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upon-a-starry-night · 2 months

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Number Neighbors Pt.24

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

You were more than Nat could have ever imagined. Her conversation with you had been on loop in her mind for the past few days. The sound of your laughter filled her with so much warmth it was overwhelming. The way you talked about her like she’d hung the moon in the sky made her want to cry. Nobody had ever talked about her like that.

And the way you looked at her God- your eyes. She had a scary feeling she would do anything you asked of her if you kept looking at her like that.

She’d wanted to tell you then and there who she was so she could confess how she felt. But the prospect was terrifying and when your friend called it felt like the moment had come and gone. When she’d finally regained the confidence to tell you, her eyes drifted to your shoulder and it got her thinking about what your life would be like if you were with her.

You would be in danger if anyone ever found out about you. She’d never let it happen, no one would ever get close enough to hurt you but- could you forgive her for what she would do to them if they tried? Would you be mad at her for not telling you who she was sooner? You called her incredible. Even with all the red in her ledger you looked at her like a saint. You and your words were magnetic.

It was scary how much she missed your presence now that she’d met you. Suddenly she understood why Clint was always so eager to fly home.

Walking to the kitchen, she pulls out her phone as soon as it buzzes, expecting it to be you. Instead she’s met with the Avengers group chat.

Idiots❤:

MetalHead(Tony):

As soon as I get back from this

press conference in Paris we’re having

a meeting

Old Ice Cube(Steve):

Again Stark?

Science Nerd(Bruce):

Is this about the new compound or

that Government thing?

MetalHead:

The government thingy

…

Actually both.

Spy-der (Nat):

Again? Tony, We’ve already talked about this…

Clinton:

You should drop it Stark.

I don’t want this to end in a fight.

Old Ice Cube:

Bucky and I are firmly against it.

Jacket Stealer(Wanda):

You already know what the

Government thinks of me.

MetalHead:

We’ll talk when I get back.

Toodles!

Nat rolls her eyes but can’t help the uneasy feeling about the situation. Tony needed to stop pushing such a big decision on everyone before her family gets broken apart…again.

~~~~~~

That party was one of the best decisions of your entire life. You’d gained three new friends and an unforgettable conversation with your hero. It was safe to say the entire week after the party you were in good spirits and nobody could make that stop. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’d been smiling as of late.

You can tell Nat’s been wanting to call you all week but if you’re honest you get too flustered everytime you even think of her voice. And you have a weird feeling that nags at the back of your mind everytime you think of it, like your brain is screaming at you but you don’t know why.

Not to mention you’re not prepared for another rejection of a meet-up. Calling is one thing but meeting in person is… even you don’t know if you’re ready for that. What if you weren’t what she imagined? What if she didn’t feel the same way you did? What if she sees you waiting for her and turns around and blocks your number and you’ll never know why?

You’d been on a sort of high after meeting Natasha Romanoff and you’re scared of ruining it. Although you’re sure Nat would never intentionally hurt you. Your own fears are stronger than your desires so you stick to texting her and Nat seems to be respecting that.

Today though, you think you might have gained the courage to finally accept her call if she asks. You'll just have to avoid the topic of meeting to spare any awkwardness or aching in your heart. Plopping down on your couch and opening up your phone, you resume your active conversation with Nat with a confident smile.

Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

I smacked directly into the pole Nat!

It was so embarrassing!

Nat🔪:

I hope you know I’m laughing

Y/n🍦:

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Nat🔪:

It’s New York Y/n, I promise no one

cares that much

Y/n🍦:

Tell that to the group of teenagers

Filming across the street

Nat🔪:

Wait one second-

Y/n🍦:

What are you doing?

Nat🔪:

I’m trying to find that video

Y/n🍦:

Don’t you fucking dare!

I’ll strangle you through the screen!

Nat🔪:

Or you could just strangle me in real life?

You nearly choke. Your body split between blushing because of the implication and freaking out at the proposition.

Y/n🍦:

Haha. very funny

Nat🔪:

Y/n.

Let’s meet.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you choke on it. At least that’s what it feels like. She wanted to meet you. You get up from your couch and pour yourself a glass of water, taking note of the way your hand shakes as you drink. Why wasn’t this cooling the heat that felt like it was suffocating you? Surely your mind was playing tricks on you, she was seriously offering to meet?

Y/n🍦:

Wait wait-

Don’t get my hopes up.

Are you joking?

Nat🔪:

I wouldn’t dream of it

Y/n🍦:

If this is a trick I’ll cry

Nat🔪:

I’d never forgive myself if

I was the cause of your tears

After all this time you’d practically lost all hope that you’d ever meet Nat in person, the last thing you expected was for her to be the one to suggest it. You almost want to laugh. Leave it to Nat to constantly subvert your expectations. You wondered what changed her mind.

Y/n🍦:

Okay.

Nat🔪:

Okay?

Y/n🍦:

Yes. Let’s do it.

When are you free?

Nat🔪:

I have a meeting on Thursday so

Friday?

Does that work for you?

Y/n🍦:

Friday, yep, yes I am free.

You leave out the fact that you would cancel all plans and call out sick to work if you had to.

Nat🔪:

That cute Plant Cafe on 6th at 4pm work for you?

You had no idea what cafe she was talking about but you would figure it out. If you were laying in bed yo figured you’d be kicking your feet and giggling like a schoolgirl.

Y/n🍦:

Sounds Perfect.

This was really happening. You were going to meet.

~~~~~

The two of you text throughout the rest of the week like normal but there’s something different about it. The energy is charged with something, something that fills your stomach with a dizzying heat. You were going to meet Nat. You have to scroll up and reread the messages every few hours just to make sure you aren’t hallucinating.

Even your coworker seems to have noticed the shift in your mood and she asked if it was because of your girlfriend you just grinned even wider and shook your head. You couldn’t hide your blushing however, and at lunch, you were forced to admit that you might have a ‘sort of date’ to which your friend squealed and invited herself over to help you plan an outfit.

It was Wednesday now which meant you were two days away from meeting Nat and you were bursting with anticipation. Your friend laughs at your antics as she pours you a glass of wine which you gladly accept. The two of you sat down on your couch, a cheesy romcom playing in the background as you chatted about what’s been happening in your lives these past few months.

You’re enjoying getting to know her and exchanging embarrassing stories when she stops to observe you, a genuine smile on her face

“What?” You ask, you’ve not known her long but she already looks at you like you’ve known each other for years.

She shakes her head “I’m just happy for you Y/n.” When you don’t speak she continues “ You’re the happiest I've ever seen you lately. At first, I thought it had something to do with that boy that picked you up sometimes but now I see it’s something else”

You blush, you didn’t know you’d been so transparent before about how mundane your life would feel but apparently you’d been detached enough for people to notice. For a while, you’d forgotten that life didn’t have to be perfect to be happy. You didn’t have to be doing big successful things to say that you were living a meaningful life. Your life was meaningful from the moment you were born. You don’t know why it took so long and so many people helping you to finally realize it but you were glad you were finally here. And you were grateful.

Grateful for your mother for never being disappointed in you, your therapist for not giving up on you, Nat for making you want to try new things, Leon for helping you go to more places, and now grateful to your coworker turned best friend for helping you meet new people (and your hero).

Now thanks to everyone you’ve met you could be grateful for yourself. God you did NoT need to cry right now but your face was already getting warm with emotion.

“I have been happy. I’ve been so happy it’s crazy. I didn’t know if I was ever going to get myself back out there after-” You hiccup and your friend rubs your shoulder reassuringly, nodding in understanding.

“I know I haven’t known you long but I’m proud of you, Y/n” Her words make the tears you were trying so hard to hold back burst out and she quickly pulls you into a hug, caressing your back. The two of you stay that way for a while, a million things being said in the silence. After a while you pull back and wipe your eyes, a wet laugh escaping.

“Alright alright, enough of this. Let’s go pick my outfit for my date.” Your friend laughs with you and clinks her wine glass against yours, following you to your bedroom closet.

~~~~

Thursday rolls around and you’re torn between excitement and nerves. Your stomach rolls every time you think about tomorrow and every time the clock ticks by another hour. Your friend had helped you pick a cute but casual outfit and gave you a pep talk about how hot you were and how lucky Nat was to get to meet you.

The thought of her has you texting her early that morning, eager to see if she’s as nervous as you.

Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

Good luck with your meeting!

She doesn’t respond immediately and you figure she’s already in her meeting so you go about your morning getting ready for work and texting your mother to reassure her that you were, in fact, still alive since she checked in yesterday.

You make quick work of a small breakfast and you’re out of the door and on the subway before you know it. When there’s still no message from Nat you scroll idly through Instagram until you arrive at your stop.

Work is as it always is, it’s made a little less hard these days because of your friends' presence but before you know it your lunch break is rolling around, and when you open your phone between bites of food your brows furrow in confusion. Your little message bubble is still the last thing on the screen but right underneath it are four little gray letters ‘seen’.

If it were anyone else you wouldn’t have been worried, but Nat hadn’t left you on seen for months since the two of you became closer. And considering how important tomorrow was for you it put you more than a little on edge.

You try to shake your head, maybe you were being irrational? She could be busy or just left her phone open somewhere. Not everything is as big of a deal as you make it out to be but… there’s anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach.

Your phone alarm goes off signaling the end of your lunch break and you go back to work with a new unease in your gut. You’d wait until the end of the day to really start worrying. Nat would bail on you, would she? Both of you wanted this…right? Have you been reading things wrong?

Your coworker notices your discomfort and asks if you're okay but you just shake your head with a smile. It could be nothing.

It was probably nothing.

Please let it be nothing.

~~~~~

When you finally make it home after a long anxiety-filled day your heart leaps in hopeful anticipation when you see Nat’s name pop up on your home screen, only for it to sink to the bottom of your stomach when you read her only message

Nat🔪:

I’m sorry.

Pt.25

A/n: Pls don’t hate me- I promise this hurt me to write as much as it hurt you to read ~Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months

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Boeing, Spirit and Jetblue, a monopoly horror-story

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables TONIGHT (Jan 22) at 8PM. Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

Last week, William Young, an 82 year old federal judge appointed by Ronald Reagan, blocked the merger of Spirit Airlines and Jetblue. It was a seismic event:

https://storage.courtlistener.com/recap/gov.uscourts.mad.254267/gov.uscourts.mad.254267.461.0_6.pdf

Seismic because the judge's opinion is full of rhetoric associated with the surging antitrust revival, sneeringly dismissed by corporate apologists as "hipster antitrust." Young called America's airlines and "oligopoly," a situation he blamed on out-of-control mergers. As Matt Stoller writes, this is the first airline merger to be blocked by the DOJ and DOT since deregulation in 1978:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/antitrust-enforcers-block-the-jetblue

The judge wasn't shy about why he was reviving a pre-Jimmy Carter theory of antitrust: "[the merger] does violence to the core principle of antitrust law, 'to protect] markets –- and its market participants — from anticompetitive harm."

The legal arguments the judge advances are fascinating and worthy of study:

https://twitter.com/johnmarknewman/status/1747343447227519122

But what really caught my eye was David Dayen's American Prospect article about the judge's commentary on the state of the aviation industry:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/01-19-2024-how-boeing-ruined-the-jetblue-spirit-merger/

Why, after all, have Spirit and Jetblue been so ardent in pursuing mergers? Jetblue has had two failed merger attempts with Virgin, and this is the third time they've failed in an attempt to merge with Spirit. Spirit, meanwhile, just lost a bid to merge with Frontier. Why are these two airlines so obsessed with combining with each other or any other airline that will have them?

As Dayen explains, it's because US aviation has been consumed by monopoly, hollowed out to the point of near collapse, thanks to neoliberal policies at every part of the aviation supply-chain. For one thing, there's just not enough pilots, nor enough air-traffic controllers (recall that Reagan's first major act in office was to destroy the air traffic controller's union).

But even more importantly, there are no more planes. Boeing's waitlist for airplane delivery stretches to 2029. And Boeing is about to deliver a lot fewer planes, thanks to its disastrous corner-cutting, which grounded a vast global fleet of 737 Max aircraft (again):

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-01-09-boeing-737-max-financial-mindset/

The 737 disaster(s) epitomize the problems of inbred, merger-obsessed capitalism. As Luke Goldstein wrote, the rampant defects in Boeing's products can be traced to the decision to approve Boeing's 1997 merger with McDonnell-Douglas, a company helmed by Jack Welch proteges, notorious for cost-cutting at the expense of reliability:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-01-09-boeing-737-max-financial-mindset/

Boeing veterans describe the merger as the victory of the bean-counters, which led to a company that chases short-term profits over safety and even the viability of its business:

https://www.airliners.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=213075

After all, the merger turned Boeing into the single largest exporter in America, a company far too big to fail, teeing up tens of billions from Uncle Sucker, who also account for 40% of Boeing's income:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/its-time-to-nationalize-and-then

The US government is full of ex-Boeing execs, just as Boeing's executive row is full of ex-US federal aviation regulators. Bill Clinton's administration oversaw the creation of Boeing's monopoly in the 1990s, but it was the GOP that rescued Boeing the first time the 737 Maxes started dropping out of the sky.

