#mentioned Wilson Fisk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

farfromstrange · 2 months

Text

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other.

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio.

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you.

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar.

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned.

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you.

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown.

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context.

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again.

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth.

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off.

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior.

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him.

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable.

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to.

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says.

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more.

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last.

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur.

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing.

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore.

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention.

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.”

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile.

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?”

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him.

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone.

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high.

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #reader insert #from the vault #charlie cox #weed cookies

157 notes · View notes

mayajadewrites · 3 months

Text

ghostin

matt murdock x reader

preface: reader is a vigilante, much like matthew murdock. they've developed a relationship and have fallen in love with one another. their future together was seemingly written in the stars - until the blip.

tags/warnings: 18+, established relationship, angst, no use of y/n, eventual sex

notes: i will be mentioning aspects of the main character that are more specific to her looks, but picture her as whoever you please :)

ao3

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen filled Matt's apartment as you finally get out of bed for the day. People talking, car horns beeping, police sirens in the distance. It was a late night filled with vigilante escapades and sex with your boyfriend.

You sit up on the bed to stretch your sore muscles, feeling the aches of bruises from the past week on your skin. You heard Matt stir, a sign that he will be awake soon.

There's no point in trying to be quiet around him. He can hear your heartbeat from 5 blocks down.

"Good morning, sweetheart." You hear Matt's morning voice behind you. As you turn around, you marvel at the man that you share a bed with every night. His hazel eyes have a touch of sunlight in them, the green popping ahainst his tired eyes.

"Good morning Matthew." You press your lips to his pillow soft ones, a place you have grown fond of. His lips had to have been sculpted by the Gods. His face is a Renaissance painting. Only you get to feel it with your fingertips.

"You must've slept well. You added the good in 'good morning'." Matt brought his hand to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Ever since I started staying with you, I've slept so much better." You close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm.

–

Before Matt, you were a vigilante that was frequently hired by people like Wilson Fisk to take out any enemies, or potential enemies.

The first time you met you were assigned to take out Daredevil. Obviously, that's not an easy task. But you needed the money.

The night was cold, your skin filled with goosebumps as you jumped from rooftop to rooftop. You would hear steps, but never saw him.

Until he striked.

Fisk wanted Daredevil gone, but he is a force to be messed with. You kept running into him, but never having the guts to take him out, and he felt the same as you.

You didn't know he was Matt Murdock until a few months after your first encounter. You were jaded from your past, as was he. Learning to trust does not come easy to either of you.

"Baby, come back to bed." Matt almost whined, his large hands grasping yours to pull you down to him.

"Fine, 5 minutes." You eliminate any space between your bodies and allow your lips to find his.

"Make that forever." Matt smirked against your lips.

"You're impossible." You feel Matt's tongue snake into your mouth, doing a dance you are all too familiar with.

–

The first time you and Matt had sex there was undeniable lust, love, and magic in the air. You both avoided your attraction to each other for so long. At the end of the day, the only people that didn't want to admit that you two were made for each other was you and Matt.

"I can't deny you anymore." Matt said helplessly. "Everything about you is everything I want in my life. Everything you are, I, I-"

You stare at his face as he speaks, his eyes moving to different spaces in the room with every word.

"I can't stay away from you. No matter how much you may want me to, or the world may want me to, I can't." Matt's tongue grazed his lower lip. "I want to fall asleep next to you. I want to wake up next to you. I want to share my coffee with you, even though you're psychotic and drink iced coffee regardless of the temperature outside. So you wouldn't want any of mine anyways. But I want to have the chance to share it with you."

"Matthew, are you going to let me speak?" You uncross your arms from your chest. "I wouldn't mind hearing your little speech for awhile though."

"Go ahead." Matt cleared his throat.

"I want you too." You take a step closer to Matt, taking a closer look at the bruises that mark his skin. "I want to learn how to play poole for you. I want to sit on your rooftop and take in the sounds and smells of New York with you. I want to kiss your lips first thing and the morning even though you probably have nasty morning breath."

"Aren't you just a romantic." Matt followed your lead and took a step closer to you. "Tell me to stop." He took another step towards you.

Silence.

Then another step.

And another.

Matt was now in front of you, his nose grazing yours, his hands hovering over you. "Tell me to stop."

You stare at him, silent.

His hands pressed against your hips, dragging along your curves until he grips your ass. His forehead presses to yours, like the world was finally aligned.

Matt's lips found yours, moving slowly and deliberately. His mouth was starved from yours for so long that he wanted to savor this moment. He palmed your ass gently as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, pushing your body against his once more.

"You are addicting." Matt broke the kiss briefly. He lifted you from your hips to wrap your legs around his waist, kissing you as he brought you to his bedroom where you would spend hours in the sheets.

–

"I'm gonna brew your coffee, baby." You plant a kiss on Matt's lips, his palm on the back of your head as you pull away. The pad of his thumb stroked your hair as you pulled away. "You never make getting out of bed easy."

"I never will."

As you brew Matt's coffee, you go through the mental checklist of what needs to be done for today. Grocery shopping, a jog through the park, and to clean Matt's apartment.

You pour the hot liquid into Matt's favorite mug - it's nothing special, but it's big enough for two cups of coffee so he loves it.

You pour a splash of creamer into the cup, stirring it with a spoon. You smile at your reflection in the liquid, unsure of how you were so lucky to live this life with Matthew.

"Be careful, it's hot-" You look up from the mug to see the bed empty.

You didn't hear Matt move from the bed. The bathroom door was never opened. You could still see the silhouette of his body tangled in the sheets.

"Matt?!" You said loudly. "This isn't funny." You opened the closet door, then the bathroom.

Nothing.

You hear people outside screaming.

"She was just here!! Where the hell did she go? She just... dusted away." You heard someone say outside the window.

"I was just talking to him and then he was evaporating before my eyes." Another worried voice screams.

Your heart fell to your stomach. You run to the bed, running your hand over where Matt's body just was.

It was still warm.

#matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil born again

147 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 1 month

Note

I have a request as I see they are open! I enjoyed the last Oversight AU! Could I request a one shot of Kate’s imitation / first meeting with Natasha? And maybe go into the specifics of the Eli situation? I love to see the badass protective side of Natasha!

Title: Dig Your Own Shallow Grave [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff (Technically, this is one part of a bigger story)

Summary: Kate Bishop is known as the ex-heiress that was welcomed into Natasha's fold long before you. You learn pieces about her everyday, but never the full story. Not until today.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): physical violence, handcuffs, thunderstorms, threats, mentions of death, mentions of jail, incarceration, cheating, toxic relationship dynamic, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, horrible grammar

[a/n: This one is different! I don't know anything about the Elijah that's portrayed in the MCU, just the Young Avengers Eli and I can't stand the dude.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

The large leaden handcuffs seemed like an unnecessary and overzealous precaution to Natasha Romanoff. They rattled as if the young girl was nothing more than a ghost of Christmas past. They were sinched at her waist, both hands balled into fists until her knuckles were a sickly shade of white.

There was red around her eyes, making a charcoal gray hiss into something muddy and sad. There was a flash of confusion and then disgust that fell over her features when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large two-way mirror that stood parallel.

Natasha turned in her seat, made eye contact with the guard. They had a silent understanding. The cameras that were situated at the corners of the room had been shut off- technical difficulties, they would say.

She collapsed into the chair adjacent to Natasha, never taking her eyes away from the only other distraction in the room. The chain connecting her cuffs were bolted to a hook in the table, but her feet were left free. Unless she was an Olympic swimmer, which she wasn’t, that would be no problem.

The guard nodded before he left them in the room and locked the door behind him. The mechanism in the metal door was loud and sighed with age when turned. The light above them swung back and forth within its cage. A circle of yellow enveloped them both.

Her hair was unkempt, nearly feral. They must have kept her separate from the other prisoners but that didn’t ease her tossing and turning under the fluorescent lights. Natasha had been in holding cells, she’d been stripped of her clothes for testing, and her dignity for much less. Something inside of her broke for this girl. This heiress.

“Who are you?”

It was clear that her voice had gone unused for at least a day, maybe more. She shivered and shrunk into herself at the sound of it. Natasha’s features softened ,that break in her soul cracking just a little further. Her file said she was twenty-two, but the girl in front of her was nothing more than a scared child.

“The woman who is getting you out of here.”

“Please don’t talk in riddles,” She moved to press her fingers against her temples. Her hands were pulled back viciously by her binds. “That’s all my mother does. Did. She talks in circles until I’m too confused to find the start.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You’re Eleanors daughter. Katherine?”

“Kate, but yeah. I’m her daughter.”

It was said with so much bitterness. They weren’t being held at the same facility. Kate was in a deep blue shirt made out of something that was less like fabric and more like paper. She wore the pants to match, her clothes being tested for gunpowder residue.

Eleanor was in a large brick jail in an orange jumpsuit. Natasha had considered going to her but found much more interest in her daughter; the one brave enough to stand up against Wilson Fisk and his incredible size. Bishop took King and destroyed a good amount of property in her district in the process. She’d have to pay thousands to get the folded storefront fixed.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff.”

The sentence was simple and conjured fear. She could see the look in Kate’s face. The girl threw her back against the metal chair, and it screeched from the force. “Why are you here?”

“You smashed my window, and a few displays, and I’m pretty sure you set off an explosive.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“With what, Kate?”

She paled at this. It was apparent that not only had her assets been frozen, but her mother’s as well. They barely had enough to cover legal fees, much less cosmetics that suffered the aftershock of the blow. She sighed and stared at the cold metal table. It was too scratched to show her reflection.

“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad, Kate. Calling law enforcement on your own mother is a ballsy thing to do. It also makes you a snitch. If you get charged, if you get locked up, it’s not something you’ll make it out of.”

“I know that.” She whipped her head up, eyes hard with anger. They softened after just a moment, to something scared. “I know.”

A silence fell over them both, one that Natasha let settle heavily on her chest. Kate was a spitfire, she was a spoiled girl who had a moment of clarity and turned her mother into law enforcement. She was regretting that now, shivering into herself, having to wait until after the holidays until anything could move from the stone it was trapped in.

Natasha had influence with the guards, and with the chief of police in this district. They had an understanding, and she fully intended to walk out of here with Kate Bishop under her wing. Not for free, of course. Natasha was charitable, but even her good deeds stretched so far.

“I’ve already paid your bail and they’re more than happy to release you into my custody.”

She scoffed “Your custody? I’m an adult.”

“You might be an adult, but you’re one without money, without a home, and I’m guessing everyone that’s still alive and free in your life isn’t too keen on taking you in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay,” Natasha said in a breath, staring hard at the girl across from her. She looked so washed out under the harsh lights of the room. Despite her anger, her poisonous words, she reminded Natasha of a dog that broke free from her leash and had almost too much freedom to handle.

The woman stood, her chair sliding elegantly compared to the horrid noise that Kate’s had produced. Natasha moved to pull on her coat, covering the deceivingly hard muscles in her arms. Kate had pretended not to stare; but it was fruitless. All she could think about was what those hands had done, what they could do.

Of course, she felt some veil of safety with the cameras being here. Surely, someone would come in and pull Natasha back the second she started to advance on her, if she started to advance. The distance between them was closed and she sat on the edge of the table. Kate pushed herself flat against the back of the chair.

Natasha didn’t do well with being told ‘no’. She also didn’t do well with expletives directed towards her instead of because of her. Natasha’s slender hand wrapped around the cold chain attached to Kate’s wrists, she pulled forward and Kate’s sore ribs collided with the edge of the table. She let out a dissatisfied grunt.

She grabbed the back of Kate’s head and slammed her cheek against the cold surface with a dull thud. Natasha didn’t’ let up on her weight, instead, she held her in the perfect position to maintain control.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Natasha knelt down, making eye contact with Kate. She pushed against the hold, but Natasha had the leverage. Kate flexed her fingers, still in chains. “You destroyed my storefront, and while I toyed with the idea of killing you for that alone, you’ve impressed me.”

“I’ve impressed you?”

Her words were smushed, drool pooling from her lips. It was almost comical, but Natasha pushed harder on the back of her neck, making her cry out. “I’m talking. When I’m talking, you’re not.”

She was met with silence and figured that was as good as she was going to get with this one. Her spit-fire reminded her a bit of Clint when he was younger. It made Natasha gravitate towards him, but this girl had a lot more to learn than her closest friend.

“You’re a spoiled little brat who crumbled one of the oldest clocktowers in the city. The habit didn’t’ seem to improve when your mother cut off your credit cards and that’s a dangerous thing. Getting the shit kicked out of you in jail might serve you well. So, by all means, you can try your luck, or you can follow me out of here so I can correct your behavior.”

Kate swallowed hard, but she didn’t’ say anything. Natasha’s first lesson seemed to be sinking in. After a few moments, she released the girl who sprang up like a jack in the box. She was giving Natasha the same look that she was used to, one of absolute fear. Her face was red and when she moved to wipe her chin of drool, she was stopped once again by her chains.

Natasha took pity on her, for just a moment, and used her thumb to ebb away the line of spit. Kate knew better than to pull back, instead she looked up at Natasha like a kicked puppy, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Anyone who stands up to Wilson Fisk is too valuable to kill for some property damage. But let me be clear, Kate, this is not a get-out of jail free card. You work for me. You belong to me. And we’re going to fix that attitude of yours.”

He had moved to the city during Kate’s senior year and wasn’t much for talking. Eli Bradley was as mysterious as they came. He was lanky and had deep brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black in color. Eli wore a gold hoop in one ear, and while Kate would usually find something like that off-putting, it worked on Eli.

She played cello in the orchestra, first chair with pride, and he was modest with a viola. She made a point to make eye contact with him at least once a day, and eventually he started to return her small smiles. She thought the subtle way his lip quirked up at the corner was nothing but endearing.

In early October of that year, when the air was still crisp but not exactly cold, Kate had sat in the courtyard until the sun threatened to dip behind the horizon. She was avoiding going home to get ready for a party her mother was hosting and had worked it out so she could take the last bus uptown.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone? It’s getting dark.”

Kate frowned, but quickly retracted the expression when she made out the form of Eli Bradley and the silhouette of his viola case. It hung at his side like a briefcase filled with important papers. Instead, she hiked herself forward and leaned her elbows against her knees. He’d never spoken to her before.

“I’m a 9th degree red belt in Jiu Jitsu, and I have pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Impressive,” Eli grinned “I guess it would be pointless to walk you home then, Kate Bishop.”

“I think I can make an exception, Eli Bradley.”

Kate did find herself making exceptions for Eli Bradley over the next few months. She would let him order for her, even if she didn’t find the dish he chose at all appetizing. She had to gently remind him that she was, in fact, allergic to shellfish and if she ate the pasta he insisted on she’d need an epi-pen.

He made up for it by being a gentleman and opening the car door for her when they pulled up to said restaurant.

Kate stepped behind Eli one winter evening when it was the type of dark outside that breeds bad behavior. A woman in a hoodie stepped out from an alleyway, twitching and with a wild look in her eyes. Kate could have easily disarmed her, could have gotten her someplace warm. Eli had delivered a hit to the stomach and pulled Kate along. It was a blur. But she’d never felt fear- just regret.

He made up for it by holding her tight that night, his warmth and sturdiness eventually lulled her to sleep and convinced her that maybe she could live with herself. Maybe she could live with Eli.

Clint Barton glowered at her over his bowl of cereal. Natasha didn’t know if it was some sort of interrogation technique, but it even made her uncomfortable. It was much too early in the morning and Kate’s wrists were still an ugly purple from how tight her cuffs had been. Natasha may have pulled a bit too hard, aggravating the already raw area.

“Your cheerios are going to get soggy,” Yelena entered the kitchen in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, scratching the exposed skin of her stomach with a stifled yawn. She stopped for just a moment to regard Kate, who sat up with a rim-rod quickness. “You always dump them down the sink and it makes the drain smell.”

Clint looked towards Natasha for help. She shrugged, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had pulled the paper in this morning and was very careful to remove the front page story of Kate’s mother and her set trial date. She may be cruel in some aspects, but psychological torture was Yelena’s department.

“Who is this?” Yelena asked, voice muffled by the chill of the refrigerator.

“This is Kate. She’ll be here for a while, and if she behaves well enough, she’ll be here longer than that. I expect both of you to regard her well and teach her everything you know.” Natasha took a sip of her steaming black coffee. “Hand to hand combat should not be an issue, isn’t that right, Kate?”

Kate waited a moment, remembering the sting of the table against her cheek. Natasha had asked her a question so it was okay to answer, right? It must be. She had a tendency to not stop talking once she started but it was clear from the prying eyes in the room that she was expected to reply.

“Yes,” She found her voice easier than she had in the jail. “I’m advanced in Jiu Jitsu, hand-to-hand combat, fencing, sword fighting, archery, kick-boxing. Once I used a set of staves from this really nice woman named Bobbi…”

She trailed off when she realized Clint had stopped fishing for the last cheerio and Yelena had cracked open a bottle of juice like she was snapping the neck of a small animal. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and she averted her gaze.

Natasha smiled softly and took another long sip of her drink. The blonde woman, the one with the chiseled jaw and the striking green eyes, let out a hum. Her stare raked up and down Kate’s form, even while she was shrinking into herself.

“I will train her.”

“That’s not an option, Yel. I want to utilize her, not kill her.”

Kate’s head shot up at the word. She caught Clint’s stare, and he gave her a dejected shrug before pushing the little life-raft of a cheerio under the milk once more. He had no interest in eating it, just drowning it.

Yelena was smiling wolfishly, lilting her head to the side like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “Kill her? Sister, I would never. She’s clearly an asset. If you let Clint train her then she’ll be regressing.”

Kate watched the tension bounce back and forth between the two like a sadistic game of ping-pong. Yelena had just hit the little orange ball with enough force and trajectory to burn a hole directly through Natasha’s paddle.

She’d never dream of pushing Natasha in the slightest, much-less the way that Yelena did right now. Her body language was relaxed and quiet. The two of them stared at each other, and the newspaper was folded, discarded in favor of the stand-off.

“I will not kill her,” Yelena reassured, yet somehow, Kate hadn’t been assured the first time, nor the second time. “Give me a chance.”

Susan Bishop had a harder stare than Eleanor. She had inherited it from her, Kate was sure, but knew how to work it like a double-edged blade. Rarely would she look at Kate. Even rarer so was the two of them being in the same place for more than six minutes at a time.

Kate had her eyes downcast, pretending to read the same paragraph of the same book over and over again. Once she felt the sharp stare of her older sister on the side of her face, it shown brighter than the sun above them.

She’d been stretched out on a poolside chair, just enjoying the pungent scent of chlorine and the occasional low hum of a car passing their large home. It was too chilly for her to actually swim, but she had a fuchsia bathing suit under her long-sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.

Susan had settled into the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh as she typed quickly on her cellphone. Kate had cast her a sidelong glance, but quickly pretended to lose interest. They were going back and forth like this for a long, pregnant moment.

Eventually, Susan sighed and softly closed the book in Kate’s hand, not regarding the page that she was on. Kate didn’t mind much. Her older sister never did anything softly. Kate’s heart thrummed in her chest when their eyes met.

“Hi?” Kate cautioned.

“Hi. We need to talk.”

“What do you want?” There wasn’t anything Kate had that Susan didn’t. Hell- she could ask Eleanor for anything and would instantly get it. There were no rules for the eldest, responsible, child. All of that strangling focus was on Kate.

“I don’t want anything. I just want to talk. Sister to sister.”

“Right… sister to sister.”

“You need to break up with Eli.”

The statement through Kate back. It was like Susan had kicked her directly in the diaphragm. The oxygen in her lungs deflated and she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then in startled rage. What did right did Susan have to meddle in her relationship like this?

Kate wanted to tell her just that, but nothing came out except for the last squeeze of air that could be interpreted as a noise of discontent, but Susan never was good at reading signals and Kate needed a fleeting second to catch her train of thought after it had been so violently derailed.

“I get the appeal of the student athlete, I’ve had plenty of them myself, but Eli is not the man for you. You can do better.”

“Seriously? Is this mom speaking or you?”

“This is all me, sweetie.” She didn’t’ say it in a condescending way. In fact- Susan actually reached out and gently touched Kate’s bare arm. She tensed under her, but the hand wasn’t removed. Not even when dark grey eyes looked at her incredulously. “I don’t like the way he changes you.”

“Changes me? You think Eli changes me?”

“I think he makes you shrink and Bishop women are never meant to shrink.”

“That’s all mom has ever done.” Kate bit back venomously.

“Wrong. Mother has full control over Father, she just makes him think that he doesn’t. She’s the decision maker and if she has to keep a hand on his shoulder to do that, then so be it. The world listens to men, and looks at women. It’s how society is. But Eli? He’s binding your hands, not taking them.”

Kate shoved Susan’s hand from her arm and placed both feet on the ground. She didn’t have to listen to this… this practical stranger. Susan didn’t’ know what she was talking about, and neither did Eleanor. They were both ignorant to the way she felt about Eli and the way Eli felt about her. He wanted to the best for her.

