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cellophaine · 10 months

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Lingered Affection (Chapter XIV)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Word Count: 5773.

Series Summary: You thought breaking up with Matt was the right thing to do. For his sake and yours. Life went on as you navigated through it with the lingered love and affection you still had for each other, neither of you could let go.

Chapter Warnings: Abusive parents.

Author's Note: Reupload since I added a few things to the "heist" which are important for future chapters!

GIF Credit

You had never felt a low like this, the kind of low that escaped your mind and seeped into your physical body, dragging you down and down to the point you felt like your body was filled with lead. Your eyes watched as the scenery went by from the other side of the tinted window, mind deep in thoughts. You felt like a muppet at the end of your father's strings, helpless to his machination. To be wounded up in his web again and to do nothing but follow. And right now, those strings were pulling you to your father's research lab, which served a different function tonight.

The building looked somewhat newly renovated compared to other structures in Yorkville. Only five floors high, with glossy glass panes and a white brick exterior, the infrastructure still exuded that refinement that allowed it to bond well with the rest of the neighbourhood. You exited the car before the doorman could even offer assistance and observed your surroundings. Judging by the pressed suits and extravagant gowns pouring from expensive vehicles into the wide-open entrance, this fundraiser was indeed a big deal.

You dropped off your modest coat at the front desk, hanging onto your small purse before joining a group of eager people in the elevator. You watched as the number went up until it reached the highest digit, listening to the conversations that arose in the small space. The door opened, welcoming you into the excitement lying ahead. Once again, you were surprised by how grand everything was. The room was fairly large, with a high ceiling. An impressive chandelier hung from it, lighting the room up from where you stood. Partygoers were in abundance, chatting amongst themselves or gathering in groups and couples, posing with their smiling faces for photographers. Servers weaved through that traffic with agility; trays of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres were never so much as falter on their course. You stood idly on the sideline, feeling out of place as you watched more guests arrive. They busied themselves with greetings, gossip, and those canapé pieces that never quite satisfied anyone.

Everything about it screamed old money, and even though your father was far from it, you hated how seamlessly he blended in. He was a fucking natural. A respectable man of his profession. But no one here knew who he really was, and if you had to be honest, they probably wouldn't care.

You moved slowly, your eyes searching for your parents, when a person walked into your path. A man about your father's age gave you a look of acknowledgment and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

You answered, somewhat hesitant at his intense stare.

"My name is Andrew. Your father is requesting your presence at his office."

Your sardonic smile went unnoticed.

"Why? He doesn't trust that I can be on my own?"

"He would like to go over a few things before the event with you."

You sighed, making a gesture for him to lead the way. Andrew only nodded before turning on his heels. He cut through the crowd of people to go down a hallway. You followed him until the sound of the party was only background noise, stopping in front of a large dark wood door with your father's nameplate. The older man opened the door, inviting you to step inside. The office was quite plain, which wasn't what you expected from your father. More dark wood, bookshelves, cabinets and a modern touch of black leather. One of the walls was decorated heavily with plaques bolted to the wood and awards on floating shelves. Of course, he brought all of his achievements to New York. The sight reminded you of his office back at home; the shiny plaques looked down on you when you bore his insults and beatings. A chill rose along your spine, making you shiver involuntarily. It was dead quiet here, save for the crackling of the fire, and that was when you realized you were left alone with your father.

He worked at the cuffs of his sleeves, looking at you through the mirror above the fireplace. You sucked in an unsteady breath, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Where's Clarice?"

"She's your mother and you will call her as such."

You scoffed bitterly.

"I'd rather not. I'm only here because you threatened me. Besides, she's made it clear that she hates me, so there's no need for pretense."

Your father's scowl told you he wasn't happy with your snide remark.

"A lot of important people are here, and I would hate it if you ruined this for me. Be on your best behaviour tonight."

Having finished the final details on his attire, he crossed the room until he met you at a closer distance. One that you weren't comfortable with, but you stood your ground.

"Of course. Have I ever disappointed you?"

You replied with a sarcastic tone and a slight smile on your lips. With a sharp movement, your father's hand was on your jaw, gripping painfully.

"Careful. Don't fuck around tonight. Am I clear?"

He enunciated each word with a warning echo, ensuring you didn't miss how much he meant it. You returned his scowl, glaring and resisting his display of power. Until he roared into your face.

"Am I clear?"

Eventually, you nodded. Not satisfied with what you gave him, your father shook your jaw harder.

"Speak!"

"Yes. Yes!"

The second yes came out harsher than he would like, so he used his force to push you back, throwing you off balance.

"Compose yourself."

Your hand came up to brush off the remnant of his grip as you loosened your jaw. No one was watching, but you felt the shame anyway. Your face burned with it, and you could feel the tears sting at the rims of your eyes. You willed yourself not to crumble in front of him, and you felt like you were doing a good job at it as you reached the entrance to the main room with your father only five steps ahead.

"Stay out of my sight, and don't embarrass me. Get on the stage when it's your cue."

You were relieved when he left you by yourself. You found a spot next to a long table decorated with trays of finger food, fruit and empty glasses. You could see your father heading towards your mother from where you were standing. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, proudly displaying his affection and brought her into his embrace. You could see it so clearly, too, the cold and uncaring gaze when your mother's eyes settled on you from over your father's shoulder. She gave you a warning look before hooking her arm through your father's inviting one. You were only at the back of their minds and the least of their concern as long as you did what they told you to. And for tonight, you didn't even care to make trouble. You just wanted it to be over with. You would get what you needed and get the hell out.

