I Would Love To Be Tagged In Your Full Bw X Matt Fic Thingy If Thats Ok;)

i would love to be tagged in your full bw x matt fic thingy if that’s ok;)

100 percent would be okay:)) i cant remember the last time a fic took so much time lol so i really hope you like it :))

This Time it's Different - Chapter Two

a/n i didn't expect this idea to get as much attention as it has??? thanks for the support and opportunity to share in my NWH angst

as always with this series,, major Spider-Man: No Way Home spoilers beneath the cut.

summary: Only a few hours after the tragic death of his aunt, Peter not only meets two different versions of himself from different realities, he also learns two important things about the girl he never wanted to become friends with. Y/n, the girl who’s been his academic rival for years and accidental ally during the chaos that happened after Mysterio, was always meant to matter in his life. Both Spidermen that are in the wrong universe recognize her easily, and the Peter Parker of this universe learns that his y/n is meant to die. 

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Y/n’s POV

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New York is never silent, especially if you’re with someone who has recently been revealed to be the masked hero (or villain, if you ask the Mysterio believers) of the city. But Peter insisted on coming with me. The fact that he can’t really walk down the street without being crowded and harassed by civilians and journalists is something that neither of us have mentioned. 

I know I need to bring it up before we walk outside of the school, but with the strange, resigned energy he’s been radiating, I don’t want to bring up anything negative. I never thought I’d be going out of my way to protect Peter Parker’s feelings, but then again, a lot of things I thought would never happen are happening. Something needs to be said and yet I stay quiet. When I agreed to let him walk me back, that’s the most himself he’s seemed since I got here. 

Maybe it’s reminding him of what Spider-Man is meant to be. A guy with the ability to look out for people. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He has to miss that. 

“Where are you going?” 

He doesn’t stop walking as he turns his head in my direction. Peter’s eyebrows are drawn together in a way that makes a nasty cut near his temple harder to look at. How did I miss that earlier? “We’re walking you back to your--” 

“Yeah, and you just walked past the hallway that leads to the front of the school.” 

Peter pauses. “I can’t walk out there, people and news reporters don’t let me anymore.” 

His thinly veiled uneasiness is momentarily characterized by a gut wrenching frustration. I take a deep breath, stepping towards him on instinct. “The back door’s not going to be any better.” It’s not like there’s a news helicopter waiting outside of Midtown, but the moment we’re on public property, he’ll be seen. “I can walk back by myself, I’ll be fine.” 

He shakes his head once, “No--what I have planned is a lot faster than walking back to your house.” 

What else is there? “A car?” I really doubt that that’s what he means, but what else is there? It’s not like he can fly--oh. Oh he’s insane. “Oh--no--” 

“Y/n-” 

“No, no--absolutely not.” There is no way in hell I’m going to let him swing us around with nothing but the promise of death beneath us. “I don’t want to be on the roof, let alone--” I shake my head in an attempt to dismiss the knot in my stomach. “There is nothing you can say or do to convince me that it’s a good idea to let you swing me home.” 

“It’s fast--” 

I scoff. “You know what else is fast? The speed that my body would plummet to the ground.” Peter presses his lips together, the corner of his mouth struggling to angle itself downwards. Does he think this is funny? “Are you laughing?” 

“No,” the answer comes too fast and too evidently false. “No--I--I’m trying not to.” I glare at him. Most of the sympathy I was feeling quickly evaporates into the air. “It’s not you.”

 I raise an eyebrow as he struggles to articulate what’s so funny about my completely rational reaction. “It’s not?” 

“Okay, I lied it is you, but not for the reason you’re thinking.” What? I’m starting to wonder how hard he hit his head. “It’s just I’ve never seen you scared of anything. Even in the eighth grade spelling bee, when your friend started crying because the other kids were making fun of how badly she misspelled a word, you weren’t scared to go up there and spell the same word even more incorrectly.” The eighth grade spelling bee is a vague memory that I probably never would have thought of again if it wasn’t for him. My stomach flutters in a way I don’t understand--I never even spoke to him in middle school, and he just knows that? “And seeing you scared of something, it’s um--it’s a little funny. A little humanizing.” 

And there it is. He knows my fatal flaw is how I respond to a challenge. “Humanizing? I’m not a--do I seem like a robot to you?”  

“No.” His stupid trying-not-to-laugh smile comes back. “Maybe like a cyborg.” I roll my eyes. He can make all the jokes he wants, but there’s no way--”That’s scared of heights.” 

I cross my arms in front of me. “I am not scared of heights.” Peter’s expression is not losing its amusement. “I am not.”

“It makes sense, now I know why you almost freaked out on the plane ride to Europe--” 

“I did not almost ‘freak out’.” I definitely did. A flight attendant tried to comfort me by giving me extra peanuts. “I am not scared of heights, I was just really excited for the trip.” 

He holds his hands up in defense, his head tilting as if to say ‘prove it’. “This is so dumb.” 

“What is?” The look on his face tells me he knows he’s won. 

