to take him down. You couldn’t knock him off his feet, he easily weighed over 300 pounds with his armor on. Trying to get him to move was like barreling into a tree. The best you could hope for was to outmatch him in speed, and not let him pick you up.

You shook out your arms, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Paz had taken his beskar off--save for the helmet--so he was only in his padded armor and you wouldn’t break your knuckles throwing punches. He cocked his head, and you knew he had a smug smirk on his face, waiting for you to launch yourself at him again. You moved.

You dodged the swipe he took at you, instead landing a hit of your own on his side. Paz was unfazed. He laughed, making another grab at you, which you danced back to avoid. The two of you circled each other--you, waiting for an opening; him, countering every movement.  The next time you darted in for a swing, Paz grabbed your arm. He easily twisted you and had you pinned. You struggled against him knowing it would do you no good.

His hand settled at the base of your throat--not squeezing, just lightly resting there. You froze like a spooked tooka as a bright spark of pure arousal settled in your core. Oh, Maker…. He knew exactly what to do to have such an effect on you. Paz was so big--his hand was so big, dwarfing the delicate line of your neck. If he applied the slightest bit of pressure you would probably melt into the floor and then wither away from embarrassment. You wouldn’t be able to bear looking him in the face--visor? ever again. His thumb traced a light line over your collarbone. Heat flooded your face and you swallowed thickly.

“I win,” his rumbling voice murmured right by your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You steeled yourself, shaking off your feelings and stomping them out of your mind. “Again.” Then his arms tightened, drawing you back against his chest. Something thick and hard pressed against your lower back and you squirmed, pulling a groan from him.

Of course, sparring got him hard. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t work you up too.

“One more round,” you insisted. You ‘accidentally’ pushed your hips back against his erection as you squirmed out of his arms. Paz grunted, letting you go. You didn’t expect to win this round, even with his new distraction, but you didn’t want to. If you worked him up enough, maybe he’d snap. The thought of what he would do sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You readied your stance. Paz did not pull his punches, not that you expected him to anyway. This was a game to him. He did manage to surprise you, though. For as big as he was, he could be fast. You had just ducked out of his reach when you felt him grasp your hips, and then you found yourself on your stomach, fall cushioned by the blankets. His weight settled on the back of your thighs. You couldn’t even twist to try and throw him off balance--he had you pinned.

He slowly leaned down, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in. “Did you even try that time?” His fingers traced down your spine, then the warmth of his hand slid up under your shirt, teasing your skin. “Or did you just want this?” and he rolled his hips for emphasis, grinding himself against your ass and making you gasp.

When you didn’t answer, he chuckled. “Yeah. I thought so.”

His hands continued to skim up your sides, each touch building warmth in you. When you wriggled and whined, he paused. “D’you want this off, baby?” he asked with a light tug on your shirt.

“Please,” you breathed. Paz chuckled, then guided your shirt up and over your head. Your bindings followed shortly thereafter. He traced a finger down your spine, making you shudder. You tried to subtly press your thighs together to take the edge off, but from his seat on your legs, Paz felt your muscles tense. He tutted, rubbing his fingers over your clothed pussy, the barest hint of pressure making you all the more desperate.

His fingers hooked in the band of your pants and tugged lightly. His weight shifted off you and you lifted your hips to help him pull your pants and panties down, leaving you bare beneath him.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, palming your ass. “Pretty girl.” The gentle smack against your flesh made you gasp. You shifted your hips back against him, trying to entice him to move his touch to where you were wet and warm and dripping for him. Paz was a tease, but he was also not the most patient man. His fingers dipped down to your heat, rubbing light circles over your clit before pulling back to tease your entrance. Then he pulled away.

Your confused noise cut off as the warm glide of his tongue swiped through your folds from behind. A wanton moan left your mouth as your hips arched up, off the blankets piled on the floor, trying to grind back against his face. Paz’s big hands spread you apart, holding you open for him as he explored you with his tongue. Each lick, suck, and kiss was a warm wave of pleasure suffusing through you, building until you were squirming against his hold.

“Paz, Paz, please--” you choked out, teetering on the edge. He wouldn’t give you that last little push you needed to reach your high. You moaned, hips bucking against his hold, desperate for the final bit of stimulation your body craved. Paz held you steady, giving you pleasure as he saw fit.

“Cum on my mouth, pretty,” his voice, deep and gravelly and not filtered by the modulator, sent an extra spike of pleasure through you. His lips wrapped around your clit and he hummed, the little vibrations doing enough to coax you into orgasm. You weren’t bowled over by sensation as you sometimes were; instead, this orgasm was a slow, thick, rolling wave of heat spilling through you, spreading through your limbs and leaving you loose and boneless.

You just knew Paz had a self-satisfied smirk on his face seeing you blissed out and jelly-limbed on the floor of his ship. You hummed as his weight settled over the back of your thighs once more, the rough canvas of his pants dragging against your sensitive skin. He didn’t strip, instead opting to pull his cock from the confines of his clothing.

The thick length of Paz’s cock rested on the cleft of your ass. He groaned at the sight, your plush rear and the peek of your dripping pussy from between your thighs, his cock nestled between your cheeks, showing just how deep he would reach sheathed inside you. You tried wiggling your hips, enticing him to fuck you, but the steady weight of him on your thighs and his hands on your waist held you in place.

“This what you wanted? You didn’t wanna train--y’wanted to get fucked,” he punctuated his words with a thrust, grinding his cock against you.

“Yes, yes, fuck me--please, Paz, want you--” you babbled, hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. You rocked your hips against him. Paz’s breathing stuttered, and then he was spreading you open to watch as he sank his thick cock into your wet heat.

The press of the head of his cock had you gasping into the blankets, and then as he buried himself inch-by-inch, you couldn’t stop the little moans and whines that left you. You tried to relax your muscles, taking as much of him as you could, but your cunt spasmed around the intrusion. He grunted behind you, feeling your walls flutter around him as they stretched to accommodate his length. When his hips touched your ass, you shuddered, stuffed to your limit, the ache turning into a pleasant warmth licking at your core.

Paz rocked his hips slowly, only sliding an inch or so out before thrusting back in, and you clawed at the floor. You lifted your hips to the best of your ability, pushing yourself back against each thrust. He started slow--every time was like the first time, you were so tight around him, especially in this position. He didn’t want to hurt you--not in a way you didn’t ask for.

He squeezed your ass, massaging your hips and tugging you flush against him. He stopped moving, holding himself still while encouraging you to roll your hips against him. "That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my cock,” his voice was rough and dark, sending shivers through you. You whined, driving yourself back harder, desperate for more stimulation. You squeaked, trailing off into a moan as his hand cracked against the plump flesh of your ass. “You want more? Needy thing.”

He fucked you, and when Paz fucks, you’re gonna feel it for days. His hips pounded down into yours, each thrust sheathing his cock deep in your core and driving against that spot inside you that made you clench around him. Raw pleasure shot through you like unrefined electricity, burning bright along every nerve. Your toes curled in the blankets beneath you. The muffled sound of his clothed pelvis meeting your bare skin, mixed with the wet noise of your arousal, filled the ship. Each brutal snap of his thrusts drove you closer and closer to the edge, breathless moans torn from deep in your chest. The walls of your cunt fluttered around him, strangling his cock.

“Gonna cum for me, pretty baby?” When you didn’t answer, one of his hands wrapped around your jaw, tilting your head back and forcing your back into an arch. The angle made him spear even deeper into you and you nearly squealed. “I asked you a question.”

“F-fuck, yes, please, please, please--”

He shoved his hand between your hip and the floor, wrapping around your front so his big fingers could rub circles over your clit while he continued to fuck into you. He pressed demandingly at your clit and your legs trembled while you grasped desperately at anything within your reach to ground yourself, unaware of how loud your moans had grown. The dam of your orgasm finally broke, and you soaked his cock and the blanket beneath you as you came. Devastating waves of pleasure rocked through you and you clenched helplessly around his cock as he fucked you through it, his fingers continuing to tease your clit and making you jerk in his hold.

The tight, hot clamp of your cunt around his length had Paz following shortly behind you. Half a dozen shallow but firm thrusts, and he came with a rumbling groan as he sheathed himself inside you.

You trembled beneath him, flushed and sweaty and so, so deliciously boneless from the intensity of your orgasm. Paz gently pulled out, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back. You whimpered at the loss of his warmth, the comforting weight of him on your body.

“Easy,” he murmured. “‘M right here.” He would have laid down beside you, except the floor wasn’t the most comfortable, even with the blankets he had thrown on it--so instead he maneuvered you into his arms and lifted you with ease before placing you in his bunk. He quickly stripped off his heavier clothes before crawling in next to you and wrapping you in his arms. You curled into his chest, legs resting on either side of his.

Tentatively, you rocked your hips, the slickness of your combined releases dripping from you easing your motion. Paz squeezed your thigh in question and in warning. You grinned devilishly up at him.

“One more round?”

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[chokemeanakin]

I dont know if you are taking requests but if you are, could you please write something where reader has trouble masturbating, every time she tries she just CANT, so anakin (theyre just friends but they always had lots of sexual tension) helps her out and does it for her so she cums for the first time. THANK YOU!!!

A Dream Come True - Anakin Skywalker x fem Reader (smut)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 5.4k

A low warmth is rising in your belly, pulled from the depths by your wandering fingers. They’re working against your clit, rubbing it side to side, faster and hard, trying so desperately to remain in that warm haze of pleasure you’ve spent so long building up. It feels good, but you need more. 

The many late nights spent with your girlfriends cross your mind, and how you would sit by idly during each one as they discussed their own personal affairs in the bedroom. You were the least experienced, but listened in awe as they told you the latest on what their partners have done to surprise them in bed. How they made them scream and shake, their eyes roll back into their head, and cum all over until they couldn’t take anymore.

You were too embarrassed to admit you’d never felt that way before. You thought you were broken.

Which is why you’re here, fingers glued to your hard nub, rubbing furiously to try and get yourself to feel something. You do feel something, but it’s not earth-shattering, leg-shaking, eye-rolling like your friends had described. Frustration fuels your movements as you attack your clit, holding your breath, forcing the warmth to build and build and build--

Nothing.

Your arm aches with the strain as you halt your movements, chest heaving when you allow yourself to breathe. Self-pity outweighs your disappointment as the subtle warmth dissipates, any pleasure that you had given yourself slipping away. 

Broken, a small voice whispers inside your head. There’s something wrong with you.

What other reasoning could there be to explain why you can’t feel good? 

Maybe, you argue, there needs to be something inside. That was always a big topic of discussion with your friends, how they “loved being filled.” Gathering your wits, you move your finger down, exploring your folds until you find your opening. Squeezing your eyes shut, you push a finger in, wincing at the sudden intrusion. 

It stings more than anything, but you’re desperate so you decide to give it a chance. You’ve tried this before, and it’s never felt like anything more than a finger inside of you-- which is exactly what it is. And now, this situation proves to be the same. You feel around, hoping to find that spot everyone raves about, but your fingers are too short and the angle is weird. You push your finger in and out like how you think you’re supposed to, and it feels like nothing.

Maybe you need two?

You let another finger join the one that’s already inside, struggling to get it in. 

Ow, you wince as your body rejects the intrusion. Your heartbeat picks up, a sudden anxiety joining the whirlwind of exasperation and discontent that has come from this situation. Is it supposed to hurt this much? The remnants of the need to satisfy yourself are still present, so you try again.

Making it back to your apartment had been a relief this evening, as all day you had been battling a relentless urge down below. You’re not too proud to admit that your… situation… had been a direct result of spending the day with Anakin, a good friend of yours who needed help finding a data entry in the corner of the Temple library. The entry supposedly had something to do with a cloaking mechanism for battleships, and when you had asked why he needed it when the Republic already had cloaking mechanisms, he mentioned that he was trying to translate the same technique to his own personal starship. No battlecraft as small as his has that ability, and with a ship as fast as his, it would give him a huge advantage on the battlefield. 

You could listen to him talk about it all day.

You virtually had, as the data entry was just one small piece of paper-- a piece of scrap blueprint scrawled on a fragile, worried edge of some larger text, worn with time. You spent hours searching all over for it. Once you had finally dug it out of a dusty box in the deepest corner of the library, Anakin had lifted you into the air effortlessly, swinging you around as he hugged you and laughed.

You had walked home with a damp spot in your underwear, an undeniable throb that needed to be relieved. 