A server walked by you, and with a sleight of hand, you plucked two fresh flutes of champagne out of her tray. You knocked them back before setting the empty glasses on the table. The bubbly finish coated your tongue and mind, taking the edge off your nerves. Warmth rushed through your body, and you were grateful for it. Anything that triumphed over the burn of embarrassment, humiliation, and shame you felt. Anything that didn't make you feel small and helpless.

You sucked on your teeth, momentarily distracted by how empty your stomach was. You hadn't eaten much due to nerves and were afraid the alcohol would get to your head too quickly. You glanced at the table to take in your options. Those pitiful pieces of lemon pie didn't look too terrible. You served yourself a good portion and gulped it down before checking your phone. Nothing yet. Before you could go back to sulking, a hand grabbed your arm, startling you. You whirled around; your eyes widened in alarm even when they settled on the sight of Matt standing so close to you. Your heartbeat picked up regardless, and for more than one reason, as he took your hand and pulled you towards the darkened hallway. His hold was firm despite your relentless effort to break free. He didn't stop until your back was against the wall, trapping you between his arms on either side of you. With your guard relaxed, still, you shoved him back, and you wouldn't disagree if someone said that push was personal. He barely budged.

"Matt?! What are you doing here?"

You hissed lowly.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He returned your fire.

"Did you follow me here?"

You refused to let him turn the argument onto you.

"That doesn't matter right now. Why are you here? I thought you didn't want to be anywhere near your father."

You knew that, and you had established as much, but–

"He … forced me."

Matt softened at that. The corner of his mouth formed a frown of empathy and understanding. You knew that even though he didn't know the full extent of it, he understood the complexity between you and your parents. Matt hesitantly caressed your arms, raising goosebumps along the patch of skin that his fingers touched.

"You could've come to me for help."

His voice was calm, hushed, in the way that urged you to be truthful with him. You bit your bottom lip to prevent the slight quiver and shook your head with a sense of finality.

"No, I couldn't."

You hated the weakness that you failed to mask. Wordlessly, you pulled yourself free from Matt's embrace and walked back to the party with him not too far behind.

The sound of microphone feedback rang out loudly, drawing your and everyone else's attention to the man on the stage. The music faded, and the lights in the room dimmed, save for the elevated platform to reveal your parents. With a champagne glass in one hand, your father tapped the mic a few times, waiting for the room to quiet down. After a long moment, when the almost-silence finally satisfied him, he began with a broad smile.

"Thank you everyone for coming here tonight!"

That earned jarringly loud cheers and whoops as your father nodded at the crowd approvingly.

"It is my great honour to host this fundraiser where I have worked everyday for the past two months. The reason we hold it here is because this is where all the ideas and brainstorming come to fruition. This is where we make those ideas into reality, where we feel connected to what we strive for. So take a look around, because this is where miracles happen."

Your father took a deliberate pause for the expected rounds of applause.

"I would like to express my gratitude to many of you for being generous donors to a noble cause. I appreciate everyone just for being here tonight."

He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, there was the slightest hint of tears in the purposeful tremor of his voice.

"There's another reason for my gratitude tonight. I'm only a man, and I could not have done this without my family. My daughter is the reason why I'm always inspired, why I always strive to be a better man, a better scientist, and most importantly, a better father. Come up here, sweetheart."

Your heart dropped at the nickname as the cheers rose once more. You stared wide-eyed at your father as he motioned for you to come forward. You felt like you were forced to move with all the eyes on you, watching, staring. Matt's warm hand on your wrist fell away when you gingerly made your way toward the stage, a bone-deep cold taking over your body. The overhead light found you, locking you in your path with its brightness. You felt like a deer in the headlights, alienated and afraid. The closer you were, the better you saw your father's beaming face and what looked like a genuine smile on your mother's. The sight looked surreal as if your mind had made it up. With final agonizing steps, you made it to your parents' side. They wounded their arms around you, tightening like a vice as if you were about to bolt at any moment. The stage light was so bright it hurt your eyes. You tried to loosen your parents' grip on you, but they locked you tightly in place.

"My daughter, in a rebellious fit, ran away from home. We poured our hearts, minds and best resources in finding her. And we did. Our family is reconciled, and I couldn't be happier that she's here with us tonight, as how it always should be. And along with the initial success of my project, this is truly a joyous occasion for our family and everyone who has invested in me."

When you looked at the crowd, that was when you saw it. Smiling faces with admiration, with approval, with adoration. And you understood your reason here tonight. Your family, once broken, was now whole and happy again. A sob story with a happy ending that would loosen the strings on the investors' pockets, pouring money into your father's project. This was a show. And your role was to smile, nod, and be the good daughter you were supposed to be.

Your father raised his champagne glass. The crowd mirrored him.

"Let's raise a toast! To project Osiris!"

A loud cheer rang out, and you felt like you couldn't breathe. You took advantage of the moment the party continued in full swing, walking off the stage to find Matt at the back of the room. Your parents didn't let you off their hook that easily, and they followed you. Your father sized Matt up and down; his annoyance was barely disguised in a friendly manner.

"Matthew! What a surprise! I don't remember sending you an invitation."

Matt shrugged, brushing off your father's attempt to provoke him.

"I didn't realize that I needed one."

Your mother chimed in.

"We don't let just anyone in."

You glared at your mom as a sarcastic frown pulled on Matt's lips. With so little civility on your mother's part, it was so effortless to aggravate her. Before she could say anything else, an unfamiliar person pulled the tension away like a loose thread.

"Arthur! There you are!"