Sometimes- she just had to remind him that she was allergic to shellfish.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She gritted before standing. She disregarded her book, not that interested anyway, and began walking to the patio doors. Tears had started to sting her eyes. First out of sadness, and then maybe a mix of malice.

“He’s cheating on you.”

Susan said it so softly that could pretend she hadn’t heard it. The water filter for the pool was loud enough to drown out the statement. But she’d stopped with one foot on the bottom step of the patio and the other planted firmly on solid cement. Her nails dug stinging half-crescents into palm.

“You’re wrong.”

“Ask him.”

“I won’t,” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Because I trust Eli. Maybe you could grant the same to me.”

Her childhood home held onto the darkness like a vice. A place that was once so maintained and bright was past falling into lawn decay. The pristine shrubbery had springing curls of foliage and the grass hadn’t been painted like her father insisted upon each year.

The structure stood strong, only a few months and some change abandoned. A small strip of tape on the mahogany door was the only indication that this had been an active crime scene at one point. The FBI had taped an order against it before they shattered the wood with a battering ram and raided the home.

Kate hadn’t been back since. She’d been living out of her Aunt Mira’s apartment and wearing her eccentric clothing. But the elder woman would be back soon and eventually she would need to get her own belongings back. If she didn’t, then squatters would when they realized just how vacant the home really was.

Yelena let out a low whistle as she peered up at the home, as if they didn’t live in one with the same amount of wealth. Even the tone she produced sent shivers down Kate’s spine. It had been four months since that day in the precinct.

Each day was spent from dawn to dusk in Yelena’s presence, and it never became easier for Kate. She was a bumbling and incompetent mess around the woman but had grown some kind of comfort in her presence. Kate no longer believed she was in danger at her hand specifically.

That didn’t’ mean that her body didn’t ache from the constant hell that Yelena had been putting her through to put her in ‘the peak performance state- Kate Bishop’. Yelena only said her first name and barked it at her if her pace lessened on one of their multiple-mile runs, or grueling weight training sessions.

Kate didn’t want to admit that she was entranced by the tone of Yelena’s muscles. She chalked it up to admiration, because that’s all it was. Admiration. And a bit of resentment. But Kate’s chest puffed out proudly when she noticed the way her own body began to change under Yelena’s tutelage. Enough that she was ready to go back to her old home for some closure, for some clothes.

Natasha shoved her keys into her pocket and fell in line on Kate’s right side. She peered up at the expertly crafted wood. It had begun to chip. Kate thought that was ironic; it had always been so pristine, but the more she thought about it, she’d often duck under a ladder to step into the foyer.

Bad luck all around, and a simple patch job that would crumble if not properly cared for.

“We can just buy you new clothes,” Natasha urged in that flittingly careful way that made Kate know she really did give a damn, but not if you asked. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“And add to the debt I already owe you for busting me out of jail?”

“I think she has to do this.” Yelena said firmly.

She was right. Kate had to do this. She was always handed everything in life so easily and it made her reckless, but far from undisciplined. It just took Natasha slamming her face against the cold metal of an unclean table for her to get some sense knocked back into her.

Kate had called the police on her mother. She’d done it after the knowledge of crimes committed festered and grew in her mind. It bred resentment in her mind until she came face to face with the fact that she wasn’t putting her mom away, she was putting a monster away.

Stepping through these doors would humanize her and it would cut Kate deep enough to draw blood. But then, she felt Yelena’s fingers on the small of her back. A light touch that was telling Kate that she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.

The door let out a whine of protest when she pushed it open. They were met with a stale scent and a soft glow that ruminated from what Kate knew best as the living area. There was a grand piano that was mostly untouched, and large oak bookshelves that had multiple editions of old encyclopedias bound in leather.

She and Susan used to flip through them and try to pronounce the words by phonic spelling. They’d trace their little fingers over the inked illustrations and giggle if they had found something even remotely obscene. She remembers the word ‘Dam’ making them laugh until they couldn’t breathe.

Natasha’s hand darted out and pressed against Kate’s mid-section. Her other one grabbed the gun from the back of her pants. She shot the girl a sideways glance. “You left that on?” she mouthed.

Kate shook her head, her fingers itching for her own weapon. She didn’t have one. While Kate was an expert at professional archery and her aim wasn’t in question by anyone in the room- her familiarity with handguns with the serial number scratched off was minute. Yelena had pulled her own weapon, jaw firm.

Maybe squatters had broken in, and if they had, she’d gladly allow them to have the place. She just needed to stuff a duffel bag full of items and the small sentimental necklace she had gotten from her father as a child, and then she would be on her merry way.

Natasha stepped around the corner and raised her gun, screaming something that was drowned out by the startled yells of another. Kate recognized that yell, that rasp. She frowned, letting the tension in her shoulders drop before she got a good look at the living room herself.

It was incredibly lived in and lit by a single lamp that had it’s shade discarded. It was blinding and left spots in her eyes, but not enough to disregard the box of white sticky rice that had spilled all over the floor like maggots.

There was a makeshift bed on the couch and a few of those encyclopedias strewn about as if they were bedtime reading. In the center of it all; Eli Bradley with his hands up and a fork between his lips. His mouth dropped open and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He was shirtless, in a pair of boxers that Kate was pretty sure was her fathers. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before this because the simple fact was enough to make her gag.

“Elijah?” She exclaimed.

“You know this guy?” Yelena asked, voice tight. She lowered her weapon, but Natasha kept hers in the same position it was before, trained right at his genitals and ready to shoot at a moments notice.

Kate wished with her entire body that she didn’t. His boxers held his athletic thighs, his deep brown eyes flashing to the guns aimed at him. Yelena was never a patient woman but somehow, in this moment, Kate knew deep down that she would be patient here. Her mouth was dry and her throat like sandpaper. It was incredibly hard to swallow.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Eli sounded out, his fingers twitching “I have a key.”

Yelena looked at Kate with pleading eyes, to which she received a nod in return. Kate supposed she hadn’t officially broken up with the man in front of her. The aimed weapons were lowered to the floor, but Natasha kept her hold. One false move and she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through his bare foot.

“Yel, idi soberi yey sumku.”

Kate didn’t understand a lick of Russian, but she knew that Natasha’s tone was not to be questioned. Yelena holstered her weapon and slinked up the stairs. She’d be able to guess which room was Kate’s. The trophies and medals and photos tacked up to bulletin boards. It was the only room Kate was allowed to personalize, and even then, it was meant to be spotless.

Natasha must have caught onto the tension in Kate’s stance. She shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched and eyes submissive. It wasn’t something she wanted to see in her young trainee.

It wasn’t at all the woman that sat across from her in an interrogation room. Not even with her face her neck in Natasha’s grip. Something was wrong, and it was something stronger than Kate being back in her childhood home. That warranted sadness. But compliance? Absolutely not.

“Katie, baby. Who is this?” Eli asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

When Kate opened her mouth to speak, Natasha held up a hand, instantly silencing her. The woman lilted her head to the side, unripe eyes taking in the scene in front of her; the discarded take-out containers, the balled-up socks in the corner of the room. The rain that had begun to pound against the roof and slather itself across windowpanes.

Natasha’s voice came out as a snarl “I’d love to introduce myself, but first, could you ask your little friend to come out from behind the curtains?”

Kate’s stare hardened and she whipped her head up accusingly. Still, she didn’t say a word. The wine-red Versailles fabric shifted; the view blocked by the grand piano but not enough for Natasha to ignore. Kate’s mother had spent hours looking over Swatches that would fit the room, and eventually chose the option that brought the room into a gothic elegance.

Kate didn’t need to wait to know who it was. Cassie Lang. Best friend, confidant, and exactly who Kate caught in bed with Elijah weeks before. But this was different. This was her home. It had already been violated by law enforcement. Torn apart just for two of her friends, people she trusted and loved, to take advantage of its vacancy.

“That’s better,” Natasha purred. Cassie was shaking because of the cold, wearing only a silk robe that belonged to Kate’s sister. “Now, let’s all have a chat.”

“Kate, Katie, it’s not what it looks like. Just… tell your friends to leave and I’ll explain everything.”

Eli attempted to step towards her, hands no longer raised in caution but reaching towards Kate. Natasha felt a surge of anger lick against her skin. She stepped between them, splaying her hand out on his chest before shoving him recklessly onto the center of the couch.

He sprung back onto his feet, voice dripping in venom “Back off lady! I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend here!”

Natasha let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her gaze to Kate. Something about this situation was juvenile, but so important. Though she only had the girl under her care for a few weeks now, she felt nothing but warmth towards her.

She’d mislabeled her as a rich, undisciplined trust fund baby. Natasha didn’t’ often admit her mistakes but that had been one that weighed heavily on her. Sure, Katherine Bishop had a bit of an incorrigible sass to her, but it wasn’t unwarranted. Her boasting was backed up by actions true to her words. Strong, determined, actions.

Natasha hated how she was shrinking. Hated how this man had chipped away at her until she was hugging her mid-section to stop the thrumming pain of betrayal. She couldn’t’ find the words, they were lodged in her throat. There was the strong suspicion that if she hadn’t sent Yelena away, they’d be scrubbing blood from an imported carpet.

Something tole Natasha that Kate never got a choice in this relationship, and she wasn’t about to continue the toxic pattern that had led to her demure state.

“Ketrin,” Natasha’s voice was soaked with her native tongue “Would you like me to take care of this?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, almost like a fish. Words escaped her. Natasha’s soft exhale brought her back to the room. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and reminded her of the first time she had pushed herself too hard in competition. She never lost consciousness but came close to it.

Yelena had successfully pilfered a duffel bag, having removed the sabers that resided there and filled it with whatever clothes she could find. Kate felt her stomach flip at the naive idea that the Russian woman had gone through her underwear drawer.

She flicked her eyes back to Eli, his chest heaving up and down as he eyed the gun still in Natasha’s grasp. Cassie was still like a statue, rubbing her palms on the silk fabric of her robe. She had the decency to look guilty.

“Take care of it.”

The words were barely more than a hurt whisper. She didn’t trust herself right now, not with the sharp pain that coursed through her veins. Tears had stung her eyes in the back of the detective’s car, but she didn’t know if that was on account of Eli or Eleanor.

Kate silently excused herself as the silence that settled over the room became thicker, palpable. Yelena’s deep stare was on Kate in a way that made her squirm. But she remained at the head of the stairs, even stepping to the side when Kate began to trek to a room that had already been rifled through. There was an unspoken agreement. Natasha would take care of it.

“What’s your name?” she asked, directing the question towards the girl.

“Cassie.” Elijah answered.

Natasha held her hand up to him again, fingers barely ghosting his shoulder. He shivered at the near touch but snapped his mouth shut. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her. Sweetie?”

“It’s Cassie… Cassie Lang.”

“Okay, Cassie.” She kept her voice soft, cajoling. “I want you to go home and get some rest. And under no circumstance are you going to call law enforcement. I’ll be informed immediately if you do so. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, keeping her head down as she moved to smooth past Natasha. The woman grabbed her sleeve, holding her in place for just a moment. She was so close she could smell the sex on her, see the sweat against her brow and the fear in her stare.

“Sweetheart. I suggest you learn to keep better company.”

Cassie let out a squeak that almost bled into a whine before taking advantage of Natasha’s loose hold. She darted with a quickness unseen, the door slamming behind her, the roar of the rain hissing to a muffled stop.

“And you?”

“What about me?” Elijah asked in a nauseatingly confident way.

Natasha let out a long sigh and studied him. Everything from the way he stood to the faux dog tags that hung against his chest bled fury. This was exactly the type of man that would attract someone like Kate with a level of badger-like charm before clamping his jaw down on her throat.

Thankfully, Kate’s mother had fantastic taste in artwork. A bronze Clyde Ball piece lingered by the entryway. While he was known for his extensive statue work and abstract designs, Natasha liked that he used a heavier metal, one with a base that was easily grasped.

With a sly swing of the hand she connected the corner of the object with Eli’s temple. A flash of blood instantly stained his skin and splayed against the floor when he collapsed. Natasha dropped the artwork next to him. She let out a hum, figuring that a Clyde Ball may be worth purchasing after all.

His truck had kicked up a rut in the normally spotless lawn. Eli had barely missed the mailbox with his erratic driving- which was bold considering the amount of unmarked and marked police vehicles that encircled Kate’s property.

Kate was sitting on the front steps, the concrete cold and unwelcome against the small of her back. They’d handcuffed her and her fingers were numb. Still, she flexed them when the commotion caught her attention. They didn’t’ bother with police tape, but a man in a wrinkled suit stopped Eli.

It took her a few long moments to realize that Cassie was in the passenger seat of the truck. She made eye contact with Kate, a look of sorrow forcing her to glance away. She was wearing Eli’s lettered jacket and naively, Kate convinced herself for a fleeting moment it had something to do with the busted heating vents in the old vehicle.

She knew better.

She’d smelled Eli’s specific spicy brand of cologne and deodorant on Cassie the last time they embraced. His lips tasted of the bubblegum ChapStick that Cassie had worn everyday since the six grade when Kate landed on her during a game of spin the bottle. Admittedly, she felt more during that kiss than anything she’d ever shared with Eli.

Kate adjusted her shoulder against the hold of the cuffs. They were uncomfortable, digging into her wrists. Even if she wanted to break out of them, she couldn’t. She was a nervous fidgeter and Elijah was using some degree of charm to weasel his way past the officer blocking him. Just as he’d weaseled his way into Cassie’s pants.

“Oh my god, Katie.” He rushed out when he got to her, kneeling down on the damp sidewalk. It was unnaturally cold and they hadn’t let Kate pull on a jacket over the tank top she wore for her morning run. His hands ran down her thighs and squeezed her knees. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kate’s stare brushed past Elijah blankly and to the fogging up window of his truck. If Cassie hadn’t already been wearing his jacket, she was sure he’d offer it to her, an offer she would vehemently deny. All of his charm, his commanding power, had been washed away with her mothers as she ducked her head and settled into the back of a squad car. One that probably had heat.

“Jesus, I heard that this place was swarming with cops. What did you do?”

“What did you?”

“I don’t… Katie, babe, come on.” He glanced back at the car and when he turned to face Kate once more, their eyes locked. He didn’t’ need to say anything and neither did she. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Kate felt the warmth of Detective Brigid O’Reilly behind her. She wasn’t a stranger to Kate, but she acted like one when she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. Temporary informant or not, Kate was still a Bishop and they weren’t trusted in this town.

“Miss Bishop. It’s time to go.”

Her forearm was gripped and she was pulled to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were numb, needles rushing through them. Part of her was grateful for being dragged away. The other part was terrified, sad, hurt and angry. They’d all betrayed her.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Fifteenth precinct. Don’t waste your breath, kid. She’ll be indisposed for a few hours. Take your little girlfriend home.”

He winced at the detective’s words and averted his stare to the ground. Kate let herself get let to the unmarked Lincoln town car. At least she’d save the humiliation as the whole lights and sirens routine.

Most of the time, they didn’t wake up screaming, but Elijah did. His senses were overwhelmed, and his body instantly registered the cold and the slickness of muck beneath him. Even over the brutal beating of falling rain, he could hear the cars that swept past on the highway.

His head was pounding, and the headlights of vehicles passing over the highpoint of evergreens only served as something more disorienting. It was only when a crack of lightening flashed across the sky did he notice the woman standing over him, a shovel slung over her shoulder.

So, he screamed, and he swore she smiled at the sound.

He turned over on his stomach and coughed into the mud, his toes not finding purchase in the mud. Natasha’s boot came down on the center of his back and he found himself sprawling, tasting a mix of metal and dirt. He realized that he underestimated the situation Kate had gotten herself into.

“Good morning, Elijah.” She crowed, dropping the shovel next to his face, barely missing his brow. He flinched and shrunk into himself. “I have a job for you.”

She used the tip of her shoe to flip him over onto his back. The falling rain that had gotten through the pine needles above him hit his face in a cooling effect. He saw another set of headlights, eyes darting towards the road. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, all of this would be over.

“I need you to dig a hole.”

“What?” He panted out, his breath leaking out in puffs of condensation. “a hole?”

“Mm, glad I didn’t rupture an eardrum. It needs to be a big hole. How tall are you?”

“I don’t… What?”

Natasha knelt next to him, a sadistic smile falling from her lips. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Almost as if a flip was switched. Her deep red hair was adhered to her forehead from the rain, her jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I don’t know you, Elijah. But, I know Kate and that girl has been through hell and back. She’s guarded and hides behind her humor to deflect the pain that she’s experiencing. And to me… it seems like you’re a big catalyst here.”

His breathing had become shuddered. Natasha grabbed the shovel before standing and delivering a swift kick to his side. His ribs instantly ached and a cry escaped him. She wanted him to right himself and to safe another deadly spark of pain, he complied.

She had, in fact, started a small divot where she expected him to dig. Tears were running down his face, small sobs muffled by his determination to put on a front. She didn’t’ find any admiration in his sniveling. Instead, she let him scoop out three frothy loads of dirt before she continued, circling like a lion.

His hands had started to bleed.

“She believed in you enough to trust you and you turn around and fuck her best friend?” Natasha got close, yelled over the rain. He stuttered in his movements, clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t stop digging! Was she not enough for you?”

Elijah stuck the tip of the shovel back into the soup of rainwater and mud. It was a black slush at this point, something he could drown in if he laid facedown for long enough. “She was… she was.”

“Then why did you do it, huh? You took everything she was and whittled her down to nothing before discarding her for someone else you could break. Is that it? Did that make you feel more like a man?”

He didn’t’ respond, instead, moving another round of slop to the side of a hole that was starting to look more and more like a grave. He was up to his knees in cold, unforgiving water. His toes flexed in the icy earth.

“Answer me!” She yelled with enough anger to split earth. However, Natasha didn’t give him the chance. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoved him forward into the muck. He could taste dirt, words bubbling.

Elijah groaned and brought himself to his knees. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his throat. He was crying loudly now, sitting back on his heels. Natasha was above him, standing on the edge of the grave he had just dug. Headlights flashed over her cold stare.

“If you’re feeling helpless, Elijah, so was she. Kate needed you, and you weren’t there for her. She was suffocating, and everyone could see it, but you kept her just out of reach, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes,” He groaned out, digging his fingers into the soft earth. “Fuck, yes. I hurt her, I know that.”

“Lay down.”

“What?” His voice broke.

“You’re going to lay here until morning.” She knelt down “You’re not going to move a muscle.”

“I’ll drown,”

“You might.” She growled, taking account of the heaviness of the rain, the way the tires of passing vehicles sloshed around in the collected puddles. “But at least you’d understand how Kate felt.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x reader #Mafia au #Yelena Belova #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Reader insert #request #natasha romonova #Bishlova #kate bishop x yelena belova

124 notes · View notes

vhstown · 9 months

Text

tag team

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: Authoritarian regimes aren't immune to a bit of graffiti; you can't do it without Spider-Punk, though.

content/warnings: fluff, banter (that has the... unintended effect), mentions of politics + discrimination, brief mentions of police brutality + being shot (nobody is hurt dw), london slang is used (im a londoner but still might be a bit ooc lol).

word count: 1.9k

a/n: camden version of hobie. reader is a hopeless loser (rnt we all). ambiguous relationship sort of? criticisms accepted + appreciated ! (i dont write hobie much 💀)

"Go on, then."

Spider-Punk — or Hobie, as you knew him, stood opposite you in the backstreet, arms crossed and with a grin you could practically see under his mask. The metal spray paint can was cool in your hand, which was already clammy with adrenaline as you brought the it to the wall.

This was your idea. It was supposed to be a joke at first, but Hobie thought it was brilliant. He wouldn't let it go: tagging up places in this part of town — the part where people like you and Hobie weren't welcome. Behind the fences and less-than-subtle signs to "keep out", entire neighbourhood reeked of Wilson Fisk: anti-punk, anti-rebellion, autocrat, about class and "serving the man" — whatever the hell that meant. Now, it was going to reek of paint that probably wasn't safe to inhale — at least, the back of some rich white bloke's house was.

Well, "rich white bloke" and "random politician" were interchangeable. You'd be fine; that's what Hobie told you anyway.

The can rattled in your hand as you shut one eye, holding your breath before red paint spurted out onto the wall. Hobie watched in silence, probably in amusement too. You debated threatening him with the can as a joke while you marked out the start of your drawing, feeling the eyes of his mask on your back. The breath you'd taken in before left you, and you haphazardly drew in another shallow one.

You'd been thinking about this for a while: making trouble under the guise of your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Punk, or protest, as Hobie liked to call it. His vigilante persona didn't exactly have the best reputation around here, or anywhere, in fact. Maybe you could change that — or worsen it. Either way, you had to breathe, so you took in another breath.

"Ah, shi—" The tight feeling in your throat exploded into a fit of violent coughing, and you were barely able to feel Hobie's hand on your back as you reeled away from the wall. "What the...?" you managed, before your eyes squeezed shut again, feeling another cough wring through your lungs.

"A'ight, that's definitely not normal." Hobie leaned over with a hand on your shoulder before he took the can out of your hands. You could make out his frown behind the tears stinging at your eyes as you tried to swallow back another cough.

"Yeah?" You furrowed your brows, trying to straighten out your shoulders again. "Didn't know paint could give me TB."