Boeing's biggest competitor is the state-owned Airbus, a joint venture whose major partners are the governments of France, Spain and Germany – governments that are at least theoretically capable of thinking about the public good, not short-term profits. Boeing's largest equity stakes are held by the Vanguard Group, Vanguard Group subfiler, Newport Trust Company, and State Street Corporation:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-01-18-airbus-advantage/

As Matt Stoller says, America has an airline that the public bails out, protects, and subsidizes but has no say over. Boeing has all the costs of public ownership and none of the advantages. It's the epitome of privatized gains and socialized losses.

This is Reagan's other legacy, besides the disastrous shortage of air-traffic controllers. The religious belief in deregulation – especially deregulation of antitrust enforcement – leads to a deregulated market. It leads to a market that is regulated by monopolists who secretly deliberate, behind closed board-room doors, and are accountable only to their shareholders. These private regulators are unlike government regulators, who are at least nominally bound by obligations to transparency and public accountability. But they share on thing in common with those public regulators: when they fuck up, the public has to pay for their mistakes.

It's a good thing Boeing's executives are too big to fail, because they fail constantly. Boeing execs who are warned by subcontractors of dangerous defects in their planes order those subcontractors to lie, or lose their contracts:

https://www.levernews.com/boeing-supplier-ignored-warnings-of-excessive-amount-of-defects-former-employees-allege/

As a result of Boeing's mismanagement, America's only aircraft supplier steadily has lost ground to Airbus, which today enjoys a 2:1 advantage over Boeing. But it's not just Boeing that's the weak link aviation. US aviation is a chain entirely composed of weak links.

Take jet engines: Pratt & Whitney are Spirit's major engine supplier, but these engines suck as much as Boeing's fuselages. Much of Spirit's fleet is chronically grounded because the engines don't run. The reason Spirit buys its engines from those loveable goofballs at Pratt & Whitney? The Big Four airlines have bought all the engines for sale from other suppliers, leaving smaller airlines to buy their engines from fat-fingered incompetents.

This is why – as Dayen notes – smaller US airlines are so horny for intermarriage. They can't grow by adding routes, because there are no pilots. Even if they could get pilots, there'd be no slots because there are no air traffic controllers. But even if they could get pilots and slots, there are no planes, because Boeing sucks and Airbus can't make planes fast enough to supply the airlines that don't trust Boeing. And even if they could get aircraft, there are no engines because the Big Four aviation cartel cornered the market on working jet engines.

Part of Jetblue and Spirit's pitch was that they hand off the routes that they'd cut after their merger to other small airlines, like Frontier and Allegiant. But Frontier and Allegiant can't service those routes: they don't have pilots, slots, planes or engines.

Spirit hasn't been profitable since 2019 and is sitting on $4b in debt. Jetblue was proposing to finance its acquisition with another $3.5b in debt. The resulting airline could only be profitable by sharply cutting routes and massively raising prices, cutting 6.1m seats/year. With a debt:capital ratio of 111%, the company would have no slack and would need a bailout any time anything went wrong. Not coincidentally, the Big Four airlines also have debt:capital ratios of about 100-120%, and they do get bailouts ever time anything goes wrong.

As William McGee reminds us, it's been 14 years since anyone's started a new US airline:

https://twitter.com/WilliamJMcGee/status/1747363491445375072

US aviation is deeply cursed. But Boeing's self-disassembling aircraft show us why we can't fix it by allowing mergers: private monopolies, shorn of the discipline of competition and regulation, are extraction machines that turn viable businesses into debt-wracked zombies.

This is a subject that's beautifully illustrated in Dayen's 2020 book Monopolized, in the chapter on health care:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

The US health care system has been in trouble for a long time, but the current nightmare starts with the deregulation of pharma. Pharma companies interbred with one another in a string of incestuous marriages that produced these dysfunctional behemoths that were far better at shifting research costs to governments and squeezing customers than they were at making drugs. The pharma giants gouged hospitals for their products, and in response, hospitals underwent their own cousin-fucking merger orgy, producing regional monopolies that were powerful enough to resist pharma's price-hikes. But in growing large enough to resist pharma profiteering, the hospitals also became powerful enough to screw over insurers. Insurers then drained their own gene pool by combining with one another until most of us have three or fewer insurers we can sign up with – companies that are both big enough to refuse hospital price-hikes, and to hike premiums on us.

Thus monopoly begets monopoly: with health sewn up by monopolies in medical tech, drugs, pharmacy benefit managers, insurance, and hospitals, the only easy targets for goosing profits are people:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

This is how you get a US medical system that costs more than any other rich nation's system to operate, delivers worse outcomes than those other systems, and treats medical workers worse than any other wealthy country.

Now, rich people can still buy their way out of this mess, but you have to be very rich indeed to buy your way out of the commercial aviation system. There's a lot of 1%ers who fly commercial, and they're feeling the squeeze – and there's no way they're leasing their own jets.

Stein's Law holds that "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." America's aviation mergers – in airlines, aircraft and engines – have hollowed out the system. The powerful, brittle companies that control aviation have so much power over their workforce that they've turned air traffic controller and pilot into jobs that no one wants – and they used their bailout money to buy out the most senior staff's contracts, sending them to early retirement.

Now, I'm with the people who say that most of US aviation should be replaced with high-speed rail, but that's not why our technocrats and finance barons have gutted aviation. They did it to make a quick buck. A lot of quick bucks. Now the system is literally falling to pieces in midair. Now the system is literally on fire:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/19/us/miami-boeing-plane-engine-fire.html

Which is how you get a Reagan appointed federal judge issuing an opinion that has me punching the air and shouting, "Yes, comrade! To the barricades!" Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. When the system is falling to pieces around you, ideology disintegrates like a 737 Max.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/21/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever/#will-eventually-stop

Image: Vitaly Druchenok (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ECAir_Boeing_737-306_at_Brazzaville_Airport_by_Vitaly_Druchenok.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

Joe Ravi (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Panorama_of_United_States_Supreme_Court_Building_at_Dusk.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #aviation #antitrust #monopoly #boeing #jetblue #spirit airlines #oligopoly #air traffic controllers #airbus #steins law

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1800jjbarnes · 8 months

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◇ 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐭.𝟏 ◇

【Synopsis】 : One day, when a far away kingdom gets attacked, a lone brave knight fights to save his homeland. But what happens when death comes knocking and only a small fae could save him.

『Word count』 : 3.5k

-> Genre: Fantasy Au. Fluff. Gore. Suggestive.

Paring: GumpyKnight!Bucky x Fae!Reader

[Warnings] : Violence, heavy gore, blood, weapons, animals dying, near character death, making out

Masterlist | Navigation

The enchanted forest just on the outskirts of the kingdom was one of the most ancient and most powerful places you could ever visit. The thick forestry was home to many magical beings, ranging from fairies, fae, nymphs, druids, and more. If you walk fifteen minutes into the giant trees, you can spot a crystal clear waterfall that is said if you swim in it, a water nymph will appear and grant you wishes.

If you cast yourself deeper inside, as the forest becomes denser, you can find a cave that houses a griffin. It has spoken that he is sound asleep waiting for his master to awaken him from his enchanted slumber. The forest is beautiful inside and out but never tread too far, It may be magical and gorgeous, but it’s a dangerous land. The creatures that hide inside can be seductive and lure you into an early gra—

“Samuel! Clinton! Stop scaring the kids.” King Steve called from across the classroom. The young prince and princess stared in shock hearing the horrors of the forest just beyond their bedroom.

“Uncle Steve, can you tell us about the forest? Haven’t you been in there yourself!” The young princess smiled at him, intrigued by the stories that were whispered in the castle. Steve just chuckled, leaning against the large door frame. The two knights who were telling the stories also anticipated what their leader might say.

“Well, there was this time when—My lord three or more large wolves have entered the outskirts of the kingdom,” Nat calls out with three other knights following her close behind, Wanda and Vision, while Peter looked out of breath having to try and keep up with olders, and their long legs.

Sam and Clint told the kids to go find their father, Steve's brother from another kingdom, and wait until the threat was gone. Steve rounded them all up, heading straight for the large entrance gates.

“Wait where is Sargent Barnes?!!” Steve called, looking among the knights present.

—

Treading through the thick grass, Bucky wipes his brow with a bloody hand in hopes of removing the blood off his face. But it just ends up smearing it more. His armour is scratched, and some of it has been torn off. His chest was exposed, but he kept his shield close to make sure he didn’t get a jump on himself.

“Where are you…” He gritted his teeth, holding his sword tightly in his grasp. He already managed to slaughter two of the rage-filled beats, but he became unsure how many exactly were left. A stick snapped behind his back, making him turn at all the speed he could conjure. But it wasn’t as fast as he would have liked, being tackled down by a large black wolf. Its teeth were a mix of black, red, and yellow, its breath stunk of death, and eyes were pitch as the night sky. It was hungry, and Bucky was its prey.

—

The meadows were extra lively this fine day. The flowers were all in full bloom, making pollen dance in the cool breeze. Your cottage was warm, and the smell of leftover burnt wood from last night’s fire was still prominent as you snipped at some herbs in your greenhouse that was connected to your humble abode.

Placing the herbs and sorts carefully into the little grass basket you carry around, you head inside to sort them out for storage. Some things you sell in neighbouring kingdoms, and others you keep just for yourself. Placing everything on the counter, you notice you’re missing a few items for the meal you planned for tonight. Sighing, you head upstairs to get dressed. You couldn’t do without the ingredients, and it was only a short walk to where you needed to go.

You put on your petty coat before layering on your fabrics. You put on a baby pink and blue with a contract of a white theme. You tie on your bodice top to make sure you avoid your sheer wings. Lastly, you threw over a slitted half cloak to just cover your shoulders, gifting you a little hoodie.

Grabbing your basket and bow from downstairs, you slip on your shoes before heading out into the forestry you call home.

—

The small space clearing from the giant thick trees was covered in hot red blood. Two wolves were lifeless and cold, while one of their brothers still stood. It was wounded but held its ground. Bucky stood across from it, covered in blood. Losing count of what was his and what was the beasts. He held his stomach as the large gash that the big black wolf gave him continued to pour out streams of the crimson liquid.

He was dying.

He spat, holding his sword with both hands. If he was going down, he was going to go down fighting. The wolf growled, getting ready to pounce, looking Bucky dead in the eyes. He ran, jumping onto him, pinning him down to the damp ground. He screamed as the wolf bit into his shoulder, ripping a bit of his flesh away. It was the last piece of strength, Bucky drove his sword into the beast’s chest, his knuckles white as his grip clutched tight. The beast let out one last growl before falling onto the knight, lifeless.

Buck kicked the large wolf off him before leaning against a tree that sat behind him. His eyes grew heavy, feeling his breath becoming shallow. Lifting his left arm from his stomach to look at the damage. His lower half was completely covered in red, his hands painted cardinal.

“Fuck..” He choked, his eyes fuzzy unable to see his surroundings. Maybe going out on your own was a stupid idea. He thought before shutting his eyes for the final time.

—

You were minding your own business. Picking some morels up from the base of an Elms tree that had recently died. The soil was wet, getting stuck to your palms as you removed each mushroom carefully. A low whimper caught your attention. Making you stand up quickly. Your hand clutched your belt that carried your positions, getting ready just in case. You slowly walked towards the noise, preparing for the worst. But no one could prepare you for what you saw.

A literal blood bath.

Three dead wolves and a man. Blood is painted everywhere. The whimper you heard was from a smaller wolf that had stumbled upon the massacre. Its eyes are rage-full, stalking its way towards the man who lies unconscious. Without a second thought, you drew your bow, pulling out an arrow from the quiver. You dragged the arrow, aiming for the wolf. You slowed your breathing before letting go of the stem, letting it fly straight into the jugular of the wolf, stopping it in his tracks.

It was quick and painless.

You picked your feet up, letting them hover just above the forest floor, so your shoes don’t get blood on them. Flapping your wings, you fluttered over to the man, leaning down and becoming horizontal. You notice the gash in his chest, hissing at that state. You pop the button on your pouch, grabbing out our jar of golden dust. You pinch a small amount before sprinkling some of the unconscious male.

“Let’s get you cleaned up…” You sighed…

—

The smell of soy sauce, perilla oil, chicken broth, and other spices made Bucky's nose twitch. He shifts slightly, gifting him a sharp pain in his abdomen. His hands flew to his stomach, letting out a hard groan. He shifted more, blinking slowly. His fuzzy vision makes it hard to completely see his surroundings. He notices he is inside a lounging area, a blanket covering him and a fluffy pillow holding his neck up comfortably.

He pulled the blanket away, seeing all his wounds were dressed, and he was in only his undergarments that hid under his pants. A rush of red painted his face, feeling indecent. He moves to get up, but another sharp pain hits him, making him cough. He went to put his feet on the floor when a gasp caught his attention.