The newcomer set his eyes on you with a pique of interest. He was tall, with dirty blond hair framing his face. A friendly smile enhanced the mild lines around his eyes. With unmatched enthusiasm, he thrust a hand toward you.

"Aaron Pierce. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Taken aback by his friendliness, you uttered your name under your breath. He caught your whisper, and his smile widened.

"I just have to get to know the daughter of the genius who saved my life."

"I'm glad that you could be here with us tonight. My father talked about you a lot. All good things, of course."

You didn't have to look, yet you could feel the nods of approval coming from your parents. You hooked your hand to the crook of Matt's elbow.

"And this is my boyfriend."

Matt offered his hand a little off to the left where Aaron was. Their hands met in a firm grip with a little more force from Matt's side.

"Matt Murdock."

"Murdock? Sounds familiar. Are you from Nelson and Murdock?"

"The one and only."

The conversation became one person too crowded when a guest chimed in with the recognition of Aaron. You detached yourself from Matt's arm with the excuse of touching up your lipstick. You needed a moment to yourself with preferably no one invading your space. Not even ten steps later, Matt caught up with you.

"There's something off about that guy."

You chuckled lightly.

"He's associated with my father, of course he's off. That doesn't matter. Did you follow me here?"

He nodded after a brief pause.

"Why did you lie to me?"

There was sadness in his genuine inquiry. It seemed like Matt wouldn't give up on his pursuit of the truth tonight. You had a feeling he would pry it out of your mouth with his merciful force if he had to.

"I had my reasons."

You sighed heavily, knowing what he was going to say to that.

"No, no, you're not doing this again."

You sighed, lowering your head to compose yourself.

"Look, I'll tell you everything when we get back. I promise."

"How do I know you won't lie again?"

The touch of earnestness in his questioning tugged on your heart. He deserved the truth way before this mess even happened. You knew that. You ceased your steps, turning to Matt to hold both of his hands in yours. Your thumbs caressed his knuckles gently, feeling the small ridges of scars, healed and unhealed. You hoped he could feel your honesty, your effort at being open to him. Being better.

"Trust me. I know that you have no reason to, but please, trust me."

You waited and waited. Matt gave you a slight nod, which was all you needed.

"Can we at least talk about what's just happened up there? Are you okay?"

You bit down on your bottom lip and sighed heavily, refusing to give in to the mortification.

"I'm… not okay. Can we please talk about this later?"

Matt knew what it meant, and he nodded. He pulled you into his embrace with one arm wounded around you protectively, the other hand held onto yours tight. You laid your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself a moment of peace. You sniffled dryly before taking a small step back, bringing his hand to your lips. You lay kisses across his scarred hand, showing him how much you appreciated his loving gesture.

"Come on. If you're going to tag along, you'd better be helpful."

The women's washroom was unexpectedly empty, but you weren't complaining. Two women were sharing a smoke by the sink, and you thanked the stars that the stall you needed to get into was unoccupied. Closing the door behind you, you crouched down as low as the dress allowed, reaching for the back of the toilet. You searched with your hand, and when your fingers brushed against it, you pulled it off the cool surface. In your hand was a key, just like it should be. Slipping it into your purse, you flushed the toilet and opened the door.

Matt was waiting for you patiently when you came out of the washroom. He walked with you side by side as you took a right turn, returning to the familiar route you had taken just about less than an hour ago.

"At least tell me what we're doing."

You whispered, feeling the rhythm of your heart pick up steadily. You didn't know if it was the alcohol, the nerves, or the combination of both. You felt audacious either way.

"We're going to break into my father's office."

At this point in your plan, it should be safe for you to snoop around without the cameras recording your movement. You would have twelve minutes to get what you needed and get out. Even though you knew what you needed to find, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

"I can't even tell how the file actually looks like."

You squinted at the pixelated pictures taken of your father outside of his lab from a varied of the same angle. His arm covered most of the document, but there were a few details you could make out. White cover with a circle on the spine. You brought the photo to your eyes, zeroing in on the squiggly grey line woven around the solid black outline of the ring.

"It's the best I can do, okay? With your daddy's security swarming around him."

You felt the pointed implication and sighed.

"It'll do."

You took another look at the blurry photo.

"All you have to do is get in, take some pictures, and get out. Alright? I'll take care of the rest."

You nodded.

"Okay. How much should I take? What should I even take?"

"Unless you can make a trip to the photocopier and make a copy of everything in that binder, I suggest you take as much as you can."

Something was amiss about your father's project, and that was the only thing your trusted source could confidently disclose. They needed more information, and you were the only person who could get access to that without raising much suspicion. And here you were, playing a spy in your father's vicinity with your old new lover, a set of unimaginable circumstances and positions you thought you would never be in. You didn't have time to go further down that thought as your phone vibrated, signalling green light in the form of a text. You started the countdown on your phone and moved from your spot, gently pulling Matt by the cuff of his suit.

Using the key from earlier, you unlocked the door to the office. You headed for the desk, which was spotless and organized methodically down to the pencil sharpener. Everything looked like it was taken out from an office supply and furniture showcase magazine, idealistic and too pristine. No white binder on the desk, only a pile of neatly stacked notebooks with hasty sketches and frantic writings that didn't bound to the ruled lines. You return the journals to their old order, ensuring not even an inch was off. The drawers were next, and you didn't have much luck with them either. They were either empty or filled with more paper scraps filed neatly. You rifled through the files, carefully not to disturb their order; your insides churned with urgency as the time ticked by.

Meanwhile, Matt ran a hand over the black cabinet against the wall. He followed the scent of bleach, which was dull now compared to the other night, and found himself stopping at the third compartment from the top down. Pulling it open, Matt settled his hand over the file and began flicking through them, feeling for the paper, each varied with different smells.