"I haven't got TB," he shrugged, gloved fingers tapping at the can.

"Cause you've got a mask." Hobie suddenly gave you a ruthless thwack between your shoulder-blades, making you flinch. "I'm not coughing anymore, stupid!"

The eyes of his mask narrowed as you shot a look at him; the bastard was probably enjoying this. Maybe you were too.

"You wanna wear it?" he asked instead, thumb already hooked under the bottom of his mask before he pulled it back; his actual was expression more subtle, but still just as taunting.

"Don't you have a secret identity to keep?"

"Think you've got lungs to keep, big man." His knuckles knocked at the centre of your chest before pulling the mask over your face in one quick motion.

The fabric warmed your skin as you adjusted the neck of it a little, feeling the mask blink with you. It was weird; it was kind of like you had nothing on your head at all. But the warmth was definitely from the mask and not the fleeting feeling of his fingers on your chest — and not the devilish look he was giving you right now.

Creak...!

The two of you looked around at what sounded like a door opening. You looked at Hobie, and he just shrugged at you, lips pushed up in his usual unbothered half-frown. His Spider-sense musn't have gone off, but your heart rate did. If you were going do this, you better do it quick.

Though your reference was on your face right now, you knew Spider-Punk well enough to remember the mask. Hobie let out the start of a chuckle when he recognised the giant white eyes you painted over the red. The mask definitely helped. Your arm, already covered in specks of paint, made a popping sound as you reached up to do the spikes, finishing the giant mural of sorts of your lanky, loud-mouthed, anarchist best friend.

The punk in question gave you a slightly curious look as you stepped away, the eyes of the mask on your face narrowing as you scanned over the dripping wet portrait. Pulling it off of your head, your hair was somehow still completely in place as you handed the mask back; no wonder his wicks fit in there.

"Well," you started, watching him look at the mural. "Aren't you gonna sign it?"

"It's your work." He tilted his head down a bit, though mirth was already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, and it's of you." It seemed like you didn't have to tell him twice before he zipped the can out of your hands with a flick of his wrist, already spraying an X onto the wall despite the mask hanging by his side. He didn't so much as clear his throat (lucky — you nearly died) as the letters F, N, S and M followed in each section of the X. That was the same symbol on the back of his vest, but you'd never bothered to ask about it.

"What does that stand for?" you questioned, arms folding as you mirrored his stance from before.

"Guess."

"I asked so I wouldn't have to guess." A silent grin you didn't want to entertain started forming on his face. "Fine, uh..."

You wracked your brain; it was probably more simple than you thought, but all your brain could conjure up was: "Fascists need stopping... uh, Monday?"

That got a ruthless snort out of him, making you press your lips together to try and take back your words. "Just Monday?"

"You told me to guess," you shrugged, rolling your eyes before they landed on the painting again. It was still wet; it was warm out, so the dripping wouldn't stop anytime soon. For some reason, it was always sunny in these neighbourhoods, almost like those autocrats had bought the sun too. Whatever, you didn't need the sun — a rebellious 6ft punk did just fine anyway; at least, that would explain why you were so warm around him all the time. "You gonna tell me or no?"

"Facists need stopping..." he mused, in a gratingly posh accent, hand brought up to his chin in a dramatic mockery of pondering. "Nah, I was thinkin' we should just leave it, you know? Let 'em be, innit?"

Hobie Brown — the only person you knew who would joke about their ideologies just to poke fun at you.

"Yeah, yeah, every other day of the week," you added dryly, getting a cackle out of Hobie.

"Thought you were meant to be smart, darling." The remnants of his mock-posh voice bleeding into the "darling". You could just tell he was being unserious — it was something you hated and loved about him. Why would you want him to be serious...?

"Thought you were supposed to be helpful," you spat back, getting another entertained breath out of him. Hobie shook his head before you suddenly snatched the can out of his hand, pointing it at him. The both of his loosely came up in mock-defense, but the grin on his face only grew.

"You threatenin' me now, yeah?" It sounded less like a question and more like another jab at your pride. Things had been a bit too quiet between you two recently, and you felt yourself getting fired up; it was a shame that your heart always raced like crazy whenever the banter started rising.

"Do it, then," he proposed at your silence, taking a step towards you and making you step back. "What's a bit of paint? You gonna cough again?"

"I actually will." You attempted to scrunch up your face in annoyance.

"Cough? I bet." His head tilted down to look at you, wicks shadowing everything but the amused glint in his eyes.

"You've got a serious problem." And you'd got a seriously warm face.

"Got more than just one problem, darlin'." You hated the way it came out of his mouth this time; you'd rather he pretend to speak like Fisk.

"Stop calling me that or I'll actually spray you."

"Didn't know you were a cop."

"Hobie." You let out a sigh, only serving to get another low chuckle out of him; he was so close you could almost feel the vibrations of his laugh. The fact that he was freakishly tall didn't help in the slightest, his silence along with the swirling feeling in your stomach making you unconsciously take a step back.

You winced immediately as you felt your back stick to the wet paint. "Oh, what the hell..."

Hobie's snickering didn't help. "You didn't have to move, you know."

You decided to ignore that, peeling yourself off of the wall and glancing behind you to see your back imprinted on the neck of your Spider-Punk portrait.

"Interesting artistic choice," he mused.

"Shut up, Hobie."

"On it, boss." You felt his hand on your shoulder before he turned you around, making the air catch at your throat as he peeked at your back, which now had a portrait of its own. "Blood of Monday fascists — very rebel. Got your outfit sorted for tonight."

"Your gig's tonight?" you groaned, trying not to look at his face over your shoulder and instead tossing the can back into the bag of other paint cans, still managing to catch how his lips pushed up in indifference, and probably mild entertainment.

"Nah, we're going out, darlin'," he snickered, and you felt him pinch the fabric wet with red paint to peel it off of your back. The rest of you was probably about to turn cartoonishly red too; this man just wouldn't give it a rest.

"Right, and I'm supposed to 'go out' looking like I got shot in the back."

"Like I'd let you," he muttered, removing his fingers from your back before shrugging off his vest, tossing it to you with the light clink of pins and buttons.

You raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't elaborating, so you put it on, trying not to cringe at the feeling of drying paint on your back. The vest was comfortable, though a bit heavy; it was cool, familiar, nice-smelling — like Hobie.

"Lookin' like a little me," he teased.

"I swear, if one more word comes out of your mouth—"

Your threat was cut short by the deafening blare of alarms, the wall in front of you flashing with a red that wasn't paint. Rich white bloke...

"Do all of them have alarms?" you whisper-shouted to Hobie.

"Looks like Willy does."

"Willy..." your brows knitted together as you watched Hobie pull his mask back on. "Fisk?!"

You'd just drawn a giant mural of Spider-Punk at the back of Wilson Fisk's house. A giant signed mural.

Without a chance for you to think, Hobie slung his arm around your back, and you weren't sure whether to be worried about being caught, annoyed about the paint pressing into your skin or absolutely bewildered as you felt your feel lift off the floor, clinging to him for dear life.

The bag of paint cans were zipped into his arm, with you, still wearing his vest, held against him by the other. Another one of his relentless cackles ripped through the air alongside the "thwip!" of his webs. Despite how absurd this was, a laugh of your own escaped too when you made out the fuming face of Wilson Fisk himself, a powerless, shouting little stain on the ground as you zipped away.

The fascists could wait 'til Monday. Right now, you had a gig to go to with Spider-Punk — or a date; he'd figure it out once the police were off of his tail.

🕸️🔭🎸

thank u for reading! i rly had to wrack my brain lmao ... not the best at writing hobie but it's okay im trying lol... again feedback is cool!

just fyi "big man" isn't really used as a gendered term! in my experience at least its used to casually poke fun at people. also if ur curious the FNSM symbol stands for friendly neighbourhood spider-man (i feel like im the only one that didn't know this um lmao)

if u liked this, reblogs r appreciated! catch the rest of my atsv stuff here <3

#hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown #atsv hobie #atsv fanfiction #atsv x you #across the spiderverse #hobart brown #spider punk #vhstown

222 notes · View notes

little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year

Text

The devil in disguise

Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

summary || You are the sweet innocent daughter of Wilson Fisk who has fallen in love with Matt Murdock. Unaware of their private lives, you introduce them.

word count || 2.7k

warnings || nothing really, just a bit angsty. brief mention of violence & blood

a/n || hii, I hope you all enjoy this. I spent a very long time writing and rewriting it. I don’t want to sound like a beg, but Id be very thankful if you gave feedback. this is based on a request. much love💌

masterlist + rules

taglist

Being an artist in New York was a tough job, a city where everyone wanted the same thing- opportunity. In the beginning, you had a bit of a tough run with selling your pieces, you wanted people to buy them because they loved your art and not because of the connections to your well-known father. You loved your dad, but you wanted to do this on your own. You wanted your gallery to be something that you made, not your father.

So after a couple of years, spending hundreds of hours curating your artwork, you were finally able to display them in a mini store that you converted into a gallery.

You have only been open one day and things were already flying off the shelves, selling your most loved artwork for thousands of dollars apiece.

Today, your boyfriend of six months, will finally be meeting your dad at your gallery. You wanted to share this special time with the two people that meant the most to you. Unlocking the doors, your arm linked into Matt’s, leading him through the shop of your most prized work.

“Pass your hand.” You say sweetly, taking his hand in yours. Laying it flat against the canvas on the wall, directing his hand to brush along the mixed media. “You inspired me for this one.” You smile. “If you feel here. There’s a message… I indented the canvas to make braille, and if I got it right… it should say something.” Watching the way his lips turned into a smile.

The bell rings at the door, immediately diverting your attention. “Hello princess.” Your dad greets you, pulling you in for a hug.

“Hi.” You smile, pulling apart to introduce your boyfriend who was looking around uneasily. “Dad, this is Matt, Matt, this is my dad.” You sweetly grin, looking between them with gleaming eyes.

“Pleasure.” He greets your boyfriend, firmly shaking Matt’s hand.

“Good to meet you, sir.” Matt smiles forcefully.

Excitedly screeching, gazing between the two. “Okay- I can’t wait anymore, let me show you around.” Grabbing Matt’s hand to lead him. “Dad follow me.”

You showed them throughout the whole gallery, talking endlessly about the inspiration behind each piece of work, chatting their ears off about every detail.

“Excuse me one moment.” Your dad announces, walking into the back room to answer his phone call.

Matt inconspicuously pulls you aside now that it was just the two of you. “You never told me his name…” Matt quietly asks.

“Oh my goodness- sorry, I completely forgot. It’s Wilson. Sorry, that must’ve been really uncomfortable.” You apologise, placing a sweet kiss on Matt’s now tense cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah- I’m fine. Just you know, meeting your dad.” He partially lies.

“I’m sorry princess, I’ve got to go.” Wilson enters the room, glancing between you and Matt with questioning eyes. His stare penetrated the side of Matt’s face.

“Dad?” You warned, disguising it with a cough. Noticing the way he was looking at Matt.

“Right. I’ll see you soon.” He kisses your cheek before leaving. “If you hurt my little girl…” he turns around to warn, focusing in on your perturbed boyfriend.

Matt has been uneasy around you ever since the day at the gallery a few days ago. You thought it was because your dad frightened him with that scolding, but you didn’t know if it was just that or if there was something else to it. You haven’t seen him since then either, he avoided all your texts and calls, replying hours later with ‘sorry, I was on a case’ or ‘I couldn’t find my phone.’

You had spent the day at your gallery doing inventory and rearranging pieces, quietly enjoying the day to yourself. Taking a seat on the sofa by the wide glass window, zoning out as you gaze at the busy city. Aimlessly scanning around until you notice something out the corner of your eye. It was a car you had seen dozens of times over the last couple of months. You tried not to look at it for too long, never wanting the person inside to acknowledge your awareness.

You picked up an art magazine from the coffee table, opening it and raising it to your face. Peeking your eyes over the top to get a better look at the number plate, and to no surprise, it was the same one you had been seeing everywhere.

Startling yourself when the door opens, the bell ringing obnoxiously. Dropping the magazine, you see your father by the entrance with a solemn expression.

“You okay?” You ask nervously, walking over to him.

“I have some news.” He frowns, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“What is it? You’re scaring me.” Scanning your dad's face for answers.

“I don’t want you to hate me...”

“I won’t, what’s up, tell me.” You push once more.

“I did some digging…” Wilson trails off.

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend…”

“What about him?” You snap, desperately needing answers.

“I’m afraid he’s not someone you should trust…Here…” Pulling out his phone to show you a clip.

Staring at the video confused. “I don’t get it- what is it?” Darting your eyes between him and the screen.

“That’s… Daredevil.”

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s your boyfriend…” he says slowly. Masking his lies.

“No, it’s not.” Shaking your head.

“It is. ‘The devil of Hell’s Kitchen’ or whatever he calls himself. He’s a vigilante… and he’s dangerous… he…” he starts.

“‘He’ what?”

“It’s too much...” He closes his eyes, avoiding your surveying gaze.

“Please just tell me.” You plead.

“He… killed your mother.” Intensely staring at the floor.

“What-? Why are you telling me this?” Walking away in disbelief, pacing around. “Why would you say that?”

“There are more videos.” Extending his phone.

“No! I don’t want to see it. How can he do that? Seriously, how? He’s blind.” You defend.

“He was lying about that… it was a cover.”

“Let me see the video.” You demand, snatching the phone from his hand.

Anxiously fiddling with the hem of your dress as you watched the clip of your boyfriend in the red suit. You couldn’t believe your eyes- you didn’t want to believe them.

“I’ve seen enough.” Sliding the phone along the coffee table.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get out of the way.” He frowns, sitting up and leaving without a single look back.

You had decided to close the shop early, feeling too confused to want to be anywhere but home. Right now you wanted nothing more than to slump into the couch and watch shitty tv with a big bag of chips.

When you return to your apartment building, panic settles in when you notice the car again. Unlocking the door with shaky hands, trying your best to keep them still.

“Allow me.” A male voice says from behind. Immediately shuddering and dropping the keys.

“I’m sorry.” Turning around to look at the man. “Just a long day.”

“I’m sorry, that must’ve been really hard.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, disguising it in a laugh. “Thanks” taking the keys from his hand. “Do you- uh, live around here?” You ask, anxiously looking around.

“No, I was here to see a friend. But I saw you struggling so had to help.” He smiles. “And you are…?”

Telling him your name with a friendly smile.

“I’m Dex.” Shaking your hand. “Good to meet you… I’ll uh- see you around.”

—

After a long hot bath and take-out dinner, you lump yourself onto the couch. Pulling out your phone to see numerous missed calls from Matt. Deciding not to engage, you place it aside.

Frantic knocks pound at your door that startle you upright. Quietly walking over, peeking through the peephole to see Matt anxiously pacing around.

“What?” You snap, whipping the door open.

“I came to see you… you wouldn’t answer my calls.” He gushes, smiling apologetically.

“Not so nice is it?” You say snidely.

“No-“

You cut him off. “I’m not in the mood right now. What do you want?”

“You scared me- you didn’t answer, I thought something bad had happened-” He continues, catching his breath.

Interrupting him again. “Are you actually blind?”

He flashes a confused look, head tilting to the side as if to understand you better. “Yes. Why would you ask that?”

“Wait a second- how did you get here?” You ask, finally putting the pieces together. “If you can’t see… then how did you run here?” You question with a stern whisper, not wanting your neighbours to hear.

“Can I come in?” He asks, avoiding your question.

“No, you can answer from out there.” Placing your hands over his chest to stop him from coming any further.

“What’s going on?” He questions, his face looking puzzled.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“… I don’t know.”

“Who are you?”

His mouth opens but no words are made, gazing at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He snarks, walking past you and into your apartment.

“I didn’t say you can come in.” Forcefully closing the door to follow Matt into your living room.

“Where’s this coming from?” He sadly questions, taking a polite seat on your armchair.

“I saw my dad today…” you start.

He gives you a nod to tell you he’s listening.

“He told me something and… I don’t know.” Burying your head in your hands.

“What’s wrong?” He asks sweetly, rushing over to the seat next to you to console you. Gently stroking over your back.

“Please just tell me who you are.” You quietly ask, your words muffling against your palms.

He deeply sighs, brushing his spare hand through his hair. “I think you know...”

Your back stiffens and your neck twists around to stare holes into Matt’s closed eyes. “You’re ‘him’? You’re Daredevil?” You speak quietly as if to soften the blow. “He was right.” You mumble to yourself.

“Who was right?” He questions.

“My dad- he showed me a video… you’re the devil of Hell’s Kitchen? You killed my mom?” You ask, almost rhetorically.

“Wait a sec-“ he interjects. “I don’t kill anyone.” Shaking his head.

“So you are him?”

“Yeah- but that’s not me.” His face grimaces at the thought. “That’s why I’ve been busy…”

“What do you mean?” You ask warmly as if the haze was clearing and you could finally see a few pieces to the puzzle.

“Your dad… he showed you the clip?”

“Mhm.” You mumble, listening intently.

“Was the person in the suit wearing red?”

“Yeah, like a- like a dark red.” Ears pulling back with intrigue.

“I know this might not make any sense right now, but I need you to understand… I don’t wear that red suit anymore- not after midland circle. That person… he isn’t me.” His face looks as though he’s thinking. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” You reply instantly, not once giving it a second thought because it was the truth.

“I think your dad is framing me.”

“Why?”

“I think he knows who I am, and is setting me up.” Placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“Why would he do that?” You question.

“Because he’s not just a businessman.” He says, almost as if he’s regretting it already. Not wanting to ruin your perception of your father.

“What is he?” Searching his face for more answers.

“I can’t do that to you.” He says sadly, stroking your confused face. “Just… in your phone, type in ‘Kingpin, Hell’s Kitchen’.”

Immediately opening your phone, typing into the search engine, instantly overwhelmed by the dozens of articles. Clicking the top one, reading through an article from the New York Bulletin. Your eyes darting over the words, as your heart thumps in your chest.

Matt laces his hand into yours, stroking his thumb over your skin to calm you down.

“My dads a crimelord?” You question in almost disbelief.

“I’m sorry.” He emphatically comforts, hating the idea of you feeling betrayed by your father.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been after him for years…“

“Is that why you’re with me?” You sadly ask, already thinking the worst.

“No.” He gushes, cupping your cheek. “God, no. I only found out at your gallery the other day.” He reassures, sweetly brushing over your cheek. “Please come and stay with me for a few days. I don’t think it’s safe here…”

“Can I ask you something?” You almost whisper. Mind is racing and struggling to keep up with everything that’s happened over the last few hours.

“Of course, anything.” Gently placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear and then cupping your jaw.

“If you’re daredevil- the real one… are you really blind? Or is that a cover?”

“I am blind, I lost my sight when I was nine.”

“You can say no, of course. But, I don’t think you’ve actually told me how you lost it. I don’t want to push you, and you can stop me from talking because I feel like I’m blabbering-“

Sweetly smiling at the way you were so considerate with your delivery. “No no, it’s okay.” He interrupts.

Matt thought it was finally time to give you a look into his past, telling you every minor and major event that has happened in his life. Stories about his dad, St Agnes, Maggie, his abilities, what he does as Daredevil, and even about Fisk.

Matt was waiting patiently on the couch while you finished packing your bags; throwing in anything and everything you might need over the next few days.

“I’m ready.” You smile, lugging your bags by the front door.

“You left a light on in there.” Nodding to your en-suite.

Rushing to the bathroom to flick the switch, returning with a grin. “That is amazing.”

Flashing you a wide grin in response, collecting the heaviest bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

When you exit the building, you do a quick look around the street, quickly observing everything. Across the road you spot the car again, squinting your eyes to double-check the number plate. Matt doesn’t know about your potential stalker, to be honest, you didn’t want to worry him. But now you know he’s capable, you decide to finally tell him.

Discreetly covering your mouth to hide what you were about to say. “Matt.” You whisper. “That car… I see it all the time.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, barely moving his lips as he purposely twisted his head to look around.

“I think it’s been following me.”

His face grows stern and rigid, looking as though he’s calculating the situation. Placing your bags to the floor, taking a step onto the sidewalk. Immediately grabbing his arm to stop him from walking any further.

“No- don’t go over.” You plead, trying your hardest to stop him freeing from your grip.

“Wait there.” He sweetly instructs, shaking himself from your grasp.

“No, I’m coming with you.” Chasing after him.

Matt pulls out his stick, tapping it against the ground as he walked down the street, looking around aimlessly until he ‘accidentally’ bumps into the car. The person inside slides down the window “watch it, man.”

“My apologies, I don’t suppose you know the way to Josie’s bar. It’s just… you know.” Raising his arm to show the man his cane.

Watching from the side, you see a familiar man in the wing mirror. Immediately walking over, following after your legs that had a mind of their own.

“Dex?” You question, head tilting to the side in confusion.

He coughs, lowering his cap to hide his face. Stammering on his words.

Matt’s ears pull back in concentration, listening intently. Reaching his hand inside the car, gripping Dex’s neck and yanking him towards the window. Hitting his head with his free hand, as he pulled him through the window and out of the car. “Who are you?” He demands, landing another strike to his face. Instead, he doesn’t do anything, he just tauntingly laughs, purposely trying to provoke Matt.