He had no idea. No idea that his hands shot sparks up your spine as they closed around your waist. That his laugh turned your blood to lava, and his beautiful, smiling face made your heart skip a beat. He had no idea that he is the cause of your desperation, the reason you are torturing yourself by dangling an unknown pleasure before your face, knowing you can’t have it. 

You manage to sink your second finger in a little, but the sting is too much, and you have to pull them both out.

Broken.

The door to your apartment suddenly swings open, and you throw your sheets over your bare legs in a panic. Your eyes find the clock next to your bed-- Shit. You’d lost track of the time. 

The sound of those boots are unmistakable, and you find that praying you’re wrong is pointless when he calls out your name. 

“Y/n--?” Anakin rounds the corner to peer into your room, features lighting up when he finally finds you. Curious eyes roam over your figure, wondering why you’re in bed when it was barely evening. “Are you feeling okay?”

Your cheeks flame with heat, and you can’t find the words to explain yourself out of this situation. Mentally, you’re beating yourself up for losing track of time, especially since you knew Anakin was coming over tonight. While searching for the data log, you mentioned you had always wanted to try his favorite childhood drink-- ruby bliels-- and he promised he’d treat you tonight after you found the blueprint. It was his thank you gift to you, but now you needed to find a way to get him out of your apartment before he realized what was going on.

Your mouth hangs open like a gaping fish, and you know it’s too late. Anakin’s brain is as fast as his superhuman reflexes, and you can see the gears click into place as his eyes flit from your red cheeks, to the messy covers strewn over your legs, to the crumpled panties lying discarded on the floor. Your hand is even still frozen between your legs, your activities becoming clear as he senses the remnants of pleasure and disappointment still hanging around the room. 

“Oh…” is all he says, looking lost for a moment. You expect him to apologize and turn away, run out of the apartment and then never speak to you again. You wouldn’t blame him. Finding a friend in this position can never be a comfortable experience.

Instead a slow smirk crawls onto his face, and he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You need some help with that?”

You should have known. The smug little bastard-- of course he’d find this amusing. Your face grows impossibly redder, and you wish a black hole would just open beneath you already and swallow you up. Anakin finds your humiliation endearing, and laughs good-naturedly. 

“Alright, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to it,” he slinks out of the doorway, crooking his finger in the air to close the door after him. “I’ll be in the kitchen setting up for the bliels when you’re done--”

“Wait!”

You’re just as shocked as he is at the words that leave your mouth. He freezes in place, the door still open a crack. There’s too many thoughts running through your head right now, but the one that stands out the most has you pulling your hand away from your center, sitting up in bed so you can address him clearly. 

You never thought you’d be able to speak these words to him. For so long, you had wanted him in every way possible. But he’s a Jedi, unable to form attachments, and more than that-- a friend. A very good friend. And breaching the topic that you know you both feel for each other had the potential to ruin it all. 

But the minute he had opened that door, still dressed in that black leather armor, hair perfectly curled and messy, so tall and strong and devilishly handsome leaning against your doorframe-- he was beautiful, and you’d be a fool not to take advantage of his offering. Even if it might have been a joke. 

You had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t. 

“I… I do need help.”

There. You said it. And you’re pretty certain the only reason you could force the words past your lips is because his back is still facing you. But then he opens the door again, turns to meet your eyes, and cocks his head.

“Really?”

You’re not sure how to feel about the concern on his face. You guess it’s better than him being disgusted, or awkward, or uncomfortable. And it’s not an outright rejection. That realization gives you the push you need to explain yourself.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Now he looks concerned. Walking a few steps into the room, he stops by the edge of your bed and folds his arms across his chest. He’s studying every inch of you, reaching into the force to try and gauge the nature of your words. “What do you mean?”

He’s standing so close now, you can see the blue of his eyes and the wrinkle between his furrowed brows. It does nothing to calm your sizzling nerves. However, you’re concrete on your desires now. While you would have liked to confess your feelings for him in a more… romantic way, the intensity of your need for him in this very moment overshadows rational thought. Besides, it’s not like this is a declaration of love. That could always come later. For right now, you need his help, and you’re certain that you can trust him not to make fun of you or shame you for trying in if he declines.

“I can’t…” you take a deep breath, staring at your hands in your lap. “I can’t make myself feel good.”

Your voice is so quiet, embarrassed and ashamed, but he catches the yearning under it all. His face smooths, comforted by the fact that you’re not injured or dying in some way. Deep down, something sparks alive in his veins. 

That’s the issue? Well… it’s definitely something he can help you with.

“Hmm.” His face is thoughtful as he scans your position. His hand gestures vaguely down your body. “Do you want to show me what you’re doing?”

Your blood freezes at his request. For some reason, it didn’t cross your mind how asking for his help would require him to see you… naked. 

“If you’re too embarrassed, we can just--”

You cut off his words by throwing the blanket off. There, like ripping off a bandaid. His eyes drink in the exposed skin of your legs, and although they’re closed and he can’t be seeing much more than he’s already seen before, they darken. A small twitch of his fingers, and the door clicks shut behind him. 

He takes a seat on the side of the bed, next to your legs, and rests his metal hand on your knee. Your heart beats like a hummingbird's wings at the sudden proximity, and the nerves pile up again at the thought of what’s going to happen.

“Wait-- um… actually, can you come here?” 

You reach out to take his metal hand from your knee, and pull him up the bed so that he’s hovering over you. He’s still sitting, the upper half of his body twisted toward you, caging you in with a hand on either side of you. He’s smiling softly, and his eyes twinkle with something fond.

He doesn’t need to ask to know that you’re nervous. The rigidity in your muscles, the flightyness of your eyes, the hammer of your heart-- he can feel it all, and he wants nothing more than to quell your fears. So he lifts an arm to cup your face in his large hand, smoothing a thumb over your cheekbone in a silent request for you to look at him.

Once you muster up the courage to meet his eyes, his smile grows, and he says something that steals your breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh, how long you’ve wanted him to say those words to you. Countless nights, you’d run them through your head, imagining all the scenarios in which it could happen. Certainly, this was not one of them, but you definitely aren’t going to complain.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you give him a nod, and lean forward a fraction in invitation. Your veins sing with anticipation, warmth spreading from your cheeks to every small nook and cranny of your body as he angles your face up toward his. Your eyes flutter close, and he leans down, and--

Bliss.

His lips are warm against yours, soft, applying the gentlest of pressures. You always thought he’d be a good kisser-- he was experienced, and he’d hinted at some of his more scandalous escapades a couple times in passing conversation. You’d asked him before, how he could do that when Jedi aren’t allowed to form attachments, which resulted in him going into a full lecture on how non-attachment didn’t translate to abstinence being “The Jedi Way”, even if it was supported within the Order. Really, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything, until he fell on the defensive position that he was almost certain Obi-Wan had done stuff as well.

Which-- great. Now you realized you were less experienced than even two Jedi. 

These thoughts are snuffed out like candles, one by one, as Anakin kisses you. In fact, your whole mind goes blank, a wave washing over all of your worries away and dragging them out to sea. You’re drifting on that wave, drowning in the heady feel of him, the warm taste of him. His slow inhale reminds you to breathe as he moves his lips against yours languidly. It’s heaven, the way he’s yours for just this moment. He might not think anything of this kiss, but to you, it’s like your deepest fantasies are coming true. With each moment that passes where he tilts his head and closes his lips over yours, you can pretend that he is yours, completely and unconditionally.

Eventually he pulls back, eyes fluttering open, and you realize you’re still lost at sea.  

“Good?” his voice is low and raspy as his gaze bores into yours. You wonder if he knows how intense his eyes can be sometimes. 

“Yes.”

He presses another quick kiss to your lips, your heart spasming at the act, before he trails kisses down your jaw, tasting the skin of your neck. Your breath picks up again, hands finding his curls as you gasp at the feeling. His teeth skim over the junction of your neck and shoulder, and he presses a kiss to your throbbing pulse. He means for the kisses to be distracting, soothing, so that you’ll be more comfortable with him, and he thinks it’s working until a faint moan leaves your mouth.

So it’s really working.

Anakin’s eyes flick up to yours, and you can feel the smirk against your skin. Embarrassment crashes down on you again but Anakin repeats the motion, nipping at your skin and then smoothing his tongue over the mark, sucking gently to try to elicit another reaction. You gift him one against your will, and suddenly he’s got lava pouring into his veins.

You’re so lost in the feeling of his mouth on you that you don’t even realize his warm hand has travelled from your face, down the middle of your body, gripping onto the pliant flesh of your thigh and pulling you toward him. You let him, rolling your body into him to try and relieve that reappearing ache in your center. 

It’s the same feeling that had built up all day, and it’s returned with a vengeance. You can feel the wetness seep out, slicking your thighs up. Your clit throbs and your pussy clenches around nothing, begging for something to satisfy the ache. You rub your thighs together to help, but Anakin slides a hand to the inside of your thigh and coaxes your legs apart. Any embarrassment you felt before has been beat out by a yearning for his touch, the need to have his fingers on you, inside you--

“Show me how you’ve been doing it,” Anakin mumbles into your neck.

You open your eyes, pulled up from the haze of pleasure he’d submerged you in. Your hand only shakes slightly as you release his hair and bring it back to your skin. He pulls back a few inches to watch, the heat of his body so close to yours causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

His eyes hone in on your hand, following its descent to your warm center. You still can’t wrap your head around the fact that someone is seeing you like this, but now your veins sing with a satisfied realization that he’s the one seeing you like this. He’s the only one who ever has. And he seems to like what he’s seeing.

You don’t miss the way he inhales, the way his teeth capture a sliver of his bottom lip as your fingers finally reach your heat. You begin to do what you’ve always done-- rub your fingers back and forth over your nub, working that pleasure from it.

It feels good, different than what it felt like when you were alone. You’re sure his eyes on you, the proximity, his mere presence has something to do with that. You can still taste him on your lips and you close your eyes, licking them to relive the kiss. You focus on the warmth of his body, the dip of the bed where his arm is planted beside you, the weight of his other hand still holding your thigh open, the scent of his black leather and spice of his shampoo. It definitely feels better when he’s here, the knowledge of him watching adding to your excitement.

But still, you can only build yourself up to a certain point. The pleasure plateaus, and soon you begin to feel awkward at the fact that nothing is happening. It’s not enough to make you moan, or move, or show any reaction really. Your hand stills, and you look at him uncertainly.

Anakin blinks and brings his eyes back up. “Have you tried fingering yourself?”

You almost choke. You’re not sure why his blunt nature surprises you anymore. 

He’s looking at you curiously, completely serious, waiting for an answer. So you clear your throat and slide your finger down to your entrance, pushing in.

It goes in easier than before, and there’s no sting. But you don’t even have to move to know you’re literally going to get nothing out of it, and trying is useless.

“This is what I’m talking about,” you tell him. “It doesn’t feel like anything. And when I try two, it hurts. I think I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” he frowns, smoothing your hair away from your forehead and replacing it with a kiss. Your heart melts at the action that you’re sure is meant to be comforting, but only deepens your adoration of him. He sits up and you immediately miss him, although you understand he needs a better angle as he slides his hand from your thigh to the top of your pelvis. He hesitates, questioning. “Can I?”

You pull your finger out and push yourself up onto your forearms, nodding for him to go ahead. 

His touch is light as a feather as his fingertips make contact with your swollen nub. Your breath hitches in your chest, thighs immediately opening wider on their own accord to get him to increase the pressure. He watches your face as he fulfills your silent request, massaging your clit in slow, gentle circles. 

Fireworks are exploding behind your eyes, and you melt into a puddle on the bed. He’s barely even touching you, and somehow it already feels so much better than anything you’ve done to yourself. Quiet whimpers fall from your lips and the sounds make him need a steadying breath, reminding himself to go slow. Obviously, no one has ever touched you before, and he doesn’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

The sight of your head tilted back, teeth biting at your lips to quiet your sounds, fingers clutching at the bedsheets-- a very sudden, very real desire to absolutely ruin you slams into him. 

But no. That can come later.

He brings his metal hand up to your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip and pulling it from your teeth. “You don’t have to be quiet with me,” he tells you, the ministrations on your clit with his other hand never ceasing. Instead, he picks up the pace, increasing the pressure, drinking in the sight of your hips moving against his fingers.