It’s bad enough that the only thing that’s going to keep me from splattering against traffic is a literal spiderweb and Peter’s hold on me. He doesn’t need to hear me tell him he’s getting his way. “If you drop me, Parker, I swear I will come back as a ghost for the sole purpose of haunting your ass.” 

Any trace of the smug joy of victory vanishes in an instant. “I’m not dropping you.” 

There’s no room for argument, not even a fake one. I blink, no words forming in response to his intensity. He turns around before I have the chance to say anything, anyways. We walk in silence, me about three steps behind him until we’re at the door that leads to the stairs that will take us to the roof. 

Okay--okay. I can do this. I just have to walk up some stairs and then will my body to stand at the edge of a roof and then--don’t think about that part. I move up the stairs, my grip on the railings tightening with each step. When Peter pushes open the door that leads to the roof I have to fight the urge to run. 

He steps out casually. My fingers won’t release the top of the railing. “Y/n?” 

This isn’t happening. “You win.” I’m embarrassing myself, but at least there’s still ground beneath my feet. “I’m scared of heights. I totally freaked out on the flight to Europe, I spent the first fifteen minutes of it digging my nails into my arm rest. And I can’t do this.” 

A part of me braces for his gloating. He’s looking at me, something unreadable making up his expression. Peter steps towards me. He doesn’t stop until he’s closer than he’s ever been to me (with the exception of the ‘you just got into Harvard’ hug). His hand moves, finding their place over my tense knuckles. 

“You can do this.” Peter patiently squeezes the hand that’s still clutching the railing. “You know how I know that?” I shake my head, not in the mood for some other basic attempt to attack my ego in order to get me to do this. “Because you can do anything you tell yourself you’re going to do. I’ve seen you do it.” The gentle praise is so unexpected I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash. “I’ve seen you ace chemistry classes you took as electives because you said you would.” 

I swallow once, easing enough to really look at Peter. “That’s not the only reason.” Why am I admitting this to him now? “I also did it because I um--I wanted to keep up with you.” 

“Then don’t let me beat you at this.” We lock eyes, and I really think that if things were even a little different, the slightest bit less tense, we’d both have laughed. 

My hand releases the railing, but Peter doesn’t move away. He helps our fingers intertwine. If the warmth of his hand through the fabric of his suit wasn’t so assuring, I’d feel more embarrassed at the prospect of him walking me to the edge of the roof like a child. 

“Okay, I’m going to pick you up now. I’m not going to let you go, but you need to hold onto me.” 

That’s the thing he needs to worry about least. “Me holding onto you is not going to be a problem.” The moment the words leave my mouth, a wave of regret crashes through me. Why would I say it like that? “I just mean that--you know I don’t like heights so um--my grip, y’know?” 

I force an awkward laugh out. I’ve been so nervous about the thought of dangling over the city, I didn’t have time to be nervous about anything else. But now I’m starting to register how close we’re going to have to be and the fact that he’s literally going to be holding me. And he’s in that Spider-Man suit, and until last week I was basically in love with Spider-Man. Okay--don’t make this weirder. 

“Yeah--I-I know.” He pauses, watching me carefully. “I’m um--I’m going to pick you up. That’s okay, right?” 

“Yeah.” I’m begging myself to play this off as casual as it actually is. "Would it helped if I j--” The hand that’s not holding mine finds its way around my waist. Less than a moment later, I’m pulled off the ground enough to cross my legs around his torso and wrap an arm around his chest. “Or just casually lift me off the ground with one arm. Whatever’s easiest.” 

He places an arm around my back. “Spider-Man, spider strength. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

I’m more thrown by our proximity than the lack of effort it took for him to pick me up with basically no hold on me. “You’re good.” 

Peter shifts slightly before expertly jumping onto the roof’s parapet. My head instinctually snaps downwards. I don’t have time to make out anything. Peter’s free hand reaches beneath my chin and forces me to look away so quickly all I see is a brief blur of dark colors. 

“Don’t look down, that will only make it worse.” My stomach knots, and I’m not sure if it’s because of what’s about to happen or because I just realized that we’re so close that all I would need to do is angle my head in order for our lips to touch. Why am I thinking of that? Stop it. 

I nod, forcing down the rising nerves in my chest. “Got it.” 

“I’m going to go now.” 

He’s going to jump off the roof with you. Focus on something else, not on what’s about to happen. Think about literally anything else. Okay--well the multiverse is falling apart. And there are three Peter Parkers. No. That stuff is bad. Think about Harvard, the future that I’ve always wanted and won’t get if the world literally falls apart. Okay, think about...think about um--Peter. And how this isn’t the worst feeling. Actually, it’s kind of nice because he’s warm and smells nice and--oh my god, I think this is more damaging than thinking about falling to my death. 

“Yeah, on the count of three?” So that I can freak out right before? “Actually, no, just do it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah--yes, as long as I don’t know.” I squeeze my eyes shut burring my face into his shoulder.

He’s going to jump. I know it. “Wait.” 

What is it? Does he feel like he’s about to drop me? Or maybe he’s realizing how insane this is. “Y-yeah?” 