“Enough.” You shout, pulling Matt off Dex who was laughing hysterically on the floor, blood dripping from his cheek.

“What the fuck was that about?” You grit, ushering him away.

“That’s Special Agent Poindexter.” He starts. Straighten his tie and adjusting his glasses, linking his arm into yours, acting nonchalant.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You whisper shout, quickly looking over your shoulder check on Dex who was splayed out on the sidewalk.

“Fisk hired him. If I’m right, and I’m sure I am… he’s pretending to be me.” Leading you across the street, and back to your apartment building.

“Wait a second…” letting go of Matt’s arm and halting in your tracks.

“That video my dad showed me… it was a CCTV clip…” pausing as if to complete your thought. “It was outside of my mom’s house… and…” face contorting at the idea. “He had my mom killed?”

sorry for the cliffhanger!! I wasn’t sure how to end this and was hoping that some of you guys could maybe give some ideas. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with Fisk and Dex, and how Matt would work into it. but if you have any ideas I’d love to hear them. I will be doing a part 2, just need some help from you angels first

I think it’s because I’ve been working on this so long my mind has turned to mush😭

but thank you for reading, hope you liked it🤍

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x reader #matt my beloved #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock fanfiction #matthew murdock x you #wilson fisk #ben poindexter #bullseye #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel fan fiction

296 notes · View notes

jackfrombaskinrobbins · 5 months

Text

all fixed up (matt murdock x teen!adopted!reader)

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 967

request: yes / no

original request: "Matt Murdock patches up a teen reader, and there's just a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. PLEASE LET IT HAVE A HUG AND FOREHEAD KISSES :)) (I'm a sucker for fluff)"

warnings: slight mention of wounds, blood, not too much though i promise!!

dynamic: matt murdock x teen!adopted!reader

characters: reader, matt murdock, quick mention of foggy nelson & wilson fisk

a/n: ILYT!!! also erm hey guys🤓i've been gone for way too long i'm sorry :') but i've had this in my drafts for a whiiiiiiile so i figured it was time to post :0 anyways ya feel free to request i have a bunch to get to but i always like new ones!! esp daredevil oop tee hee

taglist: @nutellani @thecloudedmind @ayohitmanddaeng @fiadh-bell

(fill out this form to be on my taglist!)

-----------------------✰--------------------

“stop it, y/n. just come here for a minute, alright?”

normally matt’s words would be answered with an exaggerated sigh and an eye roll, but tonight was different. tonight was off, and you knew it, he knew it, and he knew that you knew that he knew it. (ridiculous, but true.) it didn’t help that you had wounds to patch up, sore spots all over your body that wouldn’t be going away any time soon – a constant reminder of your mistake.

and yes, as much as matt would deny it, you had made a mistake. a damn big one at that. you should have known better. no matter how gifted you were at defending yourself, no matter how many times you had practiced, it wasn’t enough. nothing would ever be enough. and yet you had stupidly decided to go against a group of kingpin’s lackies, big huge guys who ate kids like you for breakfast. they didn’t hold back, and they beat you up until you were barely conscious, and that’s when stupid matt came and did his stupid thing and saved your stupid ass from stupid death or some stupid thing like that. and now you were here, in this stupid apartment wishing you had just stayed in and done your stupid homework and watched some stupid tv and just stayed out of things for once.

“i’m going to bed, matt.”

you spoke, too ashamed to face him. but stupid matt always knew, with his stupid heightened senses and the stupid way that he knew you inside and out, ever since he had taken you in a few years before.

“come on y/n. this isn’t something you can sleep off, and you know it.”

and you did know it. so that’s why you sat at the table, a hiss of air escaping you against your will as you lowered yourself down.

“i’ll get the kit from under the sink.”

“matt, really, it’s fine. it’s just little stuff, okay? i’m fi–”

“fine doesn’t smell like blood, y/n. i’m not stupid.”

that earned him an eye roll, which he never saw, but he always knew happened when he said things like that. you watched as he made his way to the sink, opening the cabinet underneath and rummaging around for the first aid bag. A while ago, you had put stickers on it so he could discern it from the other things in there. There were four flower stickers, and one that foggy had given you, with disney princesses that said “together we are strong”.

matt settled into the chair across from you, exhaling softly. the lights of a police car suddenly filled the dark apartment, screeching sirens accompanying it. you reached for the kit, but matt shook his head.

“no, y/n. i’ll do it.”

you opened your mouth, about to protest, but you could tell he wasn’t going to budge. his stubbornness was something you liked, sometimes. it sure helped when you both wanted pizza for dinner and foggy wanted wings. besides, you knew he would be able to patch you up right, with all the experience he got from helping his father. he had always told you that you were just like him, willing to give anything to protect your honor. but what matt never said was that he was just like his father too, and that if anything, you had just gotten those traits from him.

“did they get you in the head at all?” he asked, soaking a cotton pad in hydrogen peroxide and gesturing for you to guide it where your wounds were.

“yeah, a little bit. i tried to block ‘em. they just kept coming matt, i couldn’t do anything!” you grimaced as the pad touched the spot on your shoulder where you had been grazed by something sharp.

“i know, y/n. it’s not your fault.”

“see but that’s the issue. it IS my fault, matt!” you spoke, voice getting slightly strained, throat feeling tight. you squinted your eyes to prevent tears from falling, but it was too late. a few landed on his hand, and you turned away, trying to compose yourself. “there was no reason to go out there. i don’t know why the hell i thought it was a good idea. i was just … mad! mad about the way they’re treating everybody in this place, mad about the way they’re screwing over every person they deal with… mad about how they treat YOU, god damn it!”

a moment of silence as you tried to slow your breathing, and for a minute, you didn’t know how he was going to react. he reached into the kit, feeling around until he grabbed a bandage, unwrapping it. you helped his hand go to where it needed to be placed, and once it was, he sat back. only then did you see the furrow in his brow, the deep frown on his face.

“look, y/n. i need you to listen to me, and really hear me, alright? i’m proud of you.”

“come on matt, that’s –”

“no. i’m proud of you. really, really proud. i just … i just want you to be careful, alright? i worry about you. and for good reason, considering all this.” you could see his face start to crack ever so slightly, a quick break in his voice indicating that he really meant it. you moved your chair back, stood up, and hugged him tight, despite a slight lingering pain in your shoulder. after a little while, he kissed your forehead, then patted you on the back.

“i’d assume it’s pretty late now. how about you get to bed? we’ll figure out if you need to go to school tomorrow, alright?”

“sounds good. thanks matt. love you.”

“love you too, y/n.”

-----------------------✰--------------------

#mcu headcanons #marvel headcanons #marvel #mcu #daredevil headcanons #nmcu daredevil #matt murdock x teen!adopted!reader #matt murdock x teen!reader #matt murdock headcanons #mae's requests

55 notes · View notes

devilfic · 8 months

Text

❝small favor❞

IV. another white guy from new york.

parts: previously / next plot: it's uncanny, but it can't be. right? because that would be stupid. and spider-man isn't stupid. right? pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: violence, guns, knives, blood mention, alcohol consumption, peter parker isn't beating the average white guy allegations, well. when he smiles like that he might. words: 6.7k.

You almost expect them to turn you away at the door when you hand over your badge, some paranoid part of you thinking they’ll take one look at you and know you don’t belong here, but the man at the check-in hands it back to you with a pleasant, “Enjoy your evening.”

That was half an hour ago, and Parker was nowhere in sight.

He was going to “meet you there” as Jameson promised, though without a clue what to look for, you found yourself aimlessly floating through perfume clouds of high society. You didn’t want to hit the bar this close to eight, but if you didn’t find an anchor quick, you’d vibrate right through the floor. Worst of all, you didn’t even have the guy’s number. What would you do if he was a no-show?

Your job, you suppose, sullen and already dreading the evening to come.

There’s no sign of Wilson Fisk either. In your usual setting, you might’ve already flagged down a guest or two to ask what they thought about the rumors, but your usual settings were messy, bloody, and out in the real world. Here, you had a list of questions to ask that didn’t even scratch your curiosity.

What’s your name? Are you excited to be here this evening? How does the Stark Charity Ball reflect the New York City you know and love? Were you attacked? Can you confirm Wilson Fisk was on the scene?

You hadn’t even made it to the fourth question before you’d given up. How would you last a night like this?

Slithering through the crowd, you make your way to the snack table with hopes to eat your way through the night. At least you could count on rich people to shell out on good cheese.

There’s a band playing in the corner, a gentle stringed melody that you appreciate over the chatter of the guests. You make your way over and let yourself get carried away in the tune, only glancing every so often at your watch to gauge the time. It was nine minutes to eight, nine minutes until Pepper Potts took the stage to start the night, and you still had no idea where your partner was.

It’s almost natural the way your hand finds your phone, swiping over the familiar contact name and pressing out a quick message.

The party can’t start without you.

Towering windows make up most of the ballroom, fading sunlight overpowering the chandeliers above, and you take advantage in hopes it might reveal your webbed friend hanging off the roof.

Almost immediately, you get a text back.

Aww, you really do like me :) No kidding. Are you already in place? Just about. Doing a quick perimeter check. You enjoying the party? I would be if my partner was here on time. Hey, cut Parker some slack! His train’s probably late and I don’t see any signs of Kingpin yet. I'm just glad you've stopped trying to fight me on this. If you can’t beat ‘em... And maybe look up every once in a while, you’re gonna run into somebody.

Just as your eyes scan the very last word, your senses go haywire. There’s cold liquid running down your hand and you've just run into something. When you finally tear your eyes away from your phone, you unfortunately realize that something is now wearing the remainder of your drink.

People nearby have formed a clearing around you, but it feels less out of courtesy and more to point and laugh at you. Regardless, you’ve got to fix this, “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

Your victim stands in a small puddle of sangria, the front of their tux dripping in it still, and you could see how red stains crawled up crisp white. You could only imagine how much every bit of their suit cost (and the Daily Bugle definitely didn’t have the budget to cover it).

They lift their copper head and you’re at first struck by the smile on their face, then the peppering of freckles across the bridge of their nose, and finally... their name.

He carefully removes his suit jacket to assess the damage to his shirt, “Nah, don’t worry. I was looking for a reason to leave early anyway.”

You’re breathless, certain you should be rushing to grab towels or begging him not to sue you into oblivion, but you don’t really get that far, “I’m... really sorry.”

He laughs, so genuine that you feel the tension in your shoulders deflate just at the sound. Just then, a waiter rushes over with a hand towel, insisting he lead him to the men’s room to clean up, but he’s waved off with little more than a “thank you” and “I’ll survive, I promise.”

He steps out of the puddle to allow someone to clean it up, bringing him that much closer to you. When he's done with the towel, he hands it off to you. His eyes trail to your chest and his eyes widen some, “The Daily Bugle. You a reporter?”

You realize he’s spotted your press badge and rush to introduce yourself, wiping absentmindedly at your sticky hand, “Uh... yes. Actually. Crime beat reporter.” You set your empty cup on a passing waiter’s tray and hold out your clean hand to shake.

His hand is warm, if not a little sticky like yours, though you have no grounds to complain, “Nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know.”

He quirks an eyebrow, still smiling, “Then... was that drink a calculated assault?”

“No! God, no. I genuinely wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Not very safe for a crime beat reporter, don’t you think?”

You’ve got to be on fire. You feel like it, struggling between a laugh and a whine, “I’m sorry you had to be the one to teach me that lesson.”

“No worries. Like I said, you did me a favor.” Harry glances around, “So… you're reporting on what, exactly? You betting on a robbery or something?”

The humor of that isn't lost on you, “Actually, I’m filling in tonight. Our usual reporter definitely wouldn’t have ruined your nice shirt.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I find this stain rather charming.”

You can’t help it. You giggle and he smiles even wider, “May I ask why you want to escape so soon?”

“Not if you’re gonna write it down.”

“Off the record? In exchange for the stain.”

Harry Osborn has a boyish look to him even though he’s steadily approaching 26, some baby fat still clinging to his cheekbones when he smiles wide enough, “Well, this was my first stop since hopping off a nine hour flight from Oxford and I’m, as the English say, absolutely knackered. I was gonna leave in half an hour after photos but…” He laughs, casting a look over his shoulder at the stage, “I’ve made my donation. I won’t be missed.”

Perking up with an idea, you reach into your bag and pull out a recorder, “In that case, how about I get you down for a comment on your generous donation of…”

“Five million.”

You blink, swallowing hard, “Five million… to make up for it? I'll even throw in a few questions about your study at Oxford. I hear you're working on a revolutionary breakthrough with lab-grown bacteria that breaks down plastic.”

Harry's eyes light up. For a moment, the image of Harry Osborn is just Harry, “You sure Jameson would let you publish something nice about an Osborn?”

The Daily Bugle was no friend to Spider-Man, but neither was it a friend to Norman Osborn. You recall some of the more scalding headlines about Oscorp’s president that you’d published in the past. It was the one thing you and Jameson could agree on. “You know Jameson well?”

“Of course. I’ve got a buddy who works there too, actually. You might know him. His name’s-”

Harry’s voice is drowned out by the collective oohing and awing of the crowd when the lights dim, shrouding the grand ballroom in the fading glow of the sun. The stage, once empty, is now illuminated with the presence of Pepper Potts. Uproarious applause fills the room. Harry smiles politely at you. His buddy would be a conversation for later.

You want to focus on Pepper, you really do, but it’s like you’ve broken out of a spell the second Harry’s eyes leave yours, and you find yourself once again scanning the crowd for Parker. There was no good reason for him to be this late and you couldn’t even give him a piece of your mind about it.

You shoot off an indignant text to Peter.

Your guy better have been hit by a cyclist on the way here or he’s getting an earful when I see him. Pepper looks amazing :(

But no instant reply. In fact, three minutes pass and there’s nothing. You glance up to the windows for any sign of him watching and find none. Was... he here?

You glance at Harry. If Jillian were here, she’d punch you in the face for what you’re about to do, for the opportunity you're about to squander. Okay, maybe not a punch, but it’d be violent.

But then you’re thinking about Peter, about that night that changed everything, about his blood and bruises and the men with guns for hands. You think about how Peter worried for you. You think about Harry, who has just donated five million dollars to charity, and how there are over a hundred more of him packed in this ballroom right now. You think about Wilson Fisk, and how much havoc he could wreak if he put Spider-Man out for good.

And then you're elbowing yourself through the crowd, searching for the nearest emergency stairwell, hoping that if Peter’s still watching he might meet you halfway. Parker and those questions be damned. You'd find a way to make it up to Jameson somehow.

You’re about ten feet away from the nearest exit when someone takes a hold of your wrist, a few seconds away from the end of Pepper’s speech, and whoever is holding you back has a grip so iron it stings. You can’t clearly see the face of who’s grabbed you but it doesn’t feel familiar. Your heart jumps into your throat. Had Fisk's men infiltrated the room already? Had they gotten to Spidey? Did they know you? Were you next?

You’ve got no pocket knife on you, but you have a fist.

You curl your fingers inward and aim right for your captor’s head. Your fist makes contact with skin. The room erupts into thunderous applause. The lights go up.

You never actually land the punch, but your captor looks a little too wide-eyed to be one of Fisk’s men, too soft in the face. His own hand has completely stopped yours in its tracks, just a hair away from breaking his nose, and he’s staring at you like a deer in headlights. A big, brown doe-eyed deer. “Uh, hi,” your eyes flicker down to the camera hanging from his neck, almost blocking the badge beneath it that reads "P. B. Parker", and then you meet his eyes with the same bewilderment, “sorry I’m late.”

Parker is about average height with a build you can't quantify when his shirt is draping off him. It's a ridiculously huge plaid thing, the kind of thing someone would wear to hide themselves, but all he does is stand out in the sea of Armani and Givenchy. Old jeans, old shirt, high-tops, and a muddy-grey beanie to top it all off. It was a wonder they let him in the door at all.

What you can feel is the strength behind his hand as it holds your fist in place. Some people are looking—you realize, after the tremors of your punch reverberate back up your arm—and so you yank your hand back before any security can take notice.

Your partner waits a full second before holding out his own, offering a subtle, wobbly smile, "I would've been here sooner but... traffic, ya know?"

His voice is low, you notice this next. Practically a mumble. You kind of realize why your coworkers said you weren't missing much; outside of his awkward mannerisms and sweet, unassuming baby face, he looked like any other white guy from New York. He also seemed like he didn't want to be seen or heard, and you imagined that Jameson had no problem with that.

But his mumbling forces you to take notice of his lips so you can read them, and their thin, blushy quality is only marred by a little dryness. Broken by biting or... or something. "You're late." Is all you manage to say.

His lips part, turning downward, "Yeah, I know," he stutters, the pitch of his voice going up a hair, "I said- um, I caught the last half of Mrs. Potts’ speech." And then he turns his camera to you, flicking through images that are too small on the screen for you to assess the quality of. You actually have no doubt they're good, but you're upset he's late and you're certain there's nothing remarkable about this guy—nothing at all—and yet you can't stop staring.

"You know Spidey?" You blurt out next, and his eyes widen and zero in on you. You don't know why he's surprised. "He's mentioned me, hasn't he?"

Parker blinks, "Oh! Yeah. Yeah. All the time. You're very... good. At your job."

"Thank you. So are you."

And wouldn't you know it, he actually blushes. It's sweet and alarming how quickly red blooms across the apples of his cheeks, how his hands wobble around his camera a bit, how it disarms you for a moment. It'd be cute if you could just figure out what about him was throwing you off.

In fact, you're so enthralled in figuring out that something that you see his lips moving but just miss his question, barely hearing the tail-end of it. You watch his lips again as you ask him to repeat it, but the musicians have started up a jaunty tune with trumpets and high white keys, so you duck closer to him and ask him to repeat it once more.

"I asked-" And as you get closer, you have an excuse to look at him more deeply.

Your eyes follow the curve of his mouth to his chin (and all its little hairs that he hadn't caught shaving), down to his neck where you see, just peeking out beneath the lip of his beanie, a curl. You've abandoned his question now. You just feel, as strange as it is, that you need a closer look...

Your hand is moving before your mind can catch up with it, until it's caught in Parker's halfway to his throat. You're so close to him that you can see the way the skin of his chin rolls with the effort to lean away from you, or the honey speckles in his eyes that are all but eclipsed by his blown-wide pupils.

His fingers are latched around yours. He's not using the same strength he was before, doesn't need to, but you can sort of feel it beneath the callouses. Even then, it's so gentle. You don't know why you react with just as mush wonder. The world might as well be at half-speed. You almost wish him to speak again because you've got nothing to say for yourself here.

Parker looks on at you, still holding onto your hand. He smells... like the city.

"Do you-" He starts, chokes on his spit, and then swallows, "are you always this friendly when you're tipsy?"

You blanch. "What? I'm not-" You yank your hand back, cup it to your mouth and nose, and breathe in the sangria. Could he smell it on your breath? "I'm not tipsy. I barely even had a drink before I spilled it all over..."

You catch Parker's eye to find him looking interested. "Spilled it all over...?"

"Someone. Whatever. It was an accident."

"You spilled your drink on someone?"

"It was an accident."

"You know, I was feeling real bad about showing up late, but Jameson's gonna have a field day with this." You're mortified. He wasn't interested, he was amused. "Are we gonna get sued?"

"No!" Your voice draws the attention of a couple nearby, making you shrink even closer to Parker, "I told you it was an accident and I apologized. And you're still not off the hook for being late."

He folds his arms across his chest, smiles steadily this time, and agrees. The action is so unmistakable that it saps all the lightheartedness right out of you. Parker notices the change.

The only thing that breaks the moment is Harry Osborn finding you both.

Your head whips at the first "Peter!", thinking you'll see red and blue somewhere nearby, but Harry is gunning straight for Parker with the widest smile on his face. You break away just in time for him to envelop Parker in a big, friendly hug that would've knocked Parker off his feet if not for how solid he was. A few onlookers take in the scene, some amused, others not so much.

It takes you a moment to digest that Harry meant Parker, had called him Peter with such love and affection that there was no way he was mistaken, and Parker had returned the hug a beat later without correcting him.

There were probably a million Peters in New York alone. And yet...

They stay intertwined a minute longer, only breaking away so that Harry could hold... Peter's face in his hands. "Peter Parker! What the hell are you doing here?" Harry seems to remember you're there. He releases Peter and points to you, "So, you two know each other after all. Pete's the buddy at the Bugle I told you about. We've been best friends for years."

As if this Peter business wasn't enough for you to wrap your head around, you struggle to imagine these two being best friends. One of New York City's richest heirs and a contractor for the Daily Bugle. Your disbelief is evident as you ask, "How did you two meet...?"

"College. We went to ESU together. We were even roommates before I went off to Oxford." Harry smiles proudly, patting Peter on the back. It's then that you notice Peter is looking very, very uncomfortable. You wonder for a moment if this is all some elaborate joke Harry's playing, but it hadn't struck you as his type of humor.