You’re absolutely drenched, dripping down your thighs and puddling onto the bedsheets. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before, or felt this good before, and the warmth you’ve always felt is transforming into a ball of heat in your stomach. You hone into the feeling, the heat pulsing with each pass of his fingers, each wet slide of him against you--

“You have to breathe, Y/n,” Anakin chuckles, slowing his touch. You gasp in a deep breath, whining at the loss of friction, but he appeases you by slipping his fingers from your clit to your entrance. He doesn’t push in-- instead he circles his finger around it, collecting your slick, reading your every response. 

“Please, can you…” you buck your hips up, but he doesn’t allow his finger to slide in until you finish your sentence. “Can you put it in?”

He can’t keep the tiny, darkly satisfied smile off his face. He’s always had fantasies of you like this, squirming beneath him and begging for his touch. He basks in the fulfilled wish of his, drinking in every second so he can remember it for later. Meanwhile, his finger massages your hole, dipping in with just the tip before pulling back out. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, once again surprised at your own reaction. Your head is far past the point of clouding with lust, and now you’re dizzy with pleasure and the need to just have him inside of you already. “Anakin, please.”

“Patience,” he answers teasingly, although he does mean it. You can’t rush these things. And… he does have to admit that he loves seeing you so desperate and messy for him. Your neediness has him strain against his own pants, but he pushes that aside. For now, another dip of his finger into your throbbing pussy has you arch off the bed, urging him deeper, and it’s heaven to witness.

He didn’t want to go all in just yet, but you’re gushing around his finger and taking it so well. So he lets you have it, sinking his finger all the way into you. You feel him go deeper and deeper, the never-ending length of his finger a stark contrast to your shorter ones. He’s reaching places you were never able to, and even the slide of him inside you elicits a deep, warm pleasure that spreads to the tips of your fingers.

He keeps his finger all the way inside for a moment, still as he feels your walls clench around him. Once he’s sure you’re all good, he begins pressing into you with shallow thrusts, thumb returning to your clit and rubbing in time with each push of his finger.

Curses spill from your lips, and Anakin can’t help himself. He leans down over you and captures them in his mouth, swallowing your cries of pleasure. The kiss is wet, dirty, and the muffled sounds of your moans combat the indecent slick and slide below. Soon, another finger is nudging at your opening, and you press yourself deeper into his lips in anticipation of that painful sting.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, his finger slides in a couple inches and he keeps both of them there, letting you adjust as his thumb rolls over your clit. You had never been able to use two fingers before, and your head goes fuzzy as he pushes them deeper. Your walls stretch around him pleasantly, accepting the welcome intrusion as he reaches deep inside you.

How is it fair that he can make you feel so much better than you can make yourself? It doesn’t seem right in the whole grand scheme of things, but you decide not to question it as his fingers suddenly curl inside you, searching. It feels odd, and he pulls back from your lips to concentrate for a second until-- there. Found it.

You almost knock your head into his as you shoot up, a startled cry leaving your lips as your vision whites with pleasure. Your fingers claw at his back, meeting the leather that still sits on his shoulders, and scrabbling over the smooth material for purchase. Anakin laughs at your reaction, easing you into a more comfortable position as he holds you against him with his metal arm behind your back.

You can’t find it in you to care that he’s laughing, not as long as he keeps rolling the pads of his fingers into you like this. His wrist curls, applying a harder pressure as he rubs against that spot, and your head falls back, hips pushing forward, the lewdest sounds you’ve ever heard leaving your mouth. 

“You like that,” he notes, proud smile ghosting over your lips. He kisses the corner of your mouth quick and sweet, then asks, “Is it better when I go slow or fast?”

“Both,” you gasp. “Either. All of it. Oh my--”

“Soft or hard?”

“Anakin--”

Your brain is unable to focus on much else other than the feel of his fingers coaxing that blissful heat from your center. He plays around with paces and pressures, but everything feels good, it feels great, it feels amazing, it feels euphoric. Before long, your legs are shaking and a weird feeling comes over you, and you’re crying out,

“What’s happening?”

Anakin pauses, his entire body stilling as he meets your eyes. You’re completely serious, that much he can tell by the vulnerability in your eyes. He frowns, unbelieving at this revelation.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

You whine and shift your hips into his hand, trying to get him to keep making you feel good. If this wasn’t your first time being with someone else, Anakin would have held your hip still and forced you to talk to him no matter how much you begged and pleaded. But, it was your first time with someone else, so he was deciding to be nice. He soothes your craving, resuming his movements but at a much slower pace. A pleased sigh from you fills the silence of him waiting expectantly for your answer.

“Um..” you swallow, hips meeting his hand with every thrust. “I don’t think so. No. Nothing’s ever felt… like… this…”

It’s like a sneeze, except much, much better. The way his fingers prod into you, slick with your arousal, the tips brushing and massaging against that spot that have you careening into his body. You would have toppled over on top of him if he wasn’t so strong and rooted to the bed. He holds your shivering body against his chest with his metal arm, lips marking their way around your chin and jaw as your head falls back in ecstasy. 

He’s immensely turned on, that much is obvious from the painful straining in his pants. But it’s easy to ignore, knowing now that you’ve never fallen off that brink of pleasure before. He’s curious about it, oddly saddened by the fact, and wants nothing more than to show you the absolute highs he could help you reach. So he focuses back in on rubbing your clit with his thumb, fucking you deeply on his fingers. He allows you to clutch at his back and bury your hands in his hair, moaning in abandon.

Anakin shares you pleasure as the ball in your stomach unleashes, a blissful warmth crashing over you and invading your every cell. For a moment, your body isn’t yours-- it convulses and clenches around Anakin’s fingers, your cries bounce off the walls, your eyes squeeze closed. You hope the hands twisted into his hair don’t hurt him because you physically can’t let go as you ride that pleasure-filled haze, the feeling in your limbs abandoning you to be replaced with something much stronger. 

For a while, the only sounds in the room are your gasps of air and the blood rushing through your ears. Anakin waits until your muscles relax, and then he slides his fingers out of you, smoothing his hand around your waist to join his other behind your back. He lays you down into the pillows again, burying his face in your neck as you struggle to get your legs to stop shaking.

“Y/n,” he mouths a line up your neck. “You there?”

“Mhm,” you gulp, the shock of that intense, pleasurable feeling just beginning to fade.

He pressed his deep chuckle into the spot right under your ear. “Good. I thought I lost you for a moment.”

If you were in your right state of mind, you would have laughed at his teasing. Now, all you can do is cup his face lazily in your boneless hands, pulling his face up so that you can look at him. His cheeks are flushed the slightest pink, eyes dark and sparkling, lips so red and full and inviting…

You kiss him, and he’s yours for a moment longer. 

If only it could always be like this. If only this could be a daily experience, and afterwards you could take care of him, and you could feel that wonderful euphoria with him at the same time. If only he wouldn’t have to pull away soon, untangle himself from your still-shaking limbs, brush off what just happened, and be on his way. If only he could be yours forever.

All of this, you try to tell him through the kiss. Your lips are hot, sliding over with a wanton need. He feels your yearning, and he can tell it’s a different kind than earlier. You move to deepen the kiss, but he pulls away.

“I know what you’re thinking,” his low voice murmurs, and now he doesn’t look so playful. In fact, he looks very serious, and the rumble of his words causes your stomach to drop. “You should know, Y/n, I want you too.”

The whole room could be on fire and burning and falling to ash around you, but you wouldn’t notice. Everything pales in comparison to the flames that erupt in your heart at the sound of his words. 

“You do?”

He purses his lips, running his eyes up and down your face. You’re nervous, and hopeful, and so, so scared. And also… still shivering. Most likely due to the cold, at this point. And he’s sure the drunken affects of your orgasm are still holding sway over your mind.

“This is a conversation I think would be much better held over some ruby bliels,” he decides, and begins to unwind himself from you. You let him, that hopeful spark still searing through your veins. Before getting off the bed, he presses a kiss into your hand and then smooths over it with his thumb.

You want to say something cute or witty, but the only thing your dumb brain can come up with is, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiles fondly, moving toward the door. “I’ll meet you out there. Feel free to remain pantsless.”

This has you rolling your eyes, laughing lightly as you fall back against the pillows. Don’t tempt me.

The prospect of a future with Anakin is at the forefront of your brain, blood pumping thick as molasses as you struggle to convince yourself this is reality. He shuts the door behind him as you leave, and you roll onto your stomach to scream into the pillow. 

This was a dream come true.

[peterrparrkerr]

Gaslighting - read on ao3

Tagging: @snowstark @someonepostedart @thegreenmetblue @sinditia @just-things-things @andacheesyoneliner @lokitonypeter @bluestarker @lilcoffeecup @useless-fanfictions-for-mcu @tnpt

Peter isn't spiderman in this fic, but Tony is Ironman.

*-*

"Tony?" Peter calls, walking down the stairs and into the lab.

"Yes, baby?" Tony answers, lifting his head up from his project to smile at the boy.

"Dinner's ready," he said softly. "I tried to call you earlier but you must've been busy."

Tony steps away from the work bench and pulls Peter towards the stairs again when he saw the curious glint in the boy's eyes.

"I was, I'm sorry, baby. What are we having?"

Peter's Bambi brown eyes flicker up to Tony's, the question momentarily side tracking him from voicing his questions on what Tony was working on.

Peter wouldn't approve, Tony knew. Best to keep him out of it for as long as possible.

"Uh, chicken alfredo, with broccoli and garlic bread," Peter said, leaning into Tony as they both took the stairs up to the main floor.

"Sounds wonderful," Tony smirked, pressing a kiss to Peter's temple before sitting him, then himself at the already set table.

*-*

"What are you working on?" Peter asked, padding over on bare feet. A yawn pulls his mouth open as he rubs at his half lidded eyes.

"Nothing important, baby," Tony hums, closing the lid on the small sample.

"If it wasn't important you'd be in bed with me," Peter pouted. Tony chuckles and steps over to him, making sure -again- that Peter won't get too close.

"You're right," Tony nodded, wrapping his arms around the younger man and kissing his pouty lips. "Lets go to bed, hmm?"

Peter nods sleepily and allows Tony to walk him back up the stairs.

He waits until Peter's fast asleep before returning to the lab. Hes so close to finishing, he can get it done tonight if he focuses.

*-*

"Tony, please, harder," Peter cries, back arching, exposing his neck. Tony snaps his hips in harder, giving the boy just what he's wanted.

Ever since the test, Tony's gotten more energy. He's gotten stronger. Its made their sex all the better.

His next round of shots is in a day. He can feel his whole body changing on a molecular level.

He's more connected with the endo-sym than he ever thought possible.

Peter cums on a wail, and Tony's not far behind, burying himself to the hilt as he fills Peter up.

The two lay beside each other, panting and sweaty.

"What happened to your eyes?" Peter asked softly, turning his head to look at Tony.

"What do you mean, baby?"

"They, flashed," Peter tried, stilted with an effort to find the right word. "I swear for a second they turned blue."

Tony lets out a huff of laughter, turning his head to look back at the boy.

"Must've been a trick of the light," he mused, pulling Peter close, even as the younger scowled in confusion.

"Are you sure?" He asked, lithe form pressed against Tony's more athletic build. If Tony wanted to, he was sure he'd be able to snap the boy in half with his bare hands.

Instead, he nuzzled against Peter's jaw, kissing his skin.

"I've never seen the light do that before."

"Theres nothing wrong with my eyes, baby."

*-*

"What is that?" Peter asked, eyes wide. Tony glances up, inwardly cursing. He didnt realize the boy had made his way down into the lab.

"Its something new," Tony said, deciding it best not to avoid it any longer. The boy was already getting too curious. If Tony didn't give him something, Peter would either leave, or find out for himself.

Tony reaches for Peter and the boy walks into his hold, letting Tony pull him in close and wrap his arms around him.

"Its called endo-sym," Tony hummed. "Its an armor."

"For the ironman?" Peter asked, brown eyes shining with the shifting reflective silver.

Its in a small chamber, vacuum sealed shut so it doesn't get out. Tony's got a problem linking with it still, and doesn't want so many months of hard work going down the drain if the thing decides to leave.

"For something better," Tony said softly. Peter frowned and glanced up at him, pouting slightly.

"What is it?" He asked. "What does it do?"

The endo-sym jumps at the rim of the chamber before falling back down like the waves of a storm. Angry and restless.

"It works like the nanotech from my last suit," Tony lied. "This is just- a smoother version."

