Bella ⬧ 30's ⬧ She/Her ⬧ Fic Writer
No Minors Welcome/18+
⬧My A03 Account⬧
⬧Currently Writing for: Matt Murdock, Benjamin Poindexter,
Frank Castle, Jax Teller, & Michael Kinsella
⬧Latest Fics Update:
The Way That It Hurts pt. 8 {Jax Teller}
One Good Deed pt. 6 {Benjamin Poindexter}
Until It's Gone Prequel pt. 2 {Jax Teller}
Falling for the Devil pt. 103 {Matt Murdock}
Wish I Was A Better Liar {Matt Murdock}
|⬧My Main Masterlist is at the bottom of this post with links to each character's fic masterlists
⬧FAQ⬧
⬧ Do you accept requests? No, I generally do not accept requests because I'm writing too many long fics.
⬧ Are you still continuing [insert fic title]? All of my stories are active even if it's been awhile since a previous update. My brain tends to jump around & I cannot control it. Blame the ADHD, but if I don't write this way, I don't write at all.
⬧Are your asks open? Yes! Always! Please come chat with me about headcanons, fics I write, the characters in general, or whatever! I am always chatty!!
⬧ What's the best way to support your writing? I love reblogs on here (without them, stories disappear), but any sort of commenting or feedback is welcomed and appreciated. I also have a ko-fi located here.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!autistic!Reader Word Count: 4.9k [Matt Fic Masterlist]
Warnings/tags: 18+; depression, suicidal ideation, angst, isolation/self-loathing, pining, hopeful ending
Summary: Every night for nearly three weeks, you've sat on the roof of your apartment building contemplating another day. And every night for nearly three weeks, you eventually find yourself attracting the same company.
a/n: This idea quite literally poured itself out of me and became whatever this is. I suppose it's equal parts angsty and hopeful? Feedback (comments, likes, reblogs) are always appreciated!
The city always transformed from eight stories up while dampened with shadows. Hell’s Kitchen grew quieter whenever the sun sank beneath the line of towering skyscrapers, even if the emergency vehicle sirens were sharper and the people on the streets less inhibited. But you preferred it like this, with your bare feet dangling a hundred feet above everyone’s heads and the steady rush of cold air brushing against your cheeks.
Disconnected. Always disconnected.
All the extra noise inside of your head faded and muted up here. There was no mask to wear, no smile to fake, no fumbling through small talk. You didn’t have to constantly wonder what to do with your hands, or if your nervous laugh came out a little too often, or if you were talking too softly. You didn't have to explain or make excuses for yourself up here, you simply existed.
It’d never been lost on you that the only place you felt comfortable was somewhere that left you quite literally looking at the world from the outside in–sitting on the top of your apartment building staring down at Hell’s Kitchen below. While time stood frozen for you, everyone else was out there living their lives as time moved forward for them. Falling in love while on a date, or falling asleep after a long day of work. Drinking away the sting of heartbreak, or celebrating the excitement of a wedding proposal. Catching a flight for a business trip at the airport, or bringing a baby home for the first time.
Not you, though. It'd been months since you'd last gone out and celebrated anything with anyone, or felt as if there even was something worth celebrating. You had two best friends, but both of them were busy with their own families and reaching milestones that you felt like you’d only get to dream about. Occasionally you’d get invited out to grab drinks with your co-workers, and you'd awkwardly accepted a few times, but you knew the invitation was only ever given out of politeness and not a genuine desire for your company. Because that's what happened when you were the strange girl–you were never truly wanted.
You didn’t fit in anywhere.
Growing up, you’d often wondered what was wrong with you. With the way you felt among your classmates, you'd always known that something was off with you even if you didn’t exactly understand why you were different. Now that you were older and more self-aware, you’d wondered how life could’ve been different if whatever that thing inside of you that was missing didn't separate you from everyone else. Maybe if your brain didn’t function the way it did, you wouldn't have spent every night for nearly the past month sitting on the ledge of your apartment building contemplating succumbing to gravity. Maybe everyday wouldn't be a constant game of pretend, a game which left you exhausted from a lifetime of playing it.
This world wasn't made for people like you.
“You're crying.”
He materialized straight out of the shadows of the night itself, an odd feat he managed to accomplish every single time he visited you now that he was wearing his old black suit. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been iffy on the details about what’d happened to the other one that offered more protection, but you were too polite to push for details.
He melted out of the darkness without a warning, returning tonight like a stray cat seeking out your company. He’d spent every single night sitting on the ledge of your apartment building with you as you stared down at the city, oddly showing up ever since that very first night you’d decided to sit up here. He came without fail except for last night, but last night he’d sent his surly friend in his place.
“You're back,” you greeted him.
Daredevil lowered himself down to the ledge with a fluid grace you’d never achieve as he crouched to sit. Your eyes remained fixed on the lights of the traffic moving along the street below as he casually tossed both black booted feet over the side of the building and took his usual place next to you. The familiar and heady scent of his sweat mingled with the faint tinge of exhaust fumes and something slightly sweeter as you absently reached up, fingertips gently wiping away a few of the tears you hadn’t noticed snaking wet trails down your cheeks.
“Of course I’m back,” Daredevil replied in that gravely tone, pitching his voice a little lower and huskier than its natural register. “I apologize for my absence last night, but I didn’t leave you entirely alone.”
A soft snort met his apology. “No, you sent your friend, Frank,” you said, hand lowering to your lap. “An interesting choice of company.”
“I imagine he gave you reason number five?” the Devil inquired.
Almost a week ago, Daredevil had decided to personally undertake what you deemed an absurd initiative to bring you what he called Reasons Not to Give Up. You’d flatly dubbed them Reasons Not to Go Splat, but he wasn’t particularly fond of hearing you call them that.
So far he’d brought you a handful of fragrant daylilies from one of the nearby parks as a reminder about the beauty in nature, which you’d found entertaining since he’d illegally plucked them himself just for you. He’d also shared a recording on his cheap flip phone of a cellist he greatly enjoyed overhearing practicing at night, and a slice of what he claimed was the best pizza in all of Hell’s Kitchen–which he hadn’t been wrong about. He’d even brought you a ridiculous rubber chicken that looked like the Statue of Liberty and sounded like a foghorn, and it’d brought the biggest smile to your face in months.
Last night when his friend Frank had come to join you along your spot on the rooftop, he’d brought you the comfort of not being alone–or so he said that's what Daredevil forced him to say. Though Frank had also brought you a slew of interesting and highly amusing complaints and anecdotes about his nights out with Daredevil, which you’d enjoyed surprisingly just as much as his company.
“You really don’t need to keep doing this,” you told him. Watching one of the city buses as it slowed to a stop at a red traffic light, you wiggled your bare toes in the open air. “I know you have far more important things to be doing than sitting with a weird stranger on a rooftop every single night. Don’t you need to sleep?”
“You stopped being a stranger a long time ago,” the masked man told you. “Besides, you’re not weird. And no, not really. I don’t have the best relationship with sleep.”
“You and me both,” you muttered.
Out of your peripheral, you caught sight of something moving towards you, and the smell of sweetness tickled your nose. Glancing down, you saw the Devil’s gloved hand gently nudge your right arm with a little plastic to-go container. Inside of it sat a single red velvet cupcake topped with a perfect glob of chocolate frosting with two little devil horns peeking out of the sides of it.
Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, you felt a grin threatening to break out across your face. He’d brought you a Daredevil cupcake. There was a bakery a few blocks from your apartment that had nearly been broken into the other week, but Daredevil had stopped the attempted robbery before the culprits had caused much damage to the storefront. In honor of his valiant efforts protecting the business, Delia’s Bakery had made Daredevil cupcakes special in the days since. They'd even been featured in a small article in The Bulletin.
“Your namesake cupcake?” you questioned. “You brought me a Daredevil cupcake?”
The Devil’s covered head cocked to the side, the black fabric of his mask hiding most of his face as your gaze flicked up to him. The wide grin on his pretty mouth was contagious, and your lips pulled free from your teeth until you were smiling stupidly back at him. Somehow he always managed to disarm you.
“Is it?” he playfully asked. “I couldn’t see what I picked out earlier.”
You rolled your eyes at him, having endured the repeated blind jokes that he’d made at his own expense ever since he’d revealed to you the shocking surprise that Daredevil was actually blind two weeks ago. It’d stemmed from you explaining to him that you were autistic and how the world felt so full of everything that it often overwhelmed you–the bustle of people, the rush of cars, the tall buildings closing in on you, the bright lights of the city giving you headaches, and the constant noise and onslaught of smells mixing together. It was an entire ordeal for you to leave your apartment and manage all of that while trying to act like you were just like everyone else, and it weighed on you every single day. A simple trip to the grocery store risked a panic attack some days.
You’d expected Daredevil to judge you after you’d revealed your big secret to him–that you were on the spectrum. You assumed that he’d suddenly look at you like there was something wrong with you, or that he'd talk down to you like being autistic somehow meant that you’d abruptly dropped a significant chunk of intelligence and were now the equivalent of a child. That was usually what happened when you admitted you were neurodivergent.
But he didn’t do any of that. Instead he’d revealed a secret of his own. He'd confessed that Daredevil was blind. Not only that, but apparently an accident when he was young had blinded him yet enhanced all of his other senses, meaning he also struggled with overstimulation in a way that sounded like absolute torture to you. He’d assured you that he’d long since learned how to manage his heightened senses and how they could sometimes overwhelm him, but it meant that he also understood how you felt.
You'd never met someone else who could relate to you like he did. You liked knowing that he understood what it felt like for your chest to tighten and your heart rate to accelerate just because there were too many voices in a room, or that sometimes it was difficult to breathe just because you were cramped in the corner store checkout line between shelves and people. Your friends never understood even if they tried, but Daredevil did.
“Here,” he urged, nudging you with the plastic container again. “Reason number six.”
“Diabetes?” you joked.
“No,” he said. “The simple pleasure of enjoying something you like.” He tipped his masked head at the container as you awkwardly accepted it from him. “I remember you mentioning the other week that you have a fondness for red velvet cupcakes. I thought you might like this one.”
Throat growing tight at the small, thoughtful gesture, you gingerly held the little plastic container in one hand as your other gripped tighter onto the rooftop’s ledge, keeping you balanced. The prickle of tears burned at the back of your eyes sharp enough for you to notice the sting as you stared down at the lone cupcake, the sugary scent of vanilla and cocoa settling over you. Before you could blink it back, another tear snuck its way from the corner of your eye, slipping its way down your cheek and dripping off the tip of your chin before landing on the lid of the container with a quiet splat.
“What is it?” the Devil pried.
Sniffling lightly, you tried to dismiss his question with a swift shake of your head. Your emotions sat like a ball lodged in the back of your throat, and you quickly felt yourself becoming swallowed up by the intensity of them. You didn’t understand why he kept coming back to visit you every single night, or why he’d sent his friend when he couldn’t make it last night, or why he kept bringing you all of these little, thoughtful gifts.
The only thing that made sense was that Daredevil felt responsible for you because you lived inside of Hell’s Kitchen. He protected the entirety of this part of the city, and you assumed that must’ve included those tempting fate on the edge of a rooftop.
Yet his visits had become increasingly confusing to you. You’d started to think of him as a friend, but you knew that was stupid. He was a masked vigilante who patrolled the streets and protected its people. You were just some high risk idiot always dangling off the side of an eight story building wallowing in self-pity. Daredevil was your babysitter, not someone who’d call to ask how your day was or invite you out to catch up over a cup of coffee. Yet you desperately wished that’s what he could be, because Daredevil was the first person who’d ever made you feel like maybe you could actually fit somewhere for once.
He said your name softly, the sound of it barely breaking through the racing thoughts in your mind. A hollowness seeped into your chest, sucking everything into it like a sinkhole devouring your insides. Your tongue pressed firmly against the roof of your mouth as you tensed, shaking your head again at his attempt to get you to speak. You simply couldn’t.
You felt stupid suddenly shutting down like this on him, but you couldn't stop the way your mind decided it had no idea how to handle the agonizing disappointment of realizing how he probably perceived you. Tears bloomed in your eyes as your fingers tightened around the little plastic cupcake container, accidentally smooshing some of the frosting onto the lid, but you couldn’t find the words to express yourself right now. You wanted to run back into your building and go hide beneath the covers of your bed like you were six years old all over again.