This is, in fact, a man named Peter Parker. He works for the Daily Bugle, he's best friends with Harry Osborn, he works with Spider-Man, and they both share a name. Unremarkable Peter Parker. Nothing you were missing, they'd said.

Peter must see that you're focused hard on him, so he turns to Harry, "Yeah, Oxford. Why aren't you... there? Again?"

Harry laughs, unbothered, "Don't tell me you didn't miss me?"

"No, it's just... last I remember, your dad wanted you there until your project got approved."

The very mention of Norman Osborn kills the mood entirely. Harry's smile falls quick, though he tries to hide it, and shuffles a bit uncomfortably. "That was the deal. But you know dad: the world revolves around his every whim." Harry's eyes cut to you so fast that you tense up, recovering quickly. "Off the record."

Jillian would not accept that. You, on the other hand, swallow it down and tuck it away for another day, "Anything for a friend of a friend."

That gets Harry smiling again, however terse. The conversation quickly changes course as Harry pulls at the stained white of his shirt to show Peter, "Speaking of: you like? Our new mutual friend gave it to me."

Peter glances at you, chuckling with a nervous edge, and grabs at the fabric to examine for himself, "Something tells me you deserved it."

Harry immediately resorts to banter that Peter melts into. It was no doubt now that they were friends, that Peter's awkwardness had only been on account of you being here.

You can only smile and nod, smile and nod, while you watch Peter's every move. You couldn't say anything even though you were bursting, but now your heart was beginning to pound in your ears, making it hard for you to do what you were trying to pretend you weren't doing.

Spider-Man was smart. Beneath the quips, he was extremely smart. He wouldn't tell you his real name and then show up here as a civilian, so brazen, knowing that you'd instantly figure out it was him. That'd be too easy. He trusted you, sure, but he wasn't stupid. He'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of unmasking when you'd mentioned it last night. If Peter was... Peter, he wouldn't have come at all. Because that would be stupid.

And he wouldn't have bothered to pretend, up until the last second, that he wasn't Peter, if he was just going to flay himself before you like this. Because you would've figured it out eventually.

So, surely, there were a million Peters in New York and you happened to know two of them. And they knew each other. And one of them was a superhero. Of course.

You slip your phone out, checking your recent messages with your heart in your throat. If Peter wasn't Peter, he'd have texted you back by now. Because Peter—fuck—Spidey wouldn't miss a chance to make that joke.

There's one new message. You barely get to see what it says before broken glass sprays from above.

There’s a cacophony of sound all at once. Glass breaking, screaming amongst the crowd, and the sound of gunfire letting off into the ceiling. One minute, the room had been in peaceful bliss, and the next, a tidal wave of terrified guests were rushing at you.

You’re lucky that Peter’s arm is like iron, strong enough to rip you back and away from the crowd that converges on the exits, because if you had stayed in your spot for a second longer you would have been trampled underfoot. Like your phone, which is in pieces the second it slips out of your hand.

Harry is there too, huddled against the two of you in the corner, but that doesn’t stop you three from all being pressed upon by the panicking crowds. There’s no rhyme or reason, no order in the chaos. Beautiful clutches embedded with Swarovski crystals lay abandoned at your feet. Everyone in the room can see, whatever it might be, that their life is worth more than a single thing in this room. Even worth more than the lives of the other guests they shove to get out first.

You try your best to see over the heads of the swarm to get a glimpse of what had set the entire party off, and immediately two things are visible. One: Pepper Potts is center stage, the bright white stage lights beating down on her. If it weren’t for the sweat beading at her brow, you’d think her bored. The second thing was that there was a man standing beside her who wasn’t standing there before, a microphone in one hand and a gun in the other.

Even from all the way at the back of the room, you could see the gun trembling in his grip as the barrel kissed Pepper’s temple.

The next thing is his voice. It’s loud, feedback screeching off the walls so high that you think they might shatter the windows. The crowd is loud and he’s louder. You can hear him saying something about how everyone shouldn’t leave just yet, that they’d want to see this front row and not on the 10 o’clock news. You do not see Kingpin. This man is utterly alone.

Harry is shouting something at you, you can feel his breath and the spit that flies out in the hurry of his words, but you can barely make out what he’s saying over the guests. Peter clutches you both even closer.

“We… we have to…” You start, glancing up at the windows for any sign of Spider-Man, but you see nothing. Your eyes drop to Peter’s to find him already staring right at you. You’ve no idea what’s going through his head, and the adrenaline rushing behind your eyes makes it hard to speculate. You only know what you need to say, “…we need to find Spider-Man.”

“We need to leave!” Harry argues. He wriggles out of Peter’s grip and starts pulling you both toward the nearest exit, but he only makes progress with pulling you forward.

You were about to argue back until you felt Peter’s hand at the base of your spine, pushing you into Harry with ease and right toward one of the exit doors. You turn, clutching onto Harry as to not lose him in the crowd, only to find Peter isn’t following you. “You both need to get out of here.”

“Both? Wh- Peter! We’re not leaving without you!” Your attempt to grab at him is futile. He shrugs away from your touch, keeps pushing you and Harry through the stampede as if he really intended on staying behind. “Peter!”

He finally looks you in the eyes that second time, the desperation with which you’d said his name snapping him out of some dissociative spell, “I’ll be right behind you! I’m gonna help get people out. Some got trampled, I-I’ve got to-”

Harry is next to admonish him, “Pete, come on. This isn’t the time to play fucking hero!”

But Peter’s not listening again—eyes faraway, slipping over the crowd as if searching for something—he’s heading back into the fray, calling to you some half-hearted promise that he’d follow soon, and then his head disappears into the whirlwind of bodies. You were able to follow him up until the moment his hat got pulled off, and then… nothing.

The current pushes and pulls at you and Harry, dragging you down the hallway. You feel your ankle twist awkwardly and are thankful that Harry is still clinging to you because had he not been, you would’ve been dragged down and trampled for sure. He holds you upright, pressing you to his side, assuring you over the noise that you’d go back in to get Peter in a minute.

You think that Harry Osborn is much kinder than his father seemed to be, and that you really do owe him a good soundbite in the Bugle after this.

You feel a draft coming from outside, promising you were close to being free from the confines of the hallway. You grab Harry’s hands and peel them off of you, pushing him forward into the crowd without a second thought, just as you see the light of the city come up ahead. His head whips to you. He calls your name as he’s swept away, but you press yourself hard against the wall and let the crowd lead him out to safety.

The crawl back to the ballroom is awful.

There are fewer people escaping, thankfully, and so it’s less like an undertow, but there are so many people and all of them are perfectly fine with throwing their bodies forward with caution thrown to the wind.

It takes you longer than a minute to get back to the door you’d come out of, even longer to squeeze through with elbows hitting you square in the chest and heels digging into your feet.

The room is less than a third of what it had been when the gunman had arrived. You frantically search for Peter in the remaining, scattered crowd; people are frozen in awe, in horror. Some people in the crowd were begging the gunman to reconsider, and others were praying. Your heart sank. A woman was about to die and there was virtually nothing you could do.

You look up to the windows one more time. You couldn’t see him, couldn’t call him, but you close your eyes and pray too. Whoever he was. Wherever he was.

And then you hear it. The familiar thwip! cuts through the air. You open your eyes and a second later, the clatter of the gunman’s pistol hitting the floor follows. You’re blessed with a whole five seconds of glee before the gunman surges forward and pulls a knife on Pepper, holding it to her throat in a panic.

“Easy there, buddy.” Your head snaps up to the rafters. From a single thread of spider silk, Spidey descends from the ceiling with a hand outstretched. He’s a ways away from the two of them, offering some sense of space. “You don’t wanna do this.”

The gunman has since abandoned his microphone, but his voice reverberates in the near empty room just fine, “Get out of here, Spider-Man! You’re next!”

“Why don’t you and I hash it out, then? Just you and me. Leave Mrs. Potts out of it.”

“No, no,” the man mutters; you can hear sirens growing closer to the building, “she’s part of it. You’re all part of it.”

Pepper speaks up for the first time, “Whatever you want, I can get it. This doesn’t have to end badly.”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say. The man jerks his knife closer to her skin and you can see, after a moment, a thin bead of red dribbles down her collarbone.

Spidey holds out both his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa-”

And it happens in a flash. One second, Pepper is being held at knifepoint, and the next, she’s being pushed off the stage.

Spider-Man immediately swoops in and catches her, swinging her to safety on the other side of the room, but you’re too mesmerized by the new body on stage pinning the attacker down by the throat. How you’d missed him, you’ve no clue, but he’s wrestling the man onto his stomach and restraining his arms behind his back just as the doors to the ballroom are thrown wide open.

Cops stream in, rushing the stage to take the gunman into custody. Some head straight for Spider-Man and Pepper, but it’s the guests that catch your attention. There are maybe fifty of them in the room altogether, but applause catches on like wildfire. All of them, and the musicians and the cops at the door, erupt into applause.

Because the man on stage, the man who’d thrown himself at the gunman and disarmed him, the man who had just saved Pepper Potts’ life… was Wilson Fisk.

You can’t find Harry anywhere. Most of the guests had stayed behind out of sheer curiosity, but Harry was nowhere in sight.

You stand out on the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd as the police escort the gunman into a cop car, murmurs flitting from ear to ear on who he’d been, what he’d wanted, and whether they should stay behind for interviews. Pepper was still inside getting questioned. But Wilson Fisk was out here.

You’d been in the same room as Fisk only once before, the night of his infamous press conference three years ago when you were still an intern trailing after the likes of Jillian. He’d struck you as a measured man, one who carried himself with impenetrable humility, and even in the face of his detractors kept a cool head.

Back then, he’d been accused of money laundering, something to do with all his companies not adding up. In and out of trouble, he was. Jameson had likened him to a cockroach: never quite dead, even when he really ought to be by now.

And now he stands before reporters, guests, onlookers, and the like, giving a statement about his “harrowing” rescue of Mrs. Potts. He hadn’t even been invited.

You know you should be right up there with the rest of them, fiending for a soundbite, but you’re gnawing your bottom lip from afar trying to catch him in a lie. Something about this was refusing to add up, and thankful as you were that Pepper was safe, the whole thing was off. Convenient, even.

You watch him smile and nod, none of the charm ever reaching his dead eyes, but everyone eats it up anyway.

Just as you’re about to force yourself to head over, knowing Jameson would have your head otherwise, you’re flying.

“Jesus!” You screech, scrambling to cling onto Spidey as the crowd below watches the two of you swing away. Your stomach drops as he carries you to a nearby rooftop, and you all but collapse when you meet solid ground. “Oh my God, don’t ever do that again.” You expect a quip in return, but when you look behind you, Spider-Man is sitting with his head on his knees, utterly silent. Your stomach drops again, “Spidey?”

That gets him to look at you, big white eyes narrowing, “We’re not on a first name basis anymore?”

You’re stunned, and then you scowl, “Peter Parker.” When he says nothing, you repeat it, “Peter Parker.”

“That’s his name.”

“His? Or yours?”

His eyes stay narrowed at you, only now his head is lifted upright, “I’m not the only Peter in New York.”

“I’m sorry if I find it a little suspicious there’s a Peter Parker who works at the Daily Bugle selling the only decent photos of you in the city, who just so happens to share your name and- and your lips.” That last part awkwardly tumbles out of you and his eyes are no longer narrowed.

“My lips?”

Peter’s lips flash in your mind. You don’t know how to say it without sounding more suspicious than him, “You’re… you both… your mouths are very similar.”

A beat passes. The silence isn’t enough to convince you you’re wrong, but it is enough to make you fidget.

But then Peter bursts into laughter, and, well, it’s not funny to you at all. “Quit it.” You demand, meek.

“I’m sorry, I just- I stick to walls and you think it’s crazy that we’re both named Peter?”

“You can’t convince me I’m off with this one.”

“There were like… four Peters in my graduating class!”

“He even kind of sounded like you! When I could hear him clearly.”

“He sounds nothing like me!”

“He sounds a lot like you.” You say, and wish that there had been a moment when you’d caught him speaking at an octave higher than his, frankly, forced baritone and an octave below shouting. Peter—this Peter—has a voice you know well enough. You’ve memorized his vocal fry when his voice gets a little too high, that nervous ramble-y pitch of his. It’s so distinct. If you had just… heard him use it just once, “You can’t make me feel crazy about this.”

“’m not trying to make you feel crazy, I swear. You’re one of the smartest people I know. I’d be skeptical too.” You wait patiently for a confirmation or a denial, but he gives you none. He takes a deep breath and stares out over the edge of the building where Fisk is being escorted to his car. You crawl over to sit beside him.

Part of you wants to ask him to prove it, to peel his mask off and show you, but you can’t make yourself do it. He’d only just given you his name. He trusted you with that. You’re wary about pushing it.

Because the pieces fit so well, but he’d never make that kind of mistake. Would he?

Would he think it was a mistake?

Peter sighs. “Hey, you alright?” You ask.

He doesn’t really look at you, though his voice answers at a lower volume than before, "This was too convenient.” You hum in agreement. “That guy… he said we were all ‘part of it’. Like it was planned.”

“You think Fisk planned it.”

“I think he’s a little too eager to be in the spotlight about it.” But getting that off his chest doesn’t seem to change the solemnness in his tone.

“Pepper was never in danger.” Your hand presses against the scratchy concrete, itching to touch him. To comfort him. “If this was Fisk’s plan, it was all for publicity. Pepper was never gonna get hurt.”

“She got hurt.” Peter whips his head to you.

You knew Iron Man was his mentor, had plucked him off the streets and thrust him into a world of gods and aliens before his untimely death. And maybe with Tony gone, he thought it was his job to keep her safe.

“Peter, you can’t… you can’t think like that. You can punch your way through a lot of things, but that? That back there? You did what you could.”

“I could do more.”

You get that urge to touch him again, only this time, you let yourself do it.

Your hand touches the side of his mask, cupping below his ear. He watches you the entire time but doesn’t move to stop you. Your thumb rests on his cheek and your pinky- it brushes the overlap between his mask and the rest of his suit, “It’s not just that you’re Peter, too.”

You feel the muscles in his neck twitch, “What?”

“It’s that… in all that chaos, you chose to stay behind. To help people. You made sure me and Harry got out, but you stayed behind. Everyone was so busy trying to save their own lives and you were thinking about them. I don’t know Peter Parker very well. Maybe he’s just that kind of guy. But I know you. I know if anyone in that room was you, he’d be it.” Peter doesn’t say anything. You feel the tension in his jaw, feel the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you. You stare hard into those white eyes and imagine a someone staring back at you. “Or maybe that’s just the kind of people Spider-Man hangs out with.”

He huffs humorously, “Yeah, that checks out. We’re friends, after all.”

Your heart swells to hear it, “friends”. “Don’t make this about me when I’m trying to expose your secret identity.”

“I think Peter Parker would be flattered you think so highly of him. He was kind of worried he made the wrong impression… after you tried to punch him in the face.”

Your jaw drops, having nearly forgotten in the mess of the night. “Well, maybe Peter Parker shouldn’t go around grabbing people in the dark.”

“You were walking so fast. How else would Peter Parker get your attention?”

“Are you just saying Peter Parker over and over to convince me that you’re both completely different people?”

“I just think it’s funny that you don’t believe more than two Peters can live in the same city.”

“There are other factors!”

“Can’t believe you’re the type of reporter who flies by the seat of their assumptions. But you do work for Jameson, after all.” When Peter stands, you naturally follow.

You decide to switch tactics, bruising the alter ego, “You- you know what? You’re right. You couldn’t be Peter Parker. Peter Parker would be shaking and crying if I so much as raised my voice at him.”

“Wow. I’m gonna tell him you said that—wrap your arms around me?” And he snakes an arm around your waist, sending your heart into overdrive again, “he’s never gonna talk to you again. He’s probably gonna issue a copyright claim every time you put his pics on the Web-Blog, now. Legs too.”

“Wait, no. We are not swinging again. We are taking the stairs.”

“How else am I gonna get you off the roof? Legs, please.”

“We can take the stairs!”

“Door’s probably locked and Kingpin’s already on his way back to his super-secret evil lair. Legs or I’m webbing you up in a baby wrap.”

You grumble. It’s enough to make you grab onto his shoulders and jump, locking your ankles across his back with the fear of gravity instilled in you. You reckoned he’d be fast enough to catch you if you did fall. The very possibility makes you sick to your stomach, though. “Please don’t drop me.”

Peter dips his chin into the crevice where your neck meets your shoulder. "Don't worry," and it's not even that you hear his voice, you just feel it, "I've only dropped someone once."

And you're plummeting off the ledge before you get the chance to run away.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @bi-andready-tocry @thescarletfang @spider-biter @hufflepuff-n-fluff @daydreamdrive05 @mentalidrainedfangirl @gwennesy

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker imagines #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #spider-man #tom holland #marvel #mjwrites

130 notes · View notes

kevainthemultiverse · 28 days

Text

Chapter One - Invasion

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

Summary: Kate's past comes crashing down on her when Kingpin's mafia makes her their new target.

Warnings: Invasions, murder, mentions of death, I put the slow in slow burn, cursing, fighting.

Word Count: 1.1K

I Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven I Chapter Eight I

I Masterlist I

Kate has always been somewhat of a heavy sleeper, so much that the trait had become a running joke amongst the Bishop family. On school days, either Derek or Eleanor – her parents – would start waking her up thirty minutes before she alarm, knowing she needed extra time to shake off the her sleepiness. For thirty minutes, she’d be in an almost sleepwalking state. Not quite awake, not quite asleep. The somewhere in between, staring blankly into space as if contemplating deeply the mysteries of the universe. There were so many pictures of her staring into the void after waking up, it wasn’t even funny.

Loud conversations or the softest touch wouldn’t wake Katherine Elizabeth Bishop. But her deep slumber didn’t apply when it came to the noise of glass shattering against the floor, doors breaking, screams and gunshots.

Kate jolted up in her bed of her dimly lit room, suddenly completely awake – and terrified.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Her screams of horror didn’t seem to be heard, and she bolted out of her room, running from the corridor to her parent’s room, where the bed was still perfectly organized. They never went to bed. Immediately Kate ran to the first floor of the penthouse, feeling like her heart was a short beat away from exploding inside her chest. Kate could barely see in the dark of dawn, and in her desperation the girl failed to notice the sharp pieces of broken glass, accidentally stepping on it. She winced and looked down, tears prickling from her eyes upon seeing the red liquid oozing from the wound.

“Mommy!”

The ten-year-old tried again, taking the sharp glass from her feet. The windows on the ceiling that provided little light had been broken, for some weird miracle the chandelier didn’t fall with it. Kate continued to limp on her path to her dad’s study when her mom suddenly approached from behind, engulfing Kate, and pulling her out of the way of the study before she saw anything in the moonlit room.

Eleanor was bloodied, shaking, tears falling freely from her eyes as she hugged Kate strongly. “I’m here, sweetie, I’m here.”

A loud gasp escaped from Kate’s lips as she sat on the bed, small droplets of sweat forming on her forehead. Her dad had died twelve years ago, and since then it was easier to wake up on time to her duties, considering that several nights she’d wake up like this.

Breathless, sweating, missing her father. And several hours before her alarm.

“It was a business partnership gone wrong,” Kate could hear it all over again, the cops talking to her mom as young Kate pretended not to listen. “this is Tracksuit Mafia MO. We will bring justice to your family, Mrs. Bishop.”

Justice? Kate wanted to let out a bittersweet chuckle at the memory. Against Kingpin’s mafia there was no such thing. Even if the man that pulled the trigger had been behind bars for years from killing such an important person, the pain and the memory were still very much free inside the archer’s mind, more often than not Kate would go to sleep and relive that night all over again. There was no relief if Kingpin was still out there, reigning over New York and walking around like he owned the streets, meanwhile Derek Bishop had turned into just another statistic number in the incredibly bloodied hands of Wilson Fisk.

Small noises or the softest touch would easily wake Katherine Elizabeth Bishop now, but this time, when the noise of glass shattering against the floor and doors breaking reverberate around the apartment, she was already up. Kate jolted up to her feet on her dimly lit room, and despite always thinking about that fateful night and what she’d do different, the archer dropped to her feet, hiding behind the bed with trembling limbs. Fear mixed with the worst of nostalgias. Everything seemed to be the same, she could barely hear anything considering how loud her heart was beating, the similarity making her feel like a little defenseless kid all over again. This time Eleanor was not around and Kate seemed to be the obvious target.

The noise of quick steps fill the apartment and Kate can see the faint reflection of lights bouncing on the ceiling of her room and getting clearly stronger by the second. The raven-haired woman held her breath, getting ready for the inevitable when the light strongly hit the wall just next to her, a few centimeters to the side.

She counts the steps the invader takes inside the room.

One.

Two.

A sickening crack followed by the dull thud of a body falling, the light on the wall dropped too, hitting a weird angle in the corner of another wall, declaring loud and clear that the archer could have a 4.8 GPA, but she was horrible in cleaning spider webs in corners.

One.

Two.

Three.

The steps seem to take their time as a barely lit silhouette in black tactical clothes and a silenced pistol stopped in front of Kate, looming over her as intimidating as a predator, gun pointed straight at Kate’s head before lowering it slowly. The archer held a gulp. There’s a pause as they look at each other – Kate thinking how to gain the upper hand by using her karate against someone that clearly knew how to fight way better and could end her life in the blink of an eye.