“HEY! STOP YOU’RE GOING TO POP YOUR STITCHES!!” A concerned voice made him freeze. You ran around to the front of the couch, placing both hands on his upper chest, fingers resting on his shoulders before pushing him back down onto the comforter…

His eyes grew wide watching your face contort as you spoke to him. But he doesn’t hear anything. All he is paying attention to is your beauty. The way your hair shines with sprinkles of what looks like glitter. Your skin contrasts with your outfit, making you look eternal. And your wings, resting flat on your back. The shimmer of blue on your forewings while the baby peach blends into your hindwing.

Your head tilted as you examined his wounds, he notices how cute your pointed ears look, having been decorated with jewellery. You were beautiful, a goddess. He had never felt something like this before. He was the bad guy. The quiet mysterious knight that most town folks didn’t dare to tread near. But you didn’t look at him like that. You didn’t look at him as if he were a monster. You just saw a hurt man.

“You understand!” You say sternly, making him fall out of his thoughts. He blinked a couple of times, trying to find a word that might have stuck from you, but he didn’t hear anything. You laugh watching his brain tick and find nothing, making him blush even more.

“You heard none of what I said, did you?” You giggle, crossing your arms over your chest. He just shook his head with a simple sorry.

“Stay. Don’t move, I’ll bring the food.” You got up quickly, existing towards where you came from. He sat there for a moment, confusion and wonder, mixing in his mind. All he could remember was the colour red from the blood and darkness. But now he was here, fixed up and safe…Strange.

You returned with two bowls of warm stew. Placing both on the coffee table, you move towards the largr knight, making him stiffen. You put more pillows up against the couch’s arm. Making him lean back but still sit up enough so he could eat. You place a little tray on top of his legs before putting the bowl on top and handing him a spoon.

“Eat, you’ll feel better.” You sounded like a mother caring for her sick young. You were trying to be stern, but in the tone, he knew all you were feeling was concern. Worry for a stranger you have never met, wanting nothing but to help heal him no matter his background. The silence was comforting, taking down the delicious meal. Time passed soon, finishing the meal, You got up to grab the empty dishes, heading swiftly to the kitchen. Bucky wanted to speak, but you were too quick, so he got up. Slowly, and mildly painfully, well scratched that very painfully. He leant against the kitchen door frame coughing out, making you jump.

“Oh my god, what are you doing!” You yelp, dropping the dishes back into the soapy water, immediately moving to wrap your arm, even though it doesn’t completely wrap around, his waist, helping him to sit on the chair. He wheezed out slightly, holding his lower stomach before slouching into the soft seat with emerald green cushioning and deep spruce wooden framing.

“I told you. You move, your stitches can pop, do you have a death wish or something!” You sounded angrier than you wanted, your fingers grazing over the wrapping around him, checking to if anything may have moved.

“Ha maybe.” Was the only thing he replied with. You looked him dead in the eyes with frustration. You watch the blue in his eyes shift, his pupils blow slightly. You felt a connection as if you had known him for years. The distance was suddenly hyper-aware in your mind, shifting back away from him, moving straight back to the sink.

“So…What’s your name anyway?” He asks, tilting his head slightly, trying to get your attention. You told him your name while your voice was small, watching the bubbles slowly pop away. Bucky cracked a smile, watching you intensely.

“I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky. And I owe you a thank you.” You turned around to meet his gaze once more. Blush forms on your cheeks. You nod, smiling at him before turning your back to him, placing a bowl into the drying rack.

“I don’t need thanks. You are the one who kills those beasts. The beasts that infect my home. This forest.” You choke out, placing the last dish on the rack, and pulling the plug. Bucky clicks his tongue knowing first-hand what those feral wolves can do. Destroy crops, kill just about anything and anyone that gets in their way and leave a path of misery in their wake. You place a cup of coffee down in front of him and sit down across the table from him.

“Well James, you need to rest. You are not going anywhere until you can at least walk without anything…” You wave your hand, gesturing to his stomach, “…You know, hurting.” He laughs at your actions, taking a sip of his coffee while you do the same. Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comforting. A small smile was placed on both of your faces. You stared out your window, watching a small drop-lit of rainfall onto the glass, sighing in contentment. But Bucky watched you. He might not know it, and nor did you, but you had him around your finger. He was falling fast, and for once, he wasn’t scared.

—

“HEY, IT"S BUCKY!!!” Sam screamed from the edge of the billiard room, making Nat miss her shot with the pool cue. Before Nat could protest and whine, the knights started running towards the gate. Steve was there first, wrapping Bucky's arm around his shoulders to hold him up. All of his fellow knights surrounded him, spitting out questions over questions, overlapping one another.

“Okay give the man some breathing room.” Wanda pulled the two youngest away—Yelena, and Peter—letting the others move so Bucky and Stve could walk towards the castle. Once inside take, he took him straight to the infirmary to check up on his wounds. Steve was the first to break the silence.

“Where have you been? It’s been four days?” He crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. The nurse helps Bucky remove his blouse so that she can undress his wounds. The others watch as the dressing falls off his chest, revealing a scarred semi-healed gash from just under his left nipple cross until it ends just above his pelvis. Audible gasps echoed in the infirmary, Sam leaned forward for a better look while an uproar of questions sprung again.

“Okay okay!” Steve calmed the crowd. “Answers now. We thought you were dead! For the love of god, we were contemplating whether we start planning a funeral or not!” The king sounded hurt, but who could blame him? He and the other had trouble sleeping without knowing what exactly happened.

“We found the massacre on the outside side of the woods. The five wolves are dead along with the two you left at the entrance of the forest.” Vision spoke quick, curious how he took on that many wolves.

“Five? You mean four? I only killed the four in that break of trees…” Buck said, holding the end of the bandage as the nurse dressed the wrapping around him. Then it recalled to him that when you found him, a wolf might have been there. Did you kill a wolf to save him?

“Oh, Doll…” he sighed in a whisper, making the others tilt their heads at the grumble of words.

“Who Doll?” Peter asked, only just being able to hear the older male’s voice. Bucky was frozen he didn’t want to tell his friends who you were, not cause he didn’t trust them, but if the word got out that he was saved by a creature of the forest, questions would arise and that could lead to negative theories on Steve's leadership. There was too much to risk at the moment, and only just being returned sparked all these questions. He was scared.

“I’m not dead, right, that’s the main thing. I’m fine. But I….” The nurse backs away to the desk on the side, pulling out some other dressings, but Bucky stood up, backing away from the bed. “I’m tired, but I assure you I’m not in danger anymore….”

And with that, he left in a hurry, leaving his brother confused and even more so worried.

—

Two weeks had passed since the accident, and everyone seemed to have died out of questions. None of the townsfolk speculated anything and only blessed Bucky, one of the bravest knights, was safe.

Bucky watches through the bay window in the main meeting room. An important spokesman came around to King Steve for some event that was happening. Bucky wasn’t paying attention. All that was thinking about was you.

Tonight was your meeting night. He would sneak away in the evening while everyone went off to their separate duties. The sun was low on the horizon, and most had already settled in for the night. But Buck was quick and quiet, weaving through the halls to avoid all the guards and his friends. He managed to get to the outer gate undetected, but little did he know, Nat was hot on his tail, watching his every move.

Bucky entered the dim forest, making Nat curious to remember back to the conversation she had with the others not too long ago.

“I’ve seen him. He has been sneaking out into the forest at night.” Sam states having been on guard watch the other night. The others were beginning to question where their friend was disappearing to. Bucky avoided every question and every query that was thrown his way. Everyone was becoming impatient with the mystery. So Sam and Clint devised a plan to catch Bucky out and find out exactly where he was going.

“My bet, a siren or worse, a succubus has enchanted him,” Peter says with worry, fear slipping off his tongue.

“Succubus?! You are certainly mad. I think a witch has given him a love potion.” Nat laughed.

“Maybe it’s love,” Wanda whispered making everyone turn from the table.

“Love? Pff, you’re funny.” Sam laughed but Wanda was serious, Maybe the cold-hearted and closed-off knight finally met someone who could melt his exterior. But in the end, the others were still determined to find out how. So as the sun sets and they all got set into place. Bucky doesn’t suspect a thing, entering the forest like he does every other time.

But only this time Nat and the others were close behind.

The front garden was full of lanterns lighting up the evening’s surroundings. You sat on your swinging bench while Bucky stood in front of you, telling yet another story of his adventures. He swings his sword as he focuses on this crucial part of the story, and all you can do is smile at him being so goofy. He was so perfect in your mind and you were falling every moment you spent with him. He tripped lightly, making you laugh, standing quickly to help him up, but he pulled you down, making you fall slowly as your wings stopped you from gravity. His arms snake around your waist as you both laugh. Your hands rest on his chest as you look him in his beautiful eyes. He smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think I’ve fallen for you…” He confesses, making you blush, leaning close to him. Your lips ghost of him as your smile grows with his.

“As am I…” you reply, leaning into a kiss. His lips are soft and warm. Butterflies dance in your stomach, and your wings flutter slightly. His hand cups your face, deepening the kiss. You were so in love, and so was he. And as he sits up, he brings you with him. His hands grip your thighs, bringing you onto his lap before turning you. You fall onto the soft grass on your back with Bucky above you. Your wings lay flat, letting Buck see every detail. His fingers graze over the sheer appendage, making you let out a small sigh. Electricity crackles up your spine, almost like a burning wire in a broken fuse box. Everything was so sensitive. You couldn’t get enough. You needed more.

“James…” you whisper through his lips, mixing your breath with his before he coulc answer you, prying eyes that were watching your displays of affection caught his attention.

“What did I tell you,” Wanda states with a smile, watching his friend finally happy.

“NO WAIT, I WANTED TO WIN THE BET!!” Sam said a little too loudly, making you and Bucky hear. You sat up straight off him, hiding behind his back once he was facing where the noise was.

“Sam?” Bucky called out suddenly, seeing a small head pop out from behind the trees before yelling;

“Pretend We're not here!!!!”

Everyone laughed.

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castielstwigandberries · 6 months

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if the supernatural movie doesnt include a reference to

nevada and georgia turning blue, stop the count, destiel making putin resign, sherlock season 5 rumors, destiel news meme, which political person had to be briefed on what destiel is now?, jensen looks like he was holding back homophobic slurs, weird cuts in the confession scene, which way was dean thrown now?, bury your gays speedrun, gay angels get send to superhell/eeby-deeby/cas plinko, recognizing the confession scene only by the first letters of each word, 'homosexual declaration of love', The Tapes™ (Release them now jensen!!!), meta analysis after 15x18, 'i gripped you tight and raised you from perdition' callback as dean saves cas from the empty, why lamp?, onion field, pizza man montage, parallels be paralleling, dean screaming cas name so loud in one take that people heard it blocks away, dean offering to kill sam if it means chuck brings cas back, the 4 year old son of lucifer becoming god, chuck won theory, 'we explore the nature of destiel in act two', excitement for a long finale which could only be about dean saving cas, right?, the insanity inducing quotes of the day for episodes, 'the night we met' and 'angel with a shotgun' songs of the day on set, filming in a barn, worst finale ever (even worse than game of thrones), weirly short with 11 scenes cut, two thirds montages, carry on wayward son playinf twice, back to back, one a weird cover version, vampmimes, no cas in the finale but instead some random vampire from season one no one remembers, dean finally gets nailed from behind, dean dies from tetanus, party city wig, good cars go to heaven, Car/Cas and Biden/Bi!Dean/Bye!Dean, 'cas helped', blurry wife, misha and jensen are not in the thank you video, everyone was supposed to be at the roadhouse originally but no one was informed of those plans, walker backdoor pilot, covid/capitalism destroyed everything, misha was in vancouver for filming the last episodes and was in less episodes than he was contracted for, misha denies ever having been in vancouver, misha says originally he was supposed to be in the finale as jimmy, misha says cas was supposed to be in the finale and 'sidle up to dean in the roadhouse', heterosexual destiel whose kisses would have created entire universes, destiel reciprocated in spanish, rogue translator, #TheySilencedYou, Jensen Ackles sexy silence, jensen ackles longcon, deanbenny breakup in season 8 script leak, Heller Obama, fake italian dub, misha collins x bill clinton sex scandal, misha addressing the "scandal" and tagging bill clinton and monica lewinski, 'still beautiful, still dean winchester', mishapocalypse 2.0 and 3.0, 'eyes like the sky' beer from jensens brewery rumored to be misha description, cockles anniversay photo, chaos machine jensen ackles' production company, 'rainbow road' beer close to deans birthday, blue green ('destiel') shotglasses from jensen brewery, ash and ellen's actors roleplaying roadhouse reopening in twitter, people think they are planning destiel wedding, disappointment when thats not the case, fans celebrate Destiel Wedding anyway on Valentine's Day 2021, fallout with both actors after one said a 'queer interpretation would damage the integrity of the show',

*takes a deep breath*

jared calling cas junkless and comparing his love for dean to the love he has for his children, misha collins cameo including 'still beautiful, still dean winchester', saileen and midam wedding, spn prequel announcement and subsequent j2 fallout, '@/robbiethompson et tu brute wow. what a trully awful thing you've done #bravo you coward', the prequel being about the least favourite characters of supernatural and a love story disproved by canon, 100000 destiel fics on ao3, misha tweets about that, rumors if mishas secret ao3 account, real italian dub going 'you're kinda okay' instead of i love you, misha tweeting a video of him saying 'te amo' in response to that', jensen saying if there'd been more time he (he meant dean but he used first person pronouns) would have hugged cas and said 'i love you too', first anniversary, misha collins coming out as bisexual on accident and then saying he 'happens to be straight' three days later in a five post apology thread, hot sauce from adam/micheal actor advertised by him playing midam, casbaiting in the winchesters trailer, jarlos shipping by winchester main actors, dean with beard and turtleneck, jensen saying he wanted misha in the winchesters but it didnt work out because of scheduling conflicts but hed be there in a season two shortly before the show was cancelled, death of the rogue translator and destiel getting dragged to the trending page every time there is news

*panting* then i dont want it.

yes this is all i could remember without looking it up

#supernatural #spn #destiel #nov 5th #my post

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 6 months

Text

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 13

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Here

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, idiots in love, misunderstandings, minor Foggy/OFC

Word Count: ~3200

A/N: We're almost to the end! Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, and commented on my little self-indulgent Chef AU -- y'all keep me writing!