“You still live in the same apartment you lived in sophomore year?” 

Right. Sophomore year to work on our joint science fair project. We didn’t want to work together, but we knew

Peter listened to me a little too quickly. He took off while I was still speaking. I’d kill him if I wasn’t so busy clinging to him like my life depends on it, because it does. My arms squeeze around his neck a little tighter as I feel us dip. Another yelp threatens to come out as I press my head even further into his neck. 

Okay, the initial terror only takes a few minutes to pass. I’m still not having a good time, but at least I don’t feel like I’m going to die at any given moment. Once I’ve adjusted to the feeling of slightly subsided panic, I realize that there’s more to what’s happening than the threat of death. 

Wind is blowing through my hair in that exciting way. Like when you roll down the windows as you drive down the hallway. But times a thousand--in a surprisingly good way. And the longer I think about that, the more my fear twists into something more similar to the feeling one gets the moment their roller coaster begins to moves. Only this is much more nauseating. 

Like everything else that’s happened today, this is insanely confusing. I turn my head upwards slightly, forcing my eyes to squint open while keeping most of my face safely pressed into Peter’s shoulder. We’re moving too fast for me to make anything out, and I can’t tell if that’s comforting or not. The blur of city lights and the night sky is a collage I never thought I’d enjoy. But this is still the most nerve wracking situation I’ve ever been in.

Peter swings so low his feet almost touch the pavement. I squeeze him a little harder again. He swings even lower, placing us on the ground. The transition is fairly seamless, but the change is enough to make me shut my eyes again. 

“You can open your eyes now.” There is no more wind or unsteady sensation. We’re on the ground...we made it and he didn’t drop me and it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever experienced.

I lift my head, blinking at him. “So that’s what it feels like, when you um--you do the whole web thing?” Despite myself, I laugh and I’m not sure if it’s because the adrenaline or motion sickness. “And you do that all the time?” 

“Pretty much,” he admits, laughing in the same awkward way as me. “Sorry--it’s normally a little smoother, I’m not used to having a passenger.”

Right, he may be strong enough to support me with shocking ease, but it has to be a little distracting. And...he’s still holding me. Is it weird it took me so long to realize that? “Right, I um--and I’m still on you.” I pull even more away from him. “Sorry.” 

I unlock my legs, and Peter places a hand above my hip to offer me support as I jump off of him. His hold lingers, which I appreciate because my legs are less steady than I expect them to be. “You’re good. You did it.” Instinctually, my hand moves to touch his. He doesn’t pull away, which is something I can’t help but take note of. “And it wasn’t that bad.” 

“No,” shockingly true, “it wasn’t that bad. It was--it was insane and terrible and one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.”

 Peter looks--rightfully--surprised. “So you liked it?” 

He’s smiling at me like I’ve lost it. I laugh in that same excited, nervous way. “Yes!” I inhale, turning to look at me. “And I--I also kind of never want to do it again. It’s really confusing.” 

“I can tell.” He takes a step back, turning towards the entrance of my apartment. Peter takes a step forward--is he...

“Peter, where are you going?” 

“To your house?” 

I move to stand in front of him. “No, no, no--you can’t go up with me.” Is he seriously confused? “I just got into Harvard, if my mom sees you, she’ll lock me in my room until graduation.”

“Your mom liked me when we worked on that project together.” 

“That was before being associated with you impacted college admissions.” The words leave me a little more harshly than they should, and they definitely sound much more harsh than they should.

 I don’t know where that intensity came from. I definitely don’t blame Peter for anything that happened with his college thing, but it did happen. And it impacted Ned and MJ too. I know I got into Harvard, but there’s no guarantee that they won’t revoke that acceptance. All I’ve ever wanted, all my family has ever wanted. I could lose that. 

And I don’t care. 

I don’t care? I blink, inhaling as the realization washes over me. Obviously saving the multiverse is extremely important, but if it was just that I’d be annoyed. But I’m not annoyed--I don’t care. Literally. There has to be some other subconscious reason. 

Okay--personal realization aside, I shouldn’t have said that. It brought back all the sad shadows that had just started to disappear. “Parker, I--” 

He’s turning away. “No, I--” 

“No, I--” 

“Don’t. What you said is true.” 

“No, I need--” 

“But that doesn’t mean--” 

“It’s--”

“Peter.” His first name makes him pause. I get it, I’ve only called him that a number of times. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t--it doesn’t matter.” I hate saying this. “Some things matter more than Harvard.” 

“Some things matter more than Harvard?” 

Hearing those words said back to me knots my stomach. They don’t feel like something I’d say ever. “Yeah.” Affirming that statement almost kills me. I awkwardly scratch the back of my arm. “You know what? Come up with me, my mom will probably be. so happy about the fact that I got in that she’ll be incapable of being mad about anything.” 

He eyebrows draw together. “No, y/n, it’s okay.” 

It’s not. “You can’t stay out here, I’m surprised a news helicopter isn’t above us right now. I think you have like three minutes before people realize who you are and start crowding you.” 