“Kate Bishop.” A confident but low female voice vibrates around the room.

“Who wants to know?” Kate questions as she raises one eyebrow and her chin, a failed attempt to appear fearless despite the fact she was hiding behind her bed rather cowardly.

The noise of broken glass being stepped on broke Kate’s fake confidence and the conversation, the stranger looks in the direction of the portal leading to the corridor, getting in the position to fire her gun once again. Another flashlight hit the wall, but just as quick the silenced gun fired. The stranger remained up as there was another thud, now over Kate’s nightstand and significantly louder, dropping her books and lampshade on its way to the ground, blood dripping over her floor.

“We have no time for that, c’mon.” Her ‘savior’ mumbled and turned in her direction, crouching slightly and raising one hand as an offer for Kate.

But the raven-haired woman was as stubborn as they come, she eyed the gloved hand with wariness, not making a move. “Why would I take your hand?”

The stranger gripped Kate’s arm, seemingly losing all her patience, and pulled the archer up in one strong pull, whispering in strong conviction. “Because I’m your only chance at survival.”

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop fanfiction #hawkeye #hailee steinfeld #mcu #kate bishop #crimsonthreads

33 notes · View notes

petertingle-yipyip · 9 months

Text

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

Series Finale - Vigilante Shit

tags: @ironprincessstranger @americaarse @johnmurphys-sass @dusstory @astrobees @mayasaurus--rex @woowwwee // eight // epilogue // masterlist

Pairing: Matt X Reader

Word Count: 13,587 (and you wonder why it took me so long.)

Summary: Ladies always rise above but when one lady’s simply had enough, revenge takes human form in Hell’s Kitchen’s Exodus. With her rightful partner beside her, they take on the Kingpin and his former Bullseye.

“Do you affirm that the testimony you are about to give in the case now before the court will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” The bailiff asked simply as you took your seat on the stand. “This you affirm under the pains and penalties of perjury?”

“Yes.” You nodded calmly. “I do.”

“For the record, please state your name.” The judge said.

“I’m Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N, FBI SWAT. I’ve been with the bureau for a bit less than a year and all statements made here today are my own. My testimony does not reflect the beliefs or positions of the FBI and I accept any and all consequences my statements may bring.” You answered, keeping your eyes ahead as Tower stood and took his place in front of you. “In the short amount of time that I’ve been with the FBI, I’ve witnessed my bureau, specifically members of my team, fall victim to Fisk’s vicious manipulation.”

“Please explain in detail the crimes you’ve witnessed.” He said simply.

“I’ve witnessed slander and false accusations against one of the Nelson and Murdock attorneys responsible for his first arrest. I’ve witnessed a breach of his house arrest. I’ve witnessed his recruitment of agents and using those agents to kill people, both civilians and other agents. I’ve witnessed him coerce other crime syndicates into complying with a tax to ensure protection from federal prosecution.”

“What agents have you seen?”

“Special Agents Arinori and Poindexter, Special Agent in Charge Hattley. Special Agent Rahul Nadeem and myself witnessed but never participated past that and a few targeted raids. Neither of us pulled the trigger for Wilson Fisk, but we did nothing to stop it. There were others but I didn’t interact with them much.”

“The other agents that were mentioned by Agent Nadeem?”

“I believe so. I don’t remember their names but I could pick them out of a lineup.”

“And how many people were killed?”

“SAC Hattley killed Agent Winn. Special Agent Poindexter killed multiple people, I believe he killed the most. Given his unique skill set, he was a prime target for Fisk’s games. Innocent people died because of Wilson Fisk, good people like Father Lantom, because no one on my team was brave enough to come forward.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Who would believe a novice agent who helped put Fisk away in the first place? He knew no one would believe me if I spoke up sooner, given my very outspoken opinions against him. There was an instance, when he brought up the Nelson and Murdock attorney, that I had caused a scene. My words were driven by my sentimentality regarding the firm since I did have a small stint as an attorney there. From there, it didn’t matter what I knew and he recognized that. It didn’t matter how many times Poindexter brought me along without telling me what was really happening. It didn’t matter who I saw get killed or the fact that I was against him leaving the prison to begin with. He knew my credibility was low and I had no evidence so I wasn’t a threat to his plans… Not until someone else had enough. Agent Nadeem helped give me the courage to come forward with what I’ve seen.”

You glanced around at the jury and found them all - save for the one juror - interested in what you would say next. Tower offered a small, proud smile and Ray listened intently with his hands folded in front of him. He gave you a small nod of reassurance.

“It’s a scary thing, to feel like you have no choice but to do things you don’t agree with. Sometimes you go along for self preservation, sometimes for the people you care about. But at the end of it all, we have our limits. We can only take so much deceit before we have to do something…” You allowed your eyes to water, a shakiness to tint your voice and a slight hesitation between your sentences. “I let him convince me that my word wouldn’t matter, that I- I would just be some voice in the wind. I let him take my conviction. But I’m not going to stand down, not anymore. Wilson Fisk is afraid of what we came here to say because it’s true. The attack on our transport wasn’t a coincidence, nor was it an accident. He attempted to have us killed because of what we know and what we came here to say. If he was truly innocent, why is he trying to cover his tracks?”

“You mentioned repercussions before. Do you worry the FBI will punish you for this?”

“Not the FBI, but the agents Fisk controls. My SAC is in his pocket. My partner is in his pocket. Besides Agent Nadeem, in that hotel, I’m alone. No one protects me the way they protect him… If I lose my job, fine. If I lose my partner, okay. But I cannot stand to lose my loved ones.”

“Thank you, Agent.”

You and Ray were led out after that and you met with your friends in the hall. While Matt chatted with Ray, Foggy offered you a proud smile and moved to hug you but you simply pushed his hands away and began pacing a short distance. You pushed your fingers into your hair and tugged slightly on the ends.

Foggy looked over to Matt for help, but he was still in his conversation with Ray. Knowing that a win today would help ensure Matt stayed on the right track, Foggy decided not to cut in and talk to you on his own. He stepped in front of you and put his hands on your upper arms. You looked at him with your lips pressed together and your eyebrows up.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” Your friend tried, ducking down to meet your eyes.

“It’s shot. The whole thing is shot.” You answered quietly, trying not to gain any more attention. “He didn’t just know about the trial.”

“What do you mean?”

“So what happens now?” Ray asked, drawing both Foggy’s and your attention. His brows furrowed but you stepped past him before he could speak.

You grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him a couple steps away as Foggy answered Ray’s question.

You leaned in to speak quietly with your hand still gripping his arm and Matt’s hand landed on your elbow.

“What do you hear?” You asked softly.

His brows furrowed as he listened in, taking a step closer to the doors. As he focused, the grip he had on your arm tightened. You closed your eyes and cursed quietly.

“No, no, no.” Matt muttered and you nodded. “The jurors.”

“Fisk got to them.” You confirmed and opened your eyes, rolling your shoulders back and regaining your composure. “I felt it when we went in but I was hoping I was wrong.”

You glanced around the halls and felt a surge of emotions outside. Everyone still seemed entranced in Karen’s press conference. You had to give it to her, the woman was brave.

After a few anxiety ridden minutes, Tower came out of the courtroom with an apologetic expression as he passed your group. You opened your mouth to speak but he simply shook his head and headed to the cameras outside. You tapped your implant and listened in on the live broadcast from outside and you felt your stomach drop.

At this time, the grand jury had elected not to indict Wilson Fisk. But this office, under my leadership, will pursue every lead, every piece of evidence that leads us to uncovering the truth. The agents that testified today were incredibly brave and we encourage anyone with evidence regarding this case to come forward.

Everything outside continued to spike as you shut off your device and one familiar feeling stood out among the chaos.

“Karen.” You said to yourself as the boys began moving. You looked at them for a second before making a move to the doors. A hand closed around your arm and dragged you in the other direction.

“No, I have to-“ You groaned and tried to pull away but you were shoved forward instead. Looking over, you saw it was Matt who dragged you with him.

You took one last look over your shoulder before giving in and following the group. They hurried into the closest restroom and you locked the door behind you all. Ray pushed through and took a minute to himself while being quite literally sick to his stomach.

“It’s not gonna end like this, Ray. We’re not gonna let it.” Matt promised while leaning against the stalls.

Foggy stood by the sinks and you slid down with your back against the door until you were sitting up on your toes. You had elbows on your propped up knees and your chin resting behind your gently balled fists. Your eyes were trained on the floor, tracing the grout lines between the tiles.

Your brain was running through every scenario you could. You thought about whether or not he’d send Dex after you and Ray. It’d have to wait. There’s no way Dex could take you both out in a locked down courthouse. Would he go after Karen for her press conference? Or had he already wrecked her credibility? All you knew for sure was that it needed to end.

“The system will work.” Foggy ensured and you sighed to yourself.

“You still believe that?” Matt scoffed and you looked up at him.

“Stop it.” You said quietly and he offered a sarcastic expression towards you.

“We’ve been here before. We can fix this.. Tower will impanel another grand jury and try again. We’re not done here. Right, Y/N?”

“What keeps Fisk away from them this time though?” You asked simply as you turned towards your friend. “I wanna do this the right way, Foggy, but it’s not looking too good for us.”

“I told you this would happen.” Matt cut in.

“Matt, stop.” You sighed and pushed yourself to stand. “Fighting each other isn’t gonna help.”

“I need to know where you’re going.” Foggy blocked Matt’s path.

“Guys.” You warned firmly as Matt said “I’m gonna find Tower. Make sure he tries again.”

“I’m going with you.” You offered and you saw him roll his eyes behind his glasses. “Unless there’s a problem?”

“No.” He said tightly. “No problem.”

“Good.” You nodded before leaning closer to Foggy. “Take care of him. Don’t let him lose his nerve.”

Your friend nodded and you grabbed Matt’s arm on the way out.

“God, y’know what, we should’ve just done it our way from the start.” Matt mumbled.

“Our way?” You laughed. “This is our way. The other thing? That’s my way, Matthew. You’ll never be able to do it and it’s not a bad thing. You can’t force yourself to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I almost wanna dare you to try because I know you won’t.”

“A lot has changed, Y/N.”

“Sure, but people don’t completely flip on their morals.” You scoffed.

“Maybe I did. You don’t know.”

“Actually I do, because you’re too strong to do it. You have a certain faith in people that you can’t learn. If you were capable of doing what I do, Dex wouldn’t be around anymore. You believe that people can do good. It’s not the worst ideology to hold on to.”

“Clearly not everyone can.”

You stopped walking and yanked his arm to stop him. He groaned and faced you, a tight grip on his cane and a clench to his jaw.

“This isn’t just about you!” You insisted. “You do understand that, right?”

“Of course I know that. You really think I don’t?”

“Why is it your responsibility then?”

“Because it is!”

“So why didn’t you work this hard to stop me?” You challenged quietly. “If not everyone can be better, why didn’t you try to kill me? I gave you every reason to give up on me, treat me this exact same way, but you never did.”

“You’re not the same, Y/N.” He sighed.

“Thankfully, neither are you and I. There’s always been someone taking people from me. Took my parents, Marc, Frank, Yelena and Nat, Billy, even you - twice - and Foggy, now Dex. I’m not gonna lose you a third time.”

“Y/N, I didn’t realize-“

“No, you never do. You never see beyond what you’re doing. You do this and there’s no coming back from it. Something in your heart is gonna change and you can’t change it back. You can’t undo it.”

“I’m sorry. I just want this to be over with.”

“I know but…” You sighed and looked around, shifting your weight between your feet.

You were hit with a sudden feeling of determination. You turned towards where it came from, the bathroom you left Foggy and Ray in. With a quiet curse, you hurried back, only to find Ray gone and Foggy knocked out.

You screamed out in frustration and slammed an angry fist into the mirror, watching it shatter and become stained with the bloody print of your knuckles. You pushed out of the room and back into the hall, scanning the crowds in an effort to find him. But you saw nothing.

Ray was gone. And the clock was ticking on what kind of countermove Fisk would make against him. Against all of you.

You practically ran out of the courthouse, pushing past various security and reporters. They shouted questions, mentioning your badge and asking what side you were testifying for, but ignored them all. Some yelled that you were working for Fisk, you were one of the corrupted agents, but all you offered them was the middle finger.

From there, you ran home. The sun was already setting and you were running out of time. You changed quickly and used your mask to scan as far as it could.

You had finally heard from Rick and you were talking to Seema while wandering the streets.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Seema asked towards the end of the conversation.

“I wish I could tell you for sure… But I can’t. What we’ve done has put a massive target on us and our loved ones. All I know is that yours and Sami’s safety is all he cares about.”

“Tell him I love him.”

“I will. When I find him, he’ll call for goodbyes and then you can send a pin to that number I gave you. After that, ditch the phone.”

It wasn’t until hours later did you find him.

He went home.

You practically sprinted through the neighborhood to get there. The front door was open, side gate cracked, and the police tape was stretched from someone pushing it aside. The house was empty but you could see two figures in the backyard.

“…I can help you cut a deal with the DA.” Ray tried. “We can take him down, us and Y/N.”

Dex gripped his gun tightly, though he hadn’t lifted it yet. His entire body was tense, practically vibrating with the anticipation of what he would do next. There was still a heavy apathy from Dex but there was an undercut of hesitation. Ray was still his friend, and that meant something to him. Not enough to change his mind, but something. Something you might be able to use against him.

“No.. That’s not gonna happen, Ray.” Dex shook his head with a small scoff.

“Dex.” You said carefully, pushing your mask up and lifting your hands in surrender. You walked slowly, putting yourself between the two former friends. “Think about this.”

“Move.” He answered tightly.

“I can help you, if you let me… Don’t make me your enemy, please.”

You tried to emphasize that hesitation but he would shove it back down as soon as it came up.

“I feel more myself than I have in my whole life. Fisk gave me that.”

“This isn’t you talking. This?” You gestured slightly between the two of you. “This is Fisk. He’s gotten in your head, Dex, and he’s turned us against each other. Don’t let him win! ”

“You don’t know me!” He shouted and you instinctively woke your Bite. “See?” He chuckled humorously. “You don’t really trust me.”

“What happened to the man that helped save my life?” You pressed gently with a pleading expression, taking a tentative step forward as you lowered your hands. Your devices still glowed at your wrists and Dex’s grip on his gun shifted. “At the carousel, remember? You rode with me in the ambulance, stayed at the hospital until I woke up. Where’s he?”

“That wasn’t me. It was you. It was your games.” He spat and your brows dropped and your jaw clenched.

“She cared about you, Dex.” Ray said from your side with a hand on your shoulder. “We both did. The only person that changed that was you.”

“Let me help you.” You tried that soft spot again. “I can’t do anything for you after this. I won’t.”

“I don’t care.” He shook his head and you nodded slightly, slowly moving a hand to reach one of the weapons at your belt. “I don’t need your help.”

“As long as I’m alive, my family’s at risk.” Ray admitted, though there was no hesitation.

Sadness, definitely, but it wasn’t any sudden revelation. Instead, it was acceptance. Understanding.

“Ray?” You asked over your shoulder.

“It’ll be alright.”

“Let’s go, Ray.” Dex said, lifting his gun. You sidestepped to put yourself in front of Ray again as you drew your own weapon. “Move, Y/N.”

There was a slight plea in his expression, though his body language didn’t falter.

Something human was left in Dex, some tiny flicker of light. Something like that used to be enough for Matt to believe in, to give them a chance to change. Without him honoring his own prior morals, you realized that was part of why you didn’t give up on Dex.

Not the sex or the friendship. But the hope, hope that months of running around with the altar boy vigilante attached to your hip pinned to your own conscience. The ability to see something good in someone so far off their path. You never understood that ideology until recently but now… Now it felt like that was your own code.

But clearly, the flicker wasn’t enough. And you couldn’t work by someone else’s morality.

“Thought you were good enough to shoot around me.” You taunted as you lined up your own gun.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Dex.” Ray said and you felt that wave of acceptance again. “Whatever you need to do, you do it here.”

Ray had accepted his own death. And the only way you could stop it would be to kill Dex. You turned to face Ray, purposefully putting your body in front of his with the hopes that Dex wouldn’t shoot through.

“We can still get out of this.” You tried, feeling a deep regret settle in your stomach. “I can-“

“And do what, run? I can’t put my family through anything else, Y/N.”

“Ray, please. I can’t bring your family back to you if you’re in a body bag.”

“Hey.” He put a hand on your shoulder. “Just do this the right way, alright?”

“Seema wanted me to te-“

Before you could get the sentence out, the gun fired behind you. The bullet nicked your ear but hit its mark.

You backed away with unsteady legs while Ray fell to the ground with a bullet hole in his forehead. Your gun fell from your hands as you collapsed to your knees. Almost instantly your eyes watered as you stared at the now corpse of your friend. It was almost enough to make you scream as you sat beside the man that risked everything to stand up to Fisk, to stand up for what he believed in. To protect his family.

His family.

Your heart broke for Seema and Sami, and you thought about who would give them the news. The news that you had failed. You didn’t keep him safe.

“She loves you.” You said quietly as your entire body ran cold. “Seema wanted me to tell you she loves you.”

Your hand shook as you reached for your scar and pressed it, sliding along until you heard the dial tone.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“This is.. This is Exodus.” You spoke shakily with your accent, fighting to keep control as the tears fell down your cheeks. “I’m at.. Fisk had him killed. He’s- He’s dead. I need.. I need an ambulance or police or something. Just send someone!”

“Exodus? Okay um…” The line went quiet as the operator spoke to someone else on the side, probably asking advice with a vigilante on the line. “Where are you? Who’s dead?”

“Special-“ Your voice broke. “Special Agent Rahul Nadeem. He shot him in his own backyard.”

“Did you see who killed him?”

“No.. No, he was gone before I got here. I just heard the shot.”

“Okay. We have units en route. Can you stay with Mr.Nadeem until they arrive?”

“No, I- I have to go. They’ll arrest me. I- I have to- I have to go. I can’t be here when they arrive.”

“Wait.”

“He has a wife and a son. Just tell um, tell Detective Brett Mahoney to contact Nadeem’s legal team. Someone has to tell them.”

“Ma’am, please, just wait until-“

“I can’t… I can’t, I’m sorry.”

You ended the call and looked down at Ray.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I’m so sorry.”

You sat back for a moment to pull your knees to your chest. You wrapped your arms around them and rocked slightly as you let yourself cry. You tried to keep the noise down, but small wails left your throat. When you heard the sirens down the street, you had to pull yourself together and collect your gun. With one last look, you hopped the fence and made your way back to the apartment.

You tried to push the guilt away but it came back to gnaw at you. You should’ve just killed Dex. You shouldn’t have tried to reason with him. You should’ve taken him down when you got there. Why did you reveal yourself? Why didn’t you kill him? Why didn’t you do anything?

You had your own ways for a reason. Using Matt’s wouldn’t bring back the man you knew. And it wouldn’t save anyone.

Now Ray was dead and it was your fault.

All you could do was keep moving forward. But there was nothing more Y/N could do. The chance with the law and by the books was over. You wanted to stay on the path, to do things Foggy’s way - the right way - but you were at your wits end. Every time you tried to do things right, you lost. You wouldn’t lose again.

You wouldn’t dress yourself as Exodus to serve a villain. You wouldn’t dress as Exodus to serve the innocent. You would dress for revenge. You would dress to renew the sense of fear that your vigilante persona - just her name - used to invoke. To make Ben Poindexter pay for the lives he took. To make Wilson Fisk pay for the crimes he’d committed. And if they paid with their lives, so be it.

You wouldn’t be nice any longer. Both men had pushed you too far.

Killing people was easy. Making them suffer was an art, and you had spent years developing your craft. You would make them regret the moment you were made their enemy.

You ignored the phone calls from Foggy. His voicemails all said he needed to talk to you and he didn’t want to say it on a message, so you knew Brett told them what happened. Other numbers you didn’t recognize called but you ignored them too. Reporters, you figured.

On your way home, you were distracted by the distinct taste of fear. With a small noise of interest, you followed it. You weren’t necessarily shocked to see Matt was there at the source, but it was a surprise to see him with Felix Manning.

“Should’ve called.” You told him as you got to his side.

“Didn’t have time.” He shrugged with that smirk he always used to have back when you found him when you two didn’t know each other’s identities. When things were a lot simpler. “You hear what happened?“

“To Nadeem? How we fucked it up, again.”

“Yeah.” He answered in a whisper.

You nodded quietly and he frowned slightly. He reached for your arm but you crossed them over your chest and peered over the edge, looking at the knot that held Manning’s ankle. You gave the rope a small shake and the man screamed with a new wave of panic.

“What have you gotten so far?” You turned to Matt, though the mask did little to hide his expression. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He opened his mouth for a joke but you smacked his arm before he could get a word out. He laughed quietly and put his hands up in surrender.

“Fisk’s gathering a bunch of figureheads for a wedding.” Matt explained.

“Vanessa’s gonna marry him?” Your brows furrowed and Matt gave a nonchalant shrug. You leaned over the edge and yelled to Manning. “Do we get an invite?”