"It looks alive," Peter said softly, leaning closer to see through the clear lid. The endo-sym jumped up, sensing a human close by, and Peter jumped back, right into Tony's chest.

"Its not," Tony lied. Peter doesn't look like he believes him, but Tony's not worried about it. He just needs the boy ignorant for a little while longer.

*-*

Tony's expecting the boy to freak out. Expecting it and already ready to explain. The endo-sym is nearly finished. The last injection of Extremis taken the night before, and Tony's eyes are bright blue.

Theres no hiding them from the boy. He wakes up first and makes his way down to the kitchen, making coffee and heating up some leftovers for breakfast.

Peter pads into the room a short time after Tony's second cup of coffee, wearing his tshirt and nothing else, curls a mess on top of his head.

"Good morning," Tony hummed. Peter's too sleepy to pick up on the change as he accepts Tony's coffee.

He barely looks at Tony as he brings the half mug of coffee to his lips and takes a sip.

Tony leans against the counter, waiting for the inevitable. It happens when Peter lowers his mug and finally looks up at him.

He gasped, eyes widening and promptly dropped the mug of coffee.

Neither of them were fast enough to catch it and it shatters on the tile floor, spilling the still hot coffee over his bare feet.

"Tony!" He exclaims. Tony steps towards the boy, glass cracking under his shoes, and he quickly lifts Peter off his feet by his underarms.

"Stay here," Tony orders after setting the boy onto the counter.

"Tony, your eyes are blue!" Peter exclaimed, as Tony crouched down to pick up the glass from the floor.

"They're contacts," Tony hummed, dropping a handful into the trash can before picking up the smaller pieces.

"Those aren't contacts," Peter scoffed. "How did this happen- what caused it-"

"Stay," Tony ordered, glaring up at the boy when Peter moved to jump down again.

The blue eyes really must be shocking, because Peter stills, eyes still wide and breath hitching.

"Tony, please," he says softly, tears beginning to well in those pretty brown eyes. "You have to tell me."

Tony doesn't say anything, just dumps another palmful of glass into the trash before standing and grabbing the paper towel.

"Please," Peter continued, voice wavering. "You've been lying to me for months. You- you're hiding things from me and- and I can't-"

A wet sob cuts Peter off, and Tony looks up from soaking up the coffee spill to see the boy with his hands over his eyes, scrubbing away the flow of tears as he tries to calm himself down.

Tony sighs and stands up, stepping between Peter's knees and grabbing his chin.

He tilts it up, forcing Peter to uncover his face, which is growing splotchy with his tears. His breath hitches on his inhales, and Tony leans in to kiss him softly on pouty lips.

"Do you trust me, baby?" Tony asked, making sure Peter looks him in the eyes.

The boy sniffles and nods, lower lip trembling and body sagging towards the older.

"Then trust that me keeping things from you does not lessen my love for you," Tony said.

"But-"

"No buts," Tony interrupted, wiping the tears from the boy's cheeks. "You don't need to know everything I do, sweetheart. You'll know when I want you to know."

And with that, he crouches down again and continues to soak up the last of the coffee spill.

Above him, Peter continues to cry, face hidden in his arms to muffle the tears and sniffles. He doesn't move though, which is all Tony cares about.

[alpaca-clouds]

Fluffcember Day 03: Bell Chimes

Fandom: Arcane - League of Legends

Characters: Ekko, Powder

Genre: Friendship Fluff

Length: 1069 words

[Ao3 Link]

Powder was not crying. She really wasn't. If Mylo said anything else, he was lying. Stupid Mylo. She really did not like him. He had made fun of her for losing the fight. But it had not been a fair fight, had it? The kid from the Melting gang had been at least taller than her by one head.

Still, her face hurt. She knew she had gotten herself a shiner. And her nose was still bloody, too.

It was not fair. Nothing was. Why had she to be so much weaker than Vi? Why couldn't she properly fight? Why wouldn't Vi even try to teach her to fight with her fist.

“Stupid Vi,” she muttered against her plush bunny. “Stupid Mylo.”

But she was not crying. She really wasn't. She wasn't pouting either. She was just lying here, in her bed because she felt like it. Not because she was pouting. Not at all. She just did not want to see any of them. Not Mylo, not Claggor, not Vi, not even Vander.

That's why she grunted: “Leave me alone!” when someone knocked on the door.

No matter her protest though: The door was opened and careful steps came down the stairs. Child steps, she was sure of it. Angrily she pushed herself up to turn. “Leave me alone!” she screamed and looked into the face of a surprised Ekko.

“Oh,” she muttered and evaded his gaze. “I didn't know it was you.” Still, she lay down again, turning her back to him.

Ekko was nicer than Mylo or Claggor. At least he did not make fun of her. At times he would also bring her small gears and things they did not need from the shop so she could try and build a working weapon out of them. He also never said anything about the fact that those “weapons” rarely worked.

Now he sat on the floor. She could hear it. There were noises as he was getting stuff out of his bag. “I thought you'd wanna help me,” he said carefully.

Powder did not answer. She really did not know what to say. She sniffled, only to smell her own blood.

For a while Ekko was quiet, before he said: “Does it hurt much?”

“No,” she quickly replied, even though it was a lie. Especially her nose hurt like hell and the pack of ice Vander had given her had long melted. But she wasn't going to tell anyone. She also was not going to go up for help. That would be stupid. Vi wouldn't do that, so neither would Powder.

“Then do you wanna help me?” Ekko prompted again.

Of course Powder understood. She wasn't stupid, was she? He had probably heard what had happened and had come here to cheer her up. Not that she needed cheering up. She was not crying after all!

With a grunt she turned around, though she did not sit up again. He had put something on the ground in front of her bed. A surprisingly tall box. At least a foot tall. Before she could help herself, she sniffled. “What is it?”

He opened it and to her surprise a mechanical mechanism started working. A little metal figurine was circling some bells, hanging down from some kind of contraption. It was holding the tiniest of hammers and pulled it back, probably to hit one of the bells, only to stop right in the motion.

From the sound of it Powder could tell, that something was blocking the mechanism. There was a strong, almost angry whirling sound, as some gears did not quite manage to connect.

Those little chimes… They were cute, though. And so was that little figurine with its hammer.

Slowly Powder glid down from her bed to have a closer look at it. The figurine was actually a tiny yordle with violet fur and a tiny little hat. The background of the chimes - painted in the inside of the box – was a forest with the cutest of all houses drawn into the canopies. Powder of course knew what it was. It was supposed to show the place the yordles came from.

She looked at Ekko, an unspoken question in her eyes, but he nodded and thus she closed up the box, only to pick it up and turn it around. There were some screws on the bottom, but Ekko had come prepared. He handed her a screw driver and smiled.

“Thanks,” she muttered, as she unscrewed the box. “Did you open it before?”

“No,” he replied. “We just got it in today.”

“I see.” It did not take her long to open the box up and reveal the mechanism powering it. It was a mixture of several springs and gears, all working in unison. Well, at least they were supposed to, but clearly they were not.

“Ah,” she said when she realized what was the problem. One of the gears had become lose, not quite fitting where it was supposed to fit.

This way the entire mechanism would jam, whenever the little yordle was to swing her hammer (Powder had decided it was a female yordle).

“Do you think you can fix it?” Ekko asked, making her sigh.

She knew Ekko for several years now. Just like her he was good with this kind of stuff. With mechanics and technological parts. Actually, he might be better at her, because when he built something, he did not completely mess up. “You could've fixed this as well,” she muttered.

Caught he evaded her gaze. “Maybe,” he admitted.

Carefully she put the box down. “Then why bring it to me?”

He shrugged. “Because I thought you might've fun fixing it,” he replied and tried something of a shy smile. “You like working with stuff like this, right?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “But most of the time I will just mess things up.”

“That's not true!”

She fixed her gaze onto one of her scribbles on the wall. “Have you ever heard Mylo?”

Ekko sighed. “C'mon. Mylo can just be… a bit of a dick. He doesn't mean it, though.”

At this she pulled up her lips – one moment before she reminded herself, that she absolutely was not pouting. “He's still stupid,” she muttered, before picking up the box again. She extended her hand to ask for the smaller screwdriver to fix up the gear and Ekko handed it to her.

[cleanlenins]

Ectober Day 6: Witching Hour

Words Spoken at the Witching Hour

Chapter 2

Jack and Maddie disproved Ouija boards in College, but why not give them another try? However, fixing their mistakes will take more than just an old board and some candles.

AO3

While her violent outburst had been cathartic, Maddie was regretting her rash decision to destroy the ancient spirit board. She sifted through the ashes, pulling larger pieces of charred wood from the pile and dumping them into the bin. Her gloves were covered in soot and charcoal, the dusty particles sliding over the rubbery texture. She grabbed the planchet, and examined it. The dark ash seemed grey next to the impossible black of the little cursor. She clenched her fist around it and started to toss it into the trash can. But hesitated.

“Mom? Oh my God, what happened here?” Maddie whipped around to see Jazz standing at the door to the kitchen. She had one hand covering her mouth as she gaped at the mess. The table, while still standing, had a huge whole burned into the center. Maddie knew that she must look a sight as well, eyes puffy and red from lack of sleep and soot stains on her cheek.

“We had a bit of an accident with our experiment last night,” Maddie said smoothly. It was what she and Jack had decided to tell the kids until they had a chance to sort through their thoughts. Before they had a chance to figure out if there was any validity to Phantom’s claim.

When Maddie had bought the spirit board, the lady had told her that spirits could not lie while communicating through the object. Maddie had never expected the blasted thing to work, so she hadn’t set up any more trustworthy methods for determining if a ghost was lying or not. An oversight on her part based on her own hubris.

“I thought you guys agreed that you would keep all of your experiments in the lab from now on?” Jazz crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry sweetie. We didn’t realize it was something that would turn...explosive. We will be sure to keep things downstairs from now on,” Maddie assured Jazz. Jazz looked skeptical, but did not press the point. Instead, she skirted around the stains on the linoleum and began to make her some breakfast. Maddie glanced at the planchet still held in her hand, and stashed it in her pocket.

Maddie removed her gloves and tossed them in the special tub she and Jack kept for their hazmat suits. She quickly washed her hands before putting on a clean pair. She rubbed her tired eyes, moving around Jazz to get to the coffee pot. How did she get through so many sleepless nights in college? She already felt dead on her feet. She must be getting old.

She reached to flick on the coffee pot, before jerking away as  the coffee pot shocked her. Not hard, nothing more than simple static electricity. But it startled her.

“Mom? Are you okay?” Jazz asked.

“Fine, Jazzy,” Maddie stared at the machine in shock and reached out to touch it again. No shock occurred. “I think I might need to change the filtrator in the coffee machine battery. It just shocked me a bit.”

“Through rubber gloves?” Jazz raised an eyebrow. Maddie’s mind buffered, looking down at her hands.

“Maybe a more serious issue,” Maddie muttered. Jazz sighed.

“And I was really looking forward to coffee,” The teen slumped, still scrambling eggs. Loud steps were coming from the stairs, and Maddie turned to see Danny walking into the kitchen.

Well, walking probably wasn’t the best word. He was slumped over, backpack hanging from one shoulder. His eyes were rimmed in red and heavy bags laid under his eyes. He slumped into a dining chair, not even commenting on the hole in the table before laying his head in his hands.

“Danny, are you okay?” Jazz asked. Mother and Daughter wore matching looks of concern. The black haired teenager mumbled something incomprehensible. Maddie hesitantly walked over, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He was freezing. Cold enough that she could feel his temperature even through the thick gloves. Maddie swallowed thickly.

“Honey, did you not sleep well?” Maddie asked. Danny sat up, blearily looking up at his Mom.

“Weird dreams,” He mumbled, blinking up at his mom. Maddie rubbed his arm

“What kind of dreams?” She pressed. Danny grunted.

“Just...bad memories. Mistakes.”

“Was it...about the CATs?” Maddie startled, Jazz was suddenly by her side putting a plate of eggs in front of Danny. He looked down at his plate, but didn’t reach for them.

“No. The other thing. The first thing,” Danny said.

“What thing are you talking about?” Maddie asked. Dany didn’t react, but Jazz looked sheepish.

“Danny has had a lot of test anxiety over the last few years. I have been helping him work through it,” Jazz said quickly. She avoided Maddie’s eye and turned on heel to go back and grab another plate. “You don’t need to worry, Mom.”