As always, thanks to @theradioactivespidergwen for the line break -- it's being put to good use!

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41 @thepunisherfrankcastle @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @roseslovedreams

"Wait, Matt actually accused you of screwing him over and using him just to make a name for yourself?" Skyler asked as you sat in your kitchen together after work later that evening. "I don't remember anything in your article worth him getting upset over when I read it yesterday."

You shook your head. "That's because there wasn't anything! I absolutely raved about both his culinary skills and his food, I talked about how much care and consideration he puts into perfecting his recipes, and I even mentioned his volunteer activities at Clinton Church."

Skyler shook her head. "Walk me through the conversation again."

"I emailed him my article then decided to call him a little later to let him know that I had sent it over. He seemed a bit put off but I wasn't sure if he was still upset with me over running out on him the other night or if something else was bothering him, so I asked him if he had read it. Suddenly he just went off on me, saying how all journalists were exactly alike and how we're always looking for the next big scoop no matter who we screw over in the process, then he said that he thought I actually cared about him and that I was no longer welcome at Daredevil."

Your voice broke, the hurt and anger in Matt's voice upsetting you all over again. "The worst part of it is that I do care about him, Sky, I -- I think I might have been falling for him."

Skyler reached out and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

You shook your head with a sniffle. "I hate to admit it, but maybe Kelsie was right and Matt was just stringing me along but got tired of waiting until my article was actually published to stop speaking to me, so he just made an excuse."

Skyler made a face. "Ugh. First off, don't ever use the phrase 'Kelsie was right' in my presence ever again. Secondly, didn't you say that he opened up to you about some personal stuff but asked you to keep it off the record?"

You nodded. "Yeah, and I did. I didn't mention anything to do with that in the article."

You pulled up your work email on your phone, opening the attachment you had sent Matt so you could read over it once again. "I didn't even -- wait, what is this?"

You scrolled through the document, your blood turning to ice in your veins. "Oh shit. Oh no, no , no, no, no, no. "

A look of alarm crossed Skyler's face. "What's wrong?"

"This isn't my article."

"What? What do you mean, that isn't your article?"

I mean , the article I sent Matt is not the article I wrote, Sky." You handed your phone to Skyler. "It's got my name on the byline, but I didn't write this. It's no wonder Matt was so pissed at me though -- this article is a smear campaign."

Skyler's eyebrows raised as she read through it. "Someone had to have switched the documents. Did you leave your computer unlocked and unattended at any point today?"

You shook your head. "No, of course not, I--"

You sighed. "Wait, yes. I was getting ready to send my article to Matt when Kelsie told me I had a package downstairs that I had to go personally sign for."

Skyler raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, there was no package."

You nodded. "Exactly."

Skyler tapped at your phone screen. "Um, did you also send it to Max and Carrie and tell them Ellison approved your article and said to go ahead and send it to them?"

You shook your head. "No, why?"

"Because it looks like you did."

"What?" You grabbed your phone, scowling as you saw that the same attachment had been sent to the people who handled the layout for the physical paper as well as the digital edition. "Oh, but hell no. It's a good thing you caught that."

Skyler shook her head in disbelief. "That absolute bitch. I'm going to destroy her."

You sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to prove Kelsie is the one who wrote it and planted it on my PC though."

Skyler grinned. "Oh, I do. You didn't know that you can see who the original author of a document is and look at a document's editing history, did you?"

You shook your head.

"I bet Kelsie didn't either. I need your laptop."

You retrieved your laptop and pulled the document up on it before letting Skyler take over.

After a few clicks, Skyler nodded. "Sure enough. Not only is she listed as the original author of the document, but her digital signature is all over it."

You shook your head. "We need to go talk to Ellison."

You sent him a text message. Are you still at the office? I need to talk to you about something important.

A few seconds later, he replied. Yeah, still here trying to get this editorial column done. What's up?

I'll be there in 10 minutes. Don't go anywhere.

You saved the file to a flash drive, grabbed your keys, then you and Skyler practically ran to the Bulletin.

As soon as you got there, you booted up your computer and printed a copy of Kelsie's fake article. "Okay, let's go talk to Ellison."

You picked up the printout of Kelsie's fake article from the printer before you and Skyler headed to Ellison's office.

He looked up at the two of you tiredly. "Whatcha got for me?"

"Sabotage," Skyler replied. "As well as sneaky, underhanded, unethical so-called journalism."

Ellison's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I have reason to believe that Kelsie swapped my Restaurant Week article out with a fake one in an attempt to discredit me," you explained.

You set the copy of the fake article down on Ellison's desk. "I wound up sending this to Chef Murdock, who was understandably upset by it and is how I caught it. And not only that, but Kelsie sent it to Max and Carrie while I was away from my computer."

Ellison's eyebrows raised as he read the fake article. "What makes you so sure it was Kelsie?"

Skyler scoffed. "Isn't it obvious? She's an evil, backstabbing bitch."

You shook your head. "Kelsie's had a personal vendetta against me ever since I got promoted to Features and has been going around all week accusing me of 'stealing' the Restaurant Week feature out from underneath her."

"And she's been saying all sorts of horrible things about Chef Murdock," Skyler added before pointedly looking at you. "Things that probably aren't even true."

Ellison sighed. "I knew she wasn't very happy with me for passing the Restaurant Week feature to you, but I wouldn't have suspected that she'd actually resort to sabotage."

He set the article down. "However, you both know that simply providing me with a copy of an allegedly-written article isn't enough. I need solid proof."

Skyler set the flash drive down on Ellison's desk. "Here's your proof. You'll notice that Kelsie is the original owner of the document and has edited it multiple times, and I bet if you look on her computer you'd find it there as well."

"Plus if you review the security footage from around 1:30 today you'll probably see her poking around at my desk." You set copies of the time-stamped emails sent to Max and Carrie. "She sent me on a wild goose chase trying to find some package I needed to personally sign for while she sent the fake article to Max and Carrie for publication."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she was behind the email server conveniently going down on Wednesday afternoon so you couldn't email your article to Mitch then," Skyler added. "It's a good thing you decided to print it and turn it in anyway."

Ellison sighed. "Do you still have your original file?"

You nodded. "She deleted it off of my computer here at work but I keep a copy of all of my articles on an external hard drive at home."

"Good. As soon as you get home, resend it to Max and Carrie marked urgent and CC me so I'll also have it digitally. In the meantime, I'll get Phil to pull the security footage from today."

"Okay." You bit your lip. "Um, is it okay if I take Monday off? After the week I've had I need a mental health day."

Ellison looked at you sympathetically and nodded. "Yeah, sure. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for all this."

You shrugged. "Not your fault. What I don't get though is why Kelsie also chose to go after Chef Murdock so hard."

"I think I can answer that," Skyler said, handing you her phone. "Take a look at Kelsie's Facebook."

You looked at her latest post, which was a picture of her cozying up to a handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed man. Romantic weekend away with my love, the photo was captioned. "So?"

Skyler shook her head and pulled up Kelsie's boyfriend's profile. "See who she's dating?"

Your eyebrows raised as you read his bio. "Huh, yeah, I guess that makes sense now."

Skyler showed it to Ellison. "Did you know this?"

Ellison shook his head. "No, I had no idea. It does explain why she was pushing so hard about getting the feature switched back though."

You nodded. "That way she could control the narrative."

Ellison sighed. "Let me go ahead and call Phil. Don't forget to CC me on that correction to Max and Carrie so it's documented."

You nodded. "Okay."

"I'll send out a staff-wide memo on Monday after everything is said and done, but in the meantime, don't say anything to anyone else on staff about this. I don't want it getting back to Kelsie so she can try to cover her tracks."

You and Skyler both nodded. "Yes, sir."

As you left the office and were headed back down the elevator, Skyler asked, "So what are you going to do about Matt? Still want me to kick his ass for you?"

You let out a light laugh. "No, that's okay. I'll just… move on, I guess? I mean, I'm going to send my actual article to him but he made it pretty clear that he didn't want anything else to do with me so I doubt he'll even open my email."

"Then it's his loss."

You stepped out of the elevator as the doors opened. "Thanks, Sky."

Skyler bit her lip. "What about Foggy? You think I should cancel my date with him tomorrow?"

You shook your head. "No way. Just because it didn't work out with me and Matt doesn't mean you shouldn't at least give Foggy a chance."

You gave her a wink. "Besides, just because I'm not welcome at Daredevil doesn't mean that you can't bring me some takeout from there, especially if you're dating the other owner."

Skyler laughed and gave you a hug. "Thanks, bestie."

"Let me know how it goes, ok?"

Skyler nodded. "I will."

You headed home and grabbed your laptop so you could send the correct article to Max and Carrie, CCing Ellison on the email with the explanation "Sorry, wrong attachment sent. Please use this attached copy in the print and online editions on Monday." .

You opened a new email and attached the correct file.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Explanation About Bulletin Article

Attachment: Restaurant Week Feature V1.doc

You took a deep breath.

Dear Matt,

You probably won't even open this email, but I wanted to let you know that the article I sent you earlier today was not the article I had written about you, nor is it the article that will be appearing in Monday's edition of the Bulletin. Long story short, someone else on staff replaced the file for my article (which I had given a hardcopy of to my editor for approval on Wednesday) with the one I erroneously sent you earlier today.

I promise I never meant to hurt you and I swear I would never use you (or anyone else, for that matter) just to get a lead on a story or try to pad my portfolio. This past week was one of the best of my life and it was genuinely a pleasure spending time with you and getting to know you… both inside the kitchen and out.

You bit your lip, trying to decide if you should tell Matt exactly how much he had begun to mean to you. Ultimately you decided against it, instead closing with ' Wishing you all the best in your future endeavors'.

You added your work signature, then sent the email.

You sat back and sighed. While it hurt knowing that you would never get to find out if the spark you had felt with Matt could've ignited into something real, you also knew that you would treasure the time you had spent with him forever.

"Matt, there's a gentleman on the phone asking for you," Karen said as Matt and Foggy prepped for brunch service on Sunday. "Says he's from the Bulletin."

Matt nodded and wiped his hands. He had called the editor on Friday evening and had left a voicemail disputing the information contained in your article and asking for a resolution. "I'll take it in the office. Thanks, Karen."

He could feel both her and Foggy watching him as he exited the kitchen and headed to the office.

He picked up the phone and transferred the call. "Matthew Murdock speaking."

"Chef Murdock," the man replied. "This is Mitchell Ellison. I'm the editor over at the New York Bulletin. "

Matt was hit with a pang. You had emailed him again on Friday afternoon but with his hurt over your article being so fresh and so raw Matt had been letting your email sit unopened in his inbox until he was ready to hear what kind of (undoubtedly poor) excuse you'd had for using him.

He cleared his throat. "Mmhmm."

"I just wanted to call and personally apologize for the feature article you received in your email on Friday. That was not the article I had approved for publication and I wanted to let you know that after a brief internal investigation, the person responsible for it is being terminated first thing tomorrow morning. I assure you, we do not stand for such unethical behavior at the Bulletin ."

Matt winced. While he was extremely hurt and angry with you, he hadn't actually set out to get you fired. "Thank you for letting me know."

"I'm sending over the feature that I actually had approved for tomorrow's edition of the paper and I must say, it's some of the best, most honest writing I've ever read. I think you'll be much more pleased with it."

Matt heard his inbox chime with a new email. "I think it just came in."

"Great. Apologies again for the mistake."

"Mmhmm. Thanks for returning my call."

"Of course. Have a good day, Chef."

"You too. Goodbye."

Matt hung up and sighed, then popped in his earbuds and pulled up Ellison's email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: NYC RESTAURANT WEEK FEATURE

Attachments: Restaurant Week Feature V1.doc

Chef Murdock,

Attached is the article that has been approved for this year's New York Restaurant Week feature. If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to reach out.