All he could do was scream.

“Sounds like a no.” Matt answered and you almost smiled, though Manning’s screams were rather distracting.

You groaned loudly before reaching forward. You made a small pulling motion and felt the fear draw out of him. The yellow smoke came to your hand and swirled up your arm and you felt the tingle down your spine as you absorbed it.

“I can give you something better.” Manning called from the end of the rope.

You hummed in interest and climbed to sit on the ledge, feet kicking idly as Matt sat beside you with his ankles crossed. If it hadn’t been for the man dangling just a few feet down, it would’ve been a nice moment together.

“We’re listening.” Matt said simply.

“I witnessed Ms. Marianna order the murder of Agent Nadeem. And Fisk ordered many!” He shouted and you felt a new wave of anger run down your spine. You ground your teeth and balled your hands into fists. Matt’s hand came up to your jaw and pressed gently on the joint to make you release the tension. You made a small noise and took his hand off your face, holding it between your own and dropping into your lap. “Agent Winn. Julie Barnes. I could testify!”

“Где был этот парень раньше?” You muttered and Matt nudged you with his shoulder. “Мог бы позволить ему умереть вместо Рэя.” (Where was this guy earlier? Could’ve let him die instead of Ray.)

“Будь милым.” Matt said with light amusement in his voice. He knew what happened to Ray upset you and he figured you would blame yourself. But at least your words were what he was used to. “Мы могли бы его использовать.” (Be nice. We could use him.)

“Hang on..” You realized and peered over the edge. “We know Winn and Nadeem. Did you say Julie Barnes?”

“Yes! Yes, he did!”

You let out a laugh in celebration and the sound seemed misplaced in the current situation. That was exactly what you had been waiting for. Confirmation. Confirmation of the one thing that could snap Dex, in every sense of the word. Confirmation that Julie Barnes, the woman that he had been obsessing over since before you met him, was dead and that Fisk was to blame.

“Help me get him up.” You told Matt quickly as you climbed back to the roof.

“Why?” Matt asked, though he followed suit.

“Ты хотел подтолкнуть Декса на грань? Вот как мы это делаем.” You answered quickly and he nodded quietly. (You wanted to push Dex to the brink? This is how we do it.)

You got Manning to tell you everything you needed to know about Julie. How she was killed. Where she was killed. Where her body currently was. Everything you needed to throw in Dex’s face and break whatever was left.

A day or two later, you were standing at a press conference at the bureau. It was an official statement regarding Ray and Agent Winn’s deaths. Hattley claimed Ray was mentally unstable, that Karen was a liar and the alleged 911 call from Exodus was fake. You almost laughed when Hattley had to redirect questions about Exodus finding the body, but she admitted it was an agent who killed him, under the guise of self-defense.

You tried to duck out of the office following the press conference but a hand wrapped around your arm tightly. You let out a small wince when you were yanked back before you were redirected and pushed towards one of the conference rooms. You were able to yank your arm free just outside the door, where you saw Seema sitting inside.

“What the hell is this?” You asked sharply as you spun on Dex. “You wanna rub salt in her wounds?”

“She came to us, said she wants to see Ray’s lawyers.” He explained simply.

“So what?”

“So call them.”

“Why? So you can put a bullet in them too?”

“If you don’t, I’ll put a bullet in you.”

“You should’ve done it last time. Too late now.”

“Really wanna do this here?” His brows raised. You glanced around, noting the mostly empty hall. The only other agents were ones you remembered seeing at that meeting. You were outnumbered and while you could likely handle the ordeal, a shoot out in the office wasn’t something you wanted to instigate with everything else you had going on. “You’re so paranoid, Y/N/N. I’ll call him myself. Not like anyone’s gonna hurt him.” Dex smirked and began to back away.

“Dex.” You called out and he paused, allowing you to move closer. “Are you happy now? Ray’s dead. Seema and Sami are alone. Fisk is getting married. Daredevil’s image is shot… Is that what you wanted?”

He chuckled weakly and nodded. “I thought all this empathy crap was done.”

You gave a weak shrug. It wasn’t even an attempt to change his mind. It was just you being an asshole. “One last shot, I guess… Maybe you were right after all. You don’t love me, not anymore at least. You’re incapable of loving anyone, of feeling anything.”

“Careful, Y/N. You’re getting predictable.” He tapped a finger under your chin and left.

You huffed a sigh and shot a quick text to Foggy, asking him to come to the bureau. You headed back to the main office and began busying yourself with some paperwork until your friend arrived.

A sharp whistle drew your attention and you looked up to see Dex waving you over. You got to his side as Foggy lifted his phone to take a picture, one you were just in time to smile for.

“Posted to my campaign webpage, and the tens of thousands of police officers that know that I’m here. With you. Helping.” Foggy said firmly and you tried to hide the proud smile.

“Relax, Mr. Nelson. You’re not in any danger.” Dex said lowly, a hand landing on your lower back that you almost jumped away from. “Agent Y/L/N even came to help put you at ease.”

You jammed an elbow into his ribs and he laughed slightly.

“Besides, you’ll be very useful when you’re the next district attorney.”

“Why am I here?” Foggy looked to you.

“Because you and Ray were friends.” Dex answered instead and you rolled your eyes.

“If you’re expecting him to answer questions, it’ll break privilege, even if the client’s dead.” You explained.

“I’m not asking him to.” It was Dex’s turn to roll his eyes. “Follow me.”

Dex led you and Foggy back to the room where you saw Seema waiting. You wanted to offer her a sincere apology, to comfort her and admit that it was your fault Ray was dead, but Hattley’s presence made you keep those thoughts to yourself.

“We’ll give you the room. Take all the time you need.” Hattley said after a brief exchange between Dex and Seema.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” You managed and she looked at you with slight tears in her eyes. “Ray was a good man.”

Dex’s hand fit tightly to your elbow and he dragged you away. You all left Foggy with Seema and stepped back into the hall.

“Suck it up.” Dex sneered.

“I’m only doing this because I have to.” Hattley snapped back before the two split ways. You let out a sigh and headed back to your desk.

You decided you were going to leave again at lunch, figuring your time at that job was limited anyway so why be a good agent anymore. You had just dropped into your chair, a small cloud of blue proofing out as you did, when Dex grabbed your arm and hauled you away again. You sucked in a breath between gritted teeth and you knew there’d be a bruise there by the end of the day. When you two got to a secluded area, he pushed you against the wall and put his call on speaker. He held a hand against your mouth and your brows furrowed, though you showed no other reaction. You decided against fighting back, knowing it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Plus, you were intrigued.

“I’ve got some free time now. Why don’t we meet up?” Dex said, keeping eye contact with you while pressing that forearm against your chest near your throat as a threat.

“I have a question.” Matt’s voice came from the other side and your eyes went a bit wider. Dex offered a slight smirk as he caught your expression. “Did you enjoy the feeling you got when you killed those birdies? Is that why you’re still killing?”

“Birdies?”

“The ones you killed with rocks. I bet it felt good at first, right?”

“Stop.” You tried, your voice muffled from behind Dex’s hand and he pushed your head to bang against the wall.

“Then it’s never the same after that.”

You put one hand on his chest and the other on his wrist and tried to push Dex off. He growled slightly and pressed harder, causing you to release a small noise when the pressure hit your chest and then a sharp sensation erupted from your still healing stab wound.

“Who was that?” Matt asked suddenly.

“Your little girlfriend.” Dex taunted and you struggled against him, but he leaned into you with more of his body weight. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? ‘Specially when she’s helpless.”

“What do you think Dr. Mercer would say if she could see you now?” Matt continued and you sighed. You wondered if he was purposefully not showing a reaction or if it just didn’t bother him.

You leaned back into the wall and Dex noticed your shift away from him. Dex’s eyes darted between yours but you knew yours were empty. There was no feeling behind your eyes when you looked at Dex, and he recognized that. He recognized that you no longer saw him the same.

Slowly he leaned away but held a finger to his lips to gesture for you to keep quiet. Maybe it actually hurt him for you to give up on him.

Good.

“Got a second?” He spoke finally. “I need a tissue for all the tears I’m crying over my shitty childhood.”

“Have you heard from your friend Julie lately?”

“Что ты делаешь?” You whispered as your brows furrowed, trying to figure out Matt’s plan. You two had talked about bringing it up to Dex together so you could guarantee neither of you were at risk. Why do it now? (What are you doing?)

“You wanna talk to Dr. Mercer, asshole? Keep talking. Or I could send your girlfriend instead.”

“What do you think she’d say if she knew about the innocent people you killed?” Matt continued. “I bet she’d be disappointed, Dex.”

“If she was still alive.” You mumbled.

Dex’s attention snapped to you and a hand was quick to come around your throat to force you back against the wall. The air left your lungs while his hand gripped you tighter and you cursed Matt for starting problems.

“If you hurt Julie-“ He threatened lowly and lifted so your feet could barely reach the ground.

“I never touched her.” You choked out. “She was innocent.”

“Did he?”

“Fisk had her killed. He knew what she meant to you so he killed her, gave himself a chance to replace her as your North Star.” You answered quickly.

He was quiet for a moment while he took in your expression. When he believed you weren’t lying, he eased off.

“When he realized he couldn’t kill me, he went after her… She was an easy mark. I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do.” You added while rubbing your tender throat and he gave a slow nod.

“Don’t tell me that’s sympathy in your voice, Ex.” Matt said.

“Shut up.” You snapped quickly.

“Don’t feel bad for a guy who’s tried to kill us both, multiple times.”

“Shut. Up. It’s not about him.”

“You should stick to beating on people in alleys, cause you’re not gonna get in my head.” Dex said tightly, though you could feel something underlying in his words. It almost felt like.. grief.

Maybe there was something more than a flicker left in Dex. But that wouldn’t change anything. It couldn’t.

“You don’t have to believe us.. Then again, you may wanna ask how I got Manning’s phone.”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Dex answered sharply.

“Julie wouldn’t approve of your killing people, Dex.”

“Stop. Saying. Her name.” Dex practically growled. The familiar heart of his rage hit you. The soft spot he had for you may have faded away, but he’d always feel a certain way for Julie.

“You said you got some free time? You may wanna check out 16 Canal Place.”

“Why?”

The line cut out after that. Dex slowly turned to face you and your sidestepped carefully to ensure your back was no longer against the wall.

“What’s at Canal Place?” He asked tightly.

“Julie…” You answered quietly. Beneath the surface you were adding to the pressure of his anger, trying to break him. “I’m sorry, Dex. I know she was important to you.”

“What the hell is your deal?” He asked angrily and you took another step back. “What- What- What do you gain from all of this?”

“I had no part in this.” You countered firmly, forgetting about your game for a moment. “All of this-“ You gestured between you two. “-was done without me knowing.”

“Bullshit.” He scoffed.

“I wouldn’t taunt you with this. You know me better than that.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t believe me then.” You shrugged. “I don’t care anymore. I tried being nice, didn’t work. I tried being a bitch, kind of working. I tried empathy, didn’t work.” You pushed past him.

“Where are you going?” He called after you.

“Away from you.”

That night, you took a trip to Canal Place dressed in your latest, modified vigilante costume - compression shirt and vest. You still hadn’t patched your full suit and top. You arrived a few minutes ahead of Dex, but he wasn’t your point. You made your way to the roof and found Matt already there. You made sure to keep your distance, knowing you’d punch him in the teeth if you got too close.

“Wanna tell me what the hell that was on the phone?” You asked simply.

“I knew he wasn’t gonna hurt you.” Matt reasoned as he pulled the black mask off.

“That’s not the point. We were gonna do it together.”

“I needed to make sure.”

“Of what?”

“That you hadn’t gone soft.”

“So you play with my life?”

“C’mon, Y/N/N.” He scoffed. “He wasn’t gonna kill you.”

“The bruise around my neck says otherwise.” You countered angrily.

His body language shifted and you saw the flex of his hand. He ran a stressed hand over his mouth before he spoke again.

“You said it yourself. He loves you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“That’s not what-“

“Well I was wrong.” You cut in quickly.

“You’re never wrong about this stuff.”

“You think that excuses any of that?” You laughed and moved closer. “You think that excuses you pushing him when I’m the one that would’ve had to deal with the fallout?”

“You could’ve protected yourself if he tried anything.”

“So that’s it? You put me in the line of fire and taunt the most unstable man I’ve ever met, just because you can? Just because I can fight back.”

“Were you honestly afraid?” He asked carefully, head cocking in interest.

You thought about the interaction and didn’t remember feeling afraid. In fact, you felt completely in control without touching your abilities in that regard.

“He felt something.” You said instead. “When you talked about Julie… Grief.”

“So what?”

“So that means there might still be something worth saving in him. That used to be what you stood for, Matt. That chance used to be enough.”

“Oh come on.” He scoffed. “What happened to the woman that was ready to kill him?”

“And what happened to the man that didn’t wanna kill anyone? What happened to the altar boy that believed everyone could change, that just a small piece of goodness was enough for another chance? Where’s the man from that rooftop with Frank, who had a gun to his head, but still insisted on preaching about giving people a chance to change?”

“What do you want me to do, huh?” He asked loudly. “You want me to- to take the guy to therapy? Hold his hand and promise it’ll be okay? The guy’s psycho! And he’s dangerous.”

Your remark was cut off by a loud scream. A sound of pure agony that you almost swore was accompanied by the sharp sound of a snap and a shaky wave of heat. It was an uneven, broken feeling that had bits of cold air weaved in between. It was as if the anger was cracking and the sadness was patching the gaps.

You turned to face Matt again but he was already holding a ringing phone in front of him. You took a few steps closer.

“When I find you…” Dex threatened lowly.

“Like we said, Fisk killed her and we all know it.” Matt countered smoothly.

“Think about it, Dex.” You added on. “Who got Julie the job in the hotel, right after the detail starts? Who started following you? It’s all been Fisk.”

“You let him turn you into a murderer!” Matt kept going. You knew you should stop him, that he was pushing too hard. You started to feel a bit of regret for what you had to do to Dex, but you also knew you needed him to turn against Fisk.

Besides, you didn’t owe him anything anymore.

“He wasn’t gonna let someone like Julie get in the way of that.” You offered, gentler than the venom Matt spoke with.

“Why are you telling me this?” Dex asked lamely, as if everything he had - everything that mattered - was gone. And for him, maybe it was.

“Aw, Dex..” You said quietly, more to yourself than either of the boys. Matt scoffed lightly and stepped away, adding a comment about Fisk and the wedding before ending the call.

“You can’t tell me that you really care about him still.” Matt said angrily. “After everything he’s done to us.”

“I’m allowed to feel bad for ruining a man’s entire mental state just to take down a different man.” You answered sarcastically. “Regardless if I care about him or not.”

“You didn’t ruin that guy. There was hardly anything to ruin.”

“There used to be..”

“Who’s side are you on, Y/N? Because you can’t have everything.”

“No, but I can remember the guy he was before. Matt, he helped save my life, kept me from bleeding out on the way to the hospital.”

“That makes up for everything. Why didn’t you mention it sooner?” He offered sarcastically.

“Why are you so bitter?” You shouted. “You have everyone back and it’s still not enough.”

He simply shook his head.

“Why are you so hell bent on destroying him?”

“He killed Father Lantom!” Matt screamed, new anger rolling off him. “But that doesn’t matter, right? Because he lost someone too.”

“That’s not what I’m saying! I cared about Lantom, too.”

“Not like I did.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but-“

“But nothing. Just because you slept with him doesn’t make him worth anything.”

“Say that again.” You said lowly, your head tilting with a slight challenge. Your muscles tightened and your hands flexed as you crossed your arms to wake the devices around your wrists. “I dare you.”

He sighed heavily and lifted his hands in surrender.

“Y’know, you’re making it so hard to want to help you. And at this point, I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose or if you are just that pathetic now.”

“I’m pathetic… Okay.” He mumbled with a scoff before turning away from you.

“I may be a bitch and I may be a killer, but at least I don’t willingly treat people that love me like shit. At least I feel bad when I’ve hurt someone I used to care about… But I guess you just don’t care anymore, right? You left your conscience under Midland, right?”

“You know that’s not true.” He sighed, almost visibly deflating. “I’m doing this because I-“

“Don’t give me that shit.” You cut in firmly, taking quick strides to stand in front of him. “I’m so goddamn tired of that excuse from you, Matt.” Your finger jammed into his chest. “You’re not protecting anyone by being an asshole.. All you’re doing is becoming exactly what you want to protect this city from. You’re becoming what Exodus used to be. Now I look like the soft one. The weak one.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to! Jesus Christ, how many times do we have to have this same conversation before it gets through your head?” You tapped his temple quickly before pushing his head away.

“I understand that we’re different now. I never said we could go back to what we were. You’re the one who said you can’t have both.”

“I never said that.”

“In the van with Ray. You said that you had to give up certain people and you looked right at me.”

“For the love of..” You muttered before a disbelieving laugh. “I wasn’t saying that I wanted to give you up. I meant that you gave us up. You won’t let yourself have it both ways.”

“Right, because you’re not one to self-sabotage to try torture yourself? You- You don’t ruin anything good in your life to try and make up for all the bad shit you’ve done?”

You stood in silence for a moment, mouth opening to defend yourself but your voice keeping quiet. You wanted to talk back, to tell him that he was an idiot. You wanted to scold him for not truly understanding why you had done everything you had, why you had sabotaged so many relationships in the past. But that was what he wanted. He wanted to keep egging you on that way, maybe you’d be pissed off enough to be like the old you. The one who was so angry with the way the world was that you were going to kill anyone you thought would fix it. And as tempting as it was, as justified as you felt your anger would be, someone needed to keep a level head.

But also, it wasn’t for his sake. It was Ray’s voice lingering in the back of your mind, serving as the safety on your otherwise unrelenting trigger finger.

Just do this the right way, alright?

“Whatever. Think what you want about me.” You shrugged and your devices disarmed. He must’ve heard the current shut off because his brows raised with interest. “I’m gonna go patch my suit and head to the Presidential. If I see you, you better have your goddamn head on straight.”

“Держись подальше от меня сегодня вечером.” He said simply, causing a small scoff from your chest. (Stay out my way tonight.)

“Забавно. Я собирался сказать тебе то же самое.” (Funny. I was going to tell you the same thing.)

You headed home after that, ignoring whatever snarky comment he made when you turned your back. You got home quickly and pulled your suit from the closet. It was the first time you had seen it since the attack on the church. The blood was still soaked into the fabric, the gaping hole in the center. It brought you back to that night and the scar on your stomach burned.

You pushed through it and gave it a thorough wash before repairing the damage, not perfectly but enough to get through the night. You fit it in place and zipped the familiar top over it. As you were sliding your gloves on, you found the small insignias you had carved into the forearm plates. A small skull and two overlapping D’s.

Matt and Frank, Punisher and Daredevil. The two men that were able to sneak through your guards and understand who you were. The two men who knew what you stood for and stood beside you.

The two most important people left in your life.

You fit the rest of your equipment on; boots, Bites, belt, staff pack, and mask. You thought a lot on your way to the hotel. You thought about your relationships with Dex and Matt.

There was no way to repair the damage between you and Dex. You wouldn’t be friends or anything romantic when the night ended. The latter you could deal with, but losing the former was a bit of a bummer. Dex was damaged and your influence probably made it worse. You had a hand in breaking whatever structure and balance Dex had. You used him as a pawn in your game with Fisk and he was ultimately the one to suffer.

You and Matt had been back and forth since he came back. One night he’s begging you to stay and the next he tries to make you the bad guy for being human - for being exactly what he wanted you to be when you had first met. Despite that, despite his uncharacteristic bloodlust as of late, you couldn’t turn your back on him.

You still loved him, after all.

You moved through the parking garage with ease. You came across an abandoned SUV and when you went to check it, you instantly regretted it. In the passenger seat sat Julie’s frozen corpse.

“We really did it this time, didn’t we?” You mumbled to yourself before you heard the groans of the nearby agent on the ground. You moved to his side and grabbed his face to turn him towards you.

“Where’d he go?” You asked firmly, to which he continued his pained sounds. “Where is Poindexter?” You urged again.

He pointed weakly towards the door to the stairwell so you left him on the floor and began your climb. As you climbed, you called Matt.

But he didn’t answer.

You tapped your mask to track the microphone you had left him with and saw he was already a few levels ahead of you. You blew out a sigh and decided to call Foggy instead.

“Hey.” He said with a relieved sigh. “Please tell me-“

“He’s already here.. They both are.” You cut in as you leaned over the bar to angle a shot for your wire towards one of the higher railings. “I’m on my way to them.”

“You have to stop him, Ex.”

You smiled to yourself as your wire looped around the metal. You climbed over and began a quicker ascend.

“Well I’ve tried that, a lot, and it’s not working.” You said simply, mentally counting off floors as you passed. “We need to try something different.”

“Like what?”

“Like a bluff.”

“A bluff?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay… I’m not following.”

“Clearly.” You mumbled as you swung your feet over the final railing. “What I’m saying is what if I stay out of his way.”

“You wanna let him do it?”

“You really think he will?” You asked simply as you unwrapped and tucked away your wire.