Maddie looked at Danny, who was pushing his food around on his plate and slumping closer and closer to the table. And knew she was very worried.

~~~

Once the kids had left for school, Maddie unplugged the coffee maker and carried it down into the lab. Jazz had to nearly drag Danny out of his chair, her brother stumbling into her before catching his balance. Jazz had continuously uttered assurances that Danny was fine and did not need to go to the doctor. Jazz had chattered continuously, Maddie unable to get a word in as they slammed the front door behind her.

With a sigh, she set the coffee pot on the table. Jack was already in the lab, looking just as ragged as she. He was pouring over security footage from the lab, trying to find any evidence of Danny being Phantom.

“How’s it going?” Maddie asked. She massaged her hand.

“We really should have labelled these tapes,” Jack frowned. “We didn’t even order them. I keep switching between tapes from the last few months, to one before Danny was even born. This could take days. Weeks, even.”

Maddie nodded. She had been afraid of something like that. Instead of joining her husband by the small tv, she walked over to where she had kept the notes on the spirit board. She rubbed her hands together, before reaching to pick up the top page.

And dropped it immediately. Her hand trembled. Part of her didn’t want to know the truth. Because if all of this was true. If she and Jack had-

“Mads, come look,” Jack said, more chipper than before. Maddie turned away from the papers, holding her hand close to her chest. Jack had a video paused on the screen. He let it play.

It was Danny, when he was five or six. Jack and Maddie were working on a project in the corner, while Danny was running around. He had a toy rocket in hand, making zooming noises as he sent the little astronauts on a space exploration. He prattled on, making up ridiculous plots where aliens attacked, where wormholes opened to other galaxies, where he had to be a superhero to save the earth from a meteor. Maddie smiled at the memory. Until she watched Danny trip over a spare bit of wire and faceplant into the floor. He started wailing, past Maddie and Jack whirling around and scooping him into a big hug. Maddie felt tears in her eyes. She removed one of her gloves to wipe them away.

“What if we failed him, Jack?” Maddie’s voice trembled. Jack turned a baleful look up at his wife before stopping. An expression of shock on his face.

“Maddie. Your hand,” He jumped out of his seat to get closer. Maddie looked down at her hand.

A circular burn sat in the middle of her palm. Small Lichtenberg figures scattered from the center. But the most striking thing was that the figures were pulsing a bright green. Maddie stared at the mark in horror. Once more she felt a jolt in her hands, her fingers twitching, and the mark grew.

“Jack,” Maddie whispered in fright. Jack took her hand in his, examining it closely. “What is it?”

Jack let go of Maddie’s hand, before running over to the notes himself. He rummaged through them quickly. Maddie felt herself shaking, looking down at the unnatural mark on her hand. Jack let out a noise of triumph as he held up a piece of paper.

“Make sure to end your contact with the spirit when you are finished conversing. If not, you may attach the spirit to yourself. This can have many consequences, depending on the power of the spirit. It can result in something as mundane as constant bad luck or-” Jack faltered, gaping at the page.

“What? What is it Jack?”

“-or as severe as dying the same death,” Jack gulped. “Maddie. Maddie we didn’t do any of the things to close the ritual. You’re still connected.”

I just wanted to look inside. I tripped over a wire. I hit the button on the inside. The portal turned on. And I died.

“ He was electrocuted,” Maddie sobbed, hand spasming. “It’s true, isn’t it? We killed our baby?”

Jack had tears streaming down his face as he rushed forward and crushed Maddie into a hug. She sobbed into his chest. In grief. In guilt. In exhaustion. In fear. Her whole body shook with the force of her tears. Had Jack not been holding her, she would have collapsed onto the ground in a puddle of tears.

“We have to find a way to stop this. To stop the connection,” Jack said. He rushed over to the papers, fanning them out so he could see more than one of them at a time. Maddie joined him, her hand occasionally spasming.

The two of them poured over the notes, double checking them with the Nightingale notebook to see if they could find any correlation to the spirit board. But the notebook only condemned the use of such objects, and did nothing at all to say how to counter their effects. Burning it was briefly mentioned on an online source, but considering it was already a pile of ash that seemed unlikely. Maddie and Jack started to comb through more and more sources, each less reputable than the last. As time crept on, the spasms became more painful. The lighting marks spread up her forearm, up her shoulder, nearly touching her neck. Tears were constantly pouring from her eyes as she barely contained herself from screaming in agony.

The two started when they heard the door upstairs slam. Maddie looked up, sweat pouring down her face. Jack slapped his forehead.

“Of course. We should ask Danny. Maybe he knows something,” The man said, sprinting up the stairs. Maddie hobbled after him, leaning heavily into the wall as she made her way up the stairs. She slowly made her ascent, and opened the lab door.

Jazz was talking to Jack, but she was not alone. Sam and Tucker were standing in the kitchen, Danny’s unconscious body held between them. Maddie gasped at the sight.

“So he is like this because you and Mom did some hairbrained ritual that literally blew up in your faces?” Jazz was angry. Her face was nearly the color of her hair, red with the force of her rage.

“Jazz, we didn’t know,” Maddie whispered. Jazz finally noticed her mom entering the room and gasped in horror. Both Tucker and Sam wore similar expressions.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jazz rushed over to Maddie, offering her shoulder. Jack filled the teens in on what they had discovered, how Danny was now attached to Maddie, and how it was slowly killing her.

“Please, if you know any way to undo this,” Jack pleaded. This was their last chance.

“I do,” Sam said. Jack beamed, eyes brightened with hope. “But we will have to work fast. Things like this have a time limit.”

“How long?”

“We have to separate them before the Witching Hour of the next day, or else there is nothing that we can do,” Sam said confidently. Jack glanced at the clock. It was already six pm.

“That gives us nine hours, right? We should be able to do that,” Jazz said. But Sam frowned.

“I have to go to my house and get a lot of supplies, and it will take time to set it all up. And I can’t guarantee it will work. It’s not like I have ever actually had to do this,” Sam said.

“Please,” Maddie begged, as she looked at Danny’s slumped body. “Try.”

~~~

The setup had taken them the better part of six hours. Every ingredient had to be burned for a specific amount of time. Every line painted on the floor had to be at the perfect angle. The candles could only burn for so long, with certain herbs mixed in. The remains of the spirit board had to be collected into one space. It was time consuming. It was tedious. And there was no guarantee it would work.

Maddie and Danny were not able to help with the preparations. Danny because he had not woken up since Sam and Tucker had brought him home. He was resting on the couch, completely out of touch with the world. Maddie, however, was not in such a peaceful state.

It was taking all of her effort not to simply curl up and scream. It felt like both fire and ice had poured into her veins, both trying to kill her from the heat and the cold. Her skin looked ashen and pale, sweat and tears constantly pouring down her face. She shook and seized from the volts of electricity that started at her hand and burst through her whole body. She couldn’t stop the whimpers that escaped, causing the others in the room to look over at her with concern.

When the preparations were complete, Jack helped Maddie into the middle of the setup. The electric lights in the room were turned off, with only the candles glow illuminating the room. Maddie nearly crawled to the spot she was supposed to be. She pulled out the little planchet and placed it within arms reach.

Sam had done everything she could, but Maddie had made the connection. Maddie had to sever it.

Maddie took the sterile knife and cut the inside of her arm. She let the blood pour into a basin that held the remains of the spirit bored. Her quivering hands spilled some blood onto the floor and not just in the bowl. But not enough to ruin the painted words. Maddie used her fingers to mix the blood with the ash, creating a paint. With trembling hands, she reached one finger onto the floor and began to draw the Ogham script she remembered from the spirit board. Slowly, as she could afford no mistakes, she drew a new board on the floor. Each one had to be in the exact order as the board had been and she had never been so grateful to Jack for taking a picture of the thing before they used it. Inch by inch, she recreated the board on her kitchen floor.

Now, she had to wait. Wait until the blood had dried enough that she could roll the planchet across the words without smudging. Every second was an eternity of pain, every moment a new level of agony even higher than the last. It might have been five minutes. It might have been an hour. But eventually, she could tell that the bright red of her blood had faded to a sickly brown. She risked touching it, and found it completely dry. She grabbed the planchet, and place a single bloody finger on it.

“Phantom, I would like to speak to you today. Please, I beg you, talk to me,” Maddie’s voice cracked. She waited a breathless moment, before the cursor began to move.

Mom?

“Yes, it’s me,” Maddie bit her lip hard as her body was wracked with pain.

You’re hurt

“ I’m fine sweetie,” Maddie lied. She had to finish this. She didn’t know how much time she had. “Phantom, I have said all that I have to say. My questions are complete. I close this doorway. I close this connection. Your spirit is not bound here.”

Maddie thought she heard a gasp, but she didn’t know where. Suddenly, all the candles turned once more into the strange corona glow. The planchet moved once more.

Goodbye

Maddie watched in fascination as the planchet dissolved into dust. The candles snuffed themselves out and the room was filled with darkness. Maddie slumped in relief as the pain seemed to melt away.

“Mom?” Danny groaned, the light flickering on. Danny stood by the switch, rubbing his eyes as he took in the state of the kitchen.

Jack and Maddie rushed him, crushing him in a hug they hoped expressed everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - Land of Thieves - #ChapterThree

Gif is not mine got from google, idk who made it but i truly appreciate it.

Read on AO3 (EN) ///// Ler no AO3 (PT)

Summary:  When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit violence

"Howard Stark, the oil millionaire, has exclusively revealed to The Saint Denis Times, details of his new investment in the Heartlands in New Hanover" 

You heard Steve read the contents out loud to you. You were sitting in his tent, leaning your back against the wood that held the tent upright. Peggy and Bucky were standing, while you and the twins were sitting on the ground, all listening intently to the captain's words.

- And then they narrate information about where the meeting will take place, and even the time Stark will be negotiating! - exclaims Steve.

- Rich people are stupidly confident. - Bucky comments, and everyone laughs briefly. 

- The problem is who else will have the same idea as us. - You tell Steve, and he puts his hand to his chin thoughtfully. - With this information in the newspaper, a lot of people will be aware of the amount of money coming into Saint Denis.

- We have some advantages. - Peggy says. - Mainly the location. And besides, this kind of work will only be targeted by the bigger gangs. Who do we know that is in this area?

Steve runs his hands through his hair, and closes his eyes, as if trying to remember something. He exclaims after a moment.

- Where was the last time you heard of the Panthers? - He asks Bucky, who shrugs his shoulders.

- Three years ago. - replies the man. - They don't rob banks, Steve.

- That's even better then. - Steve says, but then turns to you. - Our only problem will be the O'Driscolls, they are the only ones who know we are in this area and have enough people for the job.

You exchanged a look with Pietro, and he nodded slightly. You sighed before you spoke:

- They' re not the only ones who know we're in the area. - You confessed and everyone, except Pietro, looked at you with surprise and curiosity. You felt quite embarrassed. - I had a little disagreement with Lemoyne Raiders yesterday afternoon.

Steve frowned at you, but you held his gaze. You did what you had to do to protect Pietro after all.

- Define exactly what kind of misunderstanding.

- We killed fifteen of them. - Cut Pietro off, and Steve looked at you in disbelief. Wanda also looked quite shocked.

- You went into a gunfight with a shoulder wound? - Steve looked at you seriously. - Have you completely lost your mind?

- She was helping me. - Pietro stood up, but he sounded almost embarrassed when he said it: - I got caught cheating.

- You must be joking. - Wanda's voice sounded and you watched her stand up and pinch her brother hard on the arm. Pietro complained with a groan. 

Steve massaged his forehead impatiently.

- You guys are unbelievable. - He grumbled, and Peggy patted him on the back as she stood up, signaling him to sit down. 

- Here's what we're going to do. - She began to speak in a calm but authoritative tone. Steve and I are going to set up the whole bank scheme, and we're going to find a way to use the O'Driscolls against themselves, in case they get the idea to rob Stark as well. I'll send Maria to find out about it. Wanda and Monica go to Limpany, find out if any Raiders are left alive to describe what these two look like, or if anyone is willing to talk. 

- What about both of us? - Pietro asks, pointing at himself and at you.

- Potts always needs help in the kitchen. - Informs Peggy and you both let out a groan of discontent

Pietro grumbles slightly irritated - We are no longer children to be grounded. 

- The first step is to stop your childish attitudes then. - Peggy replies, with an almost ironic expression. - Why don't you try to behave like Wanda, she went to get her engagement present and remembered to bring a newspaper with vital information!