After giving up on the desk, you turned to the bookshelf against the wall. The folders and books on the mahogany wood were tightly packed together, and their spines told you nothing of their content. Blank and uncommunicative. You pulled at the only one that was white and a few that was almost white just to be throughout, only to turn up with nothing. You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. You needed to approach this from a different angle.

Your father was nothing, if not the most particular asshole you had ever seen, and his desk was only one of many indications. The chance that he organized his bookshelf in order wouldn't be too far out of reach. But in what order? You wouldn't have enough time to go through every sequence unless–

You thought of the circle on the spine and came to a realization.

O for Osiris.

With each title you pulled, your heart hammered in your chest was an escalation of the alphabet. You skipped a few, took one out and repeat until you reached Os. No white binder there. You delved your hand in, taking out the first one and opening it only to see an ordinary book. Disappointed, you put it back before pulling on the next one and felt it shift slightly in your hand. It felt like it was rattling in its own casing like something didn't fit right. You tilted the book to examine it and found two hardcovers squeezing together by the bound of the leather material. You laid it out on the desk and turned on the expensive-looking reading light, carefully removing the leather and the stiff outer cover to reveal the white binder. Your heart pounded harder as you turned the file to the side, yet your body relaxed as your eyes detected the symbol on the spine. With steady hands, you flipped through the pages, capturing your father's classified research with your phone. Your father's handwriting and sloppy drawings didn't make sense before your eyes, and time wasn't a luxury you could afford, so you moved through them rapidly and were surprised when you reached the end. There wasn't as much to record as you initially thought. Matt called your name lowly in the quiet space as you closed the binder.

"There's something different in here. Something new."

You put the binder back into the book cover, made sure that the leather was fastened on like it was, and put it back before heading over to where Matt was standing.

"Do you think it's worth a look?"

Matt nodded, and you got to work immediately. You opened the first drawer, your hand flicking through the files quickly. Matt shook his head, and you moved on to the next one and repeated. The flutter of air from the files helped Matt distinguish the smell more easily, pinpointing what was out of place. He focused, recalling the potent smell of bleach, disinfectant, metal, and gunpowder. It was right there, so close, so familiar. And when his sensitive nose picked up on it, he touched your hand to cease your movement. You picked the file up and brought it closer to him. With a deep inhale, there it was. It smelled like the night he followed Arthur to Lower East Side.

"This is it."

Matt's hand squeezed your wrist in assurance. You closed the cabinet, took the folder, and exited the room. You locked the door behind you, careful not to make a sound. You checked the timer and saw that you had three minutes and forty-eight seconds to spare. That wasn't too bad, considering this was your first time doing this. But your relief was short-lived as the echoes of footsteps from the end of the hallway headed toward where you were. Before you could register the slight creak of a door hinge, Matt pulled you into the welcoming embrace of darkness.

In an instant, you found yourself pressed to the door with Matt's hand muffling your startled gasp. Your heart thundered against your chest, and your body went stiff as the footsteps grew closer. Matt was still against you, and you could feel the tension running through his body in the way he held you. With one hand on your mouth and the other wrapped around your waist, there wasn't a part of you that wasn't touching him. You could feel the warmth seeping through the layers of his clothes. His hand on your waist was burning, and you felt like you were burning from the inside, too. At this proximity, the air you took in your lungs was all him. Leather, cinnamon and the slightest hint of sweat brought out his natural scent. It was all so very intoxicating and left you breathless.

"What–"

"Quiet."

He shushed you, which annoyed the hell out of you. You heard muffled reverberation of a conversation drifting down the hallway from your father's office, but you couldn't decipher what they were saying. You held your breath low and steady, so Matt could listen to their conversation. His brows furrowed in concentration.

"He looks just fine to me. So what's the holdup?"

Matt didn't recognize this person, but he had no doubt when the next one spoke.

"He's not ready. There's still the migraine problem, I still need to run more tests."

Arthur. The other guy sighed heavily, seeming exasperated with your father's response.

"Look, it's not up to me. You have to hurry up."

There was a delay in response from your father, but eventually–

"I'll see what I can do."

That seemed to be the end of their exchange as their heartbeats gradually vacated the empty hallway. Matt felt a gentle tug on the lapel of his suit.

"What did they say?"

In the dark, his head lowered to seek yours. You could feel the fan of his breath on your forehead, warm and so intimate.

"I'll tell you once you tell me why we're here."

You rolled your eyes, knowing you deserved that. You looked around, squinting your eyes to better see the small room through the sliver of light underneath the threshold. Empty test tubes, large bottles with labels on them, …

"A supply closet, really? You're so cliche."

You chuckled softly, and the moment made your chest press even closer to Matt's. At this distance, you could kiss him. You were only a breath away from kissing him. Your lips parted to embrace his hot and heavy breaths, and suddenly, you felt lightheaded. There was a tingly sensation on your lips and tongue, and it was as if Matt was feeding you the liquor of anticipation with his own device. You felt drunk on him all the same. Matt felt the change in the air, and you knew it by the way his throat moved when he swallowed hard, and by the way he licked his lips briefly. And when he spoke, his voice was deep, barely hiding the longing for you.

"If you think I dragged you in here to make out with you, you're wrong."

His tone betrayed his words. The air was heavy with a fog of need and tension. You would lie if you said this didn't turn you on.

"I didn't say anything about making out, Matt. But you seem eager about it."

He swallowed hard again, and you could hear it clearly this time. You could help the grin that spread, knowing that you weren't the only one to feel this way. Matt dipped his head to meet yours, and you turned your head away at the last second, making his lips land on your jaw instead.