Mitchell Ellison

Editor-in-Chief, New York Bulletin

Matt opened the attachment and tapped the keyboard command to begin his text-to-speech program, surprised to hear your name on the byline. He would have thought that whoever had been reassigned the article would get credited, especially since the editor-in-chief had said that your employment at the Bulletin was to be terminated.

Either way, Mr. Ellison had been right -- the rewritten article was immensely more positive than the previous one had been and actually included information that Matt had revealed to you during your recorded interviews… as well as information that hadn't been recorded and therefore only you would be able to include.

Matt's brow furrowed. Something's not adding up.

He closed out of the article, then navigated to your email.

He took a deep breath and opened it.

"Dear Matt," his text-to-speech program dictated,

"You probably won't even open this email, but I wanted to let you know that the article I sent you earlier today was not the article I had written about you, nor is it the article that will be appearing in Monday's edition of the Bulletin. Long story short, someone else on staff replaced the file for my article (which I had given a hardcopy of to my editor for approval on Wednesday) with the one I erroneously sent you earlier today. "

Matt tapped the spacebar on his keyboard to pause his program, filled with an odd mix of confusion and relief. So if you hadn't actually written the first article you had sent him… who had and why?

He tapped the spacebar again to continue.

"I promise I never meant to hurt you," your email continued, "and I swear I would never use you (or anyone else, for that matter) just to get a lead on a story or try to pad my portfolio. This past week was one of the best of my life and it was genuinely a pleasure spending time with you and getting to know you… both inside the kitchen and out.

Wishing you all the best in your future endeavors, sincerely yours…"

Matt navigated to the attachment, sucking in a breath as he realized that the article that the Bulletin 's editor-in-chief had sent him a few minutes before had been your article -- your real article, apparently.

Matt groaned and covered his face with his hands. He had been so caught up in his worry about getting hurt again that he had never even considered the possibility that you hadn't written the other article.

"Everything okay?"

Matt shook his head as Foggy entered the office. "I messed up."

"What do you mean?"

Matt sighed and said your name. "I was wrong about her, Fog, I was completely wrong. She didn't write that article."

"She didn't? How did she wind up sending it to you then?"

"Apparently one of her coworkers had replaced the file for her real article with the one she sent me -- I'm assuming as some form of sabotage or something. The editor at the Bulletin told me that the person responsible is being terminated first thing tomorrow morning."

"So did you get to read the real article?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, it's right here."

Foggy moved to his side and leaned over his shoulder so he could read it.

After a few minutes, he straightened. "Damn, Matt, that was beautiful."

Matt nodded. "I know."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Apologize profusely and hope like hell that she'll forgive me."

Matt sighed. If you didn't forgive him, at least he had the memories he had made with you over the past week.

But if you did … Well, he wouldn't screw up a third time.

#lotmf writes #Cooking Up Love Masterlist #Chef!Matt Murdock x Reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you

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goncharov-propaganda-factory · 11 months

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Mishapocalypse: what the-

Hey, former redditors! Welcome to the hellsite, we're all glad that you're here (especially you 196 folk you warm my dead, frozen heart). While on the whole you seem to be adapting AMAZINGLY fast to site culture, if any of you are confused over one of our founding myths this may help.

(or if you're a veteran tumblrina and just want to read an essay that's fine too)

(others key parts of our national identity to learn about if you're curious include Goncharov, I Love You, Color of the Sky, My Three Girlfriends, and many more)

also if you don't want to read my entire fucking essay take this and run

but if you want to know the deal with this man, read on!

Mishorigins

Supernatural is a 2000s-ass TV series that ran on the CW from 2005 to 2020. It's about two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, who are "hunters" that protect people from various supernatural entities. The show was originally planned to last five seasons, with an angel character named Castiel (this is important) slated to be revealed as God in the finale. Castiel (nicknamed Cass by the CW and Cas by objectively correct people) was introduced in S4.

left: Castiel, the gay angel of our collective dreams. right: Misha Collins.

The Man Behind the Mish

Misha Collins is a straight man who was forced by a cruel and uncaring god to play a heavily queer coded angel on a TV series intended for any demographic BUT gay teens (which is what it became). His performance as Castiel, and the large queer teen fanbase he drew, were a driving force behind a show would ultimately continue for three times longer its original plan.

I don't have anywhere else to put these facts so they go here

he was an intern in the Clinton administration during the Lewinsky scandal

he knows Tibetan throat singing

he was arrested for climbing onto a bank roof (he was trying to... read a book? 👀👀👀)

he probably made Jensen Ackles (the guy who played Dean less homophobic? Maybe?

he held a scavenger hunt called GISHWHES several times for his charity, Random Acts

cool guy

he later played Harvey Dent on Gotham Knights this very year (2023)

there's icebergs of this shit

he farted on an airplane once

Mishion: Impossible

April 1st, 2013 is a date that will live in mishinfamy. Tumblr a main hub of the SuperWhoLock fandom (a mega-fandom amalgamating Supernatural, Sherlock BBC, and Doctor Who), was the only place the Mishapocalypse could happen.

For boring deets I'll redirect you to the KnowYourMeme page but these images should sum it up.

left: a list of Tumblr users, circa 2013. right: a fine example of Misha culture

There are two takeaways here:

You cannot outrun Misha.

You will become him.

On April 1, 2013, a significant portion of Tumblr changed their avatar to the now-iconic Mishapocalypse photo and their handle to "Misha Collins", followed by similar waves of Mish across other social media sites.

above: the modern Prometheus

This beautiful event was emblematic of pre-Dashcon Tumblr, an era as far away from us now as 1200 AD was from 1208 AD. You'll be pleased to know that the Mishapocalypse returns every April 1st to grace these ancient halls, a small group of pilgrims tracing new paths on the well-worn floor of the Church of Misha.

(this isn't to say the Supernatural fandom is dead, it's just somewhat diminished from it's glory days.

Thanks for reading! Reblog if you liked. I'll leave you with a bunch of Mishimages of my own that I posted for Mishapocalypse 23 (the 10th anniversary). Shameless self-promotion!!!

in clockwise order:

The Mona Misha

Mishius

Misha's extra hour in the ball pit

The Mishian (with Mish Damon)

Future ideas include Salvator Misha. Feel free to ask any questions you have, and I hope you enjoy Tumblr.

Happy Mishing!

ps I have not actually watched supernatural you just learn all of this via osmosis

#196 #mishapocalypse #reddit #reddit refugees #Tumblr #explainer post #r196 #long post

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eat-limes-bitches · 10 months

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Eat-Limes-Bitches’ Bucky Barnes One Shot Masterlist

All of my Bucky x One Shots can be found here!

Snowfall Kind of Love -One Shot- (fluff)

Based on the song Snowfall by Ingrid Michaelson: A quiet snowy evening in the avengers compound with two hopeless romantics.

Nothing I've Ever Known -One Shot- (fluff)

Based on the song Nothing I've Ever Known by Bryan Adams: Falling in love and living in peace is nothing Bucky's ever known.

Let Me Take Care of You -One Shot- (angst, fluff)

When an injury keeps Bucky from sleeping, sometimes he need someone to take care of him so he can start to feel better. This is for the words written by the sea writing challenge.

Rescue Me -One Shot- (angst, fluff)

Based on the song Rescue by Lauren Daigle: Even heroes need rescuing from their own minds sometimes.

What Would I do Without You -One Shot- (fluff)

Based on the song What Would I Do Without You by Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors: One quiet morning, Bucky reflects on his love for you and decides to tell you about it.

Do You Notice -One Shot- (angst, fluff)

Based on the song Please Notice by Christian Leave: When a mission goes wrong and Y/N ends up in the hospital, feelings are revealed and healing begins.

Skin Care and Snuggles -One Shot- (fluff)

When the need for cuddles ends up with Bucky partaking in the readers' skin care routine, fluff follows close behind.

I Guess I’m In Love -One Shot- (fluff)

Based on the song I Guess I’m In Love by Clinton Kane: Bucky decided it was now or never to tell her how he really feels.

Night Check -One Shot- (fluff)

A quiet night seemed like a good time for the two boys to come to an understanding.

Bring it on Home -One Shot- (fluff)

Y/N wants to surprise Bucky by coming home early

I Will Always Come When You Call -One Shot- (angst, fluff)

When reader accidentally calls Bucky, he comes running to find out what’s wrong.

Whispers on the Wind -One Shot- (maybe more idk) (angst, fluff)

The wind will whisper messages for those who need it the most

A Sky Full of Ghosts -One Shot- (angst, fluff)

“Did- did I ever tell you that the sky is full of ghosts?” “No, no you didn’t darling. What does that mean?”

Be Brave -One Shot- (Angst, fluff)

On a cold lonely night, Bucky finds something he never expected to.

-Take a Chance (part 2 to Be Brave)

Who knew one look could calm the raging storm of his mind.

- Nowhere Else I’d Rather Be (part 3 to Be Brave)

Soft blues and sunsets make for the perfect wedding.

Sanctuary -One Shot- (fluff)

We all need a safe place to rest, even when some of us don't believe it

Agape -One Shot- (Angst, fluff)

AGAPE 1. noun: selfless love of one person for another

Love After War -One Shot- (Angst, fluff)

The mind has a way of playing tricks on you, images you thought to be real are just a figment of your past. But how to get back to the present?

Coming Home -One Shot- (ANGST, fluff)

“Falling for you was like nothing I imagined.” Her voice started to give out as the door to the safe house burst open, “It was coming home.”

Attitude Adjustment -One Shot- (angst, Fluff)

Pain affects everyone. Even 106-year-old assassins

Not Allowed To Die -One Shot- (Angst)

We never know how much time we have left and fate is a cruel mistress. We can only make the best of the time we have left

Southern Cookin’ -One Shot- (Fluff, touch of angst)

When Bucky and Sam get stranded in a Storm, they go to the nearest place they can, Bucky’s country home, but what happens when Walker shows up at the front door too?

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #masterlist #bucky barnes x female reader

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

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Clouds (No. 849)

Eagle Point Park, Clinton

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year

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Falling For the Devil [Part fifty-four: "The Disheartening Valentine's Day"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's Valentine’s Day and the day certainly doesn't go the way you'd have expected it to a month ago.

You have a few unexpected run-ins and a very surprising conversation with Katy.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 4.5k

a/n: This installment is a part of the Big Angst arc. Forewarning, there is no comfort in the next handful of installments, not until you reach "The Aftermath" (Part 58) will there be comfort. My personal favorite Matt POV in this arc is in this installment! You can find the entire list of installments for this series here.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of your winter coat, you made your way back towards the office. You’d been out conducting an interview for The Bulletin this Wednesday mid-morning, though it wasn’t anything remotely exciting. Ellison had been throwing fluff piece after fluff piece at you ever since the incident last month. You were beginning to think he would never let you write about anything other than safe, boring topics again.

You sighed, head rolling back on your shoulders as you walked the few blocks back to the office, face turning upwards to the sky. The sun was shining and there wasn’t a bitter chill in the air today, something that felt refreshing despite the fact that it was still the middle of winter. It was a beautiful day and you’d take it, especially considering what day it was–Valentine’s Day. The last thing you needed was some gloomy, snowy day making your mood worse.

Someone nearby called your name and you startled, head lowering as your brows drew together. You stopped on the sidewalk, glancing in the direction of the voice. Your lips parted in surprise at the sight of the nun making her way down the sidewalk towards you–Matt’s mother. Internally you cursed yourself for not realizing you were near Clinton Church as you forced a smile onto your face and waited for her on the sidewalk.

“Sister Maggie,” you greeted her awkwardly in return. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

She approached you, a warm smile on her face as she did. "Maybe God wanted us to cross paths this morning," she said, a brow raising onto her forehead.

Or maybe whatever higher power there was just wanted to hurt you a bit more by forcing an interaction with your ex's mother on Valentine’s Day. But you were far too intimidated by Matt's mother to actually say that aloud, so instead you just continued to smile awkwardly at her.

"Matthew told me what happened last month," Maggie continued, apparently getting right to the point. "How those men came after you to get to him. How he ended things to keep you safe from himself." Maggie shook her head, huffing out a breath. "Personally I think he's being rather foolish and ridiculous. Blaming himself for things beyond his control," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I suppose if he didn't then he wouldn't be the man I know. He always did have a tendency to try to take all of the blame onto himself as a form of punishment."

"It's not entirely his fault," you murmured, eyes darting down to the sidewalk. "But it's not exactly like he ever gave me a chance to tell him that, either."

"Ahh, yes," Maggie said, nodding gently. "He told me how he…left things after. Though he wouldn't say much about it. Just that he regretted his abrupt departure from your place that night. And how he had yelled. Hurt you and ended things instead of being there for you."

Your cheeks reddened at the thought of Matt possibly mentioning anything to her about the rough sex with him shortly after the entire incident before he ended things. Shifting awkwardly on your feet, you continued to avoid eye contact.

"How have you been doing, though, dear?" she asked gently. "I imagine you've been having a rough go of things dealing with the aftermath of it all. Are you doing alright?"