If only you were different. If only you could better play at the lie that you were like everyone else. If only you really were normal instead of this chaotic mess.
“Okay, that's fine. We don't need to talk,” Daredevil soothed. “How about I just walk you away from the ledge?” he offered.
He slowly rose back up onto his feet beside you, moving cautiously so that he wouldn't startle you. That only made you feel even more foolish. Why the hell couldn't you just be normal? What was so hard about having a conversation?
“Let's get up,” he said calmly, “and I can walk you back over to the rooftop door when you’re ready to go back inside.”
You nodded stiffly in assent, allowing his gloved hands to secure themselves around your upper arms. Carefully he helped you back up onto your feet, gradually turning you towards him before he gingerly guided you away from the edge of the building until he was comfortable with your distance from it.
He kept a gentle, comforting grip on your biceps when he drew you both to a stop, almost as if he knew the exact pressure to use to keep you grounded while your mind disconnected itself from your body. Your heart erratically thundered inside of your chest, and the tears fell a little faster, steadily streaming down your cheeks as the chilly evening wind stung the wet-streaked skin.
Normally your nights with the Devil ended with you growing tired and eventually deciding that tonight was not the night to teeter forward and play the backup plan in your back pocket for when life felt too daunting. You’d never actually frozen on him before because you’d become overwhelmed trying to process the conflicting signals he’d been sending you over these past few weeks.
“Sorry,” you bit out, embarrassed as your fingers squeezed around the plastic container even harder.
What you really meant was: I’m sorry that I’m a burden and that I’ve gone and made more of this entire situation between us than I was supposed to, I just don't know how to properly make sense of what's going on here or navigate normal social situations like everyone else. But you didn’t quite know how to put all of that into words.
“Don’t,” he urged. “Don’t apologize for who you are. Just take your time, I'm right here.”
You caught the firm shake of his masked head when he’d spoken as you stared at his black boots, your teeth gnashing unconsciously along your lower lip as your left hand continued curling and uncurling into a fist. The embarrassment alone was motivation enough for you to focus on trying to slow your thoughts just so that you could reach a point where you could tell him goodnight and dart back inside to the safety of your apartment and away from the complicated and unexpected situation here on the rooftop.
Unfortunately, it took you five painful, drawn out minutes before you could manage that.
Matt’s fingers were casually wrapped around the inside of Foggy’s elbow as he walked, the stiff material of his best friend’s suit a scratchy nuisance against his hand, but he’d chosen to ignore the extra sensory input. His senses were focused on other things this morning as Foggy held open the door to a coffee shop that sat an inconvenient two blocks away from Nelson, Murdock, and Page.
“I really need to stop enabling you, Murdock,” Foggy mused.
A delighted grin tugged itself across Matt’s lips as he followed Foggy inside On the Horizon Coffee, having successfully convinced Foggy to tag along with him for yet another morning visit. As Matt stepped off the sidewalk outside which currently bustled with the usual morning foot traffic, the noise inside of the small shop intensified. So did the strong aroma of coffee and a multitude of flavored syrups and sugary sweet baked goods. Foggy guided him towards the long line behind the counter to order, and Matt’s index finger tapped an impatient rhythm against the folded cane in his left hand.
“You need to become fixated on a girl who frequents coffee shops near our place of business instead,” Foggy continued. “Or just, you know, go talk to her already.”
“I have talked to her,” Matt distractedly replied.
Half his attention was focused on sifting through the commotion of the coffee shop, trying to search it for a trace of your presence. It was never a guarantee that you’d be sitting here drinking a coffee, but every once and awhile he’d get lucky and catch a sign of you before you disappeared for work. You often sat in the far back corner, tucked up against the window with your head bowed over a book and earbuds in your ears as you tried to block out the noise of the coffee shop.
He’d gradually begun to understand you better after you’d confided in him the other week that you were on the spectrum. It hadn’t actually surprised him at all despite how nervous you'd sounded when you’d shared the information with him. Your body had always read differently to his senses, and you weren’t the only one he’d ever picked up on that from. It was actually why he'd noticed you that first time he'd come to this coffee shop to meet with one of his clients.
You'd sounded panicked and terrified, your body radiating unusual levels of fear for someone who was just drinking coffee and reading. He could still recall the sharp, acrid tang of it on his tongue. It'd caught Matt’s attention, distracting him from his meeting as he unprofessionally fumbled his way through it. He'd worried that something was wrong, but when your adrenaline and cortisol eventually lowered a fraction after you'd gotten absorbed into whatever book was in front of you, Matt realized it was just your anxiety that he'd picked up on.
That was how he'd found you on the top of your building. He'd recognized the uneven pattering of your heartbeat and it'd drawn him straight to you when he'd been heading home for the night. He could still hear your sad voice from that first night telling him that you’d went to the rooftop because just knowing there was another option if the world ever became too much was a comfort to you. But it broke part of Matt to learn that the curious girl he’d discovered in the coffee shop weeks ago was the same one spending her nights on a rooftop feeling such overwhelming shame over who she was that she let her teardrops quietly fall one-hundred and fifteen feet to the ground while she contemplated tossing away something so precious every single night.
“I meant as you you and not the other you,” Foggy corrected.
He caught onto the familiar, slightly elevated heartbeat across the coffee shop at the same time that the line shuffled forward. Foggy leaned over towards Matt, his voice lowering as he noticed exactly what Matt just had.
“Your girl is here,” Foggy informed him. “In her usual spot by the window.”
Something eased in Matt’s chest at knowing that you were here, especially after how you’d reacted to him delivering you that cupcake last night. He hadn’t meant to upset you, and he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done wrong with bringing it. He’d hoped to hear the smile in your voice and maybe weasel a few jokes out of you along with a small laugh before you’d gone back inside for the night.
He loved your laugh. He'd become enamored with it the second he’d heard it, which he remembered had been on the third night that he’d stopped by to sit with you on the rooftop. He couldn’t remember the joke that’d pulled it out of you at this point, but he hadn’t forgotten the way your laughter had danced across the wind and echoed against the steel buildings of the city. Truthfully, it was the reason why he’d brought you that rubber chicken the other day, and he’d been rewarded with his favorite sound multiple times that night. Despite the criminals he’d fought as Daredevil on the streets that entire week, the sound of your laughter trilling through the night had felt like his biggest accomplishment.
“What’s she reading?” Matt whispered back.
Foggy shifted beside Matt, craning his neck as he tried to get a view of the cover of your book from across the coffee shop. Moments like this were one of the few rare times where he genuinely cursed his own limitations. None of his heightened senses could ever tell him what book you were so absorbed within the pages of as you drank your latte.
A pleased smile stretched across Matt’s mouth as he tried to imagine you painting your nails. He wondered which night you’d done that. Had it been before or after the rubber chicken? Because he swore he'd felt the tension completely melt out of you that night. You’d relaxed around him fully, no longer giving Matt the impression that you were a second away from disappearing on him but instead warming to his presence.
“You should go introduce yourself this time,” Foggy encouraged. “Go talk to her. I think she’d like that.”
“But then she’d know who I am,” Matt countered.
“So? Your point is?” Foggy demanded as the line inched forward again. “Need I remind you that you once said, and I quote, ‘She’s the only one who’s ever merged both Matt Murdock and the Devil so wholly.’”
The corner of Matt’s mouth dipped downwards as Foggy repeated his words verbatim back at him. He had in fact said that exact line just last week.
“But what if she doesn’t like both sides when they merge for real?” Matt protested. “What if she doesn’t like who I am beneath the mask?”
Foggy’s hand came down with a light smack on Matt’s shoulder, the impact causing Matt to frown. He could hear the air shift as Foggy turned to face him more fully, Matt’s fingers still loosely gripping the inside of his friend’s elbow.
“Well then buddy, it sounds like you’d relate to her exact same daily struggle,” Foggy stated. As he continued, he leaned forward and kept his voice low so as not to attract the attention of the others in the line. “You said that she feels like she wears a mask whenever she steps outside her apartment, afraid of what people might think of who she actually is beneath it. I think she can relate to that better than most, man. And maybe you should actually go introduce yourself to her before she…”
Foggy’s voice abruptly trailed off, and Matt’s frown deepened as he caught the faint pull of muscles on his best friend’s face when he winced. He knew what Foggy had been about to say without him needing to give voice to it. He should introduce himself to you before maybe one night you really did lose that razor thin battle you tortured yourself with on top of your building and Matt no longer had the opportunity.
While the city had long ago begun calling him The Man Without Fear, Matt had suddenly acquired a singular fear that’d haunted him over these past few weeks. He was terrified that the one night he didn’t show on your rooftop might be the one night that you lost that battle. Which was why he’d sent Frank the other night, pleading with him to check on you and just keep you company because he couldn’t make it himself that evening.
“It sounds like she could use a few friends,” Foggy recovered, clearing his throat. “Why don’t we just get a coffee and go say hello? Just a few words. Then maybe when you run into her tonight,” Foggy continued, pulling Matt forward with him as the line moved yet again, “you can give her reason number seventeen or whatever and tell her the truth. Invite her out to Josie’s with us some night after.”
Matt’s brows drew together behind his glasses at the suggestion. “You want me to invite her to Josie’s?”
“Yeah,” Foggy said, bobbing his head. “Or if she’d be more comfortable, invite her to our office for Friday Night Pizza.”
“We don’t have a Friday Night Pizza,” Matt countered.
“Au contraire, Murdock,” Foggy playfully disagreed, raising a singular finger in the air. “We always stay far too late at the office on Friday nights and end up ordering pizza while we try to cram as much work as we can into a few hours, but it always derails into Friday Night Pizza where we sit around the front desk and accomplish nada.”
A grin cracked itself through Matt’s frown. He hadn’t exactly realized it, but that did happen every single Friday night lately. It’d become so much of a routine to him that he hadn’t really noticed it was now a “thing” that the three of them did.
“You want me to invite her to the office?” Matt skeptically clarified. “For pizza?”
“Yeah,” Foggy agreed. “Karen and I feel like we’ve already gotten to know her through all your creepy stalking–”
“I’m not stalking her,” Matt firmly denied.
“–and we’ve been wanting to get our chance to meet her,” Foggy continued, undeterred by Matt’s interruption. “I think she’d fit in great with us misfits. Not that, you know, she’s a misfit or anything.”
With a heavy sigh, Matt’s head shifted a fraction over his shoulder back in your direction. He threw his senses out towards where you sat in the corner by the window, catching how fairly calm your heartbeat sounded as you flipped a page in your book. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go over there and say hello this morning, and he’d admittedly been getting the urge to reveal his identity to you for the past few days.
“I just think she’d round out our group,” Foggy finished. “And you’re clearly obsessed with her.”
Matt’s attention returned to Foggy beside him, the smile fading from his lips. “I’m not obsessed,” he disagreed. “I just…like her.”
“So then go do your Matt Murdock thing and stop being afraid to talk to her,” Foggy replied. “We’re not college freshmen anymore, man. Put your big boy pants on. Let’s go make a new friend today.”
“Fine,” Matt relented. “Fine, we’ll go say a quick hello. But if we freak her out, we’re leaving.”
The rush of excitement that hit Foggy the second Matt agreed was palpable in the air. When his best friend pumped his fist upwards while simultaneously dragging him towards the register to order, Matt couldn’t stop the chuckle from rumbling out. He felt lighter on his feet than he had in weeks just from finally agreeing to approach you, so he didn’t even care when he heard Foggy muttering something about Frank owing him twenty dollars for getting him to finally agree to talk to you.
All that mattered was that Matt would get to hear your pretty voice this morning.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!autistic!Reader Word Count: 4.9k [Matt Fic Masterlist]
Warnings/tags: 18+; depression, suicidal ideation, angst, isolation/self-loathing, pining, hopeful ending
Summary: Every night for nearly three weeks, you've sat on the roof of your apartment building contemplating another day. And every night for nearly three weeks, you eventually find yourself attracting the same company.
a/n: This idea quite literally poured itself out of me and became whatever this is. I suppose it's equal parts angsty and hopeful? Feedback (comments, likes, reblogs) are always appreciated!
The city always transformed from eight stories up while dampened with shadows. Hell’s Kitchen grew quieter whenever the sun sank beneath the line of towering skyscrapers, even if the emergency vehicle sirens were sharper and the people on the streets less inhibited. But you preferred it like this, with your bare feet dangling a hundred feet above everyone’s heads and the steady rush of cold air brushing against your cheeks.