“I know.” He’s so confusing today. Is he planning on leaving? “Your bedroom leads to a fire escape, right?” 

“Yeah, but--” I am honestly so slow. “Oh, you’re insane.” Sighing, I pretend not to notice the slight smile on his face. “I’m on the thirteenth floor, my window has the purple curtains with the fairy lights hanging from them.” 

Peter nods. “Thirteenth floor, purple curtains, fairy lights.” 

I nod as well, turning to walk towards my apartment. I get to the front door of the building before looking behind me. Peter’s watching me and he instinctually snaps his head away when he notices me. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a hurry to get into my apartment and get out. The elevator takes forever, but eventually I get to the thirteenth floor. I walk down the hall until I reach my front door. 

“Y/n!” My mom is at the door, pouncing the moment she hears my keys. “You got in!” 

She pulls me into a hug that makes me want to tell her everything that’s going on. But the less she knows the better. Why take away from her joy? “Yeah, I did!” 

She pulls away enough to look me in the eye. “I’m so proud, and we have so many people to call.” 

After four brief and emotional phone calls, I manage to convince my mom to give me a break. She says we need to call at least three more relatives and two girls from her work that she needs to prove something to. All I can think about is the fact that Peter may or may not be in my room right now. I know the most important thing is getting this done as quickly as possible, but I need to know if he’s here or not. It’s ridiculous to think that something bad happened to him in the little time we’ve been apart, but the not knowing is driving me crazy. 

“Mom, I need like five minutes. My phone is almost dead and I promised my friends I’d meet them after this.” 

She barely looks away from scrolling through her contacts. “Sure, go ahead.” 

I walk into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water just in case. Walking to my room has never felt this nerve wracking. I open the door and slip inside of my room without taking in my surroundings.

My room seems empty. The fire escape window is closed. Did he not make it up here? I place my phone and the glass of water on my night stand. “Peter?” 

The door to my closet creaks. I take a step back. My breathing stalls in my chest until I see that it’s just Peter. “Oh my god--why are you in the closet?” 

“I heard the door start to open, and I didn’t know if it was going to be you or not.” 

I suppress a laugh, because what happened isn’t actually that funny. “I um--I brought a glass of water in case you wanted it.” 

He steps out of the closet, walking towards the side of my bed like there’s nothing strange about being here. I guess because of everything that’s happened, him standing in my bed room is no longer the unfathomable thing it once was. But he’s adjusting to being in my space with an ease I’m not sure I understand. “Thanks.” 

“You can sit if you want.” 

My bed lightly creaks as I reach into my nightstand. I turn to hand him the glass, but have to stop myself from running into his chest. How did I not hear him walk closer to me? Is that another Spider-Man thing? I hold the cup out towards him. Peter goes to grab it and our fingers touch. We’ve touched multiple times today--he literally carried me here. And yet something about the way his hand lingers is different. 

It’s different from our hug, and when he held my hand so that I’d walk onto the roof. It’s even different from when I was literally on him. It’s somehow...fuller. Magnetized. A quick current runs through my fingers. I let go of the glass, breaking the almost-spell. “...Shocked me.” The sound I let out, a mix between a laugh and a dismissive scoff, only adds to the twisting feeling of awkwardness. “I um--I could get you some tylenol or...actually, I’m not sure that’d help much. You look like you should be seen by a doctor.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “I’m fine. I’ve been hit worse.” 

I don’t like how easy that is to believe. My eyes focus on the deep gash that cuts into his eyebrow. Not too long ago, I had an injury that looked similar to that. I turn towards my night stand again. When I open the drawer, the antiseptic ointment is right where I left it. 

Peter observes me calmly until I move to kneel on my bed.

“What are you doing?” 

I squeeze a fair amount of ointment onto my pointer finger. “Making sure bad guys have the opportunity to take out Spider-Man before a preventable infection does.” 

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m putting this on you whether you think you need it or not so stay still.” 

He doesn’t move away. I hesitate when my finger is just shy of his cut. I don’t want to touch it, to cause him more pain. Biting my tongue softly to prevent from wincing, I I press the ointment to his temple, spreading it with my finger as lightly as possible. “There, I’m done.” 

I screw the lid back onto the ointment and move from a kneeling position and into a sitting one. “Your cut’s all better.” 

My eyes drop to the ointment. “Yeah, it um--it healed surprisingly fast.” 

“No one saw you for days, I wouldn’t call that fast.” 

“It was a rough couple of days, but I was lucky.” I start to trace the letters on the antiseptic. “That’s what everyone tells me, anyways.”

“But you don’t think so?” 

I’ve given no one details of last month’s accident. And I don’t want to. “My memories of right after don’t match with what I’m told.” 

“There was a fire, right?” 