The hot contact of his lips took the breath out of you, making you gasp out loud. The file slipped slightly in your hand, and it took great effort from you to keep it from dropping to the floor. Even though what you did was intentional, you regretted it. Not that you didn't want to kiss him, for crying out loud. It was all you wanted to do. But you didn't want your first act of affection with him to be in a supply closet, especially when you hadn't been entirely truthful to him. Besides, you were on a mission, and you were running out of time.

His fist clenched, creasing the fabric at your waist. It took all his self-control not to devour you right then. You cleared your throat, whispering.

"Are they really gone?"

It took Matt a moment to compose himself before he nodded.

You slipped quietly out of the room with Matt right on your heels. You navigated through the dimly lit hallway, keeping your eyes out for the backup route in case you took something with you, which was only a few steps away.

The garbage chute.

The metal door was shiny and clean due to the renovation done just two weeks ago. You took out a creased plastic folder in your purse, shoved the file in, and zipped it up. Without a word, you pulled the door open and slipped it in, sending it down the chute. Besides you, Matt had a confused look on his face. An adorable expression, you had to admit, as you bit back a smile.

"Why?"

You brought a hand to his face, tenderly touching the curve of his jaw.

"It's garbage day."

You reached for him, and Matt let you wove your hand around his arm. You heaved a sigh of relief and pulled him with you, heading towards the main room where the party was. The adrenaline swirled in your blood, amplified by the champagne you took, making you feel giddy. Not even the scowling face of your mother could make you feel anything less, you thought as she made her way toward you.

"Where did the two of you go?"

Matt pulled you to him by your waistline, and you felt your cheeks get even hotter at his display of affection. His hand stroked your waist lazily, and with just one look, your mother came to a conclusion. She took in the flush on your cheeks, the crease on your dress from Matt's hold on you earlier, the crookedness of his tie, the bashful look you spared. Her look of disdain barely registered in your gleeful mood.

"Where's dad? Did he let you go off his leash?"

Your mother's face reddened, her mouth opened and closed as she couldn't come up with a snarky and all the more insulting response.

"Speak of the devil …."

You mumbled under your breath, which earned a chuckle from Matt as your father made his way towards you. An uneasiness crawled over your skin, and all you wanted to do was to leave. You cleared your throat, acknowledging your father as he neared.

"If my presence is not needed here anymore, I'm gonna go."

Your mother found her voice.

"You can't go yet. You've barely introduced yourself to anyone. Arthur …"

Your mother looked to your father for support while he only looked at you. He studied you, and his gaze was very telling. Suspicion. Doubtful. Scrutinizing with a sense of entitlement as if he had the right to control your every move. For a moment, you were afraid he had caught onto what you had just done. Your spine stiffened in anticipation.

Which made what he said next all the more surprising.

"Go home. You did a fine job tonight. I'll see you soon, honey."

Your mother was baffled, to say the least. Her mouth dropped, glaring at your father like she couldn't believe his audacity. You gave both of them a tight smile, and Matt gave them a polite nod. Together, you headed towards the elevator and didn't look back. You slipped your hand down to slot against Matt's palm, grateful for his calming presence, even though it wasn't in your plan.

Before the elevator closed, you watched him. Your father, with his eyes trained on you as if you had painted a target on yourself. For once in your life, you weren't afraid. You would bring him down to his knees, even if that was the last thing you ever do.

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72 notes · View notes

drpeppertummy · 7 months

Note

i really jus want more leon and shel being mushy 🥺

You Got It Babey

[mild stuffing]

"God, it's finally feeling like fall," said Leon, relishing the chilly fall air on his face. "About damn time. Summer lasted way too long."

"Speak for yourself, short stuff," chuckled Shel, pulling his coat shut. Smiling, Leon threw an arm around him, holding him close as they walked. The town's little fall festival sparkled and bustled around them, becoming more impressive with its warm lights and decorations as the sun began to set. Unfortunately, with sunset came a new chill in the air, and Shel huddled in on himself as the cold slithered around his bony frame. Leon looked around, and a stand across the park caught his eye.

"Hey, I'll get somethin' to warm you up," he said. "Why don't you sit down for a minute? I'll be right back." Before Shel could question him, Leon was off. He watched for a moment with an amused smile, then sat down on a nearby bench, relieving his aching knees. There he sat, watching the world pass by, leaves falling and swirling in the breeze, children laughing and chasing each other with sugary smears all over their hands and faces, happy couples walking hand in hand. A few small rides were set up at the edge of the park, and a pleasant cacophony of cheers and screams rang out from the distance. The smell of hot apple cider floated along from one direction, funnel cake from another, pumpkin spice from another still, all mingling in the air to create a sweet scent of autumn. The sun was now nearly gone, leaving the sky with a diluted orange tint, and the area was warmly illuminated by cozy lights strung up around the paths. Shel put his hands in his pockets, shivering.

The sight of Leon approaching caught Shel's eye. He smiled. He thought Leon looked sweet in his soft sweater and his oversized jacket, and he looked happy. Happiness looked even better on him than the outfit, but it was something he rarely wore. Smiling, Leon wove through the crowd and sat down beside his friend, a big, steaming cup in each hand and a box under his arm. The sweet smell of cider rose up around them like a warm hug.

"I was just gonna get the cider," explained Leon, passing one of the cups to Shel and carefully setting the other between his own legs. He took the box from under his arm and opened it to reveal six fresh apple cider donuts. He took one, then handed the box to Shel.