Disconnected. Always disconnected.
All the extra noise inside of your head faded and muted up here. There was no mask to wear, no smile to fake, no fumbling through small talk. You didn’t have to constantly wonder what to do with your hands, or if your nervous laugh came out a little too often, or if you were talking too softly. You didn't have to explain or make excuses for yourself up here, you simply existed.
It’d never been lost on you that the only place you felt comfortable was somewhere that left you quite literally looking at the world from the outside in–sitting on the top of your apartment building staring down at Hell’s Kitchen below. While time stood frozen for you, everyone else was out there living their lives as time moved forward for them. Falling in love while on a date, or falling asleep after a long day of work. Drinking away the sting of heartbreak, or celebrating the excitement of a wedding proposal. Catching a flight for a business trip at the airport, or bringing a baby home for the first time.
Not you, though. It'd been months since you'd last gone out and celebrated anything with anyone, or felt as if there even was something worth celebrating. You had two best friends, but both of them were busy with their own families and reaching milestones that you felt like you’d only get to dream about. Occasionally you’d get invited out to grab drinks with your co-workers, and you'd awkwardly accepted a few times, but you knew the invitation was only ever given out of politeness and not a genuine desire for your company. Because that's what happened when you were the strange girl–you were never truly wanted.
You didn’t fit in anywhere.
Growing up, you’d often wondered what was wrong with you. With the way you felt among your classmates, you'd always known that something was off with you even if you didn’t exactly understand why you were different. Now that you were older and more self-aware, you’d wondered how life could’ve been different if whatever that thing inside of you that was missing didn't separate you from everyone else. Maybe if your brain didn’t function the way it did, you wouldn't have spent every night for nearly the past month sitting on the ledge of your apartment building contemplating succumbing to gravity. Maybe everyday wouldn't be a constant game of pretend, a game which left you exhausted from a lifetime of playing it.
This world wasn't made for people like you.
“You're crying.”
He materialized straight out of the shadows of the night itself, an odd feat he managed to accomplish every single time he visited you now that he was wearing his old black suit. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been iffy on the details about what’d happened to the other one that offered more protection, but you were too polite to push for details.
He melted out of the darkness without a warning, returning tonight like a stray cat seeking out your company. He’d spent every single night sitting on the ledge of your apartment building with you as you stared down at the city, oddly showing up ever since that very first night you’d decided to sit up here. He came without fail except for last night, but last night he’d sent his surly friend in his place.
“You're back,” you greeted him.
Daredevil lowered himself down to the ledge with a fluid grace you’d never achieve as he crouched to sit. Your eyes remained fixed on the lights of the traffic moving along the street below as he casually tossed both black booted feet over the side of the building and took his usual place next to you. The familiar and heady scent of his sweat mingled with the faint tinge of exhaust fumes and something slightly sweeter as you absently reached up, fingertips gently wiping away a few of the tears you hadn’t noticed snaking wet trails down your cheeks.
“Of course I’m back,” Daredevil replied in that gravely tone, pitching his voice a little lower and huskier than its natural register. “I apologize for my absence last night, but I didn’t leave you entirely alone.”
A soft snort met his apology. “No, you sent your friend, Frank,” you said, hand lowering to your lap. “An interesting choice of company.”
“I imagine he gave you reason number five?” the Devil inquired.
Almost a week ago, Daredevil had decided to personally undertake what you deemed an absurd initiative to bring you what he called Reasons Not to Give Up. You’d flatly dubbed them Reasons Not to Go Splat, but he wasn’t particularly fond of hearing you call them that.
So far he’d brought you a handful of fragrant daylilies from one of the nearby parks as a reminder about the beauty in nature, which you’d found entertaining since he’d illegally plucked them himself just for you. He’d also shared a recording on his cheap flip phone of a cellist he greatly enjoyed overhearing practicing at night, and a slice of what he claimed was the best pizza in all of Hell’s Kitchen–which he hadn’t been wrong about. He’d even brought you a ridiculous rubber chicken that looked like the Statue of Liberty and sounded like a foghorn, and it’d brought the biggest smile to your face in months.
Last night when his friend Frank had come to join you along your spot on the rooftop, he’d brought you the comfort of not being alone–or so he said that's what Daredevil forced him to say. Though Frank had also brought you a slew of interesting and highly amusing complaints and anecdotes about his nights out with Daredevil, which you’d enjoyed surprisingly just as much as his company.
“You really don’t need to keep doing this,” you told him. Watching one of the city buses as it slowed to a stop at a red traffic light, you wiggled your bare toes in the open air. “I know you have far more important things to be doing than sitting with a weird stranger on a rooftop every single night. Don’t you need to sleep?”
“You stopped being a stranger a long time ago,” the masked man told you. “Besides, you’re not weird. And no, not really. I don’t have the best relationship with sleep.”
“You and me both,” you muttered.
Out of your peripheral, you caught sight of something moving towards you, and the smell of sweetness tickled your nose. Glancing down, you saw the Devil’s gloved hand gently nudge your right arm with a little plastic to-go container. Inside of it sat a single red velvet cupcake topped with a perfect glob of chocolate frosting with two little devil horns peeking out of the sides of it.
Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, you felt a grin threatening to break out across your face. He’d brought you a Daredevil cupcake. There was a bakery a few blocks from your apartment that had nearly been broken into the other week, but Daredevil had stopped the attempted robbery before the culprits had caused much damage to the storefront. In honor of his valiant efforts protecting the business, Delia’s Bakery had made Daredevil cupcakes special in the days since. They'd even been featured in a small article in The Bulletin.
“Your namesake cupcake?” you questioned. “You brought me a Daredevil cupcake?”
The Devil’s covered head cocked to the side, the black fabric of his mask hiding most of his face as your gaze flicked up to him. The wide grin on his pretty mouth was contagious, and your lips pulled free from your teeth until you were smiling stupidly back at him. Somehow he always managed to disarm you.
“Is it?” he playfully asked. “I couldn’t see what I picked out earlier.”
You rolled your eyes at him, having endured the repeated blind jokes that he’d made at his own expense ever since he’d revealed to you the shocking surprise that Daredevil was actually blind two weeks ago. It’d stemmed from you explaining to him that you were autistic and how the world felt so full of everything that it often overwhelmed you–the bustle of people, the rush of cars, the tall buildings closing in on you, the bright lights of the city giving you headaches, and the constant noise and onslaught of smells mixing together. It was an entire ordeal for you to leave your apartment and manage all of that while trying to act like you were just like everyone else, and it weighed on you every single day. A simple trip to the grocery store risked a panic attack some days.
You’d expected Daredevil to judge you after you’d revealed your big secret to him–that you were on the spectrum. You assumed that he’d suddenly look at you like there was something wrong with you, or that he'd talk down to you like being autistic somehow meant that you’d abruptly dropped a significant chunk of intelligence and were now the equivalent of a child. That was usually what happened when you admitted you were neurodivergent.
But he didn’t do any of that. Instead he’d revealed a secret of his own. He'd confessed that Daredevil was blind. Not only that, but apparently an accident when he was young had blinded him yet enhanced all of his other senses, meaning he also struggled with overstimulation in a way that sounded like absolute torture to you. He’d assured you that he’d long since learned how to manage his heightened senses and how they could sometimes overwhelm him, but it meant that he also understood how you felt.
You'd never met someone else who could relate to you like he did. You liked knowing that he understood what it felt like for your chest to tighten and your heart rate to accelerate just because there were too many voices in a room, or that sometimes it was difficult to breathe just because you were cramped in the corner store checkout line between shelves and people. Your friends never understood even if they tried, but Daredevil did.
“Here,” he urged, nudging you with the plastic container again. “Reason number six.”
“Diabetes?” you joked.
“No,” he said. “The simple pleasure of enjoying something you like.” He tipped his masked head at the container as you awkwardly accepted it from him. “I remember you mentioning the other week that you have a fondness for red velvet cupcakes. I thought you might like this one.”
Throat growing tight at the small, thoughtful gesture, you gingerly held the little plastic container in one hand as your other gripped tighter onto the rooftop’s ledge, keeping you balanced. The prickle of tears burned at the back of your eyes sharp enough for you to notice the sting as you stared down at the lone cupcake, the sugary scent of vanilla and cocoa settling over you. Before you could blink it back, another tear snuck its way from the corner of your eye, slipping its way down your cheek and dripping off the tip of your chin before landing on the lid of the container with a quiet splat.
“What is it?” the Devil pried.
Sniffling lightly, you tried to dismiss his question with a swift shake of your head. Your emotions sat like a ball lodged in the back of your throat, and you quickly felt yourself becoming swallowed up by the intensity of them. You didn’t understand why he kept coming back to visit you every single night, or why he’d sent his friend when he couldn’t make it last night, or why he kept bringing you all of these little, thoughtful gifts.
The only thing that made sense was that Daredevil felt responsible for you because you lived inside of Hell’s Kitchen. He protected the entirety of this part of the city, and you assumed that must’ve included those tempting fate on the edge of a rooftop.
Yet his visits had become increasingly confusing to you. You’d started to think of him as a friend, but you knew that was stupid. He was a masked vigilante who patrolled the streets and protected its people. You were just some high risk idiot always dangling off the side of an eight story building wallowing in self-pity. Daredevil was your babysitter, not someone who’d call to ask how your day was or invite you out to catch up over a cup of coffee. Yet you desperately wished that’s what he could be, because Daredevil was the first person who’d ever made you feel like maybe you could actually fit somewhere for once.
He said your name softly, the sound of it barely breaking through the racing thoughts in your mind. A hollowness seeped into your chest, sucking everything into it like a sinkhole devouring your insides. Your tongue pressed firmly against the roof of your mouth as you tensed, shaking your head again at his attempt to get you to speak. You simply couldn’t.
You felt stupid suddenly shutting down like this on him, but you couldn't stop the way your mind decided it had no idea how to handle the agonizing disappointment of realizing how he probably perceived you. Tears bloomed in your eyes as your fingers tightened around the little plastic cupcake container, accidentally smooshing some of the frosting onto the lid, but you couldn’t find the words to express yourself right now. You wanted to run back into your building and go hide beneath the covers of your bed like you were six years old all over again.
If only you were different. If only you could better play at the lie that you were like everyone else. If only you really were normal instead of this chaotic mess.
“Okay, that's fine. We don't need to talk,” Daredevil soothed. “How about I just walk you away from the ledge?” he offered.
He slowly rose back up onto his feet beside you, moving cautiously so that he wouldn't startle you. That only made you feel even more foolish. Why the hell couldn't you just be normal? What was so hard about having a conversation?
“Let's get up,” he said calmly, “and I can walk you back over to the rooftop door when you’re ready to go back inside.”
You nodded stiffly in assent, allowing his gloved hands to secure themselves around your upper arms. Carefully he helped you back up onto your feet, gradually turning you towards him before he gingerly guided you away from the edge of the building until he was comfortable with your distance from it.
He kept a gentle, comforting grip on your biceps when he drew you both to a stop, almost as if he knew the exact pressure to use to keep you grounded while your mind disconnected itself from your body. Your heart erratically thundered inside of your chest, and the tears fell a little faster, steadily streaming down your cheeks as the chilly evening wind stung the wet-streaked skin.
Normally your nights with the Devil ended with you growing tired and eventually deciding that tonight was not the night to teeter forward and play the backup plan in your back pocket for when life felt too daunting. You’d never actually frozen on him before because you’d become overwhelmed trying to process the conflicting signals he’d been sending you over these past few weeks.
“Sorry,” you bit out, embarrassed as your fingers squeezed around the plastic container even harder.
What you really meant was: I’m sorry that I’m a burden and that I’ve gone and made more of this entire situation between us than I was supposed to, I just don't know how to properly make sense of what's going on here or navigate normal social situations like everyone else. But you didn’t quite know how to put all of that into words.
“Don’t,” he urged. “Don’t apologize for who you are. Just take your time, I'm right here.”
You caught the firm shake of his masked head when he’d spoken as you stared at his black boots, your teeth gnashing unconsciously along your lower lip as your left hand continued curling and uncurling into a fist. The embarrassment alone was motivation enough for you to focus on trying to slow your thoughts just so that you could reach a point where you could tell him goodnight and dart back inside to the safety of your apartment and away from the complicated and unexpected situation here on the rooftop.