My hand turns into a fist around the ointment. “The bookstore I work at...I was taking inventory and I saw that a first addition of Alice in Wonderland was missing. Mr. Austins owns the shop and is really strict about these things, so I went to the basement. That’s where he keeps some of the rarer stuff and books that need repairs. He never wants me down there, but I knew that book was missing. When I got down there, something was off and there was a loose wire and--” The memories blur together. “I don’t know, I thought the books were at risk and then--then there was something. An explosion, or a--um, fuse malfunction. And then there was fire. I saw the fire in the attic, but Mr. Austin and the EMTs found me upstairs.” 

My body has healed on the outside. The only thing that’s left that announces to the world that anything ever happened is the fading bruises on my legs and collar bone. But I don’t feel like it’s over. I don’t feel like anything’s truly healed. “I’m sorry.” 

He’s the last person that should feel bad for anyone. “Please, you go through ten times worse for a good cause. My dumb accident isn’t something you need to feel bad about.” I take a deep breath, begging myself to change the topic before I say something I regret. The accident was just an accident. A freak, in the moment kind of thing that anyone else would have gotten over by now. “It’s not the pain that makes me keep thinking about it...it’s the way the pain stopped. I know I’m better and I’m lucky, but I feel like I didn’t heal right. Like something is different and I don’t know what it is but I know I’m not supposed to talk about it.” 

The confession feels wrong, but Peter doesn’t give any indication of that. “Different?” 

I take a deep breath. “Yeah.” I don’t regret telling this to him, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to dissect it. “I should um--I should go back and finish those phone calls so that we can get back to doing the whole ‘multiverse saving’ thing.”

I stand up, desperate to escape the energy that I accidentally created. “I’ll um--I’ll see you in like ten minutes.” 

“Y/n?”  

I spin on my heels, my eyes landing on Peter the moment I’m facing him. “Yeah?”

He holds my gaze for a long moment before speaking. “I think you should stay here.” 

Peter presses his lips together the second the words are out. “What?” 

“I think it might be better if you don’t come.” He raises a hand as if he wants to elaborate but then just awkwardly drops it to his side. “You um--you helped a lot with that anti-serum thing, but now--” 

“Now you’re done with me.” 

“No, that’s not how I--”

“That’s the only possible way to mean that.” The sudden rejection hits me straight in the chest. He can’t see that. “It’s whatever, it’s not like we were really friends.” 

“Y/n--” 

Dismissing him with a wave of my arm, I begin to walk to the door of my bedroom. “You can go out the way you came.” 

My hand grabs the doorknob as something in me hopes that he’ll say something else. Or that he’ll take it back. Or that--Something small and sticky strikes my arm. The thing pulls at me, forcing me to turn back around. 

Peter blinks at me as I stare at the white line that’s connecting my arm to his wrist. “Did you just web shoot me?” 

He, at least, has the decency to briefly look somewhat apologetic as he releases me. “I’m not telling you not to come to hurt you. I just--you can’t be there.” 

Oh, he’s lost it. “Like you could ever hurt me.”  I scoff, the sound ugly and artificial. “I don’t care if you want me there or not. I don’t care if you’re my friend or not. But you can’t pretend to be my friend and then treat me like I’m disposable for no reason.” 

“I don’t think you’re disposable.” 

“Really? Because you’re disposing of me right now.” 

“No, that’s not--” 

“Yes it is! And you’re doing it to be mean, because I can--” 

“No.” 

I sigh, crossing my arms as if that will keep me from yelling and alerting my mom of his presence. “Put aside the fact that we can’t be left alone for more than thirty minutes without fighting, but we’ve been doing good.” The last part leaves me much more shakily than it should. “So good.” Stop it, you can’t make him like you, but you can keep him from knowing how much it hurts. “And I can help Ned and MJ--you know I can.” 

“That doesn’t matter.” 

I don’t know what shifted, but something’s changed. Something must have reminded him of our usual dynamic. But that shouldn’t be enough for this. Even on our worst days, I never thought he’d hate me enough to do this. I know I’m not a super hero and my help doesn’t necessarily mean much, but this could be the end of the multiverse. Any help must be worth something. “Get over our stupid thing for two seconds, and think about the greater good!” 

“I can’t.” 

He’s not yelling, he’s not even looking at me. That makes it worse. Anger and hurt pulses through my body. I exhale. The lights in my room flicker in the way they normally do before a short outage. This building has been having more and more of them lately. I miss when that was my greatest personal problem. 

“At least tell me why you’re being so weird!” 

He takes a deep breath. “Because I don’t want you there, and we--we don’t need you.” 

Wow. He is such an asshole. This is what I get for thinking I could ever trust him in any capacity. “Then go, because if you’re going to be this hot and cold I don’t want to go with you.” 

Peter frowns, walking around my bed and towards the fire escape. Once he’s gone I just stand there for a long second. My eyes are watering. I was so stupid. I thought--

I don’t even know what I thought. It doesn’t matter. Peter Parker and I aren’t friends, we’re barely anything. But I have a responsibility to see this multiverse thing through, right? Or, at least, I have a responsibility to make sure things are going well. 

Not for Peter’s sake, but for my friends. I flop onto my bed and pull my phone from my pocket. Unlocking it, I open my messaging app and begin to type a text to MJ. I get two words in before my phone dies. Great--fantastic.