"Have one while they're still hot," he said, happily taking a bite of his own. Shel gladly obliged. He'd eaten dinner not long ago and was still fairly full, but a fresh donut was too good to pass up, and the hot cider warmed his chilled core. The two friends enjoyed their snack, watching the festival and the slowly emerging stars twinkle in the growing darkness. Leon, beginning to appreciate Shel's sensitivity to the cold, scooted closer to his friend, and they huddled together, holding their drinks close as the air grew chillier around them.

"This is nice," said Leon, sipping his cider. "I'm glad we came."

"Yeah," agreed Shel. "I almost didn't want to. It's good to do stuff like this, though. Makes the seasons feel real."

"Wanna split another donut?"

"I don't know, I might be too full," Shel confessed. His stomach felt comfortably snug, and he wasn't sure how much more it would take to push it over the edge.

"Even for half?" Shel considered it. Despite his full belly, the warm donut was unbelievably enticing, and the smell of it danced teasingly around him.

"Oh, alright," he agreed, and Leon passed him his half. He ate it slowly, not wanting to upset his stomach, which grew a little tighter with each bite. By the time he was finished--and he had, of course, been sipping his cider between bites--he could feel his belly pushing out against the waist of his pants.

"Now I'm definitely too full." He leaned back with a sigh, resting a hand on his bloated tummy. Despite the taut, stuffed feeling, his stomach didn't ache. It felt warm and cozy and good. Any more and that might change, but he didn't plan on pushing it.

"Hey, it's good for you," said Leon, wrapping an arm around Shel's waist and letting his hand sit on his stomach. "I think you're too skinny."

"Oh, don't you start preachin' to me, Mr. Cold-Pizza-For-Breakfast," grinned Shel, ruffling Leon's hair. Leon laughed and bumped his head against Shel's shoulder.

"You really are stuffed," he remarked, gently patting Shel's belly. It wasn't terribly impressive to the naked eye, but it was firm and round under his hand.

"Shame it's not Thanksgiving yet. I could be the turkey." Leon laughed again, and this time Shel joined him.

#writing #belly kink #tummy kink #stuffing #stuffed belly #message #suggestion #xleonx #xshelx

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raceispunk · 8 months

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Saltatio Pluvialis

There’s a strong wind outside. It batters the windows, making them shake in their frames. The house is old, and it’s just me and Shel inside. Jericho stretches at the end of my bed, kneading his paws into my blankets, softly purring as the pale light from the overcast sky casts a glow on his white fur.

I think it will rain later.

I shift on my bed, the fabric of my bedspread scratching my bare knees as I slide off, onto the woven rug on the floor. Jericho makes a sound of protest and follows lethargically after me, bounding off the bed with the grace and energy inherent to cats. He trots after me as I leave the room, crossing the hall into the kitchen.

It’s darker here because the window is sandwiched between the cupboards, obscuring the thin illumination from outside. The walls are painted a pale blue that has seen fresher days. I think it was built in the seventies, and no part of the house has ever been remodeled. It’s still, in the kitchen. Dust hangs in the air, and a kind of static grayness fills the room. It smells like the lavender soap that lies by the sink. The silence is calming.

Jericho rubs against my legs as I take a chipped, water-stained glass from the cupboard, and fill it in the sink. I dig through the drawer beside me, finding the packet I was searching for and tearing it open, dumping the contents into the glass and watching the orange powder drift through the water, suspended above the white tiles of the kitchen floor, from my perspective. I stir it, leaning back against the old linoleum counters and watching the empty living room.

Over the television hangs a boat oar, carved from a dark wood. Probably mass-produced, not anything special. My grandfather used to work on fishing boats when we lived closer to the coast. I was just a little kid at the time, and now only full of half-hazed memories of rocking boats, splashing waves, and bright yellow boots in sea-soaked grass.

To the right of the oar, the bookshelf stands vigil, faithfully bearing its treasure. I look at the glass in my hands to see the powder fully dissolved, tinting the drink a watery orange. Setting the cup on the battered kitchen table, I go to the bookshelf instead. A whole row is taken up by the green, leather-bound tomes, a collection of classics put together by a far away university scholar, from the kind of place I will never see the inside of. The spines are numbered, gold lettering pressed into the pristine leather. The green books are one of the only things in the house that have always been in good condition, if you don’t count the layer of dust on the tops of the pages.

I slide my fingers across the spines, feeling the grooves of the titles until I stop and select one at random. It leaves a track in the dust on the shelf.

I tuck the book under my arm and return to the kitchen, picking up the glass of orange water and carrying both items with me to Shel’s room. Her door is open, as it usually is, and I enter with a light tap on the hollow wood to herald my arrival. She looks at me, brown eyes shining, from her position in bed. I smile, and bring her the drink. When she sits up to take it, I move the blankets around her waist, then sit down on her mattress.

“I brought a book,” I say. My voice seems too loud for the silence of the day. Despite the noise of the wind outside, the house feels so still that I feel that I should be stepping lightly and speaking in a whisper. Shel can’t hear very well, so I don’t whisper.

She grins, and reaches out a shaky hand to point at it, now sitting cover-up in my lap. Her slim finger traces the title with more reverence than I have ever had.

“Book.”

“Want me to read?” I ask.

She nods, and I take her glass, setting it on her mirrored vanity. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass, backlit by her bedroom window, which makes my dark hair glow white around the edges. When I turn back to Shel she’s pointing out the window, clutching the book to her chest.

“Yes, it’s windy out.”

She shakes her head, gestures between her and me, and the book, and then points outside.

“Read outside?”