Feeling your face getting very hot, you grumbled loudly " for heaven's sake" as the "adults" laughed at Peggy's insinuation. Tucking your face into your knees in embarrassment, you ignored the giggles. Wanda also blushed a lot, but you didn't notice from the position you were in.

The meeting ended shortly after, with Bucky signaling that he would be in charge of the weapons, as he usually was, as well as being the one with the sniper rifle, providing support from a distance.

You hurried back to your tent, since Pietro was frowning at the punishment, and Wanda had to go to Limpany later today. You watched her walk toward Carol's tent, where Maria and Monica were staying, as they refused to leave Carol's bedside until the woman was better, and then you looked away as Monica left with Wanda toward the horses.

Lying on your bed for several minutes, staring at the ceiling, you were startled to feel something being thrown against your body. Blinking in confusion, you picked up the object. It was some kind of luggage, you recognized as you turned. Then you looked at the two-letter border and turned your head quickly to the place from which it had been thrown.

Jumping out of bed, you almost tripped on the carpet, but kept your balance before throwing both arms around your friend, hugging her tightly. Nat laughed, but returned the squeeze.

- I missed you too. - She mumbled into your hair. You laughed, pulling away to look at her for a moment, before depositing several kisses on her cheek, making her laugh. It had been a habit of yours to greet her this way after long trips since you were little. - What happened while I was away?

She asked as soon as you let go. 

- I'm grounded. - You shrugged, she raised her eyebrow.

- But you're too old for grounding now. - she joked. - Sorry, actually it starts tomorrow. - She sneered with irony, but you still laughed.

The two of you sat down on your bed, you placing Nat's luggage on the floor while crossing your legs as you sat down. She took off her boots and stretched her legs against your lap, letting her feet dangle, you played with the fabric of her pants in the area of her shins.

- How are you? - she asked after a moment. - You look different.

You grimaced. - Different?

- Tired I guess. - She explained. You shrug. Nat was always very good at reading you, well everyone else was in a way. Subtlety was not your strong suit.

- Well, this must be the quietest moment I have had in weeks. - You joked, but Nat frowned. 

- I thought things would be quieter here. The south is less wild, isn't it? 

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking a little.

- I don't know, Nat. Everywhere there is someone who wants to shoot us.

- Where did you get this? - She asked after a moment, you looked at her, and realized that she was signaling with her eyes the wound on your shoulder. You gave her a sideways smile.

- In a fight I didn't have to buy. - You sneer and then add. - It was an ambush a few miles away.

-Is that why Peggy punished you? - she questioned, and you laughed.

- Oh no. I am grounded for getting into a shootout with a local gang, all because of a card game.

Nat blinked for a few seconds.

- I'll pretend you didn't say that.

You laughed at her expression and she nudged you, muttering something like "idiot," which made you smile more. 

- But how about you, did you manage to find what you were looking for?

- Of course, sweetheart. - said the girl in a smug tone, and you rolled your eyes, smiling. - I was going to tell the captain how things are in New Austin, but when I passed his tent he had a serious expression and a hand on his head, as if he had a migraine. I knew right away that I had to talk to you first.

- He was worried that yesterday's fight would jeopardize the plan. - You said.

- I think he was worried about you. 

You looked away, not knowing what to say. A moment passed in silence, until Nat nudged your leg lightly with her finger, a mischievous look on her face.

- I brought a present for the birthday girl. - She joked, making you laugh uncomfortably. - But I don't think you'll care much.

You frowned and asked her why in a confused tone. Nat laughed before adding:

- Another redhead is going to take all your attention, as far as I know. - She teased, and you looked away, blushing at the insinuation.

- Everyone decided to tease me about it all of a sudden. - You grumbled, making Nat laugh.

- Because it's fun. - She retorted, and you just crossed your arms. Seeing your embarrassed face, she lifted one of her legs, only to push your face away with her foot. You let out a loud exclamation, laughing as she pushed you away.

You spent the afternoon together, playing and talking. You were not impressed by how much you missed Natasha, after all, you had always been very close. Being a few years older, she joined the gang a few months after you, and a year before the twins. Peggy was the one who found her, you knew that she had no family and that she had run away from a convent in Saint Denis just as you had run away from an orphanage when you were a child; the difference was that Nat was already fourteen when she did. And then she joined the gang, and became a kind of big sister to you. 

When Nat left your tent to go talk to Steve about the information she got from New Austin, you decided to get out of bed for a while. Walking over to the campfire, you felt a twinge of pain as you felt an arm rest on your injured shoulder, and Pietro quickly apologized, changing his position only to leave his hand under your healthy shoulder.

- What is it, Pietro? - You asked him.

- I wanted to apologize. - He spoke clumsily, and you looked at him in confusion. He looked down at the floor. - For your birthday, you know, I got you stuck here because of Limpany.

You punched him lightly in the stomach, smiling.

- Don't be an idiot. - You said. - You know I don't care about birthdays, and besides, we take care of each other.

Pietro smiled pushing you lightly with his hand on your shoulder as he agreed with his head, his cheeks flushed.

- I'll make sure we do something fun at least. - He said as he walked beside you to the fire. He looked around, as if thinking of some activity. - Maybe Potts will let us go fishing.

- Is this your idea of fun? - You scoffed as you sat down by the fire. Actually, you liked fishing, but you didn't miss opportunities to mess with your friends. Pietro laughed, sitting down beside you.

- I meant you, me, and Wanda. - He joked, but you refused to look at him. - Unless of course you prefer I stay here.

- I'm not saying anything. - You grumbled, grabbing a stick out of the grass to stir against the embers of the fire. Pietro just laughed at your grumpy posture.

It didn't take long for Potts to get your attention, asking for help with the supply wagon. You and Pietro were in charge of peeling vegetables for the next few hours.

On the morning of your birthday, you woke up to someone jumping on you. Honestly, you were more surprised to realize that the bed could withstand the commotion than to watch Natasha wake you up excitedly. She was always so loud when she knew she was annoying you.

You thanked her for the gesture by pushing her off the bed, and laughed when you heard her fall on her ass on the floor, complaining that you were a brute. You stretched your body and then stood up, intending to wash your face. 

Steve came over to greet you as soon as you left your tent, and he had a gentle smile on his face.

- Happy birthday, Y/N. - He spoke as he gave her a short hug. - Let's celebrate tonight, shall we?

You nodded, embarrassed by the attention. You spent the next few minutes getting hugs and compliments from everyone. When Pietro gave you a tight hug, you laughed, watching him get a mischievous expression as he held a package in front of you.

- Get ready for my amazing gift. - He said, waving his right hand over the box, imitating a gesture of suspense. 

- Ready I am. - You jokingly replied. 

Grabbing the package, you opened it carefully, appreciating that he had taken the time to wrap everything. You let out a surprised sigh as you looked at the new set and sheet of classic playing cards. Opening the deck, you looked at the details on the cards, impressed with the quality of the edition, noticing that it was one of those special versions, with gold scratches, and you let out a giggle of excitement when you saw the acrylic sticker that came along with the set. It was a collectible card, and on this one you saw the picture of "Erik Lehnsherr", the famous German gambler.

- I loved it, Pietro. Thank you. - You said to him, hugging him by the shoulders. 

- We are all going to enjoy this present. - Nat added, smiling at you both. You laughed, putting the set back in the box, you would replace your old one as soon as you got back to your room.

Nat also had something in her hands, but she didn't wrap it, probably because of the rush of the trip, but you loved it anyway. She had a mischievous smile when she lifted the bottle to her face.

- Scotch whisky, miss, limited edition 1802. - She narrated in a voice that made you laugh a little. You kissed her cheek and hugged her tight.

- Thank you, Nat. - You said when you let go of her, she just smiled at you.

Waving to you, Natasha left in the direction of Steve's hut, she probably needed her chores assigned to her. Pietro asked you if you wanted to join him in hunting some rabbits and you said you were just going to get your rifle.

Bucky stopped you on your way out of your tent.

- I also have a present for you. - he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

You smiled, grabbing the package he handed you. Hanging the rifle on your healthy shoulder, you tore the ribbon from the gift, opening it carefully. You looked at your new scout jacket, the brown fabric glistening in your eyes. 

- Oh, Bucky, I love it. - You tell him, looking at him tenderly. Bucky looks slightly embarrassed, but hugs you tight.

- I thought that one was getting small. - He comments, pointing at your clothes. It was an affectionate comment, since he was also the one who had given you the jacket you were wearing several years ago.

He smiled at you one last time before leaving. And you went back inside the tent only to leave the jacket on your bed, not wanting to get it dirty during the hunt, and intending to wear it later. 

Pietro was waiting for you at Knight's side, but you reminded him that you were only allowed to hunt on the outskirts of the camp. He rolled his eyes, but agreed, and you walked together toward the hunting area.

It didn't take long for each of you to hunt two rabbits, the animals were plentiful in the area, and even though Pietro was not as good a hunter as he was a thief, he still knew how to shoot.

You knocked his hat playfully, and he laughed at you. You walked back to camp amid giggles and playful shoving, while you bet on who could get there first.

You left the carcasses in the wagon destined for the skinning, and you let out a surprised exclamation when you saw Thor behind the counter.

- Why are you already up? - you asked in a worried tone. The man just smiled at you.

- I wasn't going to miss your birthday, kid. - He replies, and then gives a small pat against his own chest, where you watched him get shot a week ago - Besides, I'm healing quickly. I should be back in action soon.

- I'm glad to see you feeling better, Thor. - You told him and he just nodded, picking up one of the carcasses you and Pietro had left and beginning to skin it.

You and Peter were walking back to the kitchen when Potts just pointed to the creek, signaling for you both to clean yourselves up. You both exchanged an amused look, and giggling, walked towards the water to wipe the rabbit's blood off your hands.

- Do you know when Wanda will be back from Limpany? - You let the question slip and Pietro gave you an insinuating "you can't even hide it" look, and you felt your cheeks heat up a little. He shrugged.

- Actually, she was supposed to come back last night. - He said, not looking worried. - Maybe she and Monica decided to wait a little longer to see if anyone who had seen us would show up.

You grumbled in agreement, without really thinking about it, and then, as you finished wiping away the blood that remained between your fingers, the possibility hit you.

- Pietro. - You called out to him, and he looked at you curiously as he noticed your frown. - Do two women alone in a city that makes money from brothels sound like a safe idea to you?

Pietro blinked in confusion.

- But Wanda and Monica are scary. - He retorted, and you almost agreed, until you remembered.

- Not when they're disguised as society ladies. - You spoke up, feeling a sense of panic settle in your stomach at the possibility that Wanda was in danger. 

You stood up at the same moment as Pietro, and he nodded towards Potts, who seemed distracted by the inventory of the supply wagon.

Sneaking through the woods beside the camp, you grabbed the reins of Knight as quietly as you could while pulling him into the woods, with Pietro and his horse at your side. When you reached a more remote area, you quickly mounted your horses and headed toward Limpany.

- Damn it, Y/N, I hope you are wrong about this. - Pietro said with a worried look on his face. You swallowed dryly, wishing you were.

Limpany was noisy and busy. You let out a low groan as you noticed the several wagons parked at the entrance, a symbol of an oil company painted on each one.

- I think Stark's employees have just arrived at the Heartlands. - You said to Pietro as you tied your horses against a fallen log at the entrance to Limpany.

- Interesting choice for the first stop. - He mentioned it in an ironic tone. You smiled. 

- Wanna bet that half of them are married? - You said in a tone of irony and irritation. Pietro nodded, accepting the bet.

You signaled for him to adjust his hat, to hide as much of his face as possible. But judging by the number of strangers in town at the moment, you would hardly be recognized. Even in daylight, there were a considerable number of prostitutes on the streets, snuggled up against various men. You looked around trying to spot Wanda or Monica, but were unable to find them. You noticed that there were several horses tied up in front of the Brothel, and the Saloon and nudged Pietro on the shoulder.

- I think we'll need to look inside the brothel and the saloon. - You warned him and he nodded his head in agreement as he noticed the horses. - If we split up, we can find them faster.

Pietro turned his head to you quickly with a frown.

- Not a chance. - He denied it, and seeing that you were going to try to argue, he added: - You have a bruised shoulder, I'm not leaving you alone.

You sighed in agreement, knowing that he was right. It wouldn't help if you ended up getting hurt more.