You didn't know what it was that made your eyes begin to water at her question; maybe it was because of the fact you had spent most of this past month alone, trying to process a traumatic event in conjunction with a broken heart. Or maybe it was because it was Matt’s mother here genuinely wondering how you were, something you felt you hadn't even gotten from Matt himself. Or maybe it was a combination of the two things, but either way, a few tears slid out of your eyes.

Maggie drew you into a hug without hesitation, her embrace warm and comforting. Your arms easily wrapped back around her, your mind not even remotely overthinking the gesture. Somehow it felt right.

"It's been difficult," you admitted quietly, voice breaking as you answered her. "I miss him. But I’m also mad at him."

"He misses you, too," she told you. "From what I hear of things, your anger is quite understandable. But I'm sure Matthew will come around eventually. He's stubborn but I know he loves you and deeply regrets the hurt he caused you. He's been coming around here more often ever since. Seeking guidance and praying."

You pulled back from her embrace, swiftly wiping your hands across your cheeks and drying the tears that had fallen. "I used to think he might come around," you admitted. "Now I'm not so sure about that anymore," you whispered. "All I've heard from him over this past month was that he wanted to be friends. That was two weeks ago after his terrible attempt at an apology. And then right after that he openly accepted the advances of some woman right in front of me."

Maggie's eyes narrowed curiously at you. "Hmm," she hummed out. "That doesn't quite sound like Matthew."

"No," you agreed. "It doesn't. But it hurt. He's pushed me away for good, though. He's made that quite clear. And I can't–can't do the friendship thing with him all over again." You sighed, shaking your head. "It's over between us."

Maggie hummed out a curious noise, one of her fingers tapping along her arm. "You know, you may be misreading him with your own pain clouding your mind. Quite understandable of course, we are only human. But maybe if you look past the anger you might see more than you have been." She smiled warmly back at you, nodding lightly as she continued gently. "I have faith things will work out. You mean too much to him, and I can see the love you have for him even now written on your face. What you both have is real. So, I have faith he will figure out how to talk to you and make things right."

You sent her a tight smile, nodding at her words even if you didn't quite believe them. "I should probably get back to the office though," you told her. "I was just finishing up an interview a few blocks over. If I don't check in soon, after what happened, my boss is probably going to file a missing person report."

She was still smiling back at you, her eyes reminding you so much of Matt's. "I won't keep you any longer then," she said. "But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here. I'm quite good at listening."

"Thank you," you told her. "I appreciate that, really."

As you made your way back to the office, Maggie's words kept replaying through your mind. You couldn’t help but feel like she was wrong, though. Matt didn't want to pursue things with you anymore, he certainly had made that clear with his utter lack of communication.

________

"How long do you think I'll be on Ellison's list of fragile reporters?" you asked Katy, drawing the beer to your lips.

"After what happened?" Katy asked, shooting you a look over her glass. "You're probably going to be writing all the lame pieces, girl. You were literally taken right from the office by armed men. He is not forgetting that any time soon."

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. You didn't know how much longer you could keep writing the fluff pieces without losing your mind. It was mind-numbing work for new journalists and it wasn't for you.

"Thanks for coming out with me tonight, by the way," Katy said, her hand fidgeting with her glass.

You shrugged, running your hands down your face. "Not like I have anyone to spend Valentine’s with," you said bitterly. "Really I should be thanking you for keeping me company."

"Actually," Katy said, nervously shifting in her seat, "there was something I have been dying to ask you."

The tone of her voice caught your attention. Curiously you studied her at the bar beside you, head tilting to the side as you did. She wasn't usually the nervous type but right now you could see her awkwardly fidgeting with her glass.

"Okay?" you prompted.

"I've been wondering about it ever since last month," she began hesitantly, eyes on her drink. "I thought it was insane at first. But then I…started to think about it a bit more and I–I have to ask."

Your eyes narrowed at her as she leaned towards you with her elbows on the bar counter, her eyes briefly darting around the pair of you before she finally spoke in an almost inaudible whisper.

"Is Daredevil your ex?"

You had been so beyond expecting that to come out of her mouth that you couldn't even hide your stunned reaction. Her eyes widened instantly, her jaw dropping open.

"Oh my God," she breathed out. "It's him, isn't it? He's–" she waved her hands frantically in front of herself, "–he-who-must-not-be-named!"

Recovering, you instantly shushed her. Your own eyes began darting around the bar. No one seemed to be paying either of you any mind, though.

"You cannot say anything!" you whispered harshly. "I mean it, Katy! That's dangerous information. You shouldn't know that." You shook your head roughly, licking your lips nervously. " How do you even know that?"

She leaned in further and you easily copied the gesture. Matt was not going to like that she knew, and for both of their safety you were going to have to find a way to tell him now. The thought of that made your skin crawl–he wouldn’t be thrilled.

"I didn't think much of it until he came to visit me that night you'd been taken," she whispered. "I thought it was strange that you-know-who was at my apartment, ordering me to stop calling the police and checking in with them to see if they'd found you. Then he said he'd saved you. When he asked for your phone, that cemented my curiosity," she said. "He said he was bringing it back to you. Which I thought was a little above and beyond for him, you know?" She cleared her throat, one finger nervously tapping on her glass before continuing on. "And then earlier that night, after they'd taken you and I had called the police, I found your phone in the bathroom. I didn't understand why you had left it behind. I was wondering if you'd wanted me to find something on it. But I didn't, I just saw you'd called Matt before you left with those men."

You ran a hand across your mouth, your mind racing. "And somehow you put it all together?" you asked her.

"Well that and the fact that, for a blind man, Matt sure is quite fit. Exactly like someone else. And then the other week I…may have searched through some old images of the masked man and the jawline was so similar." Katy exhaled a rough breath, shaking her head. "It would make sense, too, I realized. If Karen Page really was fired for knowing his identity and not telling Ellison, and she’s also friends with Matt… There were just so many things that made sense, but I just–just can't believe it.”

“Yeah, well,” you began, eyes once again darting around the bar to make sure no one was listening in, “you’re going to have to keep that to yourself. Forever. Because you don’t just have knowledge that will endanger him, it’ll endanger you.”

Katy sucked in an audible sharp breath. “That’s why they took you, wasn’t it?” she pressed, her eyes widening again. “Not just because of the story you were looking into, but because you knew that, right?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “And I almost died because I know. So your best bet is to forget that you do.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed out.

Beside you, Katy picked up her glass and downed its contents, wincing as the alcohol went down.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “It can be a little scary to have that knowledge. I still can’t believe you figured it out, either.”

“No,” Katy said, shaking her head. “I mean, holy shit I can’t believe you were dating him all this time.”

With a huff you grabbed your beer, drawing it up to your lips. “Not helping the being broken up on Valentine’s Day feelings right now,” you pointed out.

“Right, sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just…you were with a literal superhero.”

Your shoulders sagged as you spun forward on the bar stool. “Don’t remind me,” you muttered, taking a long pull off of your beer.

________

Hugging your arms around yourself for warmth, you made your way back home from the bar. You and Katy had stayed there for a couple of hours drinking. She had kept trying not to bring up questions about Matt, but somehow she always would. Eventually it had gotten to be too much for you so you’d decided to call it a night and walk the few blocks back to your apartment before it got too late, hoping to sober up in the chill of the night.

You had been lost in thought, your mind still reeling at the fact that Katy had figured out Daredevil was your ex, that you hadn’t noticed the person in the nearby alley until they’d stepped out and startled you. You yelped in surprise, throwing a hand over your racing heart. To your relief you realized it was Matt as Daredevil, but then your heart was thundering in your chest for other reasons. Especially since your last encounter with him as Daredevil was Matt breaking your heart.

"Why the hell are you jumping out of alleys at me?" you questioned, trying to calm yourself.

"I wasn't jumping out of an alley," he countered. "If you weren’t so inebriated and had been paying attention to your surroundings you'd have noticed me."

Eyes narrowing, a frown slipped onto your face. Great, so you were getting angry Daredevil again. What a great way to end your Valentine’s Day.

"And you shouldn't be walking home alone at night drunk to begin with," he added bitterly. "It's not safe."

"Is there something you want?" you asked flatly. "Or has it just been too long since you last had the chance to yell at me that you needed another opportunity?"

"That's…that's not what this is," he said, tone softening as he shook his head.

"Really? Cause it sure seems like Daredevil just found his new favorite verbal punching bag," you shot, the alcohol in your system fueling your comments. "Lucky me, I guess."

"Stop," he warned.

"Or what?" you goaded, pain lacing its way into your words as you took a step towards him. "You already broke my heart, I don't think there's much more you can do to hurt me at this point, Devil."

Matt's masked face snapped to the side, his shoulders drawing in towards his neck like what you'd said had really hurt him. The anger inside of you quickly dissipated at the sight, Maggie's words from this morning repeating in your mind. Your eyes narrowed at Matt's silent, tense form before you.

Maybe your pain had been clouding your mind. Maybe you were reading him wrong. Because right now he looked wounded . Emotionally wounded by your words.

Expelling a rough breath you took a step back, stuffing your hands back into your coat pockets. Your gaze dropped down to your feet on the pavement in the alley, suddenly becoming aware of how oddly empty Hell's Kitchen seemed tonight. Everyone in this city was probably on a date or fucking right now except for you.

"I'm sorry," you muttered awkwardly. "That was low. I shouldn't take my feelings out on you."

"No, you're right," he answered softly. "I have been an asshole. And I am sorry even if you don't believe it." His masked face turned back towards you, a frown forming on his mouth. "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to. And I shouldn’t have yelled–especially now. I just…it isn't safe walking alone drunk at night, especially for a young woman."

Your lips pursed together as you shrugged stiffly. "It's not that late and I'm not that drunk," you mumbled.

"To answer your question," he continued lightly, "there wasn't anything I stopped you for. I just–just thought I picked up on your heartbeat a block over and…I don't know," he finished lamely with a partial shrug of his own. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you. But I might just…be nearby until you get back home safely. If–if that's okay?"

You bit your lip, nodding again. "Yeah," you whispered.

Matt gave a single nod of his own before he turned, about to head back into the alley. No doubt he was about to climb up a building and follow you along the roofs until you made it back to your place. Your heart ached at the thought; a month ago he'd have slipped through your window after and stayed the night with you.

Remembering what had just happened at the bar, you jolted out of your thoughts. "Wait!" you called after Matt, taking a few steps towards him.

He paused, turning towards you in the alley but remaining where he’d stopped. Nervously chewing the inside of your cheek, heart racing in your chest at what his reaction might be to the news you were about to give him, you hesitantly crossed the space towards him. He quietly tracked your movements with his masked head as it tilted curiously to the side.

"I figured you should know," you said quietly, nerves fluttering in your stomach, "because it's probably important that you do. But–"

"You're seeing someone else," Matt cut in.

Your jaw dropped, brows pulling together in confusion. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head. "No, not at all. Why, are you?" you blurted. Immediately you winced, shaking your head again. "You don't need to answer that. But no, I was going to tell you that…Katy knows."

"What?" he asked, head canting further to the side. "Katy knows what?"

"About–about you," you stammered out.

You saw the moment realization dawned on him. He inhaled sharply, his body tensing before you. At his sides, you noticed his gloved hands curling into fists. Your pulse sped up in fear of him yelling at you more.

"I didn't tell her," you told him in a rush. "I swear. She literally just figured it out herself after–after that night. And when she asked me just a bit ago, I was so taken off guard that I guess my face answered her question." You swallowed hard, shrinking back from him. "I'm so sorry. I made sure she knew she couldn't say anything. Made sure she knew how dangerous it was for her to know. I–I thought telling you was necessary."

He ran a gloved hand across his mouth, your eyes taking in his stiff movements. You grimaced, taking another step back from him.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "Please don't get mad at me again."

His masked face turned towards you, those red lenses of his helmet flashing at you through the dark as his head turned. A second later his fists uncurled and his shoulders relaxed.

"I'm not mad at you," he whispered. "I can hear your heartbeat. I know it wasn't your fault. I was reckless that night, it shouldn't be a surprise that she figured it out. I’ll uh, I’ll have to pay her a visit, though. I guess. Make sure she truly understands the seriousness.”

“You’re not…going to yell at her, are you?” you asked nervously.

He shook his head quickly. “No, not at all,” he answered.

“Good,” you breathed out, nodding.

Silence fell between the pair of you and you awkwardly gnawed on your bottom lip. This weird run-in felt like it had reached its end now and you knew you should go, but a part of you didn’t want to. You weren’t entirely sure if Matt was feeling the same way as he stood silently before you, his left hand clenching and unclenching a few times.

“I should go,” you said awkwardly after a moment. “Let you get back to your uh, Nocturnal Exploits and all.”

Matt’s mouth slowly curled upwards at one corner, most likely due to another weird name you had for his Daredevil activities. He nodded slowly but he made no move to leave. You took a step back, eyes raking over him before you. There was a sharp pang in your chest at how wrong this entire interaction felt between the pair of you; all of this just felt wrong.

“Goodbye, Devil,” you whispered, trying to fight back the sting of tears in your eyes.

Turning on your heel, the world briefly spinning at the movement due to the alcohol in your system, you began to make your way out of the alley. You had barely reached the edge of it before you heard him call out behind you.