Groaning, I drop my phone onto my bed, leaning over to find my charger. The second I plug in my phone, it lights up. 100 percent battery. That’s um--it has to be a glitch. I unplug it and plug it back in and nothing changes. What was that about? 

Maybe something is up with my charger? I reach over to the lamp on my bedside table, searching for ‘on’ switch. My fingers graze the metal neck of the lamp and the light turns on immediately. Okay, two power related, strange things have happened back to back. The last time electricity acted this strange around me was in the book store. 

I’m losing it. Okay, only one way to ease my nerves. I lean down, unplugging my lamp from the wall. When I sit up again, the lamp is off. Okay. I let out a sigh of relief, my hand relaxing against my nightstand, my fingers just barely brushing against the base of the lamp. The light flickers on. 

Okay, this is just--this is--

I move my hand away and the lamp turns off. I touch it and it turns on. 

Oh my god. I laugh, frustrated, a little scared, and excited. Oh, I need to call Ned right now. 

----

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JUST SAW MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS AND IM FINALLY DONE WITH SCHOOL!! THAT MOVIE INSPIRED ME SO MUCH,, SO IF YOU SEE ME WRITING A FIC FOR IT... 

okay i keep binge watching the great on hulu and i am so obsessed with it fr,, i kind of want to write for it (especially for peter, ik he’s extremely toxic and kinda a bad person but this is extremely on brand for me lmao)

i feel like there’s not an audience for it?? idk might write it or might not but if anyone likes the idea pls let me know 

A Knife in the Back

A/N felt like coming back to writing here now that it’s summer and i’m working on rediscovering myself in order to deal with some mental health stuff. What’s a better thing to come back with than my roots? 

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader 

Background: This is very much inspired by the main relationship dynamic in the Hulu show ‘The Great’ (if you haven’t watched it and have a hulu subscription and are old enough I’d def recommend it). Basically this is just playing into the ‘i love you, but i’m supposed to want to kill you’ trope. Also inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘My Tears Ricochet’ (i’m obsessed with the line ‘you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same’) 

Summary: Y/n has been groomed her entire life to take over as head of a major gang. Recently, she’s been working with the Crows. Tonight, though, she’s being put to the ultimate test of loyalty. No longer is this a game of cat and unaware mouse, because now she’s supposed to kill Kaz Brekker. 

this ends on a cliffhanger bc i wanted to do a two-part thing, so let me know if you’d be interested in that or want to be tagged :))

I was first exposed to the concept of taking someone’s life when I was about seven. I don’t remember what happened, but I remember that Cassandra hadn’t meant for me to find out about it. She didn’t take any care to keep it from me, but she didn’t exactly want me walking into her office after she slit the throat of the merchant that tried taking advantage of her.

She had blinked at me, then, before telling me that forcing death was just a part of life. She didn’t react when I ran out into the hall to throw up after the man’s blood soaked into my socks. She rubbed my back gently and told me that soon I’d learn how to kill efficiently so that I wouldn’t have to stomach much.

I was ten when Cassandra made good on that promise. I still remember the day she taught me how to kill with calculation. We spent the day together, plunging blades into foam mannequins. She presented me with my first dagger that day. 

That was years ago, and somehow, by some kind of miracle, I had avoided ever having to kill someone. Cassandra raised me, meaning that there’s always been someone else around to do the dirty work. Either Cassandra would do the ugly part of a job for me or one of her upper ranking underlings would be around in order to spare me.

But today is the day where all of that changes. Not only do I have to kill someone, but I have to kill Kaz Brekker. The pit in my stomach should only exist because of my fear of retaliation. I should only be concerned about what the Bastard of the Barrel will do if he realizes my betrayal, but that’s not why I’ve felt sick all day. 

When I first started playing double agent, I didn’t think it’d end like this for so many reasons. Cassandra never told me that her overall goal was to have Kaz Brekker killed. I also really, really didn’t expect to see Kaz as a person, let alone... 

I don’t even know. I just--I hated him. I was supposed to hate him and being exposed to his cruelty and lack of regard for life made it easy. And then--then one day it started to seem like maybe he isn’t made of darkness. Maybe he’s only touched by it, maybe he only wears it because he needs to. Maybe he’s more like Cassandra than I was supposed to realize.

“You alright, dovey?” 

I should roll my eyes at Jesper’s question and relax into my seat. I should act normal so that no one will suspect anything of me. All I can manage to do is slump into my seat. “A bit of a headache,” I mumble, “You know it happens from time to time.” My dagger is sheathed beneath layers of fabric but somehow I still feel the coldness of the metal. It forces a chill through me. “And don’t call me ‘Dovey’, we’ve talked about nicknames.” 

Jesper lets his head fall to the side dramatically. My eyes move to the glass in his hand. The amber liquid sloshes with Jesper’s movements. “You’re no fun when you’re in a mood.” I open my mouth to comment on how dramatic he’s being and the fact that I’m feeling perfectly fine, but he beats me to it. “Then again, with what boss-man said, I’d be in a mood, too.” 