Shel nods, sliding her legs slowly out of the covers until they hang above the carpeted floor. I go to help her, taking the book and setting it beside her empty glass, getting her chair from the corner of the room. I wheel it in front of the bed and lift her into it by scooping her up, arm under her legs, and behind her back. As soon as she’s set down she bats my hands away, taking hold of the rims of the wheels and pushing herself forward slowly on the carpet. I pick up the book and follow after her.

Shel leads us out of the house, onto the porch where the wind whips our hair and slams the screen door shut. I wonder if maybe there will be a tornado. There’s still no rain, but the sky is stained dark with blueish thunder clouds in the distance.

“Rain clouds,” I say, directing her gaze to the clouds. “They’re called ‘cumulonimbus’, I think.”

“Cool,” she says, in her odd voice that speaks of a false start. I smile.

“Want to be on the grass?”

“Yes.” The word is said with a hard, hissing ‘s’, as is her way. She nods along with her words.

We go down the porch ramp to the patchy grass. I help her out of her chair, and we sit down. The wind is calmer on the ground, but not much. I prepare the book, laying it flat on my lap. Shel places her hand on my leg, leaning over me to see the first page.

It’s a map, in black and white ink and intense detail. It outlines a region; I’m not sure of where it is. It’s labeled in Latin. One spot reads ‘Circus Agonalis’, and another marks a road as ‘Via dei Fori Imperiali’. Shel stops me from turning the page by placing her hand over the book, bending over my lap to peer closely at the tiny buildings illustrated on the thick paper. She puts her finger on a road and traces it until its end, then turns onto the next path and does the same, making routes from one landmark to another. She stops abruptly, turning from the book to search through the grass beside us. I watch her hands as they comb the short plants until she snatches up a small stone. She holds it up to her mouth and blows, removing a clod of dirt and sending soil skittering across the pages of the book, then places it carefully on a road and begins moving it like a toy car. She’s making vrooming noises, too quietly to hear over the wind, but I can feel the vibrations in her chest where she leans against me.

She hands me the pebble, and I drive it obediently around on the map under her watchful eye. When we’ve both steered the rock to her satisfaction, she throws it out into the yard. The wind makes it fly far to the left.

Shel lifts her hand, releasing the page. The harsh wind blows the book open. Its pages whip by, windmilling with a fluttering sound. Shel laughs as I struggle to keep the book open, choosing a spot in the middle to hold down. The wind is blowing her hair back, away from her face. Framed by the white sky and the green hills beyond the house, she looks like a painting.

I look to the green volume and begin reading at the top of the page.

“‘I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds have riv’d’ —riv’d, that’s a funny word. The notes say it means ‘split’.” I begin again. “‘riv’d the knotty oaks; and I have seen the ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, to be exalted with the threatening clouds: but never till tonight, never till now, did I go through a tempest dropping fire’.”

In the distance, thunder breaks the sky.

“‘Either there is a civil strife in heaven, or else the world, too insolent with the gods, incenses them to send destruction.’”

Shel pokes me until I stop reading, and look up. Lightening plays in the water-streaked sky above the fields, followed by crashes of thunder. Criss-crossed by irrigation canals, the golden wheat ripples in the gale, and beyond that, the cattle from Gulley Ranch roam across the hills. On the other side of the gravel driveway, I hear the sheep bleating their distress from the barn. The exposed skin on my legs and arms is cold, but Shel stares up at the sky, grinning.

Slowly, rain begins dripping from the heavens. It dots the pages of the book with little circles of water, and patters on the wind-stirred dirt. Shel throws her arms up.

“Rain!” she crows. I grin, closing the book and setting it on the grass beside me. The rain begins pouring harder, and I stand. The sound of the water all around fills my ears. The cool drops land on my cheeks, in my hair. They run down my arms and the back of my neck. I tip my head back as the thunder rolls.

Shel takes my hand, tugging. I turn to her, holding both of her hands, and help her stand. Her legs are shaky, and she wobbles, but she stays up. The sky is like a massive dome over us, meeting the bright hills in the distance with a swirl of gray, and the smearing texture of the rain. Lightning flashes above us.

I lead Shel, and slowly we turn, our faces turned to the sky. Twirling, without shoes, in the wet grass. The ground pools with water around our feet, and the hem of Shel’s dress hits my knees.

The rain streams down our faces, and we laugh in time with the thunder.

••The End••

#race writing #writing #assignmentwriting #lmk if you catch the 13 advancements by the ancient middle east #actually there's 14 #i added a bonus one #disability #gender nuetral character #first person pov

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444names · 1 year

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old noldorin dictionary + american states and forenames