- Let's try the brothel first. - you said, walking toward the building. A sign on the door caught Pietro's attention, and he poked you on the arm to make you read the "No weapons" sign.

- That's a problem . - He said, and you pushed him aside, blocking the view of anyone leaving the brothel for him. You took off the belt with the holster and handed it to him.

- You keep it then. - You grumbled, and he looked at you with confusion.

- Why am I the one who has to wait? 

- Because you're a pretty boy, honey. - You sneer, and he continues with the same confused expression. - You walk into this brothel with no one with you, and ten harlots will jump on you, very much in search of what's in your wallet.

He sighed and shrugged, knowing that you were right. That didn't stop him from retorting:

- It's not like the girls aren't going to jump on you too. 

- The difference is that I have a few minutes head start before they realize that I don't work here.

- Next time, wear a dress and you'll get a free pass. - teased Pietro, and you just pushed him away with amusement.

- Well, wish me luck. - You said, flashing him a nervous smile. 

You heard Pietro whisper a "good luck" to you when you were already on the stairs, and then you went in. There was a counter, but judging by the number of customers, there must have been a total rush in the place, and you took advantage of the lack of a receptionist to sneak up the wooden stairs to the second floor.

You saw a lot of things you didn't want to see, from the breasts of strangers, to men with their swinging cocks on display. Occasionally you bumped into half-naked people, and watched with some amusement as a man was kicked out of the room with his pants down. It was a chaotic environment to say the least, and you didn't worry about being recognized, as there didn't seem to be any harlots available to notice you.

The most embarrassing part was checking the rooms. After the fifth open door where you interrupted somebody's fucking, you let out an impatient grumble as you walked to the end of the hall. Then the coat hanging in the corner of the door caught your attention. The sheriff's badge glowing prominently against the cloth.

You opened the door next, surprised to find only the sheriff, naked and asleep. You went into the room and started to look around for some more interesting information. Then you heard footsteps against the wood, and as you turned around, the vision took your breath away.

Wanda was wearing a simple purple dress, the corset marking her silhouette. She pinned up her hair, and applied a little make-up, highlighting her lips and her emerald orbs. Suddenly you couldn't formulate a sentence. 

She looked at you with a mixture of concern and seriousness, closing the bedroom door.

- What are you doing here? - She asked in a low tone, and it took you a considerable moment to be able to think of the answer. You worried that she might think you had hit your head.

- You were gone a long time. Pietro and I thought...

- Pietro is here? - she exclaimed and looked quickly at the sheriff who had moved slightly.

- Sorry, we thought you guys were in trouble.

Wanda looked quickly at you, and then shifted the weight of her feet, before walking towards the small dresser in the room.

- We were in trouble. - She confessed and you straightened your posture at the information, feeling your chest fill with concern. - That's why I brought him here.

You felt your cheeks heat up a little and swallowed the bad feeling in your stomach. 

- I think you did what you had to do. - You grumbled, and Wanda frowned at you. When she understood what you were implying, she let out a nasal laugh.

- I didn't have sex with him, my God! - She clarifies and you blink in surprise, relief replacing the bad feeling from before. - I just lied and said I would. And then when he got here, I hit him over the head.

- Oh, right. Got it. - You nod, looking at the ground. 

- We ended up in trouble, though. Those men from the factory, they've been surrounding us all night. 

- Why didn't you go back to the camp? 

- Because he said he would report you and Pietro. - Wanda explains, pointing at the fainted sheriff. You shake your head, confused. The redhead walks over to the bedside table and pulls out two wanted posters, each with a drawing very similar to your and Pietro's face. 

- I don't understand, Wands. - You sigh. - Tell me everything from the beginning.

- Y/N, the one thing you need to understand is that this town is involved in a lot of shit that goes way beyond a local gang. - Wanda pushed you slightly to the right, bending down toward the sheriff. He didn't wake up when she cut a golden key from the necklace he was wearing. You looked at her curiously. - We're going to need this to free Monica.

- Monica's in jail? - You exclaimed, and Wanda gave you a wry smile.

- It was a temporary incident.

Wanda grumbled, but then you heard the door slowly open, and she assumed a serious expression. Before you could turn around, Wanda pulled you forward by the arm, and you felt your heart race as your bodies came closer together. And then you held your breath as you felt her slip both arms around your waist, wrapping her arms around you. Wanda wrapped her face around your neck, pressing your body against hers. You let out a deep groan, and barely registered the words coming from a voice in the doorway:

- Sweetie, are you using this room? 

Wanda made sure to press against your body with her arms and keep her face against your neck as she answered.

- Clearly.

The other woman laughed despite Wanda's harsh reply, and you thought she whispered "enjoy it" before she left, but you weren't sure of anything anymore.

Wanda's body seemed to warm against yours when you were alone, and you decided to face the window at the far end of the room, to keep your body from not obeying your reason.

Wanda released you softly, and you felt her hands slide down your spine and then back to your front, until she released you completely. She took a step back, her cheeks flushed and her gaze on the floor.

- Sorry about that. - She whispered without looking up. You felt your face flush.

- I never imagined that our first time in a brothel would be like this. - The only stupid comment your brain could formulate came out of your mouth before you could control it. You wouldn't judge Wanda if she never spoke to you again after that ridiculous joke, but she didn't care. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she said:

- And how did you imagine it would be?

You almost said "less clothes", almost. In reality you just choked in surprise and felt your knees weaken at the intensity of her gaze. But then the moment was broken when you heard a banging sound on the windowpane. You frowned at Pietro, who was standing outside.

- Tell me you're not hanging over the edge. - You complain as you open the window.

- Of course not, I don't know how to climb buildings. - He replies with amusement. - I found a ladder.

Wanda slaps Pietro on the head, looking at him seriously.

- You two have completely lost your minds. - She says. - Great idea to go back to the same place where they tried to kill you.

- Look little sister, you are being very ungrateful. - he debated stubbornly. - And why am I the only one getting beaten? It was your girlfriend who came up with the idea.

You grumbled at the nickname, and closed the window in Pietro's face. You didn't look at Wanda as you picked up the wanted posters and the key to the jail from the floor, but when you noticed her confused expression, you grabbed her by the hand, pulling her out of the room and toward the exit of the brothel.

You went around the building, finding Pietro on the opposite side from where you had left him. In his presence, you remembered to let go of Wanda's hand, and didn't notice the almost disappointed look she got when you did.

- Monica is in jail. - You tell Pietro, who looks at you in surprise. You hand him the key.  - I need a drink. - You announce as you leave for the saloon. 

When you get to the bar, you notice that it is as crowded as the brothel, but the people here are more focused on who drinks more than who gets laid more. You stand in the far corner and wait for the bartender to serve you. You feel a slight burning sensation on your shoulder, and as you reach out to touch the bandage, you groan as you feel them wet with blood. 

You buy a whiskey, and pour three shot glasses full into your mouth, feeling your throat burn. You can barely feel the bruise now.

Preparing a fourth glass, you let out a mixed exclamation of surprise and pain when someone pulls you by the shoulder, turning you around.

- I know you! - says the unknown man, clearly drunk. You try to argue, but he starts shouting. - Yes, yes! You shot those guys!

He is starting to draw unwanted attention, and you really hope that everyone is too drunk to notice anything. Before you can push him away, someone pulls him off you. 

You watch in shock as Wanda lands a clean punch to the man's jaw, and he staggers for a few seconds before falling onto a table. As he falls, chaos ensues and suddenly people start fighting among themselves. You always hated bar fights. Wanda quickly pulls you out and you both duck and dodge a thrown chair just before you walk out the door.

- Thanks for that, I guess. - You tell her, letting yourself be pulled toward the horses by the hand.

Pietro and Monica are already there, waiting for you. You notice that Pietro seems almost shy around the other woman, and you make a mental note to tease him about this at another time.

- Let's go before you cause a second shooting in this place. - Wanda says, and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, which leaves you with a tingling sensation. 

- It's good to see you, by the way. - You say to Monica as soon as you mount the Knight's cell. Monica smiles at you, saying that it was very good to see you too.

- Race to camp? - suggests Pietro, and you all exchange mischievous glances before you speed up the gallop of your horses. Your laughter mingles with the wind as you ride at high speed.

Pietro won the race, typical you thought. Since he was a child, he was as fast on foot as he was on horseback. But even though you lost, you enjoyed the ride, laughing with your friends as you dismounted from your horses. Wanda and Monica entered the camp first, and you and Pietro snuck out the back, not wanting to be seen running away from punishment. You were very lucky that Potts believed you were just playing fight at the far end of the creek, as you and Pietro used to do when you were kids.

You walked around the camp, feeling extremely tired, and then you remembered that you hadn't really rested for a long time. Sighing, you found a space under a tree high enough to provide some shadow, and sat down. Putting your hat in front of your face, you thought about closing your eyes for a moment.

Feeling a gentle pressure on your feet, you were startled awake. Blinking in confusion at the dark, you realized that your hat was on your face. Removing it as you let out a yawn, you looked around in confusion as you realized that you had been asleep for a few hours, judging by the color of the sky, which already signaled sunset.

Nat smiled at you as she watched you adjust to your surroundings, and she offered her hand to help you stand up.

- You have a bed, you know. - She teased, and you just gave her a corner smile, wiping some of the grass off your pants.

- I was just going to take a nap. - You retorted as you walked towards your hut, Nat not following you, as you noticed the bucket full of fish she was carrying.

- A six-hour nap. - She teases, drawing a quick laugh from you. She turns in the opposite direction, dumping the bucket on Thor's cart, who is the one who usually skins the animals that arrive at the camp. You go into your tent, looking for some clean clothes.

You don't smell so bad, but you decide to take a bath anyway, after all you have been in a fight today. You remember to grab your new jacket before you leave for the deeper part of the stream, where everyone usually bathes.

Arriving at the edge of the creek, you leave your clothes on the high part of the grass, so they don't get wet, and begin to undress. You are already without your boots and blouse, ready to unbutton your pants when Pietro pushes you into the water.

- Really? - You exclaim in a mixture of irritation and humor, while he laughs. You think he is an idiot, but you laugh too. 

Pietro pulls his own shirt over his head, and then quickly takes off his pants and shoes. He takes a few steps back and then runs, jumping into the creek, and splashing water everywhere on impact. You laugh as he pretends to drown.

- Since when do you shower often, now? - You tease him by getting out of the water to take off your wet pants. Pietro pretends to laugh.

- I'm a very clean boy, if you ask me. - He retorts, splashing water in his face.

You pretend to agree, grimacing. He rolls his eyes at you. You assume a suggestive expression, and nod for him to look away. He laughs, but turns away so that you can remove your underwear. 

It was common for you to shower with other members of the team, especially with those who grew up with you: Wanda, Pietro, Monica and Nat. Much because you had been doing this since you were children. Besides that, living in an outlaw camp, it was all about sharing. It was funny to think that if you were not who you are, or if someone from the outside saw the life you were leading, you would probably be forced to marry Pietro now. It was nice to have that level of intimacy with someone, but you can't help but think that it wasn't the same showering with Pietro, as it was with Wanda. Everything was different with Wanda, but it was also the same. You couldn't explain it.

You become quiet as you get lost in your thoughts, and Pietro splashes some water on your face, causing you to let out an irritated exclamation. 

- You were making that strange face again. - He jokes, while lowering himself into the water. You only realize that he is taking off his own underwear when he throws the recently removed, completely soaked item onto the grass.

- What face? 

- your "I'm overthinking things" face. - He explains with an amused expression.

- I don't know what you're talking about. - You retort, looking away, he rolls his eyes, and you are silent again. You rub some of the soap you brought on your body before handing it to Pietro.

- I reckon you think too much. - He grumbles, and you let out a wry laugh.

- It's kind of the function of our heads, you know.

He laughs as he rinses his hair.

- I meant that you don't have to do this. - He says. - You can just act, you know.

- No, Pietro. I don't know. - You grumble, not really understanding what he was saying. He dips his head in the creek to clean the soap, and then walks away from you, leaving the soap on top of the little wooden box where it is usually kept.

- I mean that if you keep thinking about what you have to do, you'll miss the chance to do something. - He says, coming back to you. - If there is something you really want to do, just do it. Don't think about it so much, because when you make that expression, I know you're finding a thousand reasons not to do what you want to do.

- What if I want to punch you in the face? - You tease him, feeling nervous about the direction of the conversation. Pietro laughs at your attempt to divert the subject.