What--what Kaz said? “With what who said?” 

Sobriety attempts to grasp Jesper, but he quickly dodges it. His eyes briefly shut as he takes a sharp inhale. “You don’t know.” 

Something in my stomach knots. Did Kaz find out who I am? “Know what?” He brings a finger up to his lips, signaling that it’s a secret. “Jesper.” 

“Y/n,” he copies the sharpness of my tone. I continue to glare at him. “C’mon, don’t put me in this position, today’s been hard enough. Our job went off without an issue, don’t drag--” I don’t stop glowering. “Y/n--” He sighs once. “Fine--I don’t--I didn’t hear much, just that your name--” Jesper pauses, struggling to arrange his sentence. “Your name came up during a deal. I couldn’t quite hear everything.” 

“Well, what did you hear?”

Jesper hesitates again, eyebrows pinching together in an unsettlingly pitiful way. “Some kind of contingency thing--something that would’ve--would’ve given the other man the rights to you.”

Something in me bursts into flame. The ice of the knife strapped to my skin is suddenly welcome. An old instinct in my chest understands the meaning of Jesper’s slurred words before the rest of me does. “The rights to me?” 

Jesper shifts uneasily. “If your headache’s not going away, maybe you should just have a drink for your nerves and go to bed.” I don’t move. 

“How can someone have ‘the rights’ to me? I’m not indentured--” 

“Kaz knows how to run with an assumption when it’s convenient.”

Something in my chest turns to stone. Jesper’s drunken testimony has left gaps in the story, but it’s not exactly hard to fill in. For whatever reason, Kaz put me on the line for a deal. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to make good on his promise. Kaz could slip something into my drink. He could overpower me or have someone do it for him. He could force me into something at gunpoint. He could--he could have sold me. 

I swallow once, wiping my eyes with my palm. “Listen, y/n, Kaz says whatever he needs to--” 

“His word means something, Jesper, you know that.” 

My voice must reflect how hollow I feel inside because Jesper sighs once. “Y/n-”

I swallow once, “I’m fine, Jesper. You didn’t hear everything, and you’re drunk, and nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

Something in my chest has stopped. He was willing to sell me. I was wagered like the gambling chips from the Crow Club. Everything Cassandra said was right. Kaz Brekker may be a criminal like the woman that raised me, but he lacks Cassandra’s one redeeming quality. He lives without humanity.

I have heard the stories, I have seen what becomes of women sold and bartered. Cassandra has stolen so many women that were owned by men like the man Kaz just did business with. The man he was willing to sell me to just to get an edge on Pekka Rollins.

Thousands of images reflect in my mind. I can see them now, their empty eyes offset only by the litter of bruises against their skin.

“Y/n--” 

“I said I’m fine, Jesper. I know how Brekker is.” I repeat, voice stern. “I just need to go to bed.” He looks like he wants to say something. “I’ll sleep it all off.” I stand, staring at a blank spot on the wall. “Don’t drink too much, alright? Just make sure you eventually find your way to a safe bed. It doesn’t even have to be yours.” 

Jesper grins, “You get me.” He sighs, adjusting his hold on his glass. “Will do, Doves, make sure to take something to make sleeping off that headache a little easier.” 

No matter how tonight goes, if I survive, I’m going to need to drink something strong. “Yeah, Jes, I’ll take care of my headache.” 

I am a phantom as I approach the stairwell. In another life, another version of events, I never entertained the idea of being Jesper’s company as he drank in celebration of our success. In that reality, what I need to do is less possible.

With shaking hands I reach towards the pocket of my dark pants. In a single slash, the blade my fingers are touching can take a life. I can extinguish a flame of destruction and Cassandra will be proud of me. She’ll realize that the child she took in was worth it.

“Y/n--” 

I turn, trying to hide how ambushed I feel. Okay...there’s nothing weird about jumping about someone’s sudden appearance. “Kaz.” 

His name stumbles awkwardly from me. Act normal. “I need to speak to you.” Speak to me, how kind of him to waste his valuable time communicating with someone who’s basically cattle. “I have some business to attend to first. Meet me in my office before the hour ends?” 

Why, is my purchaser going to be expecting me? The urge to lash out pulses through me, but that will get me nothing. Kaz is beyond reason. If I could change him, if I could spare him, I would. So I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. 

“The color’s drained from your face.” His observation is a blow to the chest. “You’re not ill. Does Nina--” 

“I’m fine.” His concern is only practical. Illness would only slow me down or make me less valuable. “Just a migraine. I’ll sleep it off tonight.” 

His eyebrows draw together for a moment. “Hm.” Please let that be the dismissal I’m looking for. “If you’re feeling uneasy, you don’t need to over concern yourself. That’s what I wanted to meet with you about.” Kaz pauses, an odd affliction crossing his features briefly. “You did good work today.” 

An unnamed feeling wedges itself between my hurt and fury. Grief--crushing, undeniable grief has found itself in me. “Thank you.” 