Unfortunately, it took you five painful, drawn out minutes before you could manage that.
Matt’s fingers were casually wrapped around the inside of Foggy’s elbow as he walked, the stiff material of his best friend’s suit a scratchy nuisance against his hand, but he’d chosen to ignore the extra sensory input. His senses were focused on other things this morning as Foggy held open the door to a coffee shop that sat an inconvenient two blocks away from Nelson, Murdock, and Page.
“I really need to stop enabling you, Murdock,” Foggy mused.
A delighted grin tugged itself across Matt’s lips as he followed Foggy inside On the Horizon Coffee, having successfully convinced Foggy to tag along with him for yet another morning visit. As Matt stepped off the sidewalk outside which currently bustled with the usual morning foot traffic, the noise inside of the small shop intensified. So did the strong aroma of coffee and a multitude of flavored syrups and sugary sweet baked goods. Foggy guided him towards the long line behind the counter to order, and Matt’s index finger tapped an impatient rhythm against the folded cane in his left hand.
“You need to become fixated on a girl who frequents coffee shops near our place of business instead,” Foggy continued. “Or just, you know, go talk to her already.”
“I have talked to her,” Matt distractedly replied.
Half his attention was focused on sifting through the commotion of the coffee shop, trying to search it for a trace of your presence. It was never a guarantee that you’d be sitting here drinking a coffee, but every once and awhile he’d get lucky and catch a sign of you before you disappeared for work. You often sat in the far back corner, tucked up against the window with your head bowed over a book and earbuds in your ears as you tried to block out the noise of the coffee shop.
He’d gradually begun to understand you better after you’d confided in him the other week that you were on the spectrum. It hadn’t actually surprised him at all despite how nervous you'd sounded when you’d shared the information with him. Your body had always read differently to his senses, and you weren’t the only one he’d ever picked up on that from. It was actually why he'd noticed you that first time he'd come to this coffee shop to meet with one of his clients.
You'd sounded panicked and terrified, your body radiating unusual levels of fear for someone who was just drinking coffee and reading. He could still recall the sharp, acrid tang of it on his tongue. It'd caught Matt’s attention, distracting him from his meeting as he unprofessionally fumbled his way through it. He'd worried that something was wrong, but when your adrenaline and cortisol eventually lowered a fraction after you'd gotten absorbed into whatever book was in front of you, Matt realized it was just your anxiety that he'd picked up on.
That was how he'd found you on the top of your building. He'd recognized the uneven pattering of your heartbeat and it'd drawn him straight to you when he'd been heading home for the night. He could still hear your sad voice from that first night telling him that you’d went to the rooftop because just knowing there was another option if the world ever became too much was a comfort to you. But it broke part of Matt to learn that the curious girl he’d discovered in the coffee shop weeks ago was the same one spending her nights on a rooftop feeling such overwhelming shame over who she was that she let her teardrops quietly fall one-hundred and fifteen feet to the ground while she contemplated tossing away something so precious every single night.
“I meant as you you and not the other you,” Foggy corrected.
He caught onto the familiar, slightly elevated heartbeat across the coffee shop at the same time that the line shuffled forward. Foggy leaned over towards Matt, his voice lowering as he noticed exactly what Matt just had.
“Your girl is here,” Foggy informed him. “In her usual spot by the window.”
Something eased in Matt’s chest at knowing that you were here, especially after how you’d reacted to him delivering you that cupcake last night. He hadn’t meant to upset you, and he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done wrong with bringing it. He’d hoped to hear the smile in your voice and maybe weasel a few jokes out of you along with a small laugh before you’d gone back inside for the night.
He loved your laugh. He'd become enamored with it the second he’d heard it, which he remembered had been on the third night that he’d stopped by to sit with you on the rooftop. He couldn’t remember the joke that’d pulled it out of you at this point, but he hadn’t forgotten the way your laughter had danced across the wind and echoed against the steel buildings of the city. Truthfully, it was the reason why he’d brought you that rubber chicken the other day, and he’d been rewarded with his favorite sound multiple times that night. Despite the criminals he’d fought as Daredevil on the streets that entire week, the sound of your laughter trilling through the night had felt like his biggest accomplishment.
“What’s she reading?” Matt whispered back.
Foggy shifted beside Matt, craning his neck as he tried to get a view of the cover of your book from across the coffee shop. Moments like this were one of the few rare times where he genuinely cursed his own limitations. None of his heightened senses could ever tell him what book you were so absorbed within the pages of as you drank your latte.
A pleased smile stretched across Matt’s mouth as he tried to imagine you painting your nails. He wondered which night you’d done that. Had it been before or after the rubber chicken? Because he swore he'd felt the tension completely melt out of you that night. You’d relaxed around him fully, no longer giving Matt the impression that you were a second away from disappearing on him but instead warming to his presence.
“You should go introduce yourself this time,” Foggy encouraged. “Go talk to her. I think she’d like that.”
“But then she’d know who I am,” Matt countered.
“So? Your point is?” Foggy demanded as the line inched forward again. “Need I remind you that you once said, and I quote, ‘She’s the only one who’s ever merged both Matt Murdock and the Devil so wholly.’”
The corner of Matt’s mouth dipped downwards as Foggy repeated his words verbatim back at him. He had in fact said that exact line just last week.
“But what if she doesn’t like both sides when they merge for real?” Matt protested. “What if she doesn’t like who I am beneath the mask?”
Foggy’s hand came down with a light smack on Matt’s shoulder, the impact causing Matt to frown. He could hear the air shift as Foggy turned to face him more fully, Matt’s fingers still loosely gripping the inside of his friend’s elbow.
“Well then buddy, it sounds like you’d relate to her exact same daily struggle,” Foggy stated. As he continued, he leaned forward and kept his voice low so as not to attract the attention of the others in the line. “You said that she feels like she wears a mask whenever she steps outside her apartment, afraid of what people might think of who she actually is beneath it. I think she can relate to that better than most, man. And maybe you should actually go introduce yourself to her before she…”
Foggy’s voice abruptly trailed off, and Matt’s frown deepened as he caught the faint pull of muscles on his best friend’s face when he winced. He knew what Foggy had been about to say without him needing to give voice to it. He should introduce himself to you before maybe one night you really did lose that razor thin battle you tortured yourself with on top of your building and Matt no longer had the opportunity.
While the city had long ago begun calling him The Man Without Fear, Matt had suddenly acquired a singular fear that’d haunted him over these past few weeks. He was terrified that the one night he didn’t show on your rooftop might be the one night that you lost that battle. Which was why he’d sent Frank the other night, pleading with him to check on you and just keep you company because he couldn’t make it himself that evening.
“It sounds like she could use a few friends,” Foggy recovered, clearing his throat. “Why don’t we just get a coffee and go say hello? Just a few words. Then maybe when you run into her tonight,” Foggy continued, pulling Matt forward with him as the line moved yet again, “you can give her reason number seventeen or whatever and tell her the truth. Invite her out to Josie’s with us some night after.”
Matt’s brows drew together behind his glasses at the suggestion. “You want me to invite her to Josie’s?”
“Yeah,” Foggy said, bobbing his head. “Or if she’d be more comfortable, invite her to our office for Friday Night Pizza.”
“We don’t have a Friday Night Pizza,” Matt countered.
“Au contraire, Murdock,” Foggy playfully disagreed, raising a singular finger in the air. “We always stay far too late at the office on Friday nights and end up ordering pizza while we try to cram as much work as we can into a few hours, but it always derails into Friday Night Pizza where we sit around the front desk and accomplish nada.”
A grin cracked itself through Matt’s frown. He hadn’t exactly realized it, but that did happen every single Friday night lately. It’d become so much of a routine to him that he hadn’t really noticed it was now a “thing” that the three of them did.
“You want me to invite her to the office?” Matt skeptically clarified. “For pizza?”
“Yeah,” Foggy agreed. “Karen and I feel like we’ve already gotten to know her through all your creepy stalking–”
“I’m not stalking her,” Matt firmly denied.
“–and we’ve been wanting to get our chance to meet her,” Foggy continued, undeterred by Matt’s interruption. “I think she’d fit in great with us misfits. Not that, you know, she’s a misfit or anything.”
With a heavy sigh, Matt’s head shifted a fraction over his shoulder back in your direction. He threw his senses out towards where you sat in the corner by the window, catching how fairly calm your heartbeat sounded as you flipped a page in your book. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go over there and say hello this morning, and he’d admittedly been getting the urge to reveal his identity to you for the past few days.
“I just think she’d round out our group,” Foggy finished. “And you’re clearly obsessed with her.”
Matt’s attention returned to Foggy beside him, the smile fading from his lips. “I’m not obsessed,” he disagreed. “I just…like her.”
“So then go do your Matt Murdock thing and stop being afraid to talk to her,” Foggy replied. “We’re not college freshmen anymore, man. Put your big boy pants on. Let’s go make a new friend today.”
“Fine,” Matt relented. “Fine, we’ll go say a quick hello. But if we freak her out, we’re leaving.”
The rush of excitement that hit Foggy the second Matt agreed was palpable in the air. When his best friend pumped his fist upwards while simultaneously dragging him towards the register to order, Matt couldn’t stop the chuckle from rumbling out. He felt lighter on his feet than he had in weeks just from finally agreeing to approach you, so he didn’t even care when he heard Foggy muttering something about Frank owing him twenty dollars for getting him to finally agree to talk to you.
All that mattered was that Matt would get to hear your pretty voice this morning.
Warnings/tags: 18+; depression, suicidal ideation, angst, feelings of isolation
Every night for nearly three weeks, you've sat on the roof of your apartment building contemplating another day. And every night for nearly three weeks, you eventually find yourself attracting the same company.
I have almost finished the draft of this and it has honestly been a roller-coaster for me to work on. The ending is still up in the air (excuse the pun), but it somehow became equal parts angsty and...pining-y?
Warnings/tags: 18+; depression, suicidal ideation, angst, feelings of isolation
Every night for nearly three weeks, you've sat on the roof of your apartment building contemplating another day. And every night for nearly three weeks, you eventually find yourself attracting the same company.
Warnings/tags: 18+; depression, suicidal ideation, angst, feelings of isolation
Every night for nearly three weeks, you've sat on the roof of your apartment building contemplating another day. And every night for nearly three weeks, you eventually find yourself attracting the same company.
Working on the next chapter of One Good Deed this afternoon and excited that it's finally coming along. But what happens if Tulip finally discovers just which vigilante has actually been stalking her for the past few months? 🙃
So I've been spending the past two weeks working on plotting out an event for October, but since I never participate in Kinktober and it's my birthday month (and I love spooky season), I'm thinking I'll do Bella's Birthday Bash. I had a series planned out for Benjamin Poindexter with a demon!Reader, but I might just turn that into a one shot for now (I already had the first part written) and expand on it later if I want to.
Which means that for all of October I am hoping to have a handful of one shots coming out for all of my favorite fictional men: Matt Murdock, Jax Teller, Frank Castle, Benjamin Poindexter, and quite possibly Raymond Smith and Michael Kinsella. That way no fandom is entirely excluded for the month! The event will include smut, angst, fluff, spooky/horror, and whatever else!
I just don't think I have the mental capacity to write an entire series in a short span of time again like last year, but I might give y'all snippets into some of the strange worlds that exist in my head. Those include: ghost!Reader x Jax Teller (might be a Christmas series later), demon!Reader x Poindexter, frenemies superpowered!Reader x Matt Murdock, witch!Reader x Jax Teller (originally wanted to make this for spooky month), and assassin!Reader x Raymond Smith.
I'll be posting a masterlist for the event soon-ish as I work on plotting out prompts and writing, but I'm also very open to ideas for things. So feel free to drop a prompt or a topic in the comments of this post and maybe it'll make an appearance as a fic in October!!
Hi hello!! I've been reading your dex series and was wondering if there was an update for it? I'm loving it so far!! ☺️☺️
Hello! I'm happy to hear that you've been enjoying your way through One Good Deed! 🤍 I've been working on the next chapter and am hoping to get that draft done soon (it's what I'm trying to work on today). I had changed my initial idea for the next part which had me stuck in a writer's block for a hot minute, but I've got these next two parts figured out. So Good Guy Dex and his Tulip will be back soon! He also just...takes some effort for me to slip back into his headspace 🙃
a/n: There's definitely some spice in this update. But maybe not the kind you expect. Feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is always appreciated!
