Lacuna (Spiderman X reader)

Chapter 12

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There you were, masked and pinning the famous Daredevil down into the gravel, knee on his chest and one hand around his throat, the other raised and ready to press the button at your wrist and electrocute him to take him out.

You couldn't see his eyes through his mask, and he couldn't see your expression through yours, but he sensed your hesitation anyway.

"You won't." His hand was on the back of yours, fingers having wiggled their way ever so slightly between your palm and his esophagus, gripping but not quite pulling you off his throat. "You're scared. What now?"

You clenched your jaw, and reached to press the button on the inside of your wrist—but his free hand grabbed your forearm, stopping you before you got more than a few inches closer to your other glove. Now you were locked in a stalemate. You couldn't make a move without opening up an escape for him, and he couldn't move without risking his neck. Literally.

You pressed your weight forward, increasing pressure on his neck.

"You don't want to do this," his words struggled out past your vice-like grip, coming out strained. He was starting to struggle for air.

You kept pressing.

He must have gotten a rush of adrenaline, because he was starting to pry your hand off his neck. You were panicking—what if he died? What if you killed him? In your panic, you took your knee off his chest, accidentally giving him the open he would need.

He kicked you off. You heard a deep gasp before your back hit the ground, and by the time you got yourself back up, you saw his red suit disappearing around the corner of a blue shipping container.

Checking to make sure your hood was still secure, you crouched, letting violet energy build up in your legs. They started to glow, the vibration of your feet absorbed by the rubber in the soles of your boots, and you jumped, landing atop the blue container he'd disappeared behind. You saw him running, already about three containers away, and began to chase. You weren't exactly quiet, the clang-thump of your feet on the steel boxes echoing over the subtle crunch of gravel under Daredevil's feet.

You cursed yourself for letting him get away and not just shocking him unconscious when you had the chance.

He was crossing the empty space between the stacks of shipping containers and the actual docks, and was in the space where heavy machinery for loading and unloading ships rested.

You were picking up speed now, legs and arms glowing, each step leaving a small dent in your wake. If you'd noticed you'd only be a little surprised; you had broken the treadmill at the A.I.M. lab, after all.

Reaching the end of the boxes, you jumped as hard as you could, landing a mere six feet behind the devil. He spun around, fist aiming high. You ducked, his fist went past your ear and brushed your hood on the retreat. You dropped, spinning with your leg out, but he jumped over it with ease.

The next few moments were a blur of fists flying and arms blocking. You were both starting to figure out the other's style.

"You're not using your powers," he grunted, smacking aside a jab at his ribs.

You dodged a hit. "Yeah, because I'm supposed to stop you, not kill you."

"They told you not to kill?"

You hesitated, dodging again. They hadn't told you not to kill, in fact they'd heavily implied they wanted you to do the opposite and actively try to kill Daredevil if you had the chance. You stayed silent, focusing on your punches.

"Have you killed before?"

You didn't answer.

"They didn't tell you not to, did they?" He bent sideways, dodging a fist to his face. "You don't want to kill."

Silence from you.

You turned on your gloves, spinning out of the way of his kick, narrowly avoiding a hit to your ribs. You finally landed a punch, the electricity surging through his muscles and making him seize up. He dropped.

"Just because I don't want to kill doesn't mean I won't," you said, voice low as you stopped to catch your breath. You knew you didn't mean your words. At least, not yet.

Daredevil didn't get back up. You knelt down, ear close to his face listening for breath. Warm air brushed across your face. It seemed you'd knocked him out, but he was definitely alive. You grabbed him under his arms and began to drag him away, using your powers to give you enough strength to lift at least his whole torso off the ground.

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself, dropping your false accent. You found a dumpster, and with a reasonable amount of effort, tossed him in.

There was a thud—the dumpster was empty, then—and a groan. He was waking up.

By the time he pulled himself out, you were long gone.

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