Kaz won’t stop looking at me directly in the eye. “I know that you’re adverse to killing and much of what I do, but you never let that translate into weakness.” 

His voice is low and uneasily patient. My chest flutters, all of my emotions curdling in my chest. Even on a normal day I wouldn’t be able to think of a good response to that. “I’ll see you before the end fo the hour.” He nods once and I turn. “Kaz,” his name comes from me without my permission, “I appreciate your acknowledgement of my lack of weakness.” 

For a second, I think he might smile. “I never said you lack weakness.” 

“I know, but your gushing approval made your true feelings clear.”

“Dear, y/n, light of my existence,” Kaz approaches me, extending a hand slowly. I become perfectly still as his pinky latches onto mine for a brief moment. My heart stops. “I have never once ‘gushed approval’.” His sarcasm seems to settle me. The corner of my mouth turns upwards. “Now, get out of my way, I have some business to deal with downstairs.”

“Doubt I could get you to ask more nicely.” 

He takes a single step forward. “Please, excuse me.” 

A final good moment with Kaz. My chest swells as I step to the side. “That’s more like it.” 

He disappears down the stairs. Okay--within the hour. I have time to-to think and to--I don’t even know. Cassandra sent me here to ruin him, to work against him so that our gang could do better. I’m a mole, not a killer. But I should have known that one day our relationship would end like this--the knife of one buried in the back of the other. 

That final thought echoes in my chest, shattering me. I make it to my room, lock the door, and sink against the wall, suppressing a sob. 

I stay like that for as long as I can justify it, but there is no putting off the inevitable. Kaz Brekker will die at my hand, and it is deserved. I wipe at my tears with the back of my palm and wash my face in the sink. Once I’m convinced that I’m presentable, I leave my room, checking for the blade secured to my thigh. It hasn’t been that long, so there’s a good chance I will have the element of surprise. That’s the only way to end this. I’ll be efficient, just like Cassandra taught me. He will not suffer, and it will not be personal. 

I walk to his office, my steps methodical. He would have sold me. He would have sold me. He would have sold me. I take a deep breath, reaching for the handle of the door to his office. I pull the dagger from its place, squeezing the hilt. He would have ruined me. 

Pushing the door open silently, I stop breathing. His tall figure is turned away from the door. Good, this way he won’t have to see me and I won’t have to feel his reaction. My steps are even until I’m within arms reach of him. Think of Cassandra, think of all he’s done. 

My blade plunges into his back. The world stops. I pull my knife out before pushing it back in. Tears swell in my eyes. Again and again, I stab him. He takes two unsteady steps before falling to his knees. I yank the knife out one final time. He collapses in front of me. 

Everything in my body shatters. Dead--Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the boy who stayed up with me after an injury left me too sore to sleep, the man who would have sold me. He used me as currency, he has disrespected and threatened me so many times, and he linked his gloved pinky with mine in order to ease me. 

I stare at his body, forcing the hurt to crash into me like violent waves. All of my fury, all of my desire to win Cassandra over, vanishes. Now all that’s left is a burning agony. 

What have I done? 

The question is screamed so loudly in my head that it feels silent. I tear my gaze from the body--his body--and stare at my knife. The end of it is coated in so much sticky, red liquid I could throw up. My hands and clothing are covered in the same thing. I drop to my knees, letting everything I’m wearing soak into his blood. My free hand covers my mouth in hopes of silencing the sound that is ripped from my throat. The urge to touch him, to feel him while he’s still warm, pours through me. But the one thing I can still offer him is the protection of his will. I will respect his wishes. So instead of dropping over him, I just stare, my fingers still gripping the damn knife. 

What have I done? 

Collected footsteps snap me out of the trans I’ve fallen into. I take two deep breaths before turning my head. If I have been caught, I deserve whatever fate I will be met with. Blinking twice, I force my eyes to adjust on the person who has found me. There is no energy in me for fear for myself, there is only heartbreak. 

Kaz. It’s--he’s alive. By some Saint granted miracle, he’s alive!

He’s standing there, watching me with the blankest expression I’ve ever seen him wear. I don’t care. I don’t care. I jump to my feet, disregarding the only man I’ve ever killed. Whoever he was, that’s something for me to feel guilty about later. Eventually, the relief will become a feeling I can manage and I’ll be able to regret the life I just took, but right now all that matters is Kaz. 

I drop the dagger, letting it clatter against the hardwood floor. I run towards him, desperate to be close enough to see his open eyes and to be aware of the rise and fall of his chest. “Kaz,” a lament, a prayer, a lifeline. 

My hand moves forward without a second thought. I link my pinky with his, the same way he did earlier. I squeeze his finger as tightly as possible, desperate to feel the fact that he’s alive. Kaz owes me nothing, but he gives me what I need. His pinky squeezes mine back, his eyes holding mine. 

I think we could have stayed like that forever. But the man that I attacked shattered our silence with a pained, exhausted groan. Our hands fall apart. 

"I disappeared into books when I was very young, disappeared into them like someone running into the woods."

—Rebecca Solnit