Sitting hunched over the edge of the bed in your slightly oversized shirt and sleep shorts, your toes absently traced circles along the gray carpet. You twisted the engagement ring between your fingers, studying the solitaire diamond and watching the way it caught the soft rays of sunlight slipping their way between the closed curtains of the bedroom. The diamond delicately sparkled in the quiet stillness of the morning, and you sat silently transfixed by it.
You'd woken up to the sound of a coffee grinder down the hall a few minutes ago, a noise which had even woken Goose from his deep sleep beside you. He’d hopped off the bed and slipped through the partially open door before loping down the hallway out of sight. You figured he'd disappeared to the kitchen probably in search of his own breakfast, and you’d decided the promise of coffee was worth getting up yourself. But after you’d tossed the sheets off, you’d spotted the black ring box sitting on the nightstand and it'd completely distracted you.
You'd put both your engagement ring and the wedding band inside of it last night, finally having somewhere safe to keep them after leaving the hospital. Truthfully you'd never really looked too closely at them while you'd recovered at St. Thomas, too distraught over the whole situation to have much of a desire to examine the rings given to you by a man that you barely knew. They’d been uncomfortable to wear while you'd been in the hospital, so you'd taken them off days ago, keeping them safely tucked in a pocket in the bag of your things that Jax had brought to St. Thomas. During the times he'd visited, his gaze often drifted to your bare finger during conversations, and you'd caught the flicker of hurt behind his eyes whenever he noticed them missing.
Letting your curiosity over them finally win out this morning, you’d taken a minute to really look at them. Both rings were understated but stunning, elegant in their simplicity. The engagement ring was a simple white gold band with a striking, cushion cut diamond. Your wedding band, which sat nestled safely in the box, was a thin band lined with a handful of small, tiny diamonds set into the circumference of it. Paired together, you imagined they looked beautiful when you’d worn them in the past.
But you were more focused on the engagement ring. It was such a small thing, something that easily fit in the palm of your hand, yet it carried more weight than you could actually feel. Because this was the ring the man down the hall currently making coffee had gone to some jeweler and picked out just for you. The very same ring he’d held in his hands while knowing with complete certainty that he wanted you in his future, that he wanted to make an entire life with you. Something you’d once said ‘yes’ to yourself.
This tiny thing in your fingers glittering in the morning light was a physical reminder of what you couldn’t remember. So was that crow tattoo between your shoulder blades that you’d stared at again in the bathroom mirror before you’d gotten ready for bed last night. Somewhere in the span of those last two years that you couldn’t remember, you’d fallen in love with the man down the hall enough to permanently mark your body and to legally bind your life with his. Even if you couldn’t remember any of that, it still meant something.
Releasing a heavy sigh, you leaned over towards the nightstand and gently placed the ring back into the box. You closed the lid before scooting off the end of the bed, a strange feeling settling in your chest. When Jax had come to comfort you last night because he’d overheard you crying in bed, you’d surprisingly found yourself feeling a little more comfortable with him than you had while in the hospital.
You’d also discovered that he was funny. While you'd sleepily asked him a handful of questions about your relationship, he’d entertained you with stories that had you smiling and occasionally laughing as you listened. It was obvious he'd been trying to cheer you up, and you'd found that sweet before eventually drifting off against him. When you'd woken tucked in beneath the sheets alone, you assumed that was Jax’s doing. You felt an odd, unexplainable warmth hum through you at the thought of him carefully laying you down to bed before returning to the couch to sleep.
But none of that meant you felt comfortable enough to wear those two rings in that black, velvet box. While you might’ve legally been his wife, Jax was still just a guy you were living with. A guy you didn’t know that well even if you were starting to open up to him just the tiniest bit.
Shuffling barefoot down the carpeted hallway, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your forehead, trying to push the grogginess of sleep from your mind. The sound of coffee mugs clinking against each other and Goose munching on his cat food filled the house, and so did the bright sunshine flooding through the windows. You walked down the hallway and passed by the living room, summoned towards the kitchen by the warm aroma of coffee brewing, but you immediately stopped in the archway the second you entered.
Jax stood with his back to you wearing only a pair of low slung gray sweatpants, his upper torso bare. You'd seen him in just some black boxers last night when you’d been crying, but with how emotional you'd been, you hadn’t really paid much attention to his state of undress last night. Stumbling on him so exposed in the light of day had an entirely different effect on you, though.
He was busying himself with pouring a cup of coffee into a plain black mug while your eyes traced over each dark line of black ink on his back. It was the same design that was sewn onto the back of his kutte in multiple patches, but these were permanently marked into his skin. Yet another reminder of the man he was forever spanning the entire expanse of his back, reminding you of the parts of him that he still kept hidden from you.
But as the shock of his tattoo slowly started to wear off, your eyes traveled over the rest of him. He spooned some sugar into his mug, still unaware of you behind him staring as he mixed his coffee. Gaze roaming over the pull of muscle beneath skin and ink as he moved, you stood silently mesmerized by him. The way the golden sunlight streamed through the kitchen window across the room, painting him in its honeyed glow and softening his hard edges, had your heart pounding a little heavier. His long, shaggy hair was messy and disheveled in a way that tempted you to slip up behind him and comb your fingers through the unkempt strands.
It hit you hard as everything else in the room abruptly faded and muted into the background. Jax wasn’t just attractive, he was handsome. Effortlessly, ruggedly, devastatingly, and dangerously handsome. He looked nothing like any of your exes, but the sight of him like this in such a calm, domestic setting had your pulse racing in a way not a single one of them had ever managed. The reaction took you by surprise since you hadn’t ever once looked at him like this during his visits to St. Thomas, yet here you were practically dumbstruck by the sight of him this morning.
Mouth growing dry as you gawked at his bare torso, all thoughts disappeared from your mind. You stood there stupidly content to just watch him make a simple cup of coffee as your eyes roamed over every visible inch of him. But when he turned around towards the table with his mug in hand, his gaze met yours.
The sudden eye contact abruptly broke whatever spell you'd temporarily been under. Embarrassed at being caught staring, heat crept up your neck. You blinked hard a couple of times, your attention darting away from him and towards the fresh pot of coffee behind him the second the corner of his lips twisted upwards into a smirk.
“Mornin’,” he greeted you. “Figured coffee would still wake you.”
The rasp of his voice first thing in the morning was sinfully delicious when paired with his disheveled appearance from a night sleeping on the couch. He raised the ceramic mug to his lips for a sip as he ambled towards the kitchen table, and you swiftly ducked around him, moving straight towards the coffee maker on the counter. You were desperate for your own cup and a minute to control your reaction around him, because you hadn’t expected to wake up and be struck with a wave of attraction considering the circumstances. It didn't help that the smug look on his face told you he'd noticed.
“I uh,” you began but quickly fell short. You paused to collect your thoughts, picking up the pot of coffee and beginning to pour some of it into the other mug on the counter. “I assume I never stopped liking coffee then?”
Jax chuckled behind you at the table, the sound making your stomach do some strange swooping thing. What the hell was wrong with you this morning?
“Don't think that's possible,” he answered. “Think I saw you drinkin’ coffee more than water most days. But you always worked long shifts and weird hours, so I never really blamed you.”
“Right,” you muttered to yourself.
Watching the dark liquid fill the cup, you tried to ignore the heat burning at your cheeks and the feel of his eyes on your back. Your throat felt tight at the thought that maybe he was checking you out from behind just like you'd been doing to him.
“So you said you're going to the clubhouse today?” you asked, trying to distract yourself.
“Yeah,” Jax answered behind you. “Gotta go deal with some shit after disappearin’ on everyone all day yesterday. So I might not be home ‘til later tonight, but I'll swing by around lunchtime. Fridge is a little empty at the moment, so I figured I'd bring you that wrap you always liked from the café downtown and we could eat together.”
A thick tension unexpectedly settled in the kitchen as you spooned a bit of sugar into your mug. You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about–the café or the wrap. Charming still remained a mystery to you, a complete blank spot in your mind. You figured you might explore the town more tomorrow after you tried to simply adjust to being in the house today, so you were entirely clueless as to what he was referring to for lunch. But it seemed like something that'd been routine for you both before the accident, and that thought had your inappropriate thoughts melting away.
“Or I can get you something else for lunch,” he added awkwardly after a long pause. “If you want.”
“I'm sure it's fine,” you replied, stirring your coffee. “I appreciate the gesture. Thanks.”
The wooden chair at the table creaked as Jax shifted in it behind you while you continued overstirring your coffee. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you tried to set aside all the confusing feelings running rampant through you this morning. You figured it'd be difficult living with Jax once you were released from the hospital, but you hadn’t realized just how difficult.
“So what're you thinkin’ you might do today, ba–”
At the way he cut himself off, clearing his throat on the word that'd clearly been about to be ‘baby,’ you shot him a sidelong look from your place beside the counter. Your spoon hesitated in the mug, your chest warming strangely at having Jax refer to you like that so casually, especially considering how he currently looked sitting at the table in such beautiful disarray.
He was staring hard down at his own coffee mug, a crease on his forehead giving away his internal conflict. He’d always seemed to carefully avoid calling you anything too intimate, though you'd quietly noticed the occasional slip up. You never commented on it because you imagined it must be difficult for him to break what must've been a normal habit.
“Well, I'm stuck on medical leave for a few weeks because of the amnesia,” you reminded him. Finally pulling the spoon out of your mug, you stepped over to the sink and dropped it in. “Figured I'd try to get reacquainted with everything in the house. Do some laundry and dishes. Maybe see if anything on my phone brings back any memories since you gave me the code to unlock it last night.”
You carried your mug over to the table he was still sitting at and pulled the chair out opposite of him. Sitting down, you forced your gaze out the window to your right, avoiding looking at his bare chest as you sipped on the steaming coffee. You hoped it wasn't as obvious as you felt it was that you were trying not to openly stare at him. If it was, you were grateful he didn’t comment on it.
“That's a good idea,” he replied. “You always took a fuckload of photos and videos of shit. Maybe you'll remember somethin’ looking at ‘em.”
“At the very least, it'll help pass the time,” you said with a heavy sigh. “I've got a few weeks of nothing ahead of me since I can't work now. Not really sure how I’ll survive all that quiet…”
You had no idea how you were going to pass multiple weeks without work, but the medical board that oversaw everything at St. Thomas had decided it was for the best that you took some time off and focused on recovery after the accident. But the last thing you wanted to do was be trapped in a life you didn’t know with nothing but endless free time. At least with work you could’ve had a distraction even if you didn’t remember a single co-worker.
“Hey,” Jax said, ducking his head to catch your eyes. “I said we'll get through this together and I meant it, darlin’. Whatever you need, just ask. Anytime. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
You glanced at him briefly across the table, offering him a tight smile of thanks before picking up your coffee and taking another sip. It was a sweet offer even if you didn’t think there was much he could do to help.
Stretching your legs out in front of yourself along the bed, you leaned back against the headboard while anxiously chewing your thumbnail and scrolling through old text messages on your phone. Not having much to do earlier this morning, you’d crawled back into bed to take a nap after reading one of the books you’d picked up from a shelf in the living room. You couldn't ever remember reading it, so it'd held your interest for a bit until your eyelids started to droop and you’d succumbed to sleep.
After waking from your nap, you realized that you still had a half an hour to pass before Jax returned with lunch, so you’d moved some laundry from the washer to the dryer and decided to look through the contents of your phone. You hoped something in it might help to unlock some past memories, so you’d started with something familiar by scrolling through your texts between Ailani first. Even if you'd forgotten everyone else you'd met over the past two years, at least you'd never forgotten your best friend.
Most of the texts between you two were just the pair of you venting about work or discussing your day, though a few of them were you inviting her out to the clubhouse for parties or her pining over whoever this ‘Juice’ guy was. There were a few selfies of you and Ailani that you’d both sent back and forth to each other, pictures of you two with beers in your hands and smiles on your faces. But a video she’d sent a few weeks back with a message that simply said ‘look at u adorably gross fuckers’ had caught your eye and stopped your scrolling.
Still chewing on your thumbnail, your other thumb hovered over the screen as you hesitated, an unexplainable nervousness creeping through you. Seeing videos of yourself always felt strange now, because while you knew that it was you, it felt as if you were watching somebody else be you since you couldn't recall whatever you were watching.