“I’m not,” he said.

His voice caused you to pause and glance back over your shoulder at him. He’d taken a step closer towards you, you noticed. One of your brows rose curiously onto your forehead at him.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you breathed out, your heart fluttering in your chest at the admission. “Okay.”

You made your way back onto the sidewalk, heat rising up to your cheeks despite the cold. You weren’t entirely why he’d wanted to make sure you knew that he wasn’t seeing anyone else–it wasn’t really your business anymore. Shooting one last look down the alley, you noticed Matt had disappeared. But you knew he wasn’t really gone, not at the moment; you knew he was on a rooftop nearby, his focus on you as you walked the rest of your way back home.

________

Judging by how quiet the streets had gotten, Matt knew it was incredibly late. He’d gone out for a couple more hours after he’d made sure you had gotten back to your apartment safe and had paid Katy a brief visit. Though it was beginning to get difficult for him to ignore the cold now with how long he’d been out in it.

He wasn’t sure what drew him to stop by your apartment on his way back home tonight yet again. He also wasn’t sure what had caused him to drop down onto your fire escape and reach a gloved hand out, carefully testing the window. It easily slid upwards.

For a moment Matt stood hesitating on your fire escape wondering what that had meant. Had you simply forgotten to lock it? Or…were you still secretly waiting for him to slip back through your window one of these nights? Even after everything this past month?

His hand remained on the window that was open only a fraction, his tongue nervously darting out to wet his lips. Inside your apartment, he could hear the steady way your heart beat and the slow, rhythmic breaths that told him you were deep asleep in your bed. More deep asleep than usual because of the alcohol he’d smelled on you earlier tonight–a few more beers than you usually drank in an evening, he’d sullenly noted. His heart ached thinking the cause had been him and the particular romantic day of the year that it had happened to be. It was certainly not how he’d planned to spend this day, having weeks ago been planning a romantic date night with you on the rooftop of his building. But instead you’d gotten drunk at a bar with your friend because of him, and then, ever the asshole, he’d yelled at you in an alley.

Exhaling a rough breath, Matt began to slide the window back down, but then he heard you make the softest noise of distress in your sleep and he could hear the way your grip tightened on your pillow. Without thinking, he lifted the window all the way up and found himself slipping into your apartment. Quietly he closed the window almost entirely behind himself before carefully walking towards your bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway, leaning up against the doorframe. You were still fast asleep in your bed. Somehow the smell of alcohol was stronger around you now and another pang hit Matt in the chest. He didn’t even care about his own emotional pain over the decision to break up with you, despite Foggy and Karen's repeated attempts to make him acknowledge that pain. No, he only hated that he’d hurt you so deeply. You didn’t deserve that.

Pushing off of the doorframe, he silently made his way through your living room and into your kitchen. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass, knowing exactly where you kept them, before closing the cabinet and filling the cup up with water. He turned, his boots padding softly along your floor as he made his way back towards your bedroom.

He gently placed the full glass of water down onto your nightstand. With how much beer you’d drank tonight, and how dehydrated your body seemed, he knew you’d be in desperate need of water when you woke. He was hoping you’d wake up thinking you’d gotten the glass before getting into bed, too hungover to think much else about it when you woke.

His focus fell on you next as he stood just a foot from where you were curled up in your bed. You shifted a little more in your sleep and he could tell the sheets had fallen further down your body in your tossing and turning. Slowly he reached out a hand, finding the edge of your sheets and gently pulling them up towards your shoulders. He could hear the muscles move around the mouth as he did–you were smiling. Matt couldn’t fight back the small smile that slid onto his own mouth in return.

As he righted himself beside your bed again, he knew he should go. He shouldn’t have invaded your space like this, especially without your knowledge. And as much as he wanted to peel himself out of his armor, pull back the sheets and climb into the bed beside you, draw you into his arms and fall asleep wrapped around you, he knew he needed to leave. He shouldn’t be here.

The smile slipped off of Matt’s face as he turned and made his way out of your bedroom, though he stopped in the doorway once more. His head turned over his shoulder, facing your sleeping form.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” he whispered.

And then he continued on, making his way through your living room towards the window he had left open just a crack. He slid it up and slipped back onto your fire escape, closing the window after himself. Afterwards, he made his way back home to his own empty bed for the night.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x female reader #daredevil x reader #fftd

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farfromstrange · 1 year

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Total Eclipse Of The Heart | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!vampire Reader

Series summary: The suspicion of a new drug epidemic follows a series of suspicious murders and bloodbaths on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, and the police can’t seem to find the answers. On the search for the truth, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen makes a shocking discovery – vampires are real, there are entire covens of them hiding in plain sight, and they’re not all heartless monsters; they actually have feelings.

Series Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, for Dark Themes, Canon Typical Violence, Blood & Gore, Vampires, Language, Angst, Smut, Dub-Con, BDSM, Dom/Sub Dynamic, sub!Matt, dom!Reader, Blood Play, Choking, Biting, not canon compliant™️

a/n: Here it is! What turned out as a silly little thought is now an ongoing fic. It probably won’t be as long as Foreigner’s God since it doesn’t follow the storyline of the show at all, but it’s still something. The title is inspired by the Bonnie Tyler song, not because of the song itself but because we have a musical in Germany called “Dance Of The Vampires” and they reimagined that song in the musical. It’s my favorite musical of all time (and I’ve seen many) and this work is heavily inspired by the songs. Additional warnings will be added before every chapter!

PART ONE — Matt meets a strange woman at a work gala. From the start, he can tell that she means trouble.

“There are those who curse their fathers and do not bless their mothers. There are those who are clean in their own eyes but are not washed of their filth. There are those—how lofty are their eyes, how high their eyelids lift! There are those whose teeth are swords, whose fangs are knives, to devour the poor from off the earth, the needy from among mankind. The leech has two daughters: Give and Give. Three things are never satisfied; four never say: “Enough”.” - Proverbs 30:11-18

Growing up in a catholic orphanage, Matt Murdock learned how to wear his religion on his sleeve. He believed in God; he was taught this undying version of faith that was supposed to sustain his body, and he was told to live by it even long after he was old enough to make his own decisions.

He never questioned it. He went to school, read the Bible up and down and when he was finished, he would start anew. He prayed until his knees were bloody and even then he only got up momentarily to relight the candle, and then he went back to dig his knees into the hard wood of the benches in Clinton Church, and he would pray again. He wasn’t sure what he prayed for if it was guidance or forgiveness, but the nuns at the orphanage told him that praying always served a purpose and that he was to do it as often as he possibly could.

He spent every breathing hour of his life devoted to God, not expecting anything in return. As a boy, he craved answers, he craved the comfort of someone, anyone, even if it was just a faceless deity in the sky, though as he got older, he realized that some voices just won’t be heard. God can only do so much. There are limits even to his power. To some, he comes, to others, he doesn’t. Some prayers meet deaf ears and no matter how much you pray, it’s never enough.

Still, he returned to the church he grew up in and he gave his heart to the cause. He prayed, he confessed and every time the world beat him down, he would light a candle at the altar to offer God his sacrifice.

Matt didn’t fear much. He jumped head-first into danger and returned with his fists bloody. He had seen the bottom of humanity, stared down the endless pit of despair, yet he always came back. There wasn’t much he feared, at least not the things a normal human being should cower from.

He wasn’t sure what exactly irked him about her though.

About the woman standing at the bar with a glass of Scotch in her hand - the expensive kind, he could smell the stench from miles away. The liquor rested on her lips, overshadowing even her sweet perfume and the scent of the dry cleaner’s sandalwood and rain laundry detergent left in the fibers of her equally as expensive dress.

What color was it? He wanted to ask. Not that he cared, but the curiosity drew him closer to the stranger. It was a curiosity that came with a heavy feeling in his stomach as if mountains of stones kept him from moving. He was paralyzed. The tiny hairs on his neck stood up, his hand clenched around his cane and he couldn’t help but lick his lips one too many times.

Cold sweat pooled in his palms. His senses reeled; as they always did at huge gatherings, too overwhelmed with all the new sensations and unable to focus on anything in particular which made him feel even more out of control than he usually did, but the second he caught onto the woman at the bar just standing there in all her confident glory, radiating so many red flags, he lost count, his blood pressure spiked and he went pale.

He had never met her before, but he instantly knew that there was something inherently wrong about her presence. She didn’t fit in.

The invisible hammer hit him suddenly. She was looking at him, he could tell. Her head tilted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing at his sight. If she could tell he was analyzing her or if she merely found him attractive, he couldn’t tell.

Judging by the way her body language shifted from the elegant, confident woman to an almost dangerously cocky predator, he suspected it was the former. How could she have possibly caught onto that? Were his stiff posture, the position of his head, and his right grip around his cane that obvious? He usually made a habit of hiding his abilities, and he considered himself good at it. She seemed to look right through him though, and it felt humiliating to have her eyes bore right through his soul as if he were an open textbook.

A hand found its way onto his shoulder. “Matt?” he heard his friend call out for him, but the cotton in his usually so sensitive ears kept the voice distant.

He was hypnotized by the stranger on the other end of the room. It didn’t seem healthy to be so caught up on someone he had never met and couldn’t even see. Who knew who she was? She smelled of danger and despair, but at the same time, his body jolted with excitement at the prospect of her coming over after realizing he was trying to subtly check her out in his own special way. The rational part of him told him to run while the other urged him forward. He needed to get to know her, he needed to satisfy his curiosity and heal his suspicions.

Matt wouldn’t give in, no. Dangerous people had their tricks to get people like him to fall for their charms, and she reeked of danger. Even without knowing her, he could tell that she was nowhere near the well-put-together woman she pretended to be around the men yearning for her, trying to buy her drinks and gain her attention by talking smart. She used them, she didn’t care. She thrived off of the attention, which was exactly why she turned to him when she felt his metaphorical eyes on her.

“Matt!” Foggy’s voice grew louder. He tore the cotton from his ears, redirecting his attention.

She slipped from his grasp as he turned to his friend, cheeks red and shocked at his inability to control his thoughts for only just a moment.

His tongue darted out to wet his quivering bottom lip. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”

Distracted was an understatement.

“Henry’s here,” he told him.

“Henry?”

“From college. Henry Verlice.”

He raised his eyebrows behind the red glasses that adorned his face. The light of the chandelier fell on him just right, tinting his pale skin a soft yellow and underlining the dark color of his glasses. He adjusted them on his nose and said, “Henry ‘the Hunk’ Verlice?”

Foggy clapped. “Exactly!”

“Wow,” he pretended to sound as if he hadn’t heard their old classmate enter the gala about twenty-five minutes ago. “Didn’t he drop out of college in the fourth semester because he knocked up Sarah McKinley, our civil rights professor’s wife?”

“So they say.” He sipped his drink, a mixture of vodka and cranberry juice, with just a little more of the latter to make up for the bitter alcohol.

Foggy was an avid beer drinker. He didn’t like Scotch, he preferred Whiskey, but the choices they offered at this particular gala made even Matt’s stomach churn, and he drank cheap German beer for a living.

He ordered a Macallan, neat. He always did.

Matt toyed with the ice cubes in his drink. “Why do we care about Henry all of a sudden?” he asked.

“Haven’t you heard? He joined this huge law firm,” said Foggy. “Even bigger than Landman & Zach. They make a shit-ton of money. Now, remember what he said to us? That we were never going to make it?”

“Ah,” he chuckled knowingly, “you’re afraid he might remember us and when he finds out our law firm doesn’t make any money…”

“Imagine the talk, Matt! We just proved everyone who didn’t believe in us back then, right.”

Matt pointed at his glass. “How much of that have you had?”

“Too much.”

“Okay,” he huffed. “We should be proud of what we do, Foggy. These people…” he motioned to the crowd of lawyers and judges around them, “they are only in it for the money. People like Henry do this job solely because they want to profit from the misery of their clients, possibly make them even more miserable. We don’t do that. We’re better than them. We take care of the little guy, no matter the cost. Why should we feel guilty for making this dream – our dream a reality?”

Foggy looked at him as if he had just told him he didn’t know what cows were. “Because we’re broke, Matt!” he said. “We don’t have any money to flaunt around as they do.” He hit his drink back. “We don’t belong here.”

“I don’t disagree with anything you’re saying, but may I remind you that this was your idea?” he challenged.

“I didn’t expect us to run into so many of our old acquaintances.”

“What did you expect, a room full of strangers?”

“Would have been nice for a change,” he said.

“Look, Foggy,” he grabbed his sleeve, “maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just leave.”

Much to his dismay, he shook his head. “We can’t pull out now, Matt. That would be even worse. For our reputation and my ego. Besides,” he said, and his giddy grin returned steadily with each passing second, “Where else would we get an open bar?”

In the distance, Matt heard the doors open again. Heels clacked against the floor.

“Oh, finally! Marci’s here.” Foggy straightened his bow tie. “How do I look?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see,” he deadpanned back at him.

“Right, my bad,” he said.

“I’m sure you look great.”

“Thanks, buddy! Appreciate the effort. If you need anything, just call, okay?”