- As if you needed to think about it. - He says, grumbling, and then he assumes that serious expression, but his eyes are tender. - I think you need to tell her how you feel. Wanda will be pleased to hear it.

You look away just as he says this, your cheeks flushing. And then you almost fall back when you hear Wanda's voice:

- I will be pleased to hear what? 

The girl asks in a curious and suggestive tone of voice, Pietro looks at his sister with amusement. And you look away very quickly when you see her unbuckle her dress.

Nat is also with her, and helps her take off her corset, while you stand in the middle of the stream, too interested in the water.

- Now, little sister, you know it's very rude to meddle in other people's affairs, don't you? - Pietro joked, and Wanda laughed.

- It becomes my business when you speak on my behalf, doesn't it? - She retorted, as she turned to thank Nat for helping her out of her dress. - Besides, it's not as if we have secrets from each other.

- I was just telling Y/N that we should do something together. All of us, like when we were children. - You could never get tired of Pietro's innate ability to lie so blatantly. - She suggested we go to the theater, and I said that since you had never been, you would be pleased to know.

Wanda looked at Pietro with a slight suspicion, probably wondering if she actually believed his words. But then she smiled.

- Yeah, I'd be very pleased indeed. - She jokes, and looks at you. She frowns when she notices that you are staring down, playing with your fingers with a certain nervousness. She can't tell what's bothering you, and concentrates on taking off her own dress.

-Of course, little sister. - Pietro says in a suggestive tone, and walks over to you again, standing beside you and putting his arm around your shoulders. - We both know very well that you would love a date...

- Pietro, you're naked, get out of here. - You interrupt him, pushing him in the stomach. He laughs, stumbling to the side with your shove. Wanda and Nat laugh a little, you don't notice the redness in Wanda's face.

Nat and Wanda join you at the creek next. You can't help but feel hyperconscious in Wanda's presence, so you turn away, counteracting the energy that seems to pull you toward her.

- I think I saw Potts bake you a cake earlier. - Nat commented as she grabbed the soap left on the grass. She was very comfortable with her own body, and did not mind showing it to the rest of you. Not that any of you were going to look at her maliciously, but you had to admit that it was at least an image to get used to, breasts swaying in front of you. It was not something you saw often.

- I think I'll try to save some. - You say, and looking at the confused and curious expressions of your friends, you add, - For Bruce, and Carol.

Your friends look away quickly, all assuming an almost sad posture. But Wanda looks at you tenderly.

- They will get better, soon, you know. - She comments, and you look at her, trying to believe her words. - Potts says that Carol's fever has gone down since Maria and Monica returned.

- I think if that happened to me, I would want my wife by my side too. - Pietro commented and you nodded in agreement. And then he took on a mischievous look. - By the way, since Carol improved by seeing her family, maybe Nat should visit Bruce. That might cheer him up.

Nat blushed at the insinuation and jumped towards Pietro, who ran away from her attempts to hit him, while she laughed. You and Wanda laughed at the scene.

- You were trying to get beaten up that whole time, weren't you, boy? - Shouted Nat as she chased after him, Pietro was lucky that running had always been his greatest skill, you thought as you looked at Nat's angry expression. He was confident enough to dodge and still throw water at the girl, which seemed to irritate her even more. You laughed at the interaction, but suddenly realized that while they were playing, you were alone with Wanda. Without clothes.

You turned your face slowly to look at her, watching her loose red hair cascade against her neck. The sun was very low now, and the light made her even more beautiful. You swallowed hard as she turned her face to you, the ghost of her laughter still on her lips.

- One of these days Pietro is going to get a real beating. - Wanda jokes and you blink, trying to stop staring. It takes a moment, but you laugh at the joke.

- One of these days Pietro is gonna get real beaten up. - Wanda jokes and you blink, trying to stop staring. It takes a moment, but you laugh at the joke.

- If he's lucky, it won't be Nat. - You reply in the same tone, and Wanda nods in agreement. She starts rubbing soap on your arms, and you try not to stare. 

- You look distracted, almost oblivious. - She says, and you look away, watching Nat finally catch up to Pietro, jumping on top of him and knocking him into the water. You hope they don't drown.

- Why is everyone telling me this? - you retort in an amused tone, Wanda smiles.

- Because it is the truth. 

You look at her expecting her to say something else, but she just lathers her hair a little, pushing it to the side. Your gaze has moved down to the collarbone that was once covered by her hair, now exposed. Your brain seems to shut down and you can't look away even when she looks at you, a shy smile at the corner of her lips.

Pietro lets out a shout between laughs, and you are startled, turning your head to look. He had climbed up a high rock to get away from Nat, who was circling around to catch up with him. You looked away when you noticed his exposed intimacy in the air. 

And then you almost choked when you looked forward again: Wanda, who before had been with her chest completely submerged in water, had stood up and her breasts were right in front of you. She was looking at Pietro, laughing, the movement made her chest jiggle a little and you felt your face get very warm. 

You stumble backwards, feeling your heart racing. Determining that you had reached the limit of nudity for the day, you turned around, leaving the creek. As you moved, Wanda turned her head to you quickly, asking if you were all right. With the image of Wanda's abundant breasts in your mind, you just nodded your agreement without looking at her, hurrying to put on your clothes as quickly as possible. You didn't notice Wanda's flushed face as she watched your naked back.

Properly dressed, you grumbled that you were going to wait for them at the party, and left, finally breathing normally once you were in the area of the cabins. Steve frowned at your reddened face, but you hurried to the campfire area before he asked questions you didn't want to answer.

You only came out of your tent when your breathing and heartbeat were normal again. The images of Wanda's breasts were still in some corner of your mind, but you pushed them away and tried to smile when Steve approached you.

He began to tell stories of his army days, and you tried to pay attention. Peggy and Potts listened intently, and Peggy laughed as she remembered the shared memories, since she and Steve served in the same squadron.

Letting your gaze wander around the camp, you stared at Carol's tent for a second before deciding to go there. Your companions were too distracted by their own conversation to notice you leave.

You opened the tent carefully, and the interior was a little dark, so it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the surroundings. Carol was lying on a stretcher, and you were glad to find her awake while she listened to Maria read something attentively. The two women smiled at you when they saw you, and you almost apologized for interrupting the moment, but seeing the tenderness in their eyes, you preferred to believe that you were not disturbing them.

- Hi. - You greeted and stood in the doorway, awkwardly. Maria smiled and stood up, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before leaving, giving you and Carol a bit of privacy.

- Come give me a hug, birthday girl. - Carol asked in a playful tone. She looked better.

You rushed over, giving her a quick hug, not wanting to squeeze her too tightly, for fear of hurting her. 

- I heard that you got better. - You commented, sitting on the edge of the bed. - I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, but Pepper didn't want anyone here.

Carol giggled weakly.

- Oh yes, she said I needed to rest. 

- Maria was the only one who could come in. Even Pepper wouldn't deny her that after weeks of not seeing you.

The blonde nodded in agreement, a shy smile on her lips. You were quiet for a moment, and as you watched her like this, looking so weak and tired, you felt your stomach clench with guilt and anger. 

- Sorry about that, Carol. - The words escaped your mouth quickly, and you looked at the floor, feeling a wave of shame in your chest. Carol frowned, and looked at you with confusion. - If I had been a little faster, you wouldn't be hurt, and you would be with Maria...

Carol held up her hands quickly, asking you to stop apologizing tenderly, and you felt your eyes water, but you obeyed her.

- I can't believe you've been thinking all this time that it was your fault. - She said, and lifted one of her hands to caress your face. - Sometimes services go wrong, child. In fact, it can happen quite often. - She tried to joke, but you didn't smile, and she turned back to a serious expression, trying to reassure you.

You blinked, looking at her expecting her to be angry, but found only tenderness in her eyes.

- We are your family, Y/N. When we are out there, we protect each other. And sometimes that will get us hurt, but we keep going anyway. - She speaks as she looks you in the eye, her fingers tucking some of your hair behind your ear. - You were so brave when we left Armadillo. Helping Bruce when Fury was shot. You could have gone along with the plan, but you knew something was wrong.

You closed your eyes quickly, the memories hitting you with intensity. Carol wiped the tears that streamed down your face. You tried to push the images of Fury being shot away, but they seemed to stick in your head. Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes, meeting Carol's tender expression.

- I miss him, Carol. - You confess, and she nods.

- I miss him too, Y/N. - She says, and pulls you close, hugging you tight. - He would be proud of you.

You hug for a few moments before you let go, now sitting on the bed next to her. Carol plays with the fingers of your hand before speaking.

- You know, I think Fury's only regret is not going to be at your wedding. - She jokes, and you smile sadly, blushing a little.

- I think he would love to organize something like that. - You remark, and she smiles. You fall silent again, until she lets out an exclamation.

- I have something for you! 

- What? - You ask in confusion, and then she moves on the bed and reaches for the bedside table. She pulls out a small package.

- I was happy to hear that Maria managed to retrieve this from my things before she left New Austin. - Carol said and then she held the package out to you. You gave her a grateful look before accepting it.

You carefully unpacked the box, and let out a sigh of contentment as you read the title of the book, "Otis Miller and the Lady with the Black Heart. You loved that collection of books, and after the Armadillo fire, you had lost every volume you had. You thanked Carol as you flipped through the pages quickly, she laughed at your expression completely focused on the present. She knew how much you loved adventure books.

Carol adjusted her own posture on the bed, sitting up completely, you frowned with concern, but she just smiled assuring you that everything is fine. The movement caused the blanket to lift off her body a little, and your eyes were quickly drawn down to the tip of the large bandage on her belly.

Noticing your gaze, Carol gave you a weak smile.

- Don't worry about this. - She spoke, and then lifted the edge of her blouse. She let you run your fingers over the bandage. 

- Does it hurt too much? - You asked worriedly, but she nodded and added:

- Not anymore. I just feel a little itchy. - She admitted. 

You remembered a few weeks ago, the image of Carol stumbling toward the wagon where you were standing, a huge bloodstain on her belly. Bucky caught her before she hit the ground. You couldn't sleep properly for days. 

- If you can shoot, Steve will want you at the bank job. - You joked and Carol laughed. 

- I think Maria is going to tie me to this bed for a while. - She comments and you raise your eyebrows.

- I didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Danvers. - You joke and she laughs, her cheeks flushing, pushing you lightly on the shoulder.

- You're hanging out too much with Pietro. - She grumbles and you shrug your shoulders. - Speaking of him, or more precisely, his sister. - She starts and you look away, letting out a sigh and dreading the direction of this conversation. - Last time I asked you, you said that, what were the exact words, "you had great appreciation for her friendship and her company."

Carol teased you about your shameful confession last year, after you had had too many beers and she asked you why you didn't ask Wanda out on a date. She laughed at your sulky face when she debauched your choice of words.

- Suddenly everyone is comfortable nagging me about this. - You murmured, and Carol wiped away tears of laughter before turning to you, an expression suggesting that it was obvious the reason why, but noticing your confused face, she added:

- Are you really oblivious to your displays of affection, or are you pretending to be so that you don't have to deal with the commitment? - Carol asks with an expression that plays with seriousness and teasing. You look away quickly, feeling your face heat up. The question was a very good one actually, but before you could sink into your own thoughts, the blonde next to you nudged you, looking at you with amusement. - You don't have to overthink this. I'm not repressing you, you know. I don't think you mean any harm.

- What if you are right? - You let it slide, without really thinking about it. - What if I'm afraid to deal with my feelings? - Carol frowned at you and you bowed your head. - I just... I don't know what I would do if she rejected me. I would have made things awkward between us, and then I would have lost her friendship. And then things got weird with Pietro too, and...

- My God, girl, breathe. - Interrupted Carol, holding you by the shoulders. She had a curious expression. - Even if Wanda rejects you, which in my opinion seems ridiculous and unlikely, you would still be friends. You've known each other for a long time, Y/N. It's not like she's going to leave the gang because of this.

Carol jokes last, but you are startled by the possibility. She rolls her eyes at your panicked face, and lets out a giggle. 

- That would never happen. - She assures. - And you don't have to confess anything you're not ready to say. You can wait until things are normal again.

- It's not as if I haven't waited until now. - You mumble, but it's low enough that Carol doesn't understand. You just shake your head to signal that it's not important.

- I've kept you here long enough. - She says after a moment. - Go enjoy your party a little.

You smile at her, and thank her for the gift again before getting up to leave.