Eventually you forced yourself to press the play button, ignoring the uncomfortable churning of your stomach. The video came to life with loud music and chatter blaring through your speakers, and you briefly startled at the noise. While the video was a bit dark, it was still bright enough to see that it was taken at the clubhouse–something you only knew from the photos Jax had previously shown you when he'd tried to help jog your memory of the past.
In the video, you sat on Jax’s lap on a couch, watching him take a hit off what looked like a joint in his hand. Squinting at the dark image on your phone and tuning out all of the loud background noise of the party, you saw Jax turn his head and grab your cheek with his other ringed hand before pulling your face towards his. Lips parting in surprise as your thumbnail slipped out from between your teeth, you saw the you in the video press your lips eagerly against Jax’s before shotgunning the hit he’d just taken.
You couldn't tear your eyes away from the screen of your phone, too stunned to even blink. The moment quickly progressed into you and Jax making out on the couch, oblivious or uncaring of the people wandering around you both with beers in their hands. Your fingers tangled into the hair at the back of his head before the video abruptly ended with Ailani's giggle in the background.
Staring wide eyed down at your phone, your mouth hung open as you gaped at the frozen image of you on Jax’s lap and your mouth on his. It was shocking seeing yourself so comfortable with a man that you barely knew, and you certainly never remembered kissing him. It took a long few minutes before you recovered from the surprise of that short clip, your face suddenly feeling as if it was on fire.
You hadn’t stumbled across anything quite that intimate before in the photos and videos Jax had shown you in the hospital, though it made sense that he wouldn't pick something like that to share with you. But the realization that you were about to probably uncover a lot more like this in your phone since he was your husband had a spark of something you weren’t certain how to decipher flicker to life inside of you.
Exiting out of your messages with Ailani, you cautiously pulled up your texts with Jax next. If you were already going down the rabbit hole, you might as well fully dive headfirst into it. It didn't help that you felt almost compelled by something more than simple curiosity, wanting to see what else you would uncover between you and the man who was apparently your husband.
Skimming through the most recent texts between you and Jax, you were surprised at how sweet they were. It was mostly just both of you checking in with each other, sharing what your schedules looked like for the day. A few of the texts were you telling Jax that you were grabbing groceries or listing off dinner ideas for the week. There were a lot of ‘I love you’s’ being exchanged along with cute little pet names in between all of the other messages, and you found yourself softly smiling as you read through them.
You really had loved him once. It was obvious in the way you spoke to him. Which was why you continued scrolling through the text message history with him, desperate to learn more about the details of your relationship from past you's perspective instead of just what Jax had already shared with you. But you didn’t have to scroll too far back to find the types of texts that you'd wondered about existing.
Almost two months ago, not too long before you’d apparently had your accident, there was a whole slew of blatant sexts between you both. There were handfuls of filthy, raunchy things written back and forth to each other over the span of a few hours, and it had surprisingly been instigated by you. Your lips parted on a gasp as you scrolled past a naughty selfie of yourself precariously draped in a towel in the steamy bathroom mirror–the same bathroom just down the hall.
Apparently you'd been teasing Jax on your day off of work, and he'd made repeated ‘threats’ that he would stop home soon to properly show his ‘old lady’ why she couldn’t be distracting him from the club. Your body couldn't resist reacting to his messages, particularly the line where he said he'd fuck you so hard that you'd be bedridden for the rest of the day.
The conversation ended shortly afterwards, and you assumed it was due to Jax stopping back home and ‘handling you’ like he’d said he would in the texts. A warmth of arousal unexpectedly tickled awake low in your gut at the thought of what'd happened after the hours of these texts being exchanged, especially remembering how good he looked this morning.
You found yourself wondering just how good in bed Jax might be before you abruptly shook your head in an attempt to remove the obtrusive thought. But as you closed out of the text messages on your phone, you couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. With how he'd spoken and the way you'd intentionally riled him up, you assumed he wasn't just boasting about his sexual prowess.
Your head fell back against the headboard behind you, eyes drifting up towards the ceiling as you blew out a heavy exhale between your lips. Raising a hand to your face, you pressed your palm against your cheek, feeling the warmth of it radiating against your skin while your heart thudded erratically in your chest.
“Shit,” you cursed softly under your breath.
Letting your hand fall away from your cheek, you swiftly fanned it in front of yourself as you tried to imagine Jax’s voice repeating all those filthy things that you’d read in the texts. You’d never once known a man to be quite so capable of turning you on simply through text messages. No wonder why the you that you couldn’t remember had taken an interest in Jax in the first place, you imagined his flirting must've been impossible to resist. Especially with that dangerous edge of his that you’d usually stay away from, because it radiated from him like a neon sign that screamed “orgasms guaranteed.”
“I think I’m forming a crush on my own husband,” you confessed to the ceiling. “Because damn…”
After taking a minute to recover, you retrieved your phone from your lap and decided you’d do something more tame. Looking through your old photos seemed safe enough, because you weren’t sure if you’d survive reading another round of sexts from Jax at the moment. You also were admittedly curious to see what and who you’d taken photos with over the past few years. But the second you pulled up your phone’s photo albums, your eyes quickly caught onto the private album staring back at you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as a new internal struggle struck you.
Most likely that private album contained nude photos of Jax and possibly ones you might’ve sent to him of yourself. There was the briefest sensation of unease twisting in your stomach, as if you were suddenly holding someone else's phone about to invade their privacy. Nude photos of yourself were one thing, but how would Jax feel knowing you’d discovered a potential treasure trove of his dick pics while he was out this morning?
The smug smirk from him after he’d made his coffee and caught you staring reappeared in your mind. Would he really care if you looked? Technically you had seen him naked plenty of times before, you just didn’t remember it. And he did sound pretty sincere with that comment about letting you maul him if you felt like it. If you were also being honest, you were growing increasingly curious to know what was hidden in this private folder.
“I’m sure it’s just dick pics,” you muttered to yourself. “Not a big deal. A dick is a dick.”
You opened up the folder without allowing yourself an opportunity to overthink it any further. Immediately your eyes widened as your screen filled with far more than just dick pictures. There were most definitely nudes, many of Jax and his apparently jaw-dropping, perfect body. You’d already seen his defined abdominal muscles while having coffee this morning, but having them plastered all over your phone had your teeth sinking deeper into your bottom lip. Even his cock was mouthwateringly impressive, which was why your finger had abruptly clicked on an image to study it closer as if on instinct.
Eyes trailing over the veins along his impressive length, you might’ve embarrassingly emitted a pathetic little whimper at the thought of him fucking you with it. He’d certainly stretch you out with the size of his cock, there wasn’t even a question in your mind about it. It was more than your two hands could hold, and the girth of it had your cunt clenching air. Everything about it had you wishing you could taste it through the screen of your phone.
“Holy shit,” you breathed out. “How is he real?”
Shaking your head, you exited out of that photo and returned to the main album, noticing a handful of videos scattered in amongst all of the naughty images. Blinking down at your phone, you sat dumbfounded on the bed. You couldn’t believe there were actual homemade sex videos on here.
“Who the hell was I after moving to Charming?” you whispered to yourself.
Never could you recall a time in your life that you’d ever considered filming yourself having sex. You’d never felt a desire to in the past, but apparently the you that you couldn’t remember had made videos with her husband–multiple times. But you supposed you couldn’t entirely blame her. Jax was hot.
You stared down at the most recent video on your phone, teeth still nibbling on the flesh of your lower lip. Did you just close out of these without looking any further? Was it wrong of you to watch them when they felt like they were videos of someone else and not yourself? But even if you didn’t recall making any of these, they still were of you. So did you not have the right to watch them if you wanted to?
“Maybe just one…” you muttered to yourself. “For research purposes.”
You quickly pulled up the most recent video, and without delay it started playing on your phone. The sounds of panting breaths and skin on skin filled your room, and the delicious obscenity of it sent blood rushing straight between your thighs and had goosebumps prickling along your forearms. It looked as if the phone was propped against your lamp on the nightstand as the you in the video sat in Jax’s lap. Jax sat upright, his back against the headboard which kept repeatedly smacking into the wall behind it as you rode him.
This didn’t look like some filthy porn, though. Even you could see the level of intimacy in the way your forehead was pressed to Jax’s, your mouth parted mere inches from his as you fucked him, the two of you sharing the same gasping breaths. You had one arm wrapped around his neck and your other hand tangled up in his shaggy, sweaty strands of hair. His own arms were wrapped tightly around you, one snaked low along your waist and the other wrapped around your upper back as his hips moved rhythmically in time with yours.
“That feel good, baby?” Jax’s strained voice asked between panting breaths. “This how much you been missin’ me?”
The you in the video answered with a strained moan, your fingers tightening in his hair as you kept bouncing along his cock. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the screen of your phone, transfixed by the way you both moved together. Your bodies were perfectly in sync, and there was no mistaking the genuine noises of pleasure you were making or the faint tremble in your thighs bracketing his hips. You were not faking a single thing about how much you were enjoying yourself.
“Fuck, fuck,” you whimpered out. “Don’t wanna stop, Jax.”
“Don’t gotta stop, baby,” Jax encouraged. His head abruptly dipped down to your neck in the video, kissing or licking at it, you couldn’t quite tell. His voice came muffled against your skin when he spoke again. “Keep fuckin’ riding me with that tight fuckin’ pussy. Wanna feel you lose yourself on this dick.”
Your own breath was coming in shallower as you watched the two of you going at it, one of Jax’s hands finding your ass and squeezing it as you kept moving along him. A dampness had formed between your thighs, and there was a dull ache throbbing low between them. You couldn’t deny that you were becoming aroused watching such a private moment that you’d once had with your husband. By the time you heard yourself making high pitched whines in the video, the noise of a rumbling engine climbing into the driveway outside cut through the sounds of sex on your phone.
Remembering that Jax was bringing you lunch, you immediately closed out of the video before locking your phone screen. The engine of his bike cut off outside just as you tossed your phone away from yourself on the bed as if you were about to be caught doing something wrong. Smoothing a hand across your forehead, trying to calm the racing of your heart, you tried to forget all of the filthy images and noises still playing in your mind. The front door to the house opened a minute later, and Jax’s voice filled the air as he called out your name. Your eyes guiltily snapped shut.
“I’m just–just in the bedroom,” you called back, eyes still closed. You caught the faint tremble in your voice and hoped he didn’t notice it. “I uh–” you paused, swallowing hard and trying to keep a level tone, “–just had a nap. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“A’ight,” Jax called back. “I got lunch like I promised this mornin’. Figured I’d come see how you’re adjustin’ to everything.”
His heavy footsteps headed in the opposite direction, thankfully carrying him towards the kitchen instead of to the bedroom where you still sat. Opening your eyes to the empty bedroom, you blew a slow breath out, trying and failing not to visualize his perfect dick from those photos you’d found in that hidden album. You struggled to push aside the sound of those low grunts he made while you fucked him, but the memory of his deep groans from that video kept repeating in your head, which only encouraged the dull ache between your thighs.
How the hell were you supposed to sit across the table and eat lunch with him after that?
just wanted to send a message to tell you that you’re doing great and wishing you the absolute best as always🩷🩷🩷
keep up the good work. sending much love always. xoxo
Hey, lovely!! 🤍I always get excited to see you appear in my notifications and this was super sweet, thank you so much! 😭 I'm in such a weird headspace today (side-eyeing my approaching period because I just realized how close it was😒), and this certainly was a much-needed pat on the back. Thank you for thinking of me! Today started off not so great and it's still continuing to trend downwards, but here's to staying positive and focusing on our fictional men instead of bullshit!
I just wanted to tell you how much I love your writing. You’re my favorite writer in the whole world😊🫶
Every fic that I read of yours is absolutely beautiful, You’re amazing and I’m not expecting you to respond to this, but I just wanna let you know that you’re awesome and I love you.😘🫶
This is so incredibly sweet and left me feeling lost for words when I saw your ask this morning. Thank you so much! And favorite writer? Me? 😭🤍 I feel honored you feel that way because I know there's plenty of incredible writers out there. I'm trying to find the proper way to express how I feel without any caffeine in me yet, but of course I'd respond! I appreciate you taking the time to leave such a lovely message, it honestly just made my entire morning.