Abelele Abet Abild Abra Achanda Adearper Adie Adorrea Agen Alattert Aleka Alia Alie Alin Alla Amarlek Amel Amin Anar Anetty Angerid Antory Anuelly Apliant Arlya Arra Assie Aull Awna Awritch Banka Bard Beenton Beloy Bere Berette Berianka Bertiana Bettenta Better Beun Bild Birsemin Bite Blee Boan Boble Bona Bort Brace Brade Bragmank Brah Bred Brie Brika Briste Bryl Buisa Camer Carandy Caron Cathada Ceslia Chamin Chas Chel Chery Chew Cleon Cleven Clia Clina Cline Cluckyl Clucy Coldia Colga Condawn Corkha Corone Count Crold Cron Cusear Dagma Dall Dandarse Darise Daterip Deborey Dichood Ditega Donnee Dord Dort Dree Dwarre Dwisgus Eadam Eade Edgeront Eidgend Eigod Elan Elia Elin Elisagma Ellarlen Ellint Ellixed Elyst Eneve Eney Erbaroyd Ertony Esha Essirmon Eult Eune Exant Exie Fady Faiwane Fandan Fane Fass Fecil Fence Fertle Fixie Florce Flown Fold Foldi Folga Forouble Frease Fren Fusto Glaisguy Glex Gooked Gradron Graia Gready Gred Greenris Gren Gwedwiga Gwendy Gēroge Gēroly Hannse Haria Harjosse Harow Hawn Heall Herin Hichris Hing Hiorea Hoer Horris Hught Hurve Illesa Ines Inew Inkly Iver Jacque Jainse Jaint Jaiway Jamon Jandīs Jave Jeanse Jearl Jerlan Jime Joather Joddie Joder Joesle Johal Johaulk Jorannes Jordse Jorella Joroshel Joseffe Juander Juianeve Julawn Julee Juli Kame Kammyro Karais Karn Kath Kede Kedgendo Keile Kene Kennam Kentah Kild Kiny Kris Kuan Kukamin Kyla Kūmalope Kūmarpse Lansy Lassie Lastrot Laudix Lerne Lerthel Lesouge Leve Lewyor Liclanne Lielin Liellaia Lina Lled Loidneen Loorcele Lork Lorooke Lory Lose Losth Lough Lourut Lowedga Loyd Lughte Maball Mage Maggy Maibla Malerrho Manee Mang Manift Manitha Mara Mard Maredrey Marid Marig Marior Maron Maroth Marry Masop Mastelle Matterry Mbernar Melis Mica Miele Milly Mily Miren Mirie Mithy Myroxas Nannook Ndan Ndia Ngene Ngette Ngue Norm Nortista Numanne Oancher Oftone Oken Oldael Olly Ophie Orammise Ortany Oseilte Pamald Pamma Parged Parla Pata Pate Pato Pats Paurtne Paut Pely Pene Phannie Phany Phara Phenry Phil Phin Pleo Pliniced Porenna Pose Posette Prego Prew Pōrance Rachrie Ractonda Radak Raine Ranmelio Reeck Regan Rian Ridge Rimeght Rine Risa Riste Risyl Robla Rold Roniff Ronniana Rotho Rube Rudala Saliald Sallina Scia Scilbe Scing Scoramy Scus Selsie Shala Shalf Shel Shelang Sheloft Shen Shenna Shinia Showd Silaiwe Sisyl Skarl Skhan Skie Skin Sled Slia Slis Slorant Smick Snisse Songa Sonsmard Souis Sous Spenda Sphana Spondon Stame Stektha Stha Stia Stie Stier Stimbel Stina Stiver Stregie Suff Suffraia Suse Swooden Talvio Tandy Tane Tansa Tant Teve Thelouio Therti Tine Tint Toundy Tracky Trah Travena Tred Trie Trillony Tris Trive Trose Tulen Tōrany Tōrede Uignold Vana Vellia Vidwist Virdoll Vive Viverm Walan Walse Wane Warcus Ward Wareth Warn Warresa Waryl Wayn Welson Whio Whittley Whony Witicen Worric Wred Yori Yuren Yurey Yūle Zacersam Ñgolain Ūbalia

#444 names #444names

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cibyf-official · 3 years

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Shel: Say, what happens if I pissed off Aqua?

Stretch shudders: It's THE one thing you wished would never happen in all your life. Trust me.

Shel: is... it that bad?

*Stretch nodded firmly.

Shel crosses hands: Well, I can understand if it's Aqua. But then, what about Papyrus? There's no way he would be that scary, right Sans?

Sans:

Shel: uh, Sans? (*reached out to poke his shoulder)

*Sans was already swaying before Shel could reach him, sweat beads trailing down his head as he fell face first into the sofa with his eye sockets pitch black.

Shel: Frick- Sans, you okay? Stretch, what's wrong with him??

*Stretch didn't respond.

Shel: Stretch?! G-guys, something's wrong with them-

*As she turn to the other skeletons, she saw their faces except Aqua and Papyrus who's not in the room looks as white as powder. Sans' bones took on a greyish tint, his eye lights extinguished, Stretch kneeling in agony and wheezing on the floor, Crimson cowering in the corner holding his skull, Raz teleported to God-knows-where, Scarlet going upstairs in a hurry and Boss has gone from sight.

Shel: ... what am I witnessing right now.

*2 hands grabbing Shel's shoulders as she yelped.

Shel: G-geez, you two! Don't scare me like that!

Aqua: Oh, our dear naïve Shelney, I believe you're wise enough to not put your nose where it doesn't belong.

Shel: W-why?

Papyrus: Trust us, curiosity kills the cat. You don't want to know the truth. Now, shall we make dinner?

*As if she just hear an executioner's words, Shelney gulped and nodded furiously. One thing she learned for sure, ignorance is bliss.

---

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poledancingghostson · 5 years

Text

Blessing of the Candles

Baruch Atah Adonai…

The lights are all off. The shammash is the only light in the room.

Eloheinu Melech Haolam…

1, 2, 3, 4. He can see pieces of the world lit up by the flames. Dimly. 5, 6, 7, 8. Melt the wax on the bottom of the shamash. Place it back in the center.

asher kideshanu bemitzvotav…

He stands back. The flames reflect off the window. He can see the menorah and the windowsill fairly well now. He can see the crinkled tin foil below the menorah, sporting a scattered golden tint from the candles’ reflection.

vetzivanu lehadlik ner shel Chanukkah.

“Blessed are You, Adonai, Our God, Ruler of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukkah light, and how faithfully I did so, year after year. And what do I get in return?”