Matt sighed deeply into his Macallan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Go and have sex with your very obnoxious girlfriend in some random bathroom like two randy teenagers.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what I’d do. We’ve all been there. Now go, before Marci changes her mind and leaves you who earns the amount you have in college debt in just a month.”

Foggy pulled the loose strands of his unruly blond hair behind his ear. “I’m sure you’ll find an eligible partner here somewhere,” he said right before he left. “You always do, blind act and all. Stay strong, buddy. Marry a rich woman. You can do it.”

It was as good of a pep talk that he could come up with in his crush-induced haze.

It wasn’t often his friend who stepped out early with a girl. Usually, Matt was the one with a woman or a man on his arm and back on the way to his apartment where he would indulge in several hours of great sex — he knew how to pick them and how to please them. Sex became his favorite coping mechanism, his senses finally being able to shut down and allowing him to breathe as he gave himself fully to someone else. His endeavors were entirely physical and they didn’t end in breakfast.

What Foggy always told him he wanted, he hated most about himself. He enjoyed the meaningless encounters and the benefits that came from them, but it didn’t help with curing the deep loneliness in his chest, as if something or someone was missing.

Once his friend was gone, he became painfully aware of the same Scotch-scented lips he had lingered on only moments before. He couldn’t hear her heartbeat, he only made out the faint scent of her perfume.

“So you didn’t come here alone,” her voice sounded like what he imagined the sirens of the sea in the several lore books he had read growing up to sound like whenever they sang. His toes curled, a chill ran up and down his spine, and somehow the sweet tone shot straight to his very touch-deprived cock.

He flinched, turning around on the heel of his shiny dress shoes.

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” she asked. “That wasn’t my intention.” The curl of her tongue at the top of her mouth told him that she was lying.

He started to doubt his hearing abilities. Her heartbeat was so faint, he almost missed it. It was slow, almost like the dying flame on a candle. She breathed in intervals, something he couldn’t possibly consider healthy. The closer she got, the colder her skin felt, and he wasn’t even touching her. His heart rate picked up, his brain secreted cortisol into his bloodstream. Any second now, his fight or flight instinct would kick in. He had a choice, but he couldn’t move. She had him under some kind of spell.

He clenched harder around his cane. “I- I’m sorry,” he breathed.

She tilted her head. “Sorry for what, exactly? Stalking me or not coming up to talk to me when I caught you?”

Matt chuckled. Not even his mouth was under his control anymore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?” she said, eyelashes batting innocently.

Her finger touched the sleeve of his tux, purposely avoiding his skin. He could feel the low temperature radiating off of her, but somehow he was hotter than ever in the gigantic room. His bow tie seemed to suffocate him, and the buttons of his shirt wound too tightly around his torso.

“And here I was, thinking you’d be interested in me.”

He swallowed.

“Am I wrong?” The woman stepped closer to him. Nothing else mattered but her scent and the intoxicating feel of her hands touching the fabric of his clothes. He lost control of himself, feeling his grip on reality loosen and slip into the abyss.

He sucked in a sharp breath when her hand wandered to his neckline. She popped the button on the top. Matt sucked in the welcomed air instantly. He could taste her on his tongue now, sweet and salty and full of liquor.

“You don’t even know my name,” he said.

She shrugged, her red-painted lip curled into a smirk. “You don’t know mine either,” she said.

His eyes fluttered shut as her breath fanned over his face. “I believe that could be considered unethical, not knowing someone’s name before making advances.”

She chuckled, one of the softest tunes he had ever heard before.

“I mean, that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You came here to see if you could get me into bed?”

She eyed him up close and personal, her head twitching to the side to take in the sight of his bare neck. His Adam's apple popped as he swallowed the lump threatening to choke him once more. His aorta bulged out of his skin. She watched as his pulse hammered against it even faster at her proximity.

She licked over her lips. “More or less,” she rasped.

He leaned back into her. The magnetic pull threatened to snap his neck and send him straight to hell.

“Why, is that something that you’d want?”

“Is it something that you want?” he retorted.

The glint in her eyes grew. She shoved the empty glass of Macallan aside, placing hers in his hand. “Have you ever tried Scotch that’s a century old?”

His eyebrows shot up. The different aspects of her very unique scent were starting to cause a headache. He couldn’t differentiate between who he wanted her to be and who she truly was.

Realizing he wasn’t quite present, she guided his hand to his mouth. His lips wrapped around the brim of her glass, tasting the slight cherry tint of her lipstick and her saliva mixed with the third portion of the same liquid.

The Scotch burned down his throat. It was strong, sharp, and tasted musky. He wondered how expensive a bottle of this was, let alone a glass. Her eyes stayed on him the entire time, stronger when he licked his lips and subconsciously inched closer to her. As cold as she was, her body screamed for him to take her. He must have blacked out. This had to be a dream bordering on a nightmare. The mask he put on every time he went out as Matt Murdock was starting to slip into the one he put on at night. The darkness in his mind wasn’t his, it was the devil’s, and the snake that she was, she was compelling him to bite into the apple and give in.

“Taste good?” she asked.

Matt swallowed again. “It’s Scotch,” he answered.

“Aren’t century-old things just beautiful? And they taste and smell absolutely…” she sniffed at the brown liquor, “ah, divine.”

“You have experience with that sort of thing?”

“I have experience with a lot of things.”

She placed the glass back down on the tabletop. Her heel nudged at his calf. He couldn’t move, not sure if it was her or himself this time that had him trapped close to her. He wasn’t lucid, couldn’t be, though at the same time he had never felt more aware of someone.

The world didn’t matter, his senses focused entirely on her, and even then they were lulled by everything that she had and had not. Trying to understand her had his mind in a painful twist, but his nerves didn’t respond to the stimuli. He felt nothing but a strange pull in her direction that made the blood run from his cheeks between his legs, the last place he wanted it to be.

He buried his teeth in his bottom lip, glad that his glasses hid the inability to keep his eyes open or rolled forward in her presence. He didn’t want to give the stranger the power she wanted. He smelled the danger before, and it became even clearer now, only this time, the fear was replaced with an inappropriate, down-right filthy, and animalistic feeling.

It had to be her fault he was feeling this way. She was cold, yet his body was on fire. Her heartbeat was faint, almost silent, yet it screamed in his ears. With anyone else, he would have already run, put on his Daredevil suit, and solved this the right way. But no, Matt Murdock couldn’t move a muscle that he wanted, only those he couldn’t control.

“How much harder do you plan to try to get me to fuck you?” he heard himself breathe out.

He swallowed the grunt in the back of his throat. Her leg was completely between his now. The fabric of her dress shifted, sliding further up her thigh.

She laughed quietly at his choice of words. “I think you got it all wrong, darling,” she said. “I don’t need anyone to fuck me.”

He huffed, “What do you take me for?”

She shrugged. Her finger switched from his arm to his chest, using her whole hand to feel the abs that were undoubtedly hiding underneath the tight dress shirt. His muscles hardened under her touch, the low temperature even clearer through the thin fabric. The hairs on his body stood up. He shivered, the heat in his veins multiplying with her wandering hands. One grabbed at his bicep, the other continued to explore his torso.

Her lips tickled at his ear when she whispered to him, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

The worst part was, he didn’t want her to. The gala was crowded, but he couldn’t have cared less. If people wanted to pry, they should.

She ghosted over his belt. The fog that surrounded him thinned a little, the prospect shooting the first thrill of fear through him ever since she stepped into his personal space.

Matt almost broke the glass in his hand, a groan passing his lips, as two of her fingers shamelessly stroked over his hardening cock. His hips bucked into her touch before he flinched away, realizing how wrong this was. She was a stranger in the middle of an overcrowded room; she had no business touching him like that.

He set his mind on telling her to stop, though instead, what came out was, “I’d like to get a name first,” he said.

That still left the prospect of them going further open, if only he knew who she was.

Her hand came back up, nail extended to scratch over the scruff on his jawline, following the poorly shaved hairs down to the distracting vein that kept pumping the blood through his body. Not once did her skin touch his, only her nail dug into his throat. He stopped breathing.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell. Besides,” she purred, “when I am done with you, you won’t even be able to scream my name. So why bother with theatrics when sounds are already such powerful communicators?”

She looked down between them, his hot crotch close to hers. The blood on her fingertip trickles down into her palm. She considered wiping it on his pants, but that would have been quite a waste.

“If the next time we see each other I get the same reaction, we are going to have so much fun together.”

Matt slowly returned to his body. He tasted the copper in the air, his hand reaching up to trace the scratch right over his aorta. He felt the pulsating of his cock, the missing attention leaving him with nothing but blue balls. His heart punched against the inside of his ribcage. The sharp pain in his neck burned through his skin. He hissed, playing with the blood in between his fingers. It was hot and sticky, and the consistency was thin enough to let it travel down with gravity down his heated skin.

He was more focused on the clarity that came back to him than on the sound of the stranger’s heels distancing herself from the table. When he realized she had gone, it was already too late for him to act. Back in control of himself, the shame was greater than the arousal had been.

The voice in his head chided him for being so foolish, for letting that happen to him. He was no smarter than before. The darkness she brought with her infected him and he had realized too late what it was doing to him and the other side of him, too, that had been sleeping soundly while waiting to be unleashed when it was time.

He pushed down on the cut again, partly because he felt as if he deserved the torture, but also because that woman left her mark in more ways than one and that was something his mind still couldn’t wrap itself around.

She sucked her index finger into her mouth, tongue swirling over the small drop of blood she had drawn. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

Soon enough, she was no longer alone. “Everything okay, boss?” the man to her left asked.

She halted, pointing her finger at the distraught figure at the opposite end of the ballroom. “I want to know who he is,” she said.

“Know as in-“ he didn’t voice his thoughts, though he made a grabbing motion at his neck.

“No,” she shook her head, “I just want his name and… well, what else I want from him is none of your business.”

Her bright eyes turned a shade darker.

“Nevertheless, I’m starving. I think we should abandon this establishment to go somewhere that best fits our needs, don’t you think so, Talon?”

He smirked knowingly. “The others have been asking the same thing,” he said.

“Then you better get them together. We only have a small window of time before what we’re doing arouses the suspicion of certain law enforcement agencies. Or, Lucifer forbid, the Avengers.” She scoffed, “Now that would just be embarrassing.”

Talon held the door open for her. However, she couldn’t possibly leave without throwing another longing glance in the direction of the object of her attraction.

She licked over the sharp teeth that poked out of her mouth, tasting the remains of his blood all over them. The sensation was stronger, and much more detailed. It wasn’t just copper, it was sweet and heavy, almost like the whipped cream, sauce, and sprinkles on an ice cream sundae. It was the cherry on top, a dream to taste, an orgasm to her tastebuds, and fuel for her never-ending hunger.

Watching his more-than-human form, she willed the fangs to shrink back to their usual size. There was no time for that, at least not yet, maybe not ever. She wasn’t sure what to do with him just yet. Until she knew how to proceed, he was nothing more than a handsome stranger she met at the bar.

Matt had folded his cane and bent over the table slightly, trying to catch his breath and figure out what happened. The tissue he held against his throat displayed a small drop of blood that had seeped into it.

She stared at the crimson remains on her fingertip, her smirk only deepening and the darkness in her eyes taking over.

Talon crossed his arms. “Everything okay?” he questioned.

She was tired of being asked the same question over and over again.

“I’m splendid,” she said. “I just realized that I’m not quite ready to leave New York just yet, nor am I satisfied.”

She could have sworn he turned back to her when the big, golden doors started to close around her. He tilted his head, she joined him.

“Not until I get what I want, at least.”

And what she wanted would no longer be there in a century or two – he would be gone and she would return to a changed city with nothing to go back on.

That was her curse, after all. The people she cared about slipped through her fingers the same way that the sand slipped through her lifetime's hourglass. But in her case, there was no top or bottom, the clock just kept on ticking and the sand kept on falling.

Even when everyone else was long gone, she would remain as a stranger on a reformed planet and be forced to look upon the ashes of the life she once led.

The lives she had lived were somewhere in the hundreds, but only a handful of those had been filled with people she adored, and every time it happened, she had to watch them pass as the sand of passing time swallowed them whole.

Humanity’s hourglass was limited to a minimum and maximum lifespan. She was stranded in a never-ending quicksand. Humans knew that once their clock ran out, their time was over and they could finally rest.

She wished she could do that too. She wished she could stare into the hourglass and watch her time run out, to know she could rest after an eternity of running from everything and everyone. Instead, though, she had to watch as life took everyone she ever cared about, and with every new decade or century or millennia, the cycle would repeat itself the same way it had from the beginning.

She must have been an awful person in her past life because if God were as merciful as every believer on the planet claimed he was, he wouldn’t have sent her down the spiral in the first place.

There was a reason people worshipped the devil; he would have thought of many ways to torture a sinner, but cursing them with eternal life he wouldn’t have as he had been condemned too, a long time ago, to be someone he never wanted to be.

She became something she never wanted to be and never asked to become, and there was no one to blame but the almighty, all-merciful God in heaven and his hopelessly false righteousness, that steals more lives than it saves.

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