I truthfully woke up in yet another "do I take a break from tumblr?" moods (the vibes have been off for awhile), but messages like this remind me that there's real people reading and finding distractions or comfort in my stories, which is the main reason I'm happy to keep sharing them. So thank you, you're lovely and I appreciate you! 🥰🫶🏻
No one should have let me finally get a TikTok. All these damn videos have me coming up with stupid fic ideas for our fictional men. Just over here picturing Frank with fake nails, jump scares on Jax, and making TikTok videos switching the question on Matt and watching him get flustered and frustrated at the edit.
a/n: There's definitely some spice in this update. But maybe not the kind you expect. Feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is always appreciated!
Sitting hunched over the edge of the bed in your slightly oversized shirt and sleep shorts, your toes absently traced circles along the gray carpet. You twisted the engagement ring between your fingers, studying the solitaire diamond and watching the way it caught the soft rays of sunlight slipping their way between the closed curtains of the bedroom. The diamond delicately sparkled in the quiet stillness of the morning, and you sat silently transfixed by it.
You'd woken up to the sound of a coffee grinder down the hall a few minutes ago, a noise which had even woken Goose from his deep sleep beside you. He’d hopped off the bed and slipped through the partially open door before loping down the hallway out of sight. You figured he'd disappeared to the kitchen probably in search of his own breakfast, and you’d decided the promise of coffee was worth getting up yourself. But after you’d tossed the sheets off, you’d spotted the black ring box sitting on the nightstand and it'd completely distracted you.
You'd put both your engagement ring and the wedding band inside of it last night, finally having somewhere safe to keep them after leaving the hospital. Truthfully you'd never really looked too closely at them while you'd recovered at St. Thomas, too distraught over the whole situation to have much of a desire to examine the rings given to you by a man that you barely knew. They’d been uncomfortable to wear while you'd been in the hospital, so you'd taken them off days ago, keeping them safely tucked in a pocket in the bag of your things that Jax had brought to St. Thomas. During the times he'd visited, his gaze often drifted to your bare finger during conversations, and you'd caught the flicker of hurt behind his eyes whenever he noticed them missing.
Letting your curiosity over them finally win out this morning, you’d taken a minute to really look at them. Both rings were understated but stunning, elegant in their simplicity. The engagement ring was a simple white gold band with a striking, cushion cut diamond. Your wedding band, which sat nestled safely in the box, was a thin band lined with a handful of small, tiny diamonds set into the circumference of it. Paired together, you imagined they looked beautiful when you’d worn them in the past.
But you were more focused on the engagement ring. It was such a small thing, something that easily fit in the palm of your hand, yet it carried more weight than you could actually feel. Because this was the ring the man down the hall currently making coffee had gone to some jeweler and picked out just for you. The very same ring he’d held in his hands while knowing with complete certainty that he wanted you in his future, that he wanted to make an entire life with you. Something you’d once said ‘yes’ to yourself.
This tiny thing in your fingers glittering in the morning light was a physical reminder of what you couldn’t remember. So was that crow tattoo between your shoulder blades that you’d stared at again in the bathroom mirror before you’d gotten ready for bed last night. Somewhere in the span of those last two years that you couldn’t remember, you’d fallen in love with the man down the hall enough to permanently mark your body and to legally bind your life with his. Even if you couldn’t remember any of that, it still meant something.
Releasing a heavy sigh, you leaned over towards the nightstand and gently placed the ring back into the box. You closed the lid before scooting off the end of the bed, a strange feeling settling in your chest. When Jax had come to comfort you last night because he’d overheard you crying in bed, you’d surprisingly found yourself feeling a little more comfortable with him than you had while in the hospital.
You’d also discovered that he was funny. While you'd sleepily asked him a handful of questions about your relationship, he’d entertained you with stories that had you smiling and occasionally laughing as you listened. It was obvious he'd been trying to cheer you up, and you'd found that sweet before eventually drifting off against him. When you'd woken tucked in beneath the sheets alone, you assumed that was Jax’s doing. You felt an odd, unexplainable warmth hum through you at the thought of him carefully laying you down to bed before returning to the couch to sleep.
But none of that meant you felt comfortable enough to wear those two rings in that black, velvet box. While you might’ve legally been his wife, Jax was still just a guy you were living with. A guy you didn’t know that well even if you were starting to open up to him just the tiniest bit.
Shuffling barefoot down the carpeted hallway, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your forehead, trying to push the grogginess of sleep from your mind. The sound of coffee mugs clinking against each other and Goose munching on his cat food filled the house, and so did the bright sunshine flooding through the windows. You walked down the hallway and passed by the living room, summoned towards the kitchen by the warm aroma of coffee brewing, but you immediately stopped in the archway the second you entered.
Jax stood with his back to you wearing only a pair of low slung gray sweatpants, his upper torso bare. You'd seen him in just some black boxers last night when you’d been crying, but with how emotional you'd been, you hadn’t really paid much attention to his state of undress last night. Stumbling on him so exposed in the light of day had an entirely different effect on you, though.
He was busying himself with pouring a cup of coffee into a plain black mug while your eyes traced over each dark line of black ink on his back. It was the same design that was sewn onto the back of his kutte in multiple patches, but these were permanently marked into his skin. Yet another reminder of the man he was forever spanning the entire expanse of his back, reminding you of the parts of him that he still kept hidden from you.
But as the shock of his tattoo slowly started to wear off, your eyes traveled over the rest of him. He spooned some sugar into his mug, still unaware of you behind him staring as he mixed his coffee. Gaze roaming over the pull of muscle beneath skin and ink as he moved, you stood silently mesmerized by him. The way the golden sunlight streamed through the kitchen window across the room, painting him in its honeyed glow and softening his hard edges, had your heart pounding a little heavier. His long, shaggy hair was messy and disheveled in a way that tempted you to slip up behind him and comb your fingers through the unkempt strands.
It hit you hard as everything else in the room abruptly faded and muted into the background. Jax wasn’t just attractive, he was handsome. Effortlessly, ruggedly, devastatingly, and dangerously handsome. He looked nothing like any of your exes, but the sight of him like this in such a calm, domestic setting had your pulse racing in a way not a single one of them had ever managed. The reaction took you by surprise since you hadn’t ever once looked at him like this during his visits to St. Thomas, yet here you were practically dumbstruck by the sight of him this morning.
Mouth growing dry as you gawked at his bare torso, all thoughts disappeared from your mind. You stood there stupidly content to just watch him make a simple cup of coffee as your eyes roamed over every visible inch of him. But when he turned around towards the table with his mug in hand, his gaze met yours.
The sudden eye contact abruptly broke whatever spell you'd temporarily been under. Embarrassed at being caught staring, heat crept up your neck. You blinked hard a couple of times, your attention darting away from him and towards the fresh pot of coffee behind him the second the corner of his lips twisted upwards into a smirk.
“Mornin’,” he greeted you. “Figured coffee would still wake you.”
The rasp of his voice first thing in the morning was sinfully delicious when paired with his disheveled appearance from a night sleeping on the couch. He raised the ceramic mug to his lips for a sip as he ambled towards the kitchen table, and you swiftly ducked around him, moving straight towards the coffee maker on the counter. You were desperate for your own cup and a minute to control your reaction around him, because you hadn’t expected to wake up and be struck with a wave of attraction considering the circumstances. It didn't help that the smug look on his face told you he'd noticed.
“I uh,” you began but quickly fell short. You paused to collect your thoughts, picking up the pot of coffee and beginning to pour some of it into the other mug on the counter. “I assume I never stopped liking coffee then?”
Jax chuckled behind you at the table, the sound making your stomach do some strange swooping thing. What the hell was wrong with you this morning?
“Don't think that's possible,” he answered. “Think I saw you drinkin’ coffee more than water most days. But you always worked long shifts and weird hours, so I never really blamed you.”
“Right,” you muttered to yourself.
Watching the dark liquid fill the cup, you tried to ignore the heat burning at your cheeks and the feel of his eyes on your back. Your throat felt tight at the thought that maybe he was checking you out from behind just like you'd been doing to him.
“So you said you're going to the clubhouse today?” you asked, trying to distract yourself.
“Yeah,” Jax answered behind you. “Gotta go deal with some shit after disappearin’ on everyone all day yesterday. So I might not be home ‘til later tonight, but I'll swing by around lunchtime. Fridge is a little empty at the moment, so I figured I'd bring you that wrap you always liked from the café downtown and we could eat together.”
A thick tension unexpectedly settled in the kitchen as you spooned a bit of sugar into your mug. You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about–the café or the wrap. Charming still remained a mystery to you, a complete blank spot in your mind. You figured you might explore the town more tomorrow after you tried to simply adjust to being in the house today, so you were entirely clueless as to what he was referring to for lunch. But it seemed like something that'd been routine for you both before the accident, and that thought had your inappropriate thoughts melting away.
“Or I can get you something else for lunch,” he added awkwardly after a long pause. “If you want.”
“I'm sure it's fine,” you replied, stirring your coffee. “I appreciate the gesture. Thanks.”
The wooden chair at the table creaked as Jax shifted in it behind you while you continued overstirring your coffee. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you tried to set aside all the confusing feelings running rampant through you this morning. You figured it'd be difficult living with Jax once you were released from the hospital, but you hadn’t realized just how difficult.
“So what're you thinkin’ you might do today, ba–”
At the way he cut himself off, clearing his throat on the word that'd clearly been about to be ‘baby,’ you shot him a sidelong look from your place beside the counter. Your spoon hesitated in the mug, your chest warming strangely at having Jax refer to you like that so casually, especially considering how he currently looked sitting at the table in such beautiful disarray.
He was staring hard down at his own coffee mug, a crease on his forehead giving away his internal conflict. He’d always seemed to carefully avoid calling you anything too intimate, though you'd quietly noticed the occasional slip up. You never commented on it because you imagined it must be difficult for him to break what must've been a normal habit.
“Well, I'm stuck on medical leave for a few weeks because of the amnesia,” you reminded him. Finally pulling the spoon out of your mug, you stepped over to the sink and dropped it in. “Figured I'd try to get reacquainted with everything in the house. Do some laundry and dishes. Maybe see if anything on my phone brings back any memories since you gave me the code to unlock it last night.”
You carried your mug over to the table he was still sitting at and pulled the chair out opposite of him. Sitting down, you forced your gaze out the window to your right, avoiding looking at his bare chest as you sipped on the steaming coffee. You hoped it wasn't as obvious as you felt it was that you were trying not to openly stare at him. If it was, you were grateful he didn’t comment on it.
“That's a good idea,” he replied. “You always took a fuckload of photos and videos of shit. Maybe you'll remember somethin’ looking at ‘em.”
“At the very least, it'll help pass the time,” you said with a heavy sigh. “I've got a few weeks of nothing ahead of me since I can't work now. Not really sure how I’ll survive all that quiet…”
You had no idea how you were going to pass multiple weeks without work, but the medical board that oversaw everything at St. Thomas had decided it was for the best that you took some time off and focused on recovery after the accident. But the last thing you wanted to do was be trapped in a life you didn’t know with nothing but endless free time. At least with work you could’ve had a distraction even if you didn’t remember a single co-worker.
“Hey,” Jax said, ducking his head to catch your eyes. “I said we'll get through this together and I meant it, darlin’. Whatever you need, just ask. Anytime. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
You glanced at him briefly across the table, offering him a tight smile of thanks before picking up your coffee and taking another sip. It was a sweet offer even if you didn’t think there was much he could do to help.
Stretching your legs out in front of yourself along the bed, you leaned back against the headboard while anxiously chewing your thumbnail and scrolling through old text messages on your phone. Not having much to do earlier this morning, you’d crawled back into bed to take a nap after reading one of the books you’d picked up from a shelf in the living room. You couldn't ever remember reading it, so it'd held your interest for a bit until your eyelids started to droop and you’d succumbed to sleep.
After waking from your nap, you realized that you still had a half an hour to pass before Jax returned with lunch, so you’d moved some laundry from the washer to the dryer and decided to look through the contents of your phone. You hoped something in it might help to unlock some past memories, so you’d started with something familiar by scrolling through your texts between Ailani first. Even if you'd forgotten everyone else you'd met over the past two years, at least you'd never forgotten your best friend.