“Right now, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“The guy we know is still in there.. I know it sounds crazy but it’ll work. He wouldn’t know whether I mean it or not. He can’t read me the way he reads everyone else. I don’t let him.”

He was quiet for a moment, likely getting Karen’s opinion.

“But what if it doesn’t work? What if.. we lose him forever?”

“You gotta trust me.”

“I do but… Is it worth the risk of losing him?”

“I get it. But I don’t see any other option. He has to see for himself that he’s too good to do it.”

“If he can’t, are you going to?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Will you stop him?”

“I don’t know.”

You ended the call, not allowing any other argument from Foggy. Instead, you pushed into the hall and practically sprinted to the ceremony. As you were coming up on the doors, your implant picked up on Ray’s voice. You didn’t know what it was, some sort of deathbed confession maybe, but it made your chest tight.

As you moved, you passed agent after agent on the ground. Labored breathing or groans of pain came from the bodies and you were moderately relieved that they weren’t dead. At least he had some restraint left, whichever one did all of it.

“I’d like to make a toast.” Dex said shakily from the stage as you entered the ballroom. “Julie and I wish you the absolute best.”

Dex pulled back to throw the microphone so you sprung into action. A serving tray came flying in front of Fisk and the microphone bounced off as you were passing by. Dex looked between you and who you assumed was Matt. You noticed his attention on something behind you and you turned just in time to see the agents lift their guns.

You dropped to the floor and ducked behind one of the tables. When the shots faltered you came out and hopped the table. With both hands on the surface, you kicked out and sent one agent falling into the one behind him. You took a disc from your belt and tossed it, highly charged bolts shooting out of the small device at the two agents. They fell with tight convulsions before Dex threw silverware that landed in their necks.

Matt took off and you were quick to follow him, leaving Dex and the remaining agents in the ballroom. The gunshots echoed throughout the halls as you ran and it sent a chill down your spine.

You noticed the annoyed shake of Matt’s head but you said nothing. You followed him up to the room that covered Fisk’s control center.

He burst in first with you close behind. He acted quickly and threw one of the men towards you. You reacted instantly and pulled a staff. You had to duck his flailing arms so you swung the weapon to knock his legs from under him. Once the agent fell to his back, you slammed the weapon against his temple. You flicked out the blade and moved at the agent Matt threw to the sofa.

Acting quickly, you slammed the blade through his shoulder and pin him to the furniture while you woke your Bites. Aiming one at the man beside you and one over Matt’s shoulder, you fired both and the men fell limp.

As Matt spoke to the woman, you recollected your weapon and placed it back in the pack.

“Подожди.” You called as Matt was headed to the stairs. (Wait.)

“Don’t try to stop me either, Ex.” He said tightly.

“Я не собирался.” You offered but he turned away from you. You groaned and moved forward, grabbing his arm to force him to stay put. “Я просто хотел сказать, что я с тобой... Что бы ты ни решил сделать.” (I wasn’t going to. I just wanted to say that I’m with you… Whatever you decide to do.)

“Правда?” He asked carefully, a hand handing on your arm and his fingers landing between the plates. “И если я действительно убью его?” (Really? And if I actually kill him?)

You gave a small smile as your other hand landed on his chest, right over his heart. You heard the door close as the woman ran off.

“Whatever you decide.” You said honestly.

He offered a small smirk before taking his hand off your arm and moving it to your neck. Before you could voice a question, his opposite hand slid the zipper down a few inches so the fingers on your neck could move under the collar of your suit.

“Tell me one more time.” He said lowly and for just a second, it was like old times. “Just to be sure.”

With a small smile, you let your meticulous control drop. For the first time in months, you were completely vulnerable. Every emotion, every physiological reaction, every tell you could possibly have, it was all on the table for Matt to read. And he knew it.

“I’m on your side, Matty. No matter what.” You said truthfully. And you knew the night would end in a way that favored you and your friends.

He gave a small smile and let out a sigh of relief. His hand went to the back of your neck and he pulled you closer. The other arm looped around your waist and your arms came loosely around him.

You fixed your mental guards and allowed a moment to survey what Matt was feeling. There was tension in his muscles, likely anticipatory for what was to come once you entered that suite. He was determined but also worried. There was an underlying excitement, the subtle type he always seemed to get before a fight. There was also a hint of confusion.

That was what you were looking for. Something to pull to the surface that could interfere with his initial plans.

Slipping a mental hook into that feeling, you pulled away and tapped his arm to follow you. You moved up the stairs and zipped your shirt the rest of the way up. When you hit the door to the suite, you woke your Bites and gripped one of your blades tightly. Matt’s hand landed on your lower back and when you turned to him, he gave you a quick nod.

You took a steadying breath before opening the door and walking in, ensuring your head was high as Matt followed behind you. As you entered the hall, Fisk and Vanessa came from the other end.

The tension in the air grew thicker with every breath. Fisk’s eyes went wide for a minute, flicking to the gleaming blade in your hand and the ominous red glow of your favored devices. Vanessa swallowed hard and took a fearful step back to try and hide behind her new husband.

“It’s over.” Matt said lowly, the familiar gravelly voice of the Devil coming through.

“Run.” Fisk said to Vanessa, pushing her back the way they came.

“This ends.” You warned with words tinted in your accent.

Fisk snarled slightly before bracing himself. Matt shifted beside you and your stance widened while you shifted your weight to your toes. They screamed at each other before they charged, Matt slamming into Fisk with enough force for them both to crash into something in the bedroom. You hurried in the same direction and caught Vanessa trying to race down the stairs.

You wouldn’t kill her, only sparing her life to fulfill your promise to Ray, but you’d have some fun in the meantime.

You flung your knife and watched the tip bury itself in her dress and pin it to the floor. As you were coming around the ledge, Matt and Fisk crashed through the wall. You were going to intervene but Matt fought back so you turned back to Vanessa.

You gripped the railings on either side and kicked both feet into her side. The sharp rip of fabric sounded as she tumbled down the stairs with loud exclamations. You recollected your blade and hopped the railing to follow her just as Matt sent Fisk tumbling the same way.

You landed in time to see Vanessa backing away from the door, a familiar bitter taste settling in your tongue. You spit on the floor in an effort to clear it but it lingered as you saw Dex enter the room.

You groaned inwardly as your small crowd seemed to freeze at his appearance. When it seemed no one else would move, you did. You moved around the table to put yourself in front of the bride.

As you rounded the table, you placed a hand on the ledge to allow you room to spin your legs and connect both feet with Dex’s jaw. He reached angrily for you but you threw yourself backwards. From the far end of the table, you saw Matt land from the upper level and move in against Dex.

You slid off the table and dropped to a low crouch. You snuck beside Vanessa and kicked her legs from underneath her. You pinned a knee against her chest and aimed one of your devices. You angled for a well-placed shot that would hurt but not kill her, only to be thrown off by Matt’s off balance body.

You groaned in annoyance and shoved your partner off you. In your own lull of action, you heard Fisk and Dex going at it from the other end of the room. You paused for a second to watch, only to realize that your former partner had little to no defense against Fisk. The best he could do was evade and try to put distance and gain an advantage.

He was sloppy, uncaring even. He wasn’t just broken. He has completely fallen apart.

You looked between a still fallen Vanessa and the quick paced fight ahead and decided on something more exciting. When Fisk threw Dex against the stairs, you inserted yourself.

You grabbed both staffs before getting to the side of Fisk. You stepped up the railing and reached around his neck to cross both sticks. You quickly moved your feet to be on the back end of the plexiglass and extended the limbs, holding tight with your staffs to pull the man off Dex. His ragged coughs drew an old, sadistic smile from you and the manic daze you knew all too well began to cloud your mind.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Dex stand and attempt to charge at you and Fisk. With a quick move, you jumped the railing and dug an elbow into Fisk’s spine for stability. When Dex was close enough, you slammed both feet into his chest. The impact sent him stumbling through the glass behind him and you were pushed the other direction.

When you hit the ground, you released the cross of your staffs and snuck between Fisk’s legs. You hooked a stick around either ankle and pulled forward as you slid your other leg through so you would spin to face him as he fell to his back. One staff was returned to the pack as you flicked out the long blade of the other.

“Ты больше никому не обидишь” You said simply and you placed a foot on his stomach. (You’ll never hurt anyone else again.)

You gripped your weapon with both hands and lifted it high above your head, the tip of the blade on a direct path to his chest. You let out a loud scream, one born out of pent up rage and pain that seemed to add heat to the blade in your hand, while you began to drive the knife down.

As your blade was mere inches from penetrating, you were slammed into from your side. The collision sent you rolling and your staff clattered from your hands. You heard the commotion continue and you pushed yourself to your elbows to see Fisk and Matt back in a fight, Matt getting body slammed through the table.

For a second, you hoped it would knock some sense into him. But that thought was shortly entertained because you were yanked to your feet by your hair.

You were spun roughly and a hand fit your throat, backing you up until you hit the wall. You let out a manic laugh when you saw it was Dex.

“Was it worth it?” You sneered. “Killing Julie.”

“I didn’t kill her.” He nearly screamed in your face before slamming you back again.

“But you did.” You nodded fervently. “If you didn’t try to make her love you-“

His free hand collided with the brick near your head and you acted quickly.

You grabbed the wrist around your throat and braced a foot at the bend of his hip. Your thumb dug into the space between bones at his wrist and he winced as his grip faltered. You stepped up using his own leg as leverage and hooked the other leg around his shoulder. You balled one fist in the suit material of the base of his neck and pulled to reveal enough skin that you could wedge you let Bite against. You fired the device and he yelled loudly while his hands gripped the back of your knees.

He slammed your body into the hard brick wall and you coughed roughly as the impact sent a jolt through the old fracture in your ribs. He pulled back to slam you again but you pulled the foot you had against his leg to flatten against the wall and change the angle of your body.

You slid your hands to grip the suit before kicking off and throwing yourself to the floor while Dex landed beside you. You quickly knelt on top of Dex and landed heavy hits to his face, forcing head to bounce off the ground. One of his hands were flailing to find something to use as a weapon and before you could block, he found your other staff and swung it at your jaw. You fell off and got to your hands and knees before he threw your staff at the glass chandelier above where Matt and Fisk were fighting.

Matt was quick to get out of the way, which left Fisk vulnerable to Dex’s barrage of attacks. You hurried over to the wreckage and recollected your staff before you decided what to do next. Dex’s focus shifted to Matt, which allowed you to go after Fisk. You turned to find him and saw him give Vanessa his jacket, a product of Melvin’s handiwork you assumed.

She met your eyes in a panic as you jumped the couch and began your assault. You alternated your hits, switching hands and angles. You mixed in body shots and elbows and knees. Vanessa’s hand landed on your shoulder and you reacted almost instantly.

You grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm outwards. You hooked a foot behind her ankle and slammed your other arm against her chest to knock her to the floor. She coughed heavily from the impact and you reached down for your knife. You smiled as you pressed the tip against the underside of her chin.

“You had Ray killed.” You spoke lowly, a heavy venom dripping from your accented words. “I should kill you for it.”

“But you won’t?” She managed, jerking under your weight in a desperate attempt to get you off of her.

“I do enjoy revenge.” Your head tilted as you pierced the skin slightly and you watched the steady stream of blood across her skin. “But using you to torture him is much more fun.”

You heard Fisk’s heavy footsteps behind you so you moved quickly. You quickly jumped to your feet and dragged Vanessa up with you, locking an arm around her throat while other held the tip of the knife against her sternum,

“Let her go, Y/N.” Fisk said carefully, hands out in front as if to soothe a wild animal. “She’s done nothing.”

“You consider Rahul Nadeem nothing?” You spoke sharply, pressing the knife a bit harder to hear a sharp gasp from Vanessa. “What do you say, hmm? A life for a life.”

“You don’t trade lives!”

“Исход делает.” You shrugged. (Exodus does.)

The loud shatter of glass beside you stole your attention for a second, but it was all Fisk needed. He yanked your hand away from his wife’s chest and pushed her away. With a tight grip on your wrist, he bent it back to point your own knife back at you. He backed you against the wall and you had to use your other hand to keep your own weapon away. His fingers locked around your own, not allowing you to drop your blade.

With a sly smile, you allowed your powers to reach out to the boys that came crashing through the window moments ago. You found that soft spot they both had for you, one was much easier to find than the other, and you yanked it to the surface. You projected a fear, a helplessness, while refusing to break eye contact with Fisk,

“You have no power here.” You said quietly as you heard the glass shifting. “You’ll lose.”

“Not until I’ve buried you.” He spoke roughly, pushing the knife again and you felt the tip poking through your suit and into your shoulder.

“I’m not afraid to die.”

You let your other hand drop and the knife pierced your shoulder completely with a sharp cry of pain. At the same time, two glass shards came flying in and punctured his abdomen. You offered a salute to Dex as a way of thanking him before Matt began an offense against him again. You turned back to Fisk as he pulled the bloody glass out.

You made a small noise of interest as you moved in, momentarily forgetting about the knife in you. You threw a sharp kick at the open wound and he cried out. You laughed slightly and kicked again. And again.

You reached forward and pressed your knuckles against the wound and watched the blood spurt across your hand. You pulled back and grabbed the man by his face, the other grabbing his shirtfront, and slammed him to the ground.

“You’re pathetic.” You sneered. “You’re nothing without your toys.”

You saw Dex fall from the corner of your eye and when you glanced, you saw him already locked in on Vanessa. You groaned to yourself and pushed off Fisk, hurrying up the stairs to yank Vanessa out of the way. The ceramic ashtray flew by your heads and shattered against the wall. You gripped Vanessa by her throat and threw her back against the plexiglass, leaning a knee into her chest to pin her down.

You turned back to the fight in time to see Fisk slam Dex into the corner of the brick. Your pressure on Vanessa eased slightly as something dropped heavy into the pit of your stomach. You shifted the glow to your Bites to blue and slid your knee over to allow a clearer shot to her chest.

Once Matt and Fisk found each other again, you hopped down the stairs and knelt on Dex’s chest. Your other foot pressed on his shoulder as you drew your gun. You pressed the barrel under his chin and he gasped for air beneath you.

Something was wrong. You knew it immediately, before you even got close to Dex. As your weight was bearing down on him, you were tense as you waited for a response. You waited for him to try and throw you off, to pull a knife or a gun of his own. You expected him to toss you around like a rag doll, only for you to come back at him relentlessly. But he did nothing…

“Fight back.” You demanded softly, your voice seemingly gone.

“Y/- Y/N.” He choked out.

The cold seemed to radiate from his chest and stick to the fabric pressed against him. There was regret, likely stemming from whatever injury the impact caused, and sadness. He truly had nothing and he finally understood that, laying on the ground with his former partner pressing a gun to his head.

“Dammit, Poindexter. Fight. Back”. You pressed the gun harder.

“Can’t.” He managed weakly.

You stood slowly, keeping a foot on his wrist and your gun aimed while the other hand hit your mask’s side button. You glanced over his body and saw the complete shatter of his vertebrae.

“You owe whatever pathetic life you have left to Ray… I won't offer this mercy again.” You said simply.

“Stop it, please!” Vanessa shouted desperately.

You turned quickly and saw Matt had Fisk on his knees and was pounding on him. You turned the aim of your gun on Vanessa and moved to stand beside Matt. Despite looking away from the woman, your gun stayed up as you faced Matt and yanked your blade from your shoulder.

His hands were positioned to finish it, to snap Fisk’s neck. You found yourself frozen in place as you waited for what he would do next. Part of you, the part manufactured from the Red Room, wanted to see him do it. You wanted to corrupt the Devil, to bloody his hands in a way he’d never clear.

But the more important part, the part you thought you had lost a long time ago, knew you didn’t want to see him do it. Seeing him do it would make it too real and it would change the way he saw himself and the way you would see him. The things that made him Matt Murdock would break if he did it.

Yet you did nothing. Not until he screamed. A sound of pure rage and agony that was paired with a blast of searing heat. Matt fell to his knees at your feet, reaching for your hand. But before he could take it, Fisk’s words drew your action.

“I will never stop hunting Karen Page or Foggy Nelson.” He warned, though there was defeat in his words.

You moved to stand in front of him and placed the gun against his forehead. He simply glared up at you, covered in his own blood. “I will tell the world who both of you really are.”

“I don’t care about the world.” You spat back, pressing your knee against his chest to knock him into the wall. You leaned your weight down and he coughed as the bony part of your leg dug into his sternum. “It has taken enough from me… You don’t get to do that anymore.”

“Wilson.” Vanessa tried from the other end of the room.

“Vanessa, please go. Please!” He shouted around you.

You turned quickly and fired a shot at Vanessa’s feet, to which she jumped back and screamed. You pressed the now hot barrel back to its prior position as Matt got to his feet.

“You.. You want us to kill you.” Matt realized through heavy breaths.

“No prison can keep me.” Fisk taunted and you had to grind your teeth. “You know that… Come on, kill me! Isn’t that what you always wanted, Exodus?”

Your trigger finger itched but Matt spoke before you could act.

“No!” Matt yelled in response. You made a face to yourself and knew you should pull the gun back you didn’t, not even when Matt came to your side to yell at Fisk. “God knows I want to, but you don’t get to destroy who I am.”

You almost smiled in relief, but the thump of worry lived in the back of your mind. You could feel Vanessa’s concern for Fisk, her worry that he would die in front of her. Her helplessness plagued you like a magnet to metal and for a moment, you remembered when you felt the same way.

When Luke dragged you to the elevator without Matt. When Fisk said Matt’s name in front of other agents.

“You will go back to prison and you will live the rest of your miserable life in a cage, knowing you’ll never have Vanessa. That this city rejected you, it beat you. We beat you!” Matt demanded and you were proud he found a way back to himself.

“You will keep our secrets.” You spoke simply, putting your gun away to yank the man to the ground. You flicked one of your shock discs at him and pressed a foot against his broad chest. You leaned into your foot and twisted to ensure the small circle engaged and he groaned loudly as you heard the electricity crackle while you leaned the entirety of your weight against him. Matt knelt beside you and lifted his mask before he spoke.

“And you won’t harm Karen Page or Foggy Nelson or anyone else.”

“If you try it, I will go after your wife. And I will prove that she ordered the murder of Agent Rahul Nadeem. And if she’s lucky, she’ll spend the rest of her life in a cell, same as her miserable excuse of a husband.”

You stepped off his chest and tapped Matt’s arm before taking a few steps away. Matt replaced his mask and came to your side as Vanessa inched closer, her uncertainty coming off in shaky waves.

“Thank you.” She said shakily, reaching for your hand.

“I didn’t do it for either of you.” You said sharply. “And I will not extend this mercy again, to any of you.”

She nodded quietly before moving away, leaving you to stand beside an unsteady Matt. His hands were on his head and he was radiating anger. He was mad at himself for not being able to go through with it, but he was also glad that he didn’t. He understood what the consequences would’ve been and he knew that keeping that part of himself was more important than revenge.

“You’re okay.” You said gently to your partner, a hand landing on his shoulder. “I knew you’d do the right thing.”

“What if I didn’t?” He said weakly.

“We’re still in it together, Devil.” You shrugged. “Anyone comes after you, they come after me.”

“If I agree to your demands, you leave my wife alone.” Fisk countered, now kneeling beside Vanessa.

“You misunderstood me.” You warned. “There is no agreement. You have no leverage.”

“You leave Vanessa free!”

“You didn’t care about taking a father from a ten year old boy!” You shouted angrily, the sound of the bullet firing on Ray replaying in your head. Your anger burned down your spine and across your skin until it swelled in your palms, searing through the wound on your shoulder. “You took a husband away from his wife! Why should yours be free?”

“I was protecting the man I love.” Vanessa countered with false confidence, despite the darting eyes and trembling hands. “Could you tell me you don’t do the same?” She nodded to Matt though her eyes remained on you.

“I owe you people nothing. If it were up to me, you’d both be a puddle of your own blood right now.” You spat. “But I promised Ray I would do this the right way, and I promised the Devil I’d let him decide.”

Matt stepped forward and held a hand out to Fisk.

“If you keep your word.” He said simply.

Reluctantly, Fisk shook Matt’s hand.

“Then it’s a deal.” He spoke bitterly, moments before the heavy banging came from the door.

“We should go.” You grabbed Matt’s arm lightly.

He nodded quietly before taking your hand. You two hurried up the stairs to the upper level and paused to see Brett enter with his team. You watched as they unmasked Dex and you weren’t fully listening to the words they were saying. You were distracted by the pained look on Dex’s face, what looked like tears in his eyes.

“Я оплакываю своего друга, который умер, когда ты надел этот костюм…” You said quietly, more to yourself than anything but you knew Matt heard. “Человек, которого я вижу сейчас, ничто.” (I mourn my friend, who died when you put on that suit… The man I see now is nothing.)

Matt grabbed your hand without a word and led you out the same way you two came in, avoiding cops until you made it to the rooftop. Through your lenses, you saw Fisk being shoved into the car and Foggy and Karen out in the courtyard.

You let out a small chuckle of relief when you could finally accept that you had won.

You, with Matt and Ray’s help, beat Wilson Fisk.

Again.

67 notes · View notes