Most of the texts between you two were just the pair of you venting about work or discussing your day, though a few of them were you inviting her out to the clubhouse for parties or her pining over whoever this ‘Juice’ guy was. There were a few selfies of you and Ailani that you’d both sent back and forth to each other, pictures of you two with beers in your hands and smiles on your faces. But a video she’d sent a few weeks back with a message that simply said ‘look at u adorably gross fuckers’ had caught your eye and stopped your scrolling.
Still chewing on your thumbnail, your other thumb hovered over the screen as you hesitated, an unexplainable nervousness creeping through you. Seeing videos of yourself always felt strange now, because while you knew that it was you, it felt as if you were watching somebody else be you since you couldn't recall whatever you were watching.
Eventually you forced yourself to press the play button, ignoring the uncomfortable churning of your stomach. The video came to life with loud music and chatter blaring through your speakers, and you briefly startled at the noise. While the video was a bit dark, it was still bright enough to see that it was taken at the clubhouse–something you only knew from the photos Jax had previously shown you when he'd tried to help jog your memory of the past.
In the video, you sat on Jax’s lap on a couch, watching him take a hit off what looked like a joint in his hand. Squinting at the dark image on your phone and tuning out all of the loud background noise of the party, you saw Jax turn his head and grab your cheek with his other ringed hand before pulling your face towards his. Lips parting in surprise as your thumbnail slipped out from between your teeth, you saw the you in the video press your lips eagerly against Jax’s before shotgunning the hit he’d just taken.
You couldn't tear your eyes away from the screen of your phone, too stunned to even blink. The moment quickly progressed into you and Jax making out on the couch, oblivious or uncaring of the people wandering around you both with beers in their hands. Your fingers tangled into the hair at the back of his head before the video abruptly ended with Ailani's giggle in the background.
Staring wide eyed down at your phone, your mouth hung open as you gaped at the frozen image of you on Jax’s lap and your mouth on his. It was shocking seeing yourself so comfortable with a man that you barely knew, and you certainly never remembered kissing him. It took a long few minutes before you recovered from the surprise of that short clip, your face suddenly feeling as if it was on fire.
You hadn’t stumbled across anything quite that intimate before in the photos and videos Jax had shown you in the hospital, though it made sense that he wouldn't pick something like that to share with you. But the realization that you were about to probably uncover a lot more like this in your phone since he was your husband had a spark of something you weren’t certain how to decipher flicker to life inside of you.
Exiting out of your messages with Ailani, you cautiously pulled up your texts with Jax next. If you were already going down the rabbit hole, you might as well fully dive headfirst into it. It didn't help that you felt almost compelled by something more than simple curiosity, wanting to see what else you would uncover between you and the man who was apparently your husband.
Skimming through the most recent texts between you and Jax, you were surprised at how sweet they were. It was mostly just both of you checking in with each other, sharing what your schedules looked like for the day. A few of the texts were you telling Jax that you were grabbing groceries or listing off dinner ideas for the week. There were a lot of ‘I love you’s’ being exchanged along with cute little pet names in between all of the other messages, and you found yourself softly smiling as you read through them.
You really had loved him once. It was obvious in the way you spoke to him. Which was why you continued scrolling through the text message history with him, desperate to learn more about the details of your relationship from past you's perspective instead of just what Jax had already shared with you. But you didn’t have to scroll too far back to find the types of texts that you'd wondered about existing.
Almost two months ago, not too long before you’d apparently had your accident, there was a whole slew of blatant sexts between you both. There were handfuls of filthy, raunchy things written back and forth to each other over the span of a few hours, and it had surprisingly been instigated by you. Your lips parted on a gasp as you scrolled past a naughty selfie of yourself precariously draped in a towel in the steamy bathroom mirror–the same bathroom just down the hall.
Apparently you'd been teasing Jax on your day off of work, and he'd made repeated ‘threats’ that he would stop home soon to properly show his ‘old lady’ why she couldn’t be distracting him from the club. Your body couldn't resist reacting to his messages, particularly the line where he said he'd fuck you so hard that you'd be bedridden for the rest of the day.
The conversation ended shortly afterwards, and you assumed it was due to Jax stopping back home and ‘handling you’ like he’d said he would in the texts. A warmth of arousal unexpectedly tickled awake low in your gut at the thought of what'd happened after the hours of these texts being exchanged, especially remembering how good he looked this morning.
You found yourself wondering just how good in bed Jax might be before you abruptly shook your head in an attempt to remove the obtrusive thought. But as you closed out of the text messages on your phone, you couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. With how he'd spoken and the way you'd intentionally riled him up, you assumed he wasn't just boasting about his sexual prowess.
Your head fell back against the headboard behind you, eyes drifting up towards the ceiling as you blew out a heavy exhale between your lips. Raising a hand to your face, you pressed your palm against your cheek, feeling the warmth of it radiating against your skin while your heart thudded erratically in your chest.
“Shit,” you cursed softly under your breath.
Letting your hand fall away from your cheek, you swiftly fanned it in front of yourself as you tried to imagine Jax’s voice repeating all those filthy things that you’d read in the texts. You’d never once known a man to be quite so capable of turning you on simply through text messages. No wonder why the you that you couldn’t remember had taken an interest in Jax in the first place, you imagined his flirting must've been impossible to resist. Especially with that dangerous edge of his that you’d usually stay away from, because it radiated from him like a neon sign that screamed “orgasms guaranteed.”
“I think I’m forming a crush on my own husband,” you confessed to the ceiling. “Because damn…”
After taking a minute to recover, you retrieved your phone from your lap and decided you’d do something more tame. Looking through your old photos seemed safe enough, because you weren’t sure if you’d survive reading another round of sexts from Jax at the moment. You also were admittedly curious to see what and who you’d taken photos with over the past few years. But the second you pulled up your phone’s photo albums, your eyes quickly caught onto the private album staring back at you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as a new internal struggle struck you.
Most likely that private album contained nude photos of Jax and possibly ones you might’ve sent to him of yourself. There was the briefest sensation of unease twisting in your stomach, as if you were suddenly holding someone else's phone about to invade their privacy. Nude photos of yourself were one thing, but how would Jax feel knowing you’d discovered a potential treasure trove of his dick pics while he was out this morning?
The smug smirk from him after he’d made his coffee and caught you staring reappeared in your mind. Would he really care if you looked? Technically you had seen him naked plenty of times before, you just didn’t remember it. And he did sound pretty sincere with that comment about letting you maul him if you felt like it. If you were also being honest, you were growing increasingly curious to know what was hidden in this private folder.
“I’m sure it’s just dick pics,” you muttered to yourself. “Not a big deal. A dick is a dick.”
You opened up the folder without allowing yourself an opportunity to overthink it any further. Immediately your eyes widened as your screen filled with far more than just dick pictures. There were most definitely nudes, many of Jax and his apparently jaw-dropping, perfect body. You’d already seen his defined abdominal muscles while having coffee this morning, but having them plastered all over your phone had your teeth sinking deeper into your bottom lip. Even his cock was mouthwateringly impressive, which was why your finger had abruptly clicked on an image to study it closer as if on instinct.
Eyes trailing over the veins along his impressive length, you might’ve embarrassingly emitted a pathetic little whimper at the thought of him fucking you with it. He’d certainly stretch you out with the size of his cock, there wasn’t even a question in your mind about it. It was more than your two hands could hold, and the girth of it had your cunt clenching air. Everything about it had you wishing you could taste it through the screen of your phone.
“Holy shit,” you breathed out. “How is he real?”
Shaking your head, you exited out of that photo and returned to the main album, noticing a handful of videos scattered in amongst all of the naughty images. Blinking down at your phone, you sat dumbfounded on the bed. You couldn’t believe there were actual homemade sex videos on here.
“Who the hell was I after moving to Charming?” you whispered to yourself.
Never could you recall a time in your life that you’d ever considered filming yourself having sex. You’d never felt a desire to in the past, but apparently the you that you couldn’t remember had made videos with her husband–multiple times. But you supposed you couldn’t entirely blame her. Jax was hot.
You stared down at the most recent video on your phone, teeth still nibbling on the flesh of your lower lip. Did you just close out of these without looking any further? Was it wrong of you to watch them when they felt like they were videos of someone else and not yourself? But even if you didn’t recall making any of these, they still were of you. So did you not have the right to watch them if you wanted to?
“Maybe just one…” you muttered to yourself. “For research purposes.”
You quickly pulled up the most recent video, and without delay it started playing on your phone. The sounds of panting breaths and skin on skin filled your room, and the delicious obscenity of it sent blood rushing straight between your thighs and had goosebumps prickling along your forearms. It looked as if the phone was propped against your lamp on the nightstand as the you in the video sat in Jax’s lap. Jax sat upright, his back against the headboard which kept repeatedly smacking into the wall behind it as you rode him.
This didn’t look like some filthy porn, though. Even you could see the level of intimacy in the way your forehead was pressed to Jax’s, your mouth parted mere inches from his as you fucked him, the two of you sharing the same gasping breaths. You had one arm wrapped around his neck and your other hand tangled up in his shaggy, sweaty strands of hair. His own arms were wrapped tightly around you, one snaked low along your waist and the other wrapped around your upper back as his hips moved rhythmically in time with yours.
“That feel good, baby?” Jax’s strained voice asked between panting breaths. “This how much you been missin’ me?”
The you in the video answered with a strained moan, your fingers tightening in his hair as you kept bouncing along his cock. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the screen of your phone, transfixed by the way you both moved together. Your bodies were perfectly in sync, and there was no mistaking the genuine noises of pleasure you were making or the faint tremble in your thighs bracketing his hips. You were not faking a single thing about how much you were enjoying yourself.
“Fuck, fuck,” you whimpered out. “Don’t wanna stop, Jax.”
“Don’t gotta stop, baby,” Jax encouraged. His head abruptly dipped down to your neck in the video, kissing or licking at it, you couldn’t quite tell. His voice came muffled against your skin when he spoke again. “Keep fuckin’ riding me with that tight fuckin’ pussy. Wanna feel you lose yourself on this dick.”
Your own breath was coming in shallower as you watched the two of you going at it, one of Jax’s hands finding your ass and squeezing it as you kept moving along him. A dampness had formed between your thighs, and there was a dull ache throbbing low between them. You couldn’t deny that you were becoming aroused watching such a private moment that you’d once had with your husband. By the time you heard yourself making high pitched whines in the video, the noise of a rumbling engine climbing into the driveway outside cut through the sounds of sex on your phone.
Remembering that Jax was bringing you lunch, you immediately closed out of the video before locking your phone screen. The engine of his bike cut off outside just as you tossed your phone away from yourself on the bed as if you were about to be caught doing something wrong. Smoothing a hand across your forehead, trying to calm the racing of your heart, you tried to forget all of the filthy images and noises still playing in your mind. The front door to the house opened a minute later, and Jax’s voice filled the air as he called out your name. Your eyes guiltily snapped shut.
“I’m just–just in the bedroom,” you called back, eyes still closed. You caught the faint tremble in your voice and hoped he didn’t notice it. “I uh–” you paused, swallowing hard and trying to keep a level tone, “–just had a nap. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“A’ight,” Jax called back. “I got lunch like I promised this mornin’. Figured I’d come see how you’re adjustin’ to everything.”
His heavy footsteps headed in the opposite direction, thankfully carrying him towards the kitchen instead of to the bedroom where you still sat. Opening your eyes to the empty bedroom, you blew a slow breath out, trying and failing not to visualize his perfect dick from those photos you’d found in that hidden album. You struggled to push aside the sound of those low grunts he made while you fucked him, but the memory of his deep groans from that video kept repeating in your head, which only encouraged the dull ache between your thighs.
How the hell were you supposed to sit across the table and eat lunch with him after that?
I love the latest chapter but girl I am holding my breathe for what’s gonna happen to our gym girl!!!! Will that be coming out soon?🫶🏻
I did leave y'all on a cliffhanger in the last chapter of No Chance in Hell, so I had the next part already drafted so y'all wouldn't be in suspense forever, anon! So far that's the only other thing I have completely drafted, meaning it'll most likely come out sometime next week since I just updated The Way That It Hurts this week. I did start working on the sixth chapter of that series too, but I'm also trying to write a handful of one shots ahead of October for an event, so my updates might come out slower. But I am very excited for the next few chapters 🙃
And I think we both know where Jax’s head might be at if and when he learns what happened to his Peaches:
