carlotaamm

[carlotaamm]

good LORD how I love seeing reader grow and have the confidence to take the love Matt offers her

[[and then I met you || ch. 34]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k 🌶️🌶️

ao3 link

It is not often that you get a night to yourself. 

Usually, once you get Minnie down, you dive into your laptop to clock into work, but tonight there is server maintenance, and you are free to do as you please. You wish you had checked your e-mail before Matt had given himself over to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but alas, you did not think that far ahead. 

You don’t mind too much, however, as you use the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, relax, and binge trash entertainment. You allow yourself to be half tucked under a throw blanket that Matt’s cologne clings to and try to turn off your brain. You do not want to think or follow a plot and quickly wind up watching catty women start drama over things like seating charts and the differences between the color lilac and the color lavender. It is fun without being too serious and easily keeps your attention.

You decide you need a glass of wine after two episodes of your show. Even with the distraction, your eyes won’t stop darting to the corner of the screen to check the time and with each siren in the distance, you tense up. You know Matt’s plan is to be out late, combing the Kitchen in search of clues to lead him to people who butchered Enhanced children, but you can’t help but worry. 

Daredevil is more than capable of taking care of himself - you have heard and read plenty of stories about his fighting prowess - but whoever is out there seemingly has no morals and that can lead to situations where enhanced senses and fists don’t cut it. You trust Matt to know his limits - only if that trust comes from knowing he would never do anything that would make his daughter cry.  

Mouse’s happiness outweighs all of Matt’s faults - at least according to Foggy. 

But you will still stay awake until he is safely in bed with you, and you can fall asleep to his steady heartbeat. It is the least you can do for him and under the multicolored glow of the billboard across the street, you lounge, caught up in a world that is so far from your own, trying to enjoy your brief time alone. 

You don’t hear it when a pair of feet land firmly on the roof above you and you don’t hear it when the access door creaks open, but when a streak of moonlight shines across worn hardwood floors, you do notice. 

You pause your show as you lurch up into sitting, heart racing. You know no one other than Matt would be coming down the stairs, but you weren’t expecting him for hours, and your panic is pointing out you are woefully unprepared for any type of fight. There’s not even a baseball bat laying around so you can pretend you can defend yourself. 

Luckily for you, you would recognize the silhouette that comes through the door anywhere - Matt in his ‘Man in Black’ outfit - and your heart turns from panic to worry. You scramble up, shoving the blanket you had been bundled under to the side, and hurry to meet him at the foot of the stairwell. 

As he enters into the area of the apartment with enough light for you to actually see in, your heart catches in your throat while simultaneously sending the pulse in your nethers into overdrive. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen clearly had a very different night from you. Dried and drying blood cakes his face - coming down from his nose and mouth with smudges on his jaw line. His Muay Thai ropes are grimy and disgusting, and you can just barely see how they are tinted red. His shirt is ripped in various places, and it clings to his torso like it has been drenched in sweat. It has ridden up quite a bit from all his movement, so a band of skin shows, teasing the firm muscles that lie beneath, and his pants hang low, giving a hint of that V you so admire.

Despite the state of him, he oozes confidence and danger. He’s standing straight, head held high, and shoulders pushed back to emphasize how broad he is. Every muscle is pulled taut - ready to jump into action at the slightest of provocation. His chest is rising and falling with each breath, and it makes you wonder if he ran back to the apartment or if he is having trouble breathing through his nose. Either way, it is animalistic, and you are reminded of documentaries showing a predator before it pounces on its prey.  

In the dim light, your eyes zero in on Matt’s mouth and you watch with an intensity you know he can feel as he pulls his lips back into a slight sneer and runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You decide then and there that you are going to do something Matt has been denying you the chance of for weeks. 

You are going to suck his dick. 

You have found Matt loves to tease you sexually. Little touches here and there and sly comments with double meanings are his game of choice. He likes to get you nice and worked up and to deliver on his promises with his mouth to the point you are pretty sure enjoys oral more than the act of penetration. While you very much are thrilled being on the receiving end, it doesn’t mean you don’t also want to indulge in giving. Having his cock on your tongue has been a fantasy for quite a while and it is high time you turned it into a reality. 

After making sure he isn’t about to bleed out on the floor. 

“You’re home early,” you breathe out as a greeting, gaze still firmly locked on his cut lips. You want to kiss and bite them, but not in their current state. As much as you want to jump him, you do not know whose, or what’s, blood is covering his face, and you do not want it getting in your mouth.

The man in front of you tips his chin up just slightly, head tilting in a way you know means he is examining you. By the way his sneer turns into a smirk, you know exactly what inputs he is receiving. You don't need super smell to know your panties are already soaked through.

“Didn’t expect the Irish to be setting up shop in the tunnels,” he replies, voice low and rumbly and going right to your core. You let the shiver run through you and try to not react as your nipples pebble under your shirt.

“They certainly don’t belong there.”

You force yourself to turn away from him then. You don’t want to fall into the trap of becoming flustered while Matt teases you - if he gets his hands or mouth on you, he will be insistent on pleasuring you and you won’t get what you truly desire. 

He follows you like a shadow into the kitchen, barely letting you stay a literal step in front of him. You can feel the heat from his body against your back and the smell of his sweat and whatever he rolled in is wrapped around you like an all-consuming cloud. He practically boxes you in as you grab some paper towels and when you go to wet them, he looms over you. 

When you do turn to face him, your breast just barely brush against his torso. You have a feeling he wants to crowd you into a corner and get you onto the counter so he can eat you out, but you won’t allow it. Your body is thrumming with need and want and that is overruling in any anxiety and doubt you may have. 

You know he likes to tease. You know he likes to banter and push back and that helps to embolden you as you reach up and begin to wipe his face. You want to play his game right along with him.

“They aren’t the ones hurting the kids, are they?” You start, trying so hard to be nonchalant. You know you are both very aware how your bodies are responding to each other, but that is part of the teasing.

He allows you to clean away the blood, but he doesn’t lean into your touch - he remains tall and cocky, like he’s still on the streets. “No, they’ve got a warehouse with an access hatch. They were trying to store things. Probably weapons.”

You hum, taking in the information as you dap up gore that may or may not be his. He does not appear to be particularly injured, but you know he can hide that pretty easily - and stories and your own experiences tell you he will pretend he is perfectly okay, even when he isn’t. But, still, you probe because you want to be thorough in your care before you get your mouth on him. 

“Do you need any stitches?”

He huffs in response, and you take that as a ‘no’, which makes things much easier. You aren’t sure how much your desire would fade if you had to focus on needles and thread. 

As you begin to finish running the paper towel over his face, Matt moves impossibly closer to you - he presses forward, his knee starting to wedge between your legs, and it takes everything within you to not adjust so he can slide fully between them. He ducks his head to be closer to your face and tells you in that low, growly voice of his, “I might need a chest wrap, though. Why don’t you check to see if you agree?”

You understand the challenge he is giving you and you accept it. You toss the dirty paper towel into the sink, then drop your hands to hover in front of the hem of his shirt. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, in your ears, in your cunt, as you hook your thumbs under the fabric and push it up. You go at a snail’s pace, letting your touch ghost over defined abs and feeling them flex under you. You only look down to examine the damage once his torso is almost fully exposed.

He will most definitely need a chest wrap. Bruises are already blooming around his ribs, and you can see they go around to his back. 

You make a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of your throat, “I think you might be right.” 

Again, Matt moves. His hands skirt over your hips, teasing at the fabric there and you are fully aware you are probably right where he wants you. This is confirmed when he bumps his nose, which is still hidden under his mask, against your cheek and drags it up to your ear.

“Do you know what else I think?” he breathes, voice pitched low enough to make your entire being quake in want. 

You know he is about to say something absolutely filthy, something that will make your knees give out - something that will have him winning this little game. 

And you can’t allow that. 

So, you tilt your head to the side and up, brushing your nose against his, and say in your own low voice, hoping you sound alluring, “I think you should go sit on the couch.”

Fabric crinkles as Matt’s brows raise in surprise and a tinge of Pride shoots through you at that. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting push back from you and his mouth curls up into amusement.

“Mmmm, and why should I do that?”

You resist the urge to wet your lips, not wanting to seem weak. Instead, you slowly start to guide his shirt back down, so he is covered again.

“Because I want you there.” 

“You want me there?” He confirms as he pulls his head back enough you can see his full face. His hands, however, are defiant - they finally settle on your hips, and with the slightest of tugs, you are flush against him and can feel his hardness pressed against you. Your cunt clenches around nothing in desire and you mentally chastise it as Matt grins like the Cheshire cat. “I think you want me here.”

Your mind races for a solution. As long as your body is weeping for his touch, Matt is not going to back down about getting what he wants but you need him to let you be in control. With his senses and with his suaveness, he has the upper hand. You need to undermine that.  

You need to use his advantages against him. 

Plus, the one unique advantage that he has given to you. 

You decide the only way to control the Devil is to tell him exactly why he is going to listen to you. 

You bite your lip, trying to be a bit coy, then whisper out as confidently as you can, “I want you on the couch so that I can get on my knees and get my mouth on your cock. So, you are going to do that because I know you can smell and taste how wet the idea of sucking you off makes me, and you said that you are mine. You are mine and this is what I want, so that is what you will do. Understood?”

Matt doesn’t respond at first and you try to not panic about pushing the boundaries too far.

But then his lips part just slightly, and his nose flares and you can practically see all of his bravado crumbling. He tightens his grip on your shirt for just a moment before he lets you go and slowly, slowly steps back. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally replies, his voice not as growly, not as deep. 

“Good boy.” 

You watch him back away from you until he pivots to be able to head towards the couch, relief flooding through you. You wait until he has actually sat down to grab the first aid kit from its hidden cupboard and make your way to the living room. 

Matt has manspread so that you can comfortably kneel between his tree-trunk thighs, and as much as you want to take your place there, you do need to actually wrap his chest. His Muay Thai wraps are going to keep him from taking his shirt off, but you don’t mind that much. The idea of him staying in the Man in Black outfit is rather thrilling.

As you go to sit beside him and open the first aid kit, you direct him, “lift your shirt up.” 

You expect a comment or resistance, based on his teasing earlier, but he is surprisingly quick to obey you. He sits up straight and tugs his shirt up as high as it will go, giving you plenty of room to work with.

Wrapping is one of the things you have practiced doing on some of Minnie’s toys, so you feel well versed in the task. The gauze is much better quality than what you have, but the motions are the same and Matt is stoic as you bind his ribs. With each rise and fall of his chest, your cunt drips with anticipation, and you wonder if his dick is twitching with the same. You consider taking your time with wrapping, but you don’t want to drag things out for yourself. 

You want your reward for taming the Devil.

You clean up your mess once finished and set the kit on the coffee table, so it is out of the way. Matt’s attention on you is nearly physical in how aware of it you are. It makes your insides bubble with delight.

You let yourself make a show of standing up and stepping to stand between his legs. Matt’s hands are planted on the couch, and you watch the way his fingers flex and curl as you lower yourself to your knees. 

“This is what you want?” he confirms as you settle yourself. His voice is losing that harsh edge, and he sounds so much more like the Matt you are used to. 

“Very much,” you purr. “It’s all I’ve thought about for days.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat in response, and you watch it as you place your hands on the inners of his thighs and slowly push them up towards his crotch. You then deviate, going around where you know he wants you to touch him and going instead for the buckle of his belt. As you do, you lean up and forward to kiss at the skin just under the gauze. 

You give light, soft little pecks as you make your way down his stomach and Matt arches up into it, fully giving himself to you and stopping with his tough guy act. Pleased with this reaction, you nuzzle him before sinking your teeth into his flesh and starting to suck, determined to make a mark. 

Under you, Matt hisses in pleasure. His hips buck up with want and all his former words about wanting to be scratched and bit flood your mind. He likes the bruises. He likes the pain. 

So, who are you to deny him when he is being so good for you and you very much like the idea of him having reminders of why it’s a good idea to listen to you. 

You treat his washboard abs like a canvas - you bite and suck and scratch, leaving all sorts of different traces of you on him. Matt paws at the cushions, unwilling to put his hands on you for some reason, as his breathing turns harsher and needier. He doesn’t moan, but your name starts to slip out like a prayer and that is the motivation you need to keep going.

You are not satisfied until you’ve touched all the bare skin on the front of his body. 

Only then do you undo his belt and pop the button keeping you from your prize. 

Hard doesn’t begin to describe Matt’s cock - it's swollen and red and leaking like a faucet. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he had already cum all over himself and wouldn’t that have been the ego boost of the century?

His musk is nearly intoxicating as you dip down to rub your nose and lips against his head, smearing precum all over yourself. 

“Please,” Matt begs from above you, voice ragged and needy. It sends an electric thrill through you and you can’t help but want to tease him.

“Please, what?” You ask, throwing it back at him like he always does with you when you are a mess. “Use your words, baby.” 

“Put your mouth on me. Please suck my cock,” he mumbles, rolling his head back and pushing his hips up like you have no clue where to find what he is asking for. “Please. Take what you want. I’m yours. Please.” 

“Don’t worry, my good boy, I’ll take care of you,” you promise before wrapping your mouth around him. 

The burst of saltiness has you moaning and very suddenly your goal shifts from taking care of Matt to taking care of yourself. You’ve thought so long and so much about this experience, and you want to enjoy it exactly how you have imagined it. 

You haven’t given a blowjob in a very long time, so you take your time adjusting and exploring. Your tongue swirls around as you bob up and down, taking more and more in each time until it feels like too much. Then you back off and start again, continuing the process over and over until you no longer gag around him. 

He is heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth and making your jaw work to take him. It's perfect and how you pictured it in your mind. You know, in another time when you weren't so determined with your task, you could get lost in him fucking your throat.

The thought makes you drool, and you pay no mind to the spit gathering in your mouth and dripping down to soak Matt’s pants. 

You know he doesn’t mind being messy. 

When you feel you have thoroughly mapped Matt’s cock by swallowing it do you switch tactics. He whimpers and writhes as you pull off of him only to start panting when you attach your lips to the underside of it. Years of reading dirty books and sex tips has you knowing the frenulum is sensitive and you imagine Matt’s is doubly so. You are proven correct when you start moving your tongue and the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard comes from deep in his chest. 

You relish in how you are undoing Matt. You drag your lips and tongue up and down his length, sucking and flicking your tongue to get different responses. You want to know which one gets him moaning the most, so you are sure to take your time experimenting and learning. One hand wraps around his base to pump slowly, so no part of his cock is neglected, while the other reaches up to resume clawing at his skin. 

Praise and need and begging come pouring down from above you and you want more. You want Matt to feel as good as you do when he lays you out under him. You swallow him again, taking as much as you possibly can in, and when you reach your limit, you stay there. Your hand above you finds the gauze you wrapped around his chest and you move it to where you know the worst of the bruising is hidden. 

Then you press down. 

His cock twitches hard in your throat, a single salty spurt coating your insides, and you know he is right on the edge with the way he moans your name. 

You want more. 

You need more. 

Your cunt is pulsing and gushing at how much you want to make the Devil into a pretty mess, and you know just how to do it. 

You pull back to give yourself room to maneuver, but you keep your mouth on him, worshiping the tip of his cock as the hand wrapped around his base drops to go between your thighs. It is easy to push your sleeping shorts and panties to the side, and you begin to coat your fingers in your own slick. You are so very wet, and your own touch leaves you quivering, but you know your time for physical pleasure will be soon enough. 

You make sure your fingers are absolutely dripping before you remove them from between your legs and enact your plan.

With your mouth still on him, you reach up, your fingers pointed forward and Matt does not need to be told what you are wanting of him. He practically dives for them, slurping them up greedily - like he is parched, and they are his salivation. You push your fingers more into him, until the heel of your hand is flush with his chin, making him start to gag and drool around them. 

As you do that, you swallow him down again and dig your other palm into his bruised ribs. 

The result is instant, and you get no warning as Matt’s hips buck and stutter and he fills your throat with his seed. 

You drink it as greedily as he drinks you down when he is between your legs. You very much understand the pleasure he gets from it - you’ve barely just finished, and you already want to lay him out again. Pulling away from him feels like a Herculean Trial - you yearn to stay there with his cock in your mouth until it gets hard again, but you know you should check on him to make sure he enjoyed himself. 

You give one last tease as you drag your fingers from his mouth, though, letting them tug as his lips and smear spit and slick down his chin, timing it so his cock falls from your mouth at the same time. 

You can only see the bottom half of his face, but he looks pretty blissed out. Matt’s lips are puffy and red, and he has this dopey, pleased smile on his face - something very contrasting from his all-black outfit. You are gentle as you tuck him back into his pants and even more so as you push yourself up so you can climb into his lap, straddling him. 

His hands are on your hips immediately, looping around to tug you flush against his chest. You brace yourself on his shoulders and smile down at the masked man. 

“Did you like that?” you ask, pitching your voice to be sweet and flirty. 

His response is to lean in and begin to kiss your neck, nice and slow and leisurely. You tilt your head to give him better access and he makes his way up to your ear, purring out a ‘yes, ma’am’ as he does. 

His breath against your skin has your core thrumming and reminding you that you need your own release, and you do not plan to deny yourself of that. 

So, as Matt begins to nuzzle and nip at your neck, you pull his mask from his head, tossing it to the side before you tangle your fingers into his hair. You let yourself be rough as you yank his head back so his sightless eyes can stare up into yours, all while clawing your other hand into his shoulder. You then contrast that by giving him the sweetest peck on the lips.

“Good. Because you still need a shower, and I need your cock in my pussy for at least an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

---

This one goes out to @pastafossa . Matt always needs a good Domming session.

--

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@the-devils-angel @savvyreyes4587 @diasnohibng @blobygree18 @givemylovetoall 

@xoxabs88xox @bluerobin35 

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[carlotaamm]

giggling and kicking my feet, GOOD MORNING TUMBLR INDEED

in this home / logan howlett

PAIRING: logan howlett x f!witch!reader

SUMMARY: after the avengers disbanded, you were left with no direction. what happens when you save a certain mutant from the brink of death and invite him and his daughter into your home? (or rather, co-parenting and falling in love with Logan to give him and Laura the life they never had)

WC: 9.1 k

WARNINGS: SLOWWWWW burn, use of y/n, witchcraft (mcu style. i started this during agatha), hopelessness, mentions of death, injuries, nightmares, reader nearly getting killed, guns, a wannabe murderer, violence, blood, angst but also fluff!!

logan masterlist | inbox | masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

What most stories fail to discuss is what happens after the day is saved. They complete with a delicate happily ever after, wrapped in a bow and shipped off to the Void where the characters, presumably, live in domestic bliss for the remainder of their days.

You wish that were the case.

What they don't discuss is the mourning once the adrenaline has worn off- a gnawing grief that brings you to the knees in the middle of cooking dinner and a pain in your chest that renders you dizzy. They don't discuss they days you feel numb, sitting in the driver's seat of the car with nowhere to go.

You had spent years devoted to the Avengers. In a way, all you knew was saving people. But with Thanos defeated, fifty percent of the population returned to their loved ones, and the team disbanded, you were left with nowhere to go.

Some say if people no longer talk about a thing, it ceases to exist. With your name out of papers and no longer slipped into children's nighttime prayers, you wondered if maybe that were true.

Certain people, however, kept you from fading into the abyss as you knew it.

It was a Sunday morning and the cafe you sat in was packed. Between Sam Wilson being late and the awkward shuffle to steal a table the moment another couple sat up, you had almost gone home.

The conversation had been pleasant but you drifted in and out of focus, not being able to forget what this same conversation would have been like before.

Glancing out the window, you felt as if you were trapped within an aquarium.

The sharp, fluorescent lighting above had given you a migraine and the sounds of innocent forks scraping cake off their plates sounded like nails on a chalkboard in your ears. The passerbys laughing with their friends on the sidewalk shook you as if you were in a snow globe- as though everyone was living, moving... going someplace-while you were bound.

Sam's hand waved in front of you, breaking you from your thoughts.

"You could work for the government?" Sam suggested. He leaned back in his seat and pointed two thumbs at himself. "You've got an in."

You snorted. For several reasons, you'd have to decline but you imagine that sharing the same skillset as Wanda Maximoff would not go over well with the government.

Bringing a piping hot cup of coffee to your lips, you shook your head.

"No thanks."

Sam waved his hands in the air as if to brush off the suggestion entirely.

"Alright," Sam said, tapping his finger against his chin as if to think. "What about dating? My sister met her boyfriend on Tinder. Have you tried that?"

You raised your eyebrow at him as if to ask, "really?"

"I'm serious!" Sam defended. "Some lovin' could be good for you."

Besides the fact that that sentence alone made you throw up a little in your mouth, you couldn't think of anything less appealing.

Not to be a snob, but you weren't sure if the bright-eyed men holding fish in their photos and promising to let you steal their sweatshirt were right for a woman like you. In the past few years you had become a reclusive storm with trauma a mile long. Sprinkle in the fact that you were a former Avenger who dealt with the threat of danger and uncertainty daily, that was a recipe for disaster.

Who could deal with a life like that?

You shuffled in your seat.

"Can we change the subject?" You asked, clearing your throat.

Sam looked at you for a moment before leaning in. His arms laid crossed on the table as his voice lowered.

"Listen, I get. I do." He said, glancing at the passerbys. "But when Tony left you that land, he didn't want you to sit around and be alone forever, okay? You're alive and you've got some pretty cool wizard-"

"Witch-"

"Whatever, powers." Sam finished. "You think Nat or Steve would want you to sit around and mourn them?"

Despite how you failed to meet his eyes, instead opting to look at the dregs of your coffee at the bottom of its glass, his words hit you deep.

He was right.

"No," You said. "but I don't know what to do, Sam. What's next for me?"

Sam leaned back in his seat and shrugged.

"The whole damn multiverse is open." He sighed, lifting his own mug up to his lips. "You'll find something."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

A divination witch set you on your path.

Since breakfast, you hadn't been able to shake off your conversation with Sam. After your fellow Avengers' deaths, it had almost felt wrong to do something for yourself. Why did you get to live while the others perished?

But now you wondered how upset they would be to find out you had become a living ghost. You couldn't bear their disappointment.

It took you three fake fortune tellers before you found a proper witch in a hole in the wall shopfront. The pleasantries were short before her power overcame her.

Her eyes rolled back as the candles scattered about flickered. The light above you flashed as the bulb exploded, raining glass over your head. With a pen in hand, she scribbled on the paper in front of her. You listened to the etching of lead against paper while shielding yourself from the falling pieces of glass.

In an instant, as if you had imagined it, the lights fell back to their usual dim appearance, the rumbling stopped and she cleared her throat, suddenly composed.

She handed you that same piece of paper and sent you on your way.

Now, as the sun set beyond the horizon you skimmed the paper once more. Your candles had been lit and the aroma of the potion that had used up most of your stores wafted throughout the space, gurgling in its cauldron. Your symbols had been etched on the floor, written with your fingers dripped into the prior substance.

Now all that was left was the setting sun.

Check.

It was now or never.

With a deep breath you sat on the floor. The wood creaked beneath you as you did, as if your home could feel the weight of the spell you were about to cast- the future you were about to create. You crossed your legs into an all too familiar position and laid your hands palm-up on your knees.

The beat of your heart quickened in your chest, uncertainty threatening to take hold. You took a shaky break and cleared your throat. The silence of the room made it echo in your ears.

You closed your eyes.

"Oh maiden, mother, crone,

Show my path

written in thy stone."

The floor rumbled beneath you. A breeze filtered in through the opened window and brushed against you, raising your skin. You heard the sound of wood creaking, churning as if the house were renovating itself- expanding and rearranging the makeup of your walls. Finally, and most odd of all, you heard a lock click.

You turned around.

A door had appeared in your once solid wall.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

So this is what it feels like.

When Logan opened his eyes, he was greeted by a warm, inviting light. The evening sun had begun to peak through the windows of the bedroom, leaving shadows on his arm from where the blinds stood, weakly shielding him from its rays. A jazz song hummed from the distance, luring Logan with its melodic keys.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of pain. The last Logan remembered, he was impaled by a branch- body beaten beyond return. Laura was holding him, the children were safe, and for the first time, he learned what it was like to die.

After all the stories that he had heard, Logan thought that this was it. What comes next. Peace.

It took a bit of effort for him to get his eyes open- something he had experienced more than a handful of times after a particularly strong night drinking. At first, all he saw was light. Blinking a few more times a familiar figure came into clarity:

"Laura?"

His voice was raspy and he felt his vocal chords scrape against one another, dry. Just as he had made out Laura’s figure, she ran from the room.

Logan rubbed at his eyes with his left hand as he gripped the sheets with his right.

"Laura?" He called again. "Kid?"

Finally gaining clarity, Logan discovered that he was in a bedroom. The rocking chair that Laura had been in moments before sat facing him and continued to creek forwards and back after she had left. Throughout the room, various books and bottles littered every surface.

Before he had time to process, you came bolting into the room with Laura at your heel. The mutant rubbed at his eyes, as the image of the two of you wobbled in his vision. Logan, upon your entrance, attempted to lift himself up with a groan.

"Hey... hey." You cooed, gently easing Logan back into bed. "Easy tiger. Relax."

Laura took her place at his side as your soft hands laid against his bare chest.

"Relax?" Logan asked, a dry laugh escaping his throat. "Listen lady, I thought I was fucking dead. Where the hell am I?"

If there was one thing that Logan was terrible at- it was relaxing. And also probably mathematics if he really thought about it, but after nearly dying and being tasked with saving a dozen kids, relaxing was about the last thing on his mind.

He was tempted to fight back. Afterall, you were a stranger and it was rare that one of those had the best intentions with him. That was until he saw Laura- safe and clean and, most importantly, calm- looking up at him with her doe eyes.

The last time he saw her this calm was with Charles. He felt a pang in his chest.

"She fixed you." Laura said as she glanced between Logan and yourself. "She's magic."

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, pulling his eyes away from Laura to look at you.

One of your hands remained on Logan's chest while the other flipped through a spell book on the bedside table. Your hand was gentle against his skin, encouraging him to relax without forcing him into the pillow. Your face was scrunched, focused on the passage below and yet, you seemed perfectly calm. It was odd almost. Logan couldn't remember the last time a person, especially a mutant, had been relaxed in his presence.

A part of him, albeit a one that often failed in the fight for dominance, was relieved to relinquish himself to you. He had fought, and fought, and fought, and fought. And, god, it didn't matter how many times Logan's body healed himself- he was tired. Exhausted.

If it weren't for Laura, after two hundred years, he was ready to die in the middle of that forest.

"Where am I?"

Shifting your attention back to logan, you placed your hands on your hips- leaving the spot on his chest where your hand had once been cold.

You and Laura exchanged looks and the girl giggled quietly.

"Well, the short answer is upstate New York." You responded with a flair, watching as his eyebrow arched. "More specifically? You're in a different universe."

Huh?

Logan glanced between you and Laura. A silence hung in the air as you both looked at him with playful grins on your faces.

Logan had been unconscious for about a week while his body healed. In that time, you had watched over Laura- explaining the different universes, your magic, and the way those with abilities were perceived in your world. By now, this had become home. Logan, however, would need a bit more convincing.

When he realised the both of you were being serious, a congested laugh left his throat.

"Oh c'mon." Logan chuckled in his gravely voice. "I must've hit my head real fucking hard-"

"-She's not lying!" Laura interrupted, squeezing Logan's arm enough to draw blood. "It's safe. Look."

Laura picked up his hand and held it in front of his face.

His wrinkles had vanished, elasticity restored in his skin. His scars had faded into nonexistence. The spot where Laura had just drew blood healed quickly, erasing any trace of injury. He watched the edges of his skin lace together again, born anew.

“How…” Logan began, noting how the callouses on his hands had seemingly disappeared. “How in the hell did you do that?”

You smiled.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Logan continued to stare at you incredulously, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the matter at hand. Despite you never having done something this drastic before, you had seen this look your fair share of times and understood it well.

As the sun continued setting in the distance, the light peeking in had become more faded by the minute. With a wave of your hand, you shut the blinds, and the candles littering the space had alit at once with a resounding "whoosh".

Logan, more confused than ever, tugged at the bedsheet that had laid over him, kicking his feet over the side of the bed with a humph.

Laura had told you that he would be difficult... stubborn even. The life that he had lived, albeit longer, was not unfamiliar to yours. It was hard to trust and more difficult to accept comfortability. Even after being comatose for a week, in autopilot fashion he was onto his next mission. Despite you not affording the same grace to yourself, you weren't going to let that happen to him.

“Laura, honey,” You said. “Why don’t you let your dad and I talk a bit, okay?”

The child glanced between you and her father before nodding and making her way from the room. The door shut behind her with a click.

The air in the room felt thick. You could feel Logan's eyes burning a hole right through you.

You cleared your throat.

"Look, I'm sure you've got a lot of questions-"

The man ran one of his hands through his tussled hair while the other scratched his overgrown beard. As messy as he was in this state, a deeper part of you couldn't help but think of him as the definition of rugged.

"You think?" Logan quipped sarcastically. "Where's the rest of 'em?"

The other mutant children.

"They're here too." You said, crossing the room to your rocking chair. "I'm part of this sort of ... uh... organization.. for people like us. With special abilities. When I ended up in your universe and came back here, I contacted some people I knew and they've adopted them. We're starting a school for them too, but otherwise they're going to grow up like any other kid. Not soldiers." You crossed your legs, allowing the old wooden chair to creek back and forth. "They deserve it."

Logan couldn't help a scoff that escaped him. A light, tired smile fell to his lips as he thought of a new school for mutant kids. The old Logan would have laughed, but with the death of the professor remaining a fresh wound, it felt like a relief.

You did what he couldn't.

"A school, huh?" He asked.

You smiled.

"A school."

For a moment, silence hung in the air. The only sound was the persistent creak of wood emanating from your rocking chair.

"Logan, I-" You pierced the silence.

"I'll take the kid and get out of your hair in the morning."

And there it was.

What you had been fearing the past week.

"Logan," You treaded carefully, fearful that one wrong movement would send him out the door. "Don't. I'm serious when I say that I want you here. I... it's been nice."

He looked at you quizzically. As if a cartoon lightbulb had flashed with an animated ding! above him, the answer came.

"That uh... what did you call it? Organization?" He pondered, looking at you solemly. "Let me take a guess- it's not around anymore?"

A silence hung in the air once more.

"Let me take a guess," You said just above a whisper. "Yours isn't either?"

His unresponsiveness answered your question.

"Right, well," you said, ceasing your rocking. "If you want to go, I won't keep you here. I'll help you out in whatever way you need to get your life started. But between us... I like the company."

You pushed yourself to your feet.

"I'm going to go start dinner." You announced, slipping towards the door. "Think it over and let me know."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Laura was perched in front of the television while you sat planted behind her, braiding her damp hair. The blue light of the television reflected off of her face as she absentmindedly shoved popcorn into her mouth— focused solely on the screen.

Above the crunching of popcorn kernels you heard Logan's sock padded feet make their way into the room.

His hair was still wet and you could tell that he had tried to tame it by brushing his fingers through either side, sticking it up.

Logan smiled when he was greeted by you and Laura dressed in pajamas watching some princess movie on the television. Although he would never be caught dead in pants with ice-skating penguins on them, instead adorned in the matching gray sweatpants and t-shirt you laid out on the bed for him, he found it.. comforting. One would even say "cozy" and "domestic" if they had it in their vocabularies, to which Logan did not.

All he knew was this was a far cry from what he had been experiencing the week prior.

"Hey," You smiled up at him, nudging your head to the next room. "Dinner's in the dining room. I'll be there in a minute once I finish up her hair."

He wanted to argue about how you didn't need to make dinner for him or, better yet, spend the effort to come keep him company, but Logan knew better.

And, to be completely transparent, he didn't want to say no.

Logan instead nodded and pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against. He moved towards the dining room, grabbing a handful popcorn from Laura's bowl as he went past.

"Hmph!" She snarled, snatching it back.

Logan shrugged and shoved a few kernels into his mouth, "Taxes."

You giggled as you watched the two of them interact, tying off Laura's hair.

"All good to go, missy." You announced.

In the dining room, the candle that you had left burning on the table illuminated Logan's face. The warm tones of the flame highlighted the curve of his nose and the reddened blush on his cheeks from the warmth of the space. An old jazz song played on the record player as Logan leaned back in his seat, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey you had left for him on the table.

When he heard your footsteps, Logan looked up and tipped the glass towards you.

"How'd you know?"

You shrugged, pulling out the chair beside him.

"Lucky guess."

Leaning forward in his seat, Logan placed the glass back down on the table. The silence between you was comfortable- your feet resting on the rungs of his chair as the melody from the record filled the room.

Logan leaned forward and took a bite from the plate you had laid out, humming as he did.

"You made this?" He asked, mouth full.

You leaned forward, inspecting his plate.

"Well yeah," You responded warily. "Is it okay? I've just been cooking for myself the past few years so it might not-"

"You kidding?" He responded with a chuckle that came from deep within his chest. "I can't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal."

You smiled.

"Well I don't remember the last time I had someone to share it with."

The comment came out before you had the time to quite think about it. You had only really met this man hours ago and here you were, feeding, clothing him, and having an air of intimacy surrounding you both that was owed to a pair who had known each other far longer.

To your relief, a crooked smile rose to Logan's face as he shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence, Logan eating his meal as you relaxed into your seat, letting the music soothe you. The noise from the television playing in the other room periodically carried into the one you sat in but you, and unbeknownst to you, Logan, found solace in it. The company, the warmth of sitting close to someone, and the mashup of various sounds were a comforting reminder that you weren't alone.

After a moment, Logan cleared his throat.

"I'll go find some work tomorrow."

"Logan, you really don't have to-"

He shot you a look- eyebrows raised and lips drawn in a thin line- that told you that he was firm in this.

"Listen," He said. "I appreciate all this, but if the kid n' I are gonna stay, I need to do something, alright? Let me help."

You nodded, biting back your smile at his decision to remain.

"There's a lumberyard up the road if that's your thing." You said bringing a glass to your lips. "The owner's always complaining he can't find new guys out here."

Logan scooped up another bite with his fork.

"That'll work."

"Good." You said with a smile. "Then it's settled. Your new life starts tomorrow."

Or was it today?

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

At the end of the first week, Laura's nightmares began.

Her screams- not of her usual rage, but of sadness... fear- would pull you and Logan from your slumber. You'd rush from your bedrooms on opposite ends of the hall towards Laura. His hands would reach for the knob first, but you'd be at her bedside in an instant, brushing past him.

He'd flick on the light as you brushed her hair from her forehead, cooing her awake.

"Laura, honey, it's a dream." You said, shading her from the light as she opened her eyes. "We're right here."

We.

It was the first time that you referred to you and Logan as a pair. A team. The other half that made you whole.

It became the same pattern every night. You'd wake up to her cries, rush to her aid, then read with her until she fell asleep. With you both within reach, she'd fall peacefully back to sleep- staying that way until the morning.

This night, when you went to tuck Laura in, however, you never made it back to your beds. With either of her hands, she held onto one of your wrists, urging you to stay with her as she fell asleep. The look on her face could melt even the Wolverine's heart, how did you stand a chance?

You and Logan made room for each other at the edge of the bed, sitting side by side with your backs against the baseboard. There were whispered sorrys and mumbles of discomfort as elbows collided with ribs and knees with shins.

"Kid did this on purpose." Logan grumbled.

Before you could ask why, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, alleviating the discomfort as you melted into his side.

"There."

At first you stiffened, in unfamiliar territory with the man you had only just met a week ago, but as you heard Laura's breathing turn to snores, you relaxed into his chest.

You could hear how his breath rattled in his chest, your head rising and falling with each inhale. You couldn't help but smile at the fact that Logan smelt like the body wash and shampoo you had left in the bathroom specifically for him. But not the conditioner. You should have guessed.

The nightlight in the corner spun, casting silhouettes of horses around the room. It looked as if they were running, chasing after one another but never able to reach the finish line.

The light ran over Logan's face, highlighting the scruff he had missed from that morning. His head had tilted back against the board, his eyes closed shut. You thought that if he had been normal, you would have noted razor burn on his neck.

With Laura's snores and Logan's eased breathing, you felt your eyes begin to lull, luring you into the sleep you so desperately craved. Laying your head on Logan's chest completely, you surrendered yourself to the wave of exhaustion.

Logan felt your head fall lower on his chest and your body go limp in his arms. As your breathing slowed, your hands fell into his lap and your leg draped over his.

He wanted to laugh. Really, he did, but the idea of waking either of his girls up stopped the laugh in its track, it falling to a scoff that just barely escaped his lips.

If only the man he was two weeks ago could see him now- tucking his daughter into bed and falling asleep with a woman in his arms all without a single worry in the world. Maybe he was dead and somehow made it to heaven.

But then he remembered his imagination couldn't make up a woman like you. One who took him in without a second thought, who worried about if he ate enough, who bought him new clothes because "they reminded me of you". Logan hadn't been able of conceiving normalcy. That, he left to you.

But he was still learning you then.

It was in that moment that his heart skipped a beat for the first time as your face nuzzled into his neck, hair brushing against his cheek. It was such a shocking feeling- one he hadn't known in decades- that his hand flew to his chest.

Then he realized- it was you. You did that to him.

Fuck.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

After a month, Logan got his own vehicle: a truck with a front bench seat. Although it was old and a bit beat up, he took pride in it. And besides, you would’ve been lying if you said your ears didn’t perk up every time you heard that rusty door slam signaling his return from work.

Without thinking, all three of you had fallen into a routine. Laura, who had been playing in the front yard after school, would run up to her father, roping him into whatever she had been getting up to that afternoon. You, hearing the truck's engine turn off and the playful giggles of Laura, would find yourself on the porch watching the two of them- shawl wrapped cozily around your shoulders as you brought a hot drink to your lips.

And whether it was while he was drawing the most awful scribble you've ever seen in chalk, or roughhousing on the front lawn, you'd manage to catch Logan's eye.

What you didn't know, was that Logan had his own routine. He'd join Laura in whatever she doing, but when he heard that squeak of the hurricane door opening, signalling your arrival to the scene? He was like a dog. Logan would pause whatever he was doing, looking up to meet your eyes.

Only when you gave him the same, warm smile that he thought about morning, noon, and night, did he find the permission to continue what he had been doing prior.

He'd go back to passing the ball to Laura, giving her pointers on her throw, or pushing her on the tire swing he'd set up a week earlier; but now he had an added pep in his step knowing your watchful gaze was on him. It wasn't daunting, but peaceful, warm, and comfortable. It made him want to be better... do better.

It was always in him, but your faith in Logan is what brought out his potential.

Jean always said he had a soft spot for women. The same bitter resolve Logan reserved for the rest of the population would dissipate in the presence of the opposite sex- a remanent of a bygone era maybe. Maybe.

When the sun began to set- "God damn daylight savings," Logan would grumble- all three of you would begin to head inside, the warm glow of the house inviting the three of you in. Sometimes Logan would hold the door open for you, insisting he be the last to go in and lock up.

You figured it was chivalry. He knew it was the care and concern that had grown for not only Laura, but you.

Alternatively, you'd sometimes catch him before he crossed the threshold. You'd watch Laura skip out of earshot, and gently grab Logan's arm.

The feeling of your touch against his skin was foreign yet familiar, but most certainly welcomed. The absentminded rub of your thumb against the fabric of his shirt was enough to make his heart sink in his chest. Then, you'd look up at him with thankful eyes, peeking beneath your eyelashes and he'd wonder whether he'd physically be able to restrain himself much longer.

You'd comment on something you watched him do and remind him how good he was. But once, in a moment Logan would never forget, as the two of you watched your girl run inside, you snaked your arm around his back.

"We're lucky to have you, you know?"

Logan, stunned, wasn't sure what to respond, but luckily you didn't give him the space to.

"Now, what are we thinking for dinner? I'm starving."

Still, he waited for your foot to cross the threshold before he allowed himself to enter.

That night when Logan went to sleep, the interaction played over and over in his mind. He could feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as he fell asleep to the lullaby of your soft voice reminding him that you were his.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

After how many years does a person stop remembering their own birthday?

For Logan, it was complicated but he stopped considering the day very early on. When there was no one there to celebrate with and you had the "gift" of never ending regeneration, was it worth commemorating another year in a seemingly endless life? Especially with one such as his, he wondered...no. was sure.... that there wasn't anything worth celebrating.

It was like any other day: Logan woke up, ate breakfast, went to work... but unlike the rest of them, when he slammed his truck door shut after a long day on the job, Laura wasn't playing outside despite the sun's rays still peeking through the trees. Shrugging it off, he grabbed his bag from the bed and made his way inside.

On most occasions, Logan would have stopped.

Logan would have heard the hushed whispers between you and Laura, her giggles spurning you on to do the same. He would've noted the click of the lighter on the other side of the door, but in the complete opposite of Wolverine fashion, he had gotten comfortable.

"Just like we practiced-" Your hushed voice whispered from the other side of the thick wood.

Raising his eyebrow, Logan opened the door.

On the other side, you and Laura stood with a homemade cake in your hands. The candle on top- a "1"- flickered brightly as your voices rang out singing happy birthday.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you.."

Logan could count on one hand the number of times he had cried in his very long life, but seeing the two of you standing in front of him, he felt pressure grow behind his dark eyes. Your smile, bright as ever, welcomed him in and he couldn't help but admire the way that the flame made your eyes sparkle.

You had the option of anybody- anyone in the multiverse- and you chose him to share this family and home with. Although Laura may have encouraged you, Logan knew that this was your idea. The cake, the song, the candles, the banner hanging above the door- it had your scheming written all over it. You were warm and kind and, Logan would admit, so beautiful that in that moment, he got choked up. Never had he been shown care like this.

"Happy birthday dear Logan-"

"-Daddy..."

"Happy birthday to you!"

In one hand you brought the cake close to the burly man. With the other, you brushed a stray tear from his cheek.

"Make a wish!" Laura shouted, tugging on his arm.

Pulling himself back into the moment, Logan ruffled his daughter's hair.

"Well I don't know, kid." He said. "Doesn't seem like there's much to wish for."

"Oh c'mon, Lo." You said, brushing his hair from his face absentmindedly. "There's gotta be something."

And something there was. Rather, someone.

The Logan that had existed three months ago was a changed man. To be clear, he was just as stubborn and hotheaded as always, but the unshakable doom, gloom and overall nihilistic manner about him had shifted.

Once, Charles had told Laura that Logan was ready to die... wanted to die. Now, he would never let anything happen to him, not for his own sake but for yours and the mutant girl the two of you shared.

He wanted to wake up in the morning and smell the bitter coffee you brewed for him in the kitchen before work. He wanted to go to work and have the men tease him about his "missus" they knew nothing about. He wanted to come home at the end of the day to hear your laughs and jokes at his expense. Most importantly, he wanted to fall asleep at night knowing it would be the same tomorrow.

Logan, the lone wolf, the Wolverine, in his vulnerability had found a safe haven in Laura and you.

You, who gave yourself freely and optimistically. It almost felt wrong how he wanted more from you, but how could he help it? You gave him a taste and he wanted more.

Taking a deep breath- and rolling his eyes for show- Logan blew the candle out with a wish in mind.

"What's your wish?" Laura asked, bouncing on her toes as the smoke flitted through the air.

Logan, a bit embarrassed but not wanting to admit it, was preparing to mess with Laura about wishing for something completely asinine, but to his relief, you stepped in.

"He can't tell you, silly." You said, placing your hand on Laura's back to guide her towards the kitchen. "If he tells you, then it won't come true."

Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Logan a wink.

God, he was fucked.

Logan and you followed Laura into the kitchen, dragging a few feet behind.

"Didn't wanna know what I wished for?" Logan asked.

The Logan of long ago- the one who had the time and heart to devote to a woman- had slowly appeared the more time he spent with you. It's as if in the warmth of your love, the harsh exterior had melted away.

Sometimes Logan wondered if you were right that first day when you told him the old him was dead. Then, a moment like this would happen and he would be reminded that it was always in him, waiting for the right condition, or person, to bring it forth.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said, smiling. "I meant what I said. I don't wanna know. I want your wish to come true... don't you?"

Logan in that moment wondered whether you had peeked into his mind. Had you fished out his deepest desires and decided to dangle them in front of his face?

You hadn't given him time to ask. Instead, you left him standing in confusion in the foyer as you rushed into the kitchen.

"Laura!" You shouted, "Do not stick your hand into that cake! Laura-"

Shaking his head in disbelief at what his life had become, a dry chuckled escape Logan's throat.

"Jesus."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Considering the portion of her life that she had spent locked up in comparison to being free, you were proud of the progress that Laura had made. She picked up incredibly quick on the way things worked. She knew not to steal, how to use a fork and knife, to wait until the little green man appeared to cross the street- she was quick, intelligent, and incredibly perceptive.

One part she still struggled with, however, was managing her anger: a trait she had inherited from her father.

It was a minor concern. The life that you and Logan had created for her was one that made the likelihood of outbursts scarce- only a heated argument with Logan over something as silly as a game would be able to bring her claws out... metaphorically of course.

"Logan, she doesn't know what property tax is." You'd say after she stormed off with a stomp and growl. "Give her a break."

"That's not how the game goes." Logan would argue. "If the kid wants to survive out there, she's gotta know how the world works."

"It's Monopoly, Logan!"

However, as with any child, you couldn't always control when those outbursts occurred.

The three of you had had a nightmare of a weekend. A short trip that had otherwise gone smoothly, went up in flames last minute when all flights were canceled due to an impending blizzard. Rather than stick it out, with Logan needing to get back to work, the two of you decided it would be best to road trip back home.

For the most part it was fine. Intermittently Logan would scold Laura for kicking his seat absentmindedly and you'd all argue over whether to use air conditioning or windows, but besides that it was perfectly fine. Normal even. Which was rare for two immortals from a different universe and a witch.

When Laura begged to pull over for a snack, how were you supposed to know that it could go so wrong?

As you browsed the aisles, occasionally picking up a snack, skimming the back and placing it back where it came from., Laura had drifted from your side. A beverage in the back had caught her eye without you realising and by the time you noticed her departure, it was too late.

When you heard her sweet voice turn to cursed growls that resembled her fathers, you were across the store in an instant.

An old man stood before her with a hand wrapped around one of her wrists.

"Woah!" You shouted, standing between the man and Laura. "What's going on here?"

"Your brat kid stomped on my foot, that's what!" The man growled. "You oughta teach that girl a lesson!"

Although you had created a gap between her and the man, that comment had you throwing Laura behind you entirely. A part of you that had been buried for years- an aggression you barely recognized- came to the surface.

"Don't talk to my daughter like that!" You shouted, shoving your finger in his face. "You have some fucking nerve-"

All of the commotion piqued Logan's ears from across the shop. The unfamiliar pitch of your voice had Logan tossing his keys on the counter and quickening his pace to you.

"Oh good," The guy said. "Maybe you can tell your bitch of a wife to-"

In the past few months, Logan had become a man that the old Logan- figuratively and literally- would have never recognized. He was cool, calm, and collected. His outbursts were few and far between and never, ever violent.

But, hearing that bite in your voice? Seeing the fire in your eyes? And, worst of all, some man call you that? No Logan would have let that slide.

A part of him- a primal one that called to action when needed- came out then.

Before he had even had time to process the implication of what the asshole said, Logan had grabbed the collar of his shirt with a growl and slammed him against the freezer. Bottles rattled on their shelves as the collective hiss of a spare few crashing on the floor echoed throughout the convenience store.

"We got a problem here, bub?” Logan hissed.

The confidence of the man whose feet were now dangling in the air had deteriorated. The fear in his eyes was palpable as he gasped for air.

“No!” He gasped. “Everything’s fine!”

“Yeah?” Logan asked, shoving the man up higher, eliciting a whelp. “Why don’t you apologize to the lady then.”

“I’m- ah!” He hissed. “I’m sorry!”

Logan's face burned red as he held him high. A visible vein protruded from his neck.

"Logan." You called. "He's not worth it. Let him go."

The man's shoes scraped against the glass doors he was pressed against.

"Let's just go home."

Logan glanced to where you stood with Laura shielded in your arms. On any given day of his other life he would have beat that man to a pulp for insulting the only two people breathing who mattered to him. He would of let his conscience take a back seat while his fists led, the only consequence being a stinging in his knuckles for a brief moment.

But now, there was stuff- or rather, people... his girls- at stake. Any confrontation with the law could put the dynamic you had in jeopardy. His ego wasn't worth the price.

Logan dropped the man to the floor and wiped his hands against his jacket. Before he could allow himself to turn back and get himself into trouble, he placed his hand on your shoulder and gently guided you towards the door.

"C'mon, let's go."

Later, as the sun set beyond the horizon, Laura laid asleep with her head in your lap. Had she been anyone besides the daughter of the Wolverine, you would have argued for seatbelt safety. However, seeing her content face nuzzled in a sweatshirt on your lap- her feet kicked up onto her father's- how could you say no?

Logan lazily hummed along to an old tune playing on the radio, one arm leaning out the window.

He cleared his throat.

"Daughter, huh?"

His eyes were trained on the road but you saw a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips.

"Am I your wife?"

If he had been the old Logan- before the endless pain, before the wars, before the deaths of his loved ones- he would have told you he loved you right there.

I wish you were.

But he wasn't. Despite his appearance he was an old, disgruntled, traumatized, burdened man. Logan didn't have the same confidence he did decades ago where he could say it, mean it and not worry about the consequences.

And your love, romantic or not, was not something he was willing to gamble.

But God he wanted you.

"If you were my wife, I'd treat you helluva lot better." He said. The smile had disappeared, replaced by a stoic, knitted line.

The fingers of yours that had been running through Laura's hair stopped. Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced out the window, watching the trees on the side of the highway blur past you.

"You treat me pretty damn well, Logan." You said, trying to sound humorous but ultimately falling flat. "I envy the woman who gets you."

This should have been the moment that it changed.

This should have been the moment that Logan pulled the car over to the side of the road and told you that he didn't want to pretend to be a family anymore- three people who were falling into the roles assigned to them- he wanted you to be a family because you were one. It wasn't pretend. It wasn't a facade. You were a family in every sense of the word.

Because he was yours, you were his and Laura belonged to you as much as Logan.

When the guys at work asked about his missus, he wanted to say your name. The lines had been blurred, but he wanted to straighten them out beyond where they had begin- where they were meant to be. You with him, him with you, you all together.

How could he think about another woman when his world revolved around you?

But then Laura stirred in your lap and his built-up confidence crumbled.

She yawned, curling herself into your lap.

"Are we home yet?"

Pulling your eyes from the road, you smiled and resumed brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Almost, honey."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Logan!"

Your sharp cry woke Logan from his slumber with a start. Before he had entirely processed that it was your voice calling for help, he had flung the sheets from his body and threw himself out of bed.

"Y/n?" Logan shouted, his sock covered feet hitting the floor.

Below, he heard a shatter. He could make out the sound of distinct pieces of glass sliding across the floor as you screamed his name.

"Get off of-" He heard your muffled voice grunt from the floor below. "Logan, help!"

Hearing your pleas, Logan threw open the bedroom door and ran down the stairs- skipping three steps at a time. He felt his heart pounding against his chest so aggressively that he was sure he would be able to see the imprint of it on his skin had he looked in a mirror.

Despite his descending the staircase at a rapid pace, your voice became more distant the closer he got.

Then, he heard the back door swing open.

Logan dodged his way through the threshold of the living room, running over the shattered vase that littered the floor. Drops of blood stained the rug. The television that had been on when you fell asleep on the couch hours earlier was still playing reruns of your favorite show.

Logan quickened his pace. He felt the chilled breeze hit his skin coming from the backdoor left ajar. When he crossed from the kitchen onto the porch, he froze.

He could hear the rhythmic buzz of the electric collar around your neck- suppressing your powers- from where he stood. Your socks were wet from the freshly melted snow that stained where you stood on the grass. A deep red gash drew blood from your forehead, dripping down your face and over your cheeks.

Behind you, a man stood with a gun to your back.

"Who the fuck are you?" The stranger called, shaking you 'til you lost your balance.

You fell to your knees in front of him with a cry.

"I'm gonna be the guy who kills you if you don't let her go." Logan growled, fists balled up at his sides.

His voice echoed amongst the trees and as sturdy as it sounded, the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms was the only thing that kept Logan from shaking.

You- precious, kind, loving- you were on your knees powerless, preparing yourself for your own demise. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes as you heaved, no doubt from the fight you had just lost in the living room. Logan realized that for the first time in the months he had known you, you were scared.

You were like a fortress in a storm- sturdy, powerful, confident- but now it was as though a battering ram had been taken to your resolve, leaving you destroyed. There was something about that knowledge that terrified him even more- if you were scared, he had every reason to be terrified.

"Oh I'm not letting her go," The guy laughed. "The Avengers ruined my life. This used to be the Avengers Compound base and she's going to die here like the rest of them. You can kill me all you want, but she," He pulled your hair, "is going out with me."

As he tugged your hair, your face raised to meet Logan's. By now, tears stained your cheeks, running down your neck and into the hem of your shirt.

Finally, when life was going the way you wanted- in the way you felt you deserved- it was coming to an end.

The only comfort brought was that Logan was here with you.

"Logan-" You cried, a sob lodged in your throat.

Logan could feel his heart shatter into a thousand pieces at your soft, yet broken voice.

Holding back his own emotions for your sake, he breathed shakily.

"Sweetheart... I'm gonna fix this. Just-"

"I love you." You sobbed, hands tied behind your back. Your chest rose and fell with a wheeze as another cry escaped you. "God, I loved you so much it hurt. I wanted us to-"

Past tense.

Just like that, the dam broke.

Tears that had been burning behind Logan's eyes fled the corners, blurring his vision. His fists loosened their grip as one moved to balance himself on the railing. All the while, his chest burned with the fire of a thousand suns.

"Don't talk like that." Logan huffed, blinking back tears.

Then, Logan heard the click of the bullet falling into place.

"Show's over." The stranger announced. "Say hi to your friends for me."

People often wonder what thoughts go through your head the moment before you die. Some say their life flashes before them, others disappear without even knowing. You?

Oddly enough you wanted to remind Logan to clean up the glass in the living room before Laura could step on it. That you had bread rising in the kitchen that he should bake, or remember to throw out before it got moldy. That the deed to your land was in the safe in your office. The combination was your birthday.

But all you could manage was an-

"I love you."

You think that covered it.

You could hear his index finger fiddling with the trigger behind you. You swore later that you could even make out the sound of his knuckles popping as they bent into position.

Both were interrupted by a whiny slishhh as two shimmering claws shot from his torso.

Laura.

Like a gun going off at the races, Logan broke into a run across the yard. When you were feet away, he slid onto his knees in the wet grass and pulled you into him.

If his brain hadn't been so fogged, Logan would have worried that he hurt you from how tight he squeezed you. His calloused fingertips tangled themselves in your hair as your forehead found its home against his own. His other hand gripped your shirt for dear life, feeling the chill of your skin through the cloth.

His warm breath enveloped your face as he held you tighter- fearing what would happen if you escaped his reach.

Soft cries escaped your lips as he peppered your forehead in kisses.

"You're safe now, I got you." He said, more for himself than you. "I love you too, darlin', I'm right here."

Logan heard the earth crunch beside him as Laura wordlessly kneeled beside you both and slipped into your embrace.

.:*

After the first responders had come and gone, it was 3am.

You and Logan put Laura to bed together. When you leaned over to tuck her in, her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt as her face hid in your shoulder.

For the second time that evening, tears burned in your eyes. This time, not out of fear of the unknown but peace at the future revealed.

You brushed her hair back and kissed her forhead.

"I love you." You said, quelling the shake in your voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

She pulled away and allowed you to tuck the blanket up to her chin.

"Sweet dreams."

As you handed her the stuffed animal you had gifted her the first day, her voice spoke out barely above a whisper.

"I love you too, Mommy."

And the dam broke. As if sensing your composure, Logan reached out and laid a hand on your shoulder.

"Night kiddo."

Logan ushered you from the room, carefully closing the door as you exited. He took your hand in his and led you to your room.

His hands were just as you imagined them- callous and rough. But they didn't scare or deter you. No, they were a physical manifestation of his perseverance. The hands he would use to love, provide and protect you. They had to be strong, they carried the weight of the world in his hands. It was a comfort and privilege to be loved by them.

In your room, Logan turned the lamp on and guided you under the covers. He pulled the covers over your form and as he did, you snatched his wrist in your hand.

"Stay."

It wasn't question, an order, or a command.

It was a plead. A begging on your knees.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

His voice was dry, tired.

Moving to the other side of the bed, he carefully slid into the space beside you.

"C'mere."

He stretched his arm over your back and eased you into his side. Like a woman stranded in the ocean and he your life raft, you slipped your arms around him and held him as if your life depended on it. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent for the first time.

Although it was new, the intimacy felt familiar. Whether because of your dreams made real or that you both had fallen into the place destined for you, you weren't sure. But the ease lulled you to surrender to your exhaustion.

"I love you." You mumbled into his neck, your vision fleeing from focus as your eyes drooped.

Logan breathed in deeply, stroking his face with your knuckles as your breathing slowed.

"I love you too, darlin.'"

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

This has been in the drafts for months and i'm SO excited to finally put it out into the world. replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I would love to know what you all think <3 laura's perception of reader and logan are very much based on the end of logan where she calls logan daddy (i wanna SOB) and i did edit a few chunks out to limit the word count aflkdjal, anyway thank you for reading!! -cass

[carlotaamm]

when I tell you I'm GRASPING THE EDGE OF MY SEAT

and when i say i am literally dreaming about this series i mean it

[carlotaamm]

YESSSS THE ANGST (holy damn, I'm so scared for Mouse)

Wow, I've been really waiting for this chapter! Love how it's all going on at the same time —the involvement of Reader with the team, her being so ready to go full on Mamma bear, Mouse progressively being more exposed to the dangers of being enhanced. I end up reading it FAST bc of how excited I am and I gotta go back to take it all in again lol

Might be a bad time to admit I never watched the Defenders, so I'm going into this full on blank—and so excited! Love me a little mystery anyway

[[and then I met you || Ch. 33]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

|| Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions Body Horror & Death Regarding Unnamed Children ||

All your life you have heard that there is a beauty in chaos, and while you do agree with this, you also find there is a beauty in organization. 

You like taking all the chaos and putting it into categories. You like sorting the details and finding the mysteries that need to be unraveled. You think it must be similar to how clever people feel when they solve a riddle or a puzzle, but you aren’t running in circles with philosophical thoughts - you are analyzing what is already available and coming to a conclusion. 

It is still all chaos, because everything is always chaos, but it is organized into a way that makes sense. 

And Matt’s stolen duffel bag, when first unzipped and inspected, was full of chaos. 

You, Foggy, and Karen quickly got to work looking over the different papers and forming different stacks based upon agreed parameters. 

It became clear Matt’s guess that he had found some sort of laboratory was correct. The papers all appeared to be results of different medical tests, though at first glance, the three of you could not decipher for what.

But deciphering wasn’t needed at that moment, so it didn’t matter, and once everything was spread neatly across the dining table, the next step of your beloved process began. 

Foggy gave each pile a designation and then the three of you began labeling each paper in the top corner. 

A1. A2. A3. A4. 

B1. B2. B3. B4. 

All your analyzing would be useless if you couldn’t source your data, and it was quickly clear your little group all shared the same brain cell when it came to this idea.

While you worked at the table, Matt and Jessica sat on the floor by the couches, marking up a map. You caught snippets of the conversation - this bit of evidence was heard in that alley, to get to a certain tunnel system you had to go through such and such warehouse. It was fascinating to know that Matt had memorized nearly every square inch of Hell’s Kitchen - even the parts you didn’t know existed - and it was equally amazing that Jessica knew just as much. 

After hearing them talk, it left you wondering if Frank had the same knowledge, but you would leave that question for another time. He had been assigned to the two thumb drives that had been in the duffel bag. You had furiously taken mental notes as he had grumpily explained to Matt the little devices couldn’t just be plugged into a computer. They could have malware on them or trigger tracking or something equally devious and needed to be inserted into a clean laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet. That way, if the laptop tried to send a signal or became a brick, there would be nothing lost. 

Since neither you nor Matt happened to have a spare laptop laying around, Frank went to go procure one. 

That was about half an hour ago and now you are well into your third Foggy-assigned task - highlighting any identifying information in yellow. There’s nothing easy like names or addresses listed out, but you noticed a pattern for patient labels and have determined there are at least five. 

As you jot down that Patient 031517DVA also appears on page D4 in your notebook, you find you are enjoying yourself. This isn’t exactly what you imagined when Matt talked about inviting everyone over to review what he had found, but you think it is nice. Knowing that Matt isn’t out there running around without any sort of plan soothes your nerves and seeing that he is putting in the time and thought into his next actions makes you trust he knows what he is doing. 

No one wants a shady underground lab in their neighborhood, but you need to make sure they are actually shady first and not some weird fringe group researching an unknown breed of sewer rat.

The effort going into helping Matt with this task makes your fondness of Foggy, Karen, and Frank grow even more - and gives you a fondness for Jessica. Everyone is serious about their task, and extremely thorough, and you want them to see you in the same light. You know this is not a game and you refuse to let your part in the research be the weak link. 

As you go to the next row of numbers to examine, you catch some movement in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and watch with a soft smile as your daughter emerges from Matt’s bedroom, clad in her mouse-onesie pajamas. Her sleep mask is pulled down around her neck and she looks upset, but she’s not crying, so you don’t jump to run to her. You let her make her own decisions as she sleepily looks between you and her father and you can’t help but to mentally crow a bit as she starts shuffling towards you, her little mouse-tail trailing behind her. 

Everyone’s attention is on you as Minnie lifts up her arms to be picked up once she’s within a foot of you. You dutifully scoop her up and put her on your lap, fixing her hood and mouse-ears as you do. 

“Is everything okay, sweetheart? Did something wake you up?”

She nods, then flops herself against your chest, mumbling out, “There’s monsters.” 

You begin to gently rub her back, hoping to soothe her worries as you confirm, “there’s monsters?”

Again, her head bobs up and down before she nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide herself. Across the room, Matt is up and making his way towards you, but it is Foggy who speaks up next. 

“Are they silly monsters or scary monsters?”

You smile at the question as Minnie ponders it - her little lips purse against your neck and you feel her breath against your skin as she silently repeats the words. She decides on ‘scary’ - replying in a timid voice as Matt takes his place behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders.

“Do you want me to help you tell them to go away?” you ask, having packed your bottle of Monster Repellent for just this cause. Little fists clutch tightly at your shirt as Mouse shakes her head and you give a soft hum in thought. “Do you want Daddy to go scare them off?”

You are sure Matt would run outside to chase away a stray cat or hungry raccoon if his princess wished for it, but she shakes her head against you, so you guess Matt will be staying inside. 

“How about we make the monsters silly instead of scary?” is Karen’s suggestion, and like the others, it falls flat. 

You consider offering to read some stories, but Matt startles you from your thoughts by sliding his hands down your arms to get to his daughter. He gently urges her to let go of you before transferring her to his arms and bundling her close. She absolutely clings to him, looking so tiny against his broad shoulders.

“I got this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper before he turns and starts making his way back to the bedroom. As you watch him walk away, he buries his nose into her hood, and he begins to rock with each step. The itty bitty fist you can still see tightens around his t-shirt and your heart yearns to follow your family, but you know this is a Daddy-Daughter moment and you need to stay seated. 

You were worried about Minnie getting scared over sleeping in a new place - there’s so many new and different noises but you trust Matt to help her interpet everything. He’s already done such an amazing job of it in day-to-day life and you know he’ll explain away all her monsters and let her know she is safe. 

Considering the company she is starting to keep she is probably the safest little girl in New York. No monsters would dare to lurk in her shadows less they want to face the wrath of the Devil.

You know that this little group you are becoming a part of would join you in jumping in front of a bullet for your daughter and you are pretty sure even her newest best friend - Max the Dog - would not hesitate to bare his teeth if someone upset her. 

She deserves nothing less and it makes your heart soar that she is so thoroughly adored. 

Now that her research partner is on another important assignment, Jessica gets up off the floor and strolls over to the table, “anything interesting?”

“Maybe if we were scientists instead of lawyers,” Foggy replies warily, dropping his pink highlighter in favor of nursing his beer, “and knew what any of these numbers meant. We’re going to spend all night looking up these test numbers and hoping they are real. I mean, look at this,” he motions to the paper he is currently working on. “What the hell is D22S1045? And why is the result 15?”

Jessica takes one look at the paper before scrunching up her nose and blandly stating, “It’s a DNA marker. Haven’t you ever seen a paternity test?”

Foggy’s face goes slack for a moment before he is huffing, “Not since college when we had to study paternity suits, and they looked nothing like this! They were like dots we had to match, not numbers!” He uses his beer to point to you, “did yours look like this?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you duck your head, hating all the attention is on you with such a personal question. “No. No, mine didn’t…we just received a letter with the results. Not the data.”

“So, they are doing DNA and blood tests?” Karen asks, taking over the conversation and directing it back to Jessica. “And comparing them with each other. Could they be looking for relationships between them?” 

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” is the reply she gets, but Jessica picks up the paper to examine it more closely either way. “But none of these match. The numbers have to be the same for a parental match, but that might not be what they are looking for. Just because it looks like a paternity test doesn’t mean it is one. DNA markers are used in a lot of shit.”

“It might not be human,” you add quietly. “Matt said the lab smelled of human blood, but we don’t know that these tests are on humans. There’s no dates on these, so they could be years old.”

Karen whips out her phone and is typing away before you are done talking, “What was that DNA marker, Fog?”

Foggy repeats the string of numbers and letters and you watch Karen’s eyes scan her screen.

“It’s human,” she states after a long, tense moment. The scowl Jessica gives is near legendary.

“Great, so we have a bunch of assholes in abandoned tunnels running tests on people.”

“That sounds both sanitary and humane,” Foggy grumbles before throwing back the rest of his beer. 

“OSHA and FDA approved,” you add sarcastically and that earns you a smile from Karen. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she guides you all back on track.

“We still have no idea what they are looking for, though. This could be cancer research for all we know - we are still at square one.”

“One point five,” Foggy argues, “we confirmed it’s human.”

“We don’t know what the tests are looking for,” Karen repeats, ignoring him, “and I don’t think looking up the significance of each DNA marker is going to do us much good. Can you and Matt go back to the lab and look around?”

As the clear recipient of the question, Jessica huffs then turns away from the table and goes right to the bottle of Macallan Matt keeps on top of his fridge. She pops off the lid, taking a long drink of it before answering. 

“That was the plan, but I’m betting it’s going to be sprayed with bleach after knowing Devil-boy was poking around. It’s not like we will get much, not that there was shit to get beforehand.”

“So, we have no who, no why, and no where,” Foggy points out. “We are doing great.”

The joy you had gotten from trying to organize the chaos of paperwork evaporates and you sink down into your chair a little. Would continuing to highlight and document be useful or was this all for naught? The rational part of your brain told you to keep going, because it was better to have it done and not need it then to need it later and it still be a mess of paperwork.

“We’ve just started, Fog, of course we have nothing,” Karen says, rolling her eyes a bit as she does. “Did you expect them to write their plans in gel pens and leave them lying around?”

“I mean, that would be useful.”

You roll your lip between your teeth, thinking that Karen is right. You don’t have much, and you’ve only just started - of course things look pessimistic. While Karen and Foggy begin to banter back and forth about the use of gel pens in a professional setting and Jessica finishes off Matt’s whisky, you let your mind wander around the facts of the case. 

Someone is out there running medical tests in a gross underground lab, probably trying to hide what they are doing. To do a lot of tests, they probably needed lab equipment, and a few years ago you would have said to follow that trail, but with all the advancements in technology, a machine to run DNA tests on probably only cost a few hundred dollars and was compact enough to move easily. Generators could keep people off the grid and there were enough tunnels under the city that years could be spent exploring them. Everything they would need could be ordered offline, and thus, was untraceable to you.

The only solid clues you had were what Matt had come home with, so you needed to keep digging there and hope that the thumb drives would contain something more useful. 

So, you pick yourself back up, grab your highlighter, and get back to work. 

Soon enough, Foggy and Karen pick their highlighters back up as well, and Jessica takes up a spot on the couch, putting her feet up and getting out her phone to tap at. The mood is much more somber, but you feel the same determination to find answers that is in you coming off of everyone else as well. 

You don’t pay attention to the passage of time, but it is not long after you grab the final stack of papers to comb through that Matt slips out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. 

He starts towards the dining table only to stop by the couch, tilting his head towards Jessica, “That bottle was a gift from Foggy’s dad.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Murdock.”

Despite the venom in Jessica’s voice, Matt chuckles and finishes making his way to you. 

His hands once again find your shoulders and he begins rubbing them, digging his thumbs into just the right spot as he begins his Minnie-update.

“Someone with a really nice sound system is having a horror movie marathon. She was actually hearing monsters.”

“My poor baby,” you instantly coo, your heart breaking for your little one. “Did you tell her it was just a movie?”

Matt hums in affirmation, “That doesn’t help with the noise, though. We walked through turning things off and found something to work as white noise. It’s still hard for her to do it with new sounds, especially so tired, but she’s a quick learner.”

“How long did it take you to learn all that stuff,” Foggy asks, interest clear in his eyes. Karen puts her pen down as well so she can get the gossip. 

“I don’t know, years? It didn’t come naturally to me like it does with her - I would train for hours to be able to pinpoint something, but she can do it pretty easily. I mean, she can’t tell me exact distance because she’s four and doesn’t know what that means, but she can point and say if it’s close or far.” You can feel Matt practically puff up with Pride over his baby girl. “She’s learning inorganic versus organic sounds now. She can tell if a loud banging is someone hitting something or if something just fell over. The other day she told me it was the wind making the window shake, because she couldn’t hear any other noises around the window.”

You smile at the story, having a feeling Matt is going to start going on about all the declarations Minnie had made during the storm and you don’t mind at all. 

“So, she’s as good as you?” Karen teases and you know Matt is just beaming.

“Better. She can actually read a sign.”

Foggy barks with laughter while you and Karen have to cover your mouths to not giggle. 

Once it subsides, you tilt your head back so you can look up at your daughter’s oh so loving father, bumping against his abdomen as you do, “is she down?” 

He gives another positive hum, “In a nice deep sleep. Frank’s on his way back up and I wanted her out before he got here.”

You don’t know if that is from Matt wanting to rejoin the group to know what is on the thumb drives or if it is from him not wanting Minnie to get excited over Frank, but you are thankful she’s conked out either way. The thought of her hearing all your discussions about what lurks in the darkness of the city makes your stomach turn. 

She doesn’t need more monsters to imagine. 

You thank Matt while reaching up to rub one of his arms - letting yourself give him a small bit of affection. You ignore the look Karen is giving you in favor of making sure Matt is all caught up.

“I take it you heard everything?”

He sighs deeply through his nose, and you take that as a ‘yes’. He confirms with his words. 

“Human testing with government trained agents isn’t what I was hoping we would find.”

“I was personally hoping for research on the mutant alligators in the sewers,” Foggy says as he gets up to go towards the kitchen, probably for another beer. “You know the ones they flush down the toilets.” 

“That’s a myth, Fog.”

“Look, with everything else that goes on in the world - weird aliens and giant green men - let me believe in my sewer gators, Murdock. They make me happy.”

“With everything that Stark and Roxon dumped in the waters, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Karen muses, resting her chin in her hand, “I mean, Matt got superpowers from something getting in his eyes. If a rat ate something that was contaminated, it could have gotten super senses as well.” 

You raise your brows up at the idea, a smile coming to your face, “a crime fighting rat?”

“A crime fighting rat that is a ninja,” Foggy chimes, a wide grin on his face and it sends you into giggles.

“How would a rat even learn martial arts?” Matt counters, “There’s not a rodent karate school he could spy on.”

“I don’t know Matt, how did you learn ka-ra-te,” Foggy emphasizes the word to make it sound more mystical. “He would learn from a secret ninja rat clan.”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Jessica asks, looking over her shoulder at the dining table, disgust and confusion clear on her face. 

You and Karen erupt into more laughter while Foggy just grins like he won the world cup as he returns to his seat. Matt gives your shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go and pulling away. He disappears into the narrow passage that is his hallway, and you hear the front door open. Heavy boots signal Frank’s reappearance, and when he and Matt come back around the corner, you offer a small smile. 

The Punisher holds up a clunky looking laptop, straight from your middle school years, “Got it.”

“Does that thing even work?” Foggy asks, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. You trust Frank, but the question is valid - if you saw that in a Goodwill, you would doubt it would even turn on. 

“Of course it works,” Frank scoffs as he delivers the device to Karen. She instantly opens it up to get it started. “Old body, new hardware. Got it built just for this type of shit.” 

Foggy’s lips twitch and you wonder if he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. Jessica joins the table as Matt once again returns to standing behind you. His hands find your shoulders like they are drawn to them, and you wonder if he can’t help but want to touch you. It makes you feel special and wanted and your belly stirs with a certain type of warmth. 

Everyone’s focus is on Karen as she works - the laptop boots up and she fiddles with the first thumb drive until it is ready to be inserted. It feels like you all are holding your breath as she finally plugs it in. You expect there to be a password, but apparently there is not, as she just clicks away.

“There’s two files,” she narrates. “One labeled 082616DUK and one labeled 121417BNY.” 

You instantly recognize the first designation and push your notebook towards Karen, trying to not sound eager as you tell her, “The DUK one is in our files. Can we look at that first?” 

Her face lights up at the prospect of a connection and selects the requested file, “There’s five pictures. Hold on, let me bring them u- Oh my God.”

The little color in her face drains as a horrified expression takes over and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. You and Froggy scramble up out of your seats while Frank and Jessica crowd around Karen to look at the screen. Matt stays where he is, tilting his head just slightly. 

When you see what is in the file, you wish you had stayed under Matt’s hands. 

The neatly severed head of a boy stares back at you with blank milky eyes, sitting on an examine table. His hair has been shaved away and there is an incision line around his skull that makes it clear someone has probably removed his brain. His mouth is open in a silent scream, showing off that he still had his baby teeth and that someone has taken his tongue. 

You want to throw up and you want to turn away, but you can’t. You can’t look away from this poor child who someone has so thoroughly defiled. Who had done this to this boy and why? You wanted to shake them and scream and demand to know what could possibly possess someone to do this to a baby? Because this was someone’s baby - someone’s little boy - and someone had taken him and ruined him. 

You don’t know how she manages it, but Karen brings up the next image and it fills you with just as much disgust and anger. 

It is that of a tiny hand with its fingers forcibly splayed, stuck with pins to keep it that way. The tips are bulbous and round, different to anything you’ve seen on a human before, and between each digit, there was a thin stretch of skin connecting them, much like the webbing of a duck’s foot. Like the head, the hand has been surgically removed from the rest of the body, and it isn’t hard to determine they go to the same person. 

The next image is of the head again but turned to be facing the left and pre-removal of the tongue, as the appendage is pulled and stretched from the mouth with a pair of forceps. The muscle is an odd shade of purple and coated with some sort of liquidy-white residue, but that is not what is unique about it. The boy’s tongue doesn’t just peek out of his mouth - it extends across the table almost three feet, if the tape measurer under it is to be believed. 

You need to turn away after that and to no surprise, Matt is instantly by your side, wrapping you up in his arms and guiding your head to his neck. “He’s just a baby,” you whisper in horror as you cling to him, not understanding how someone could be so cruel. Even if he had died naturally, there was no reason to treat him like that in death. 

“Did they…” Froggy starts, his voice low and quivering and you don’t know if it's from rage or grief, “Did they make him a frog? Did they mix this kid with a fucking frog?”

“No,” Frank replies, not hiding how he is feeling at all. The fury is clear in his voice. “They did it because he was like that.”

“What’s the other file?” Jessica demands and part of you doesn’t want to know. You bury yourself more into Matt and you listen to Karen click away at the track pad. 

Matt’s arms tighten around you and you can’t imagine what he is thinking. No one has said out loud what the images show, and he has not asked - but he must know it isn’t good. He’s gone tense under you, like he’s ready to jump into action and rip someone apart with his hands. 

And you want him to. You want Matt to find whoever did this and make them pay. You want him to punish those who hurt the child in the photos, the people who ran tests on him. 

You want to help Matt find who did this and for him to make sure they can never hurt anyone ever again.

“She’s…she’s got a beak.” Karen says slowly after a few moments, and you can’t bear to look at another autopsy photo. You hide yourself more against Matt, not at all ashamed of your choice.

“She’s Enhanced,” is Jessica’s reply, almost blank with stifled emotion.

“She’s a kid. They are hunting Enhanced kids.” 

“Why?” Foggy questions, sounding wet, like he’s starting to tear up. You don’t blame him in any way. “Why would they do that?”

Under you, the Devil finally speaks, his voice low and eerily calm, “it doesn’t matter why. We are going to find them, and we are going to stop them.” 

---

:) :) :)

---

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@the-devils-angel @savvyreyes4587 @diasnohibng @blobygree18 @givemylovetoall 

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[carlotaamm]

oh, to be annabeth chase

percy likes walking around naked in his cabin after sex.

in the back porch of cabin three, where it only saw the beautiful lake and green mountains behind it, no other cabins or campers around; he likes to slip from your warm embrace to take in his favorite time of the day. which, the early mornings.

the air smells extra fresh, the sea is more calm than usual, and everything is definetly more silent. you feel his absence in the bed yet make no move to get up, instead peek an eye.

and then you believe he's a full god instead of demi.

he's leaning against the railings, shameless about his nudity, watching the sea. the soft breeze make his raven locks sway, and his scars are visible on his tan skin, under the soft light of early hours.

you feel like you can stare at him forever. not because it turns you on, or makes you want to jump on him, no. he's like a statue bringed to life, or a painting sally draw so poseidon could make it a human. he shows his godly side more than his human one, and it's unfair to other demigod's. he's pratically glowing.

then, he turns to you, with all of his glory. he smiles softly and sleepishly like he's not perfect first thing in the morning, lazily getting in your embrace. "morning pretty girl."

oh, the audicity.

[carlotaamm]

wake up y'all my newspaper came through

[[and then I met you || Ch. 32]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3k🌶️

ao3 link

The billboard across the street shifts from casting a blue glow into Matt’s apartment to a warm purple one. It is bright enough for you to be able to see your keyboard, but low enough that everything is still in shadow. You can maneuver around easily enough, which makes it the perfect level considering you are apparently the only one in your family who needs light to do so. 

Paired with the overall lack of decor, it fosters a nice working environment, with the ambience of the city providing the perfect background noise. 

You have a fair bit of invoicing to catch up on, so you have set yourself up at the dining table as Matt readies himself for his own night of working. Luckily, all the excitement of temporarily moving into a new place left your little Mouse exhausted and getting her down to sleep was as easy as it has ever been. You wish you would be able to go off to Dreamland as quickly as she does, but you know your brain won’t let you drift off without hours and hours of worrying first.

“You don’t need to wait up for me,” Matt says for about the millionth time. He’s changed mostly into his red Devil suit, and it still baffles you how different he looks in it versus his Lawyer suit. It is like he’s been possessed or switched out with a twin - it’s not necessarily evil but it is a completely different aura. All his fun and charm has been replaced with a caged animal ready to rip someone’s throat out, and you just happen to be his keeper who he knows isn’t a threat. He’s of no danger to you, but anyone outside these walls is fair game. 

“I have about forty emails to answer and even more orders to review and this is the only time I’ll be able to sit down and focus on doing all that. These are my working hours, too,” you reply as you finish connecting your VPN. “Plus, I’ll be up worrying until you are home safe. Killing two birds with one stone.” 

“No killing anything,” he chides, his voice dropping an octave. It sends a pleasant shiver up your spine, and you are starting to think you may like this Devil-y side of Matt. 

“You know I can’t even kill a cockroach.” 

He huffs from across the room, then in a few long strides, he’s behind you, putting his large, gloved hands on your shoulders and rubbing at them, “I mean it. If you finish before I’m back, try to get some sleep. You need it.” 

You let your head fall forward and enjoy the way his thumbs dig into your muscles. “I need to make sure I get my work hours logged. When you get home, we can both get some sleep.” 

Behind you, a pleased rumble comes from Matt’s chest. He bends forward and nuzzles just above your ear, whispering in that deep voice that makes your core clench, “call it ‘home’ again.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as your entire being heats up again. It isn’t just his voice and actions - it's the implication of his request - that he wants a home with you. He wants your home to be here with him. You can’t even take a moment to think about it, because you just want to please the Devil behind you. 

“Come home to us.” 

He buries his nose into your hair and inhales deeply while his hands tighten on your shoulders. He nods after a moment, then you feel him have to force himself to step away. 

“I’ll always come home to you. I swear on my life.” 

You resist the urge to follow after him and say something cheesy or dramatic. You stay planted in your seat instead, eyes still closed and breathing through your nose, trying to calm your fast beating heart. 

Matt strides back to where his gloves and helmet wait for him, and you listen as he dons the last pieces of his armor. Only when he has fully become the Devil do you let yourself speak again, hoping to encourage the beast coming to life inside of him.

“Keep the Kitchen safe. For me. For Minnie.” 

----

It’s closing in on three am when you hear the crunch of boots on gravel coming from the roof above you. You expected Matt to be home closer to one in the morning, but that was just a time you made up. 

Your emails are still on your screen, so you close them out and clock out just as the door on the landing opens and the Devil returns to the apartment. There is a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and you scrunch up your nose in confusion as he makes his way down the stairs.

“I thought you would be asleep by now,” he growls out and you can instantly tell the poor man is exhausted. 

You are up and out of your seat in an instant, making your way to him with your water bottle in hand. You hold it out to him as he comes to a stop in front of you and he quickly drops the bag to his feet in exchange for chugging the rest of your water.

“I told you I had a lot of work. Are you okay? What is with the - “You cut yourself off as the light coming from the billboard changes from red to yellow and you see there is a slice of suit missing from Matt’s arm. “You’re hurt!”

You don’t give him the chance to deny or explain - you turn and hurry back to the kitchen to get the first aid kit. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbles from behind you. You hear something thunk on the ground and assume it is his helmet. “It went through and through.” 

The words take a second to process and color drains from your face as they do. “You were shot?” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, a small hint of annoyance in his voice. “I just need to wrap it.”

You yoink the first aid kit down from where it’s hidden in a cabinet and whirl back around the face Matt. He’s removed his helmet and gloves and is in the process of taking off his boots. Your mind swirls into overdrive, flying back to your binder pages about gunshot wounds and you find yourself huffing at the Devil as practicality fills you. 

“Wrap it?” You almost scold as you march back to him. His head jerks up and his brows furrow, but your Mom Mentality is quicker than the Devil. “You can’t just wrap it; it needs to be cleaned and disinfected. Who knows what is dripping off your suit into it. You can’t punch away an infection, Matt.” 

His face slackens into confusion as you move to squat in front of him so you can open the kit and begin to rummage through it. 

“What..?”

“I need to clean it,” you repeat as you inspect the meager contents of the kit. “And disinfect it. I’m not very good at stitches yet, but you have butterfly stripes,” you hold up the pack as you find it and continue your rambling, “and gauze, so we can wrap it, and hopefully that should be good enough. Do you know what caliber it was? Was it a hollow point?”

He doesn’t answer you right away, and you assume he is trying to remember what happened. You focus on reading the different packets you pick up, setting aside wipes and antibiotic ointments. If it was through and through, you shouldn’t have to get out any debris, but you add the tweezers to your pile anyway. Your mind is a step-by-step checklist of everything you need and you really hope all your studying has prepared you for your first real wound cleaning. You are a pro at scraped knees and paper cuts, but a bullet wound is a completely different level. 

“What?” Matt repeats and you look up to see he looks completely dumbfounded. “You…aren’t angry?”

It is your turn to be confused. 

“Why…would I be angry?” you ask slowly, trying to understand why he is asking. “You..didn’t mean to get shot, did you?” He shakes his head slowly, and your lips turn down into a frown. “Then..I’m not angry.” 

You slowly sit yourself down and cross your legs, trying to process your own feelings around your Fix It and Make Things Better thoughts, “I’m scared that you got hurt. And I’m worried..I worry about you every night when you go out, but this…this is small, right? It’s through and through and in your arm and you aren’t bleeding everywhere, and you are standing on your own. You’re…you’re okay. You’re hurt. You’re hurt. But you’re okay…you’re okay and I just need to make sure you stay okay.” Tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, and you shake your head to chase them away. “Please let me make sure you are okay.”

Slowly, Matt kneels in front of you and takes your face in his hands. He thumbs away a tear that managed to escape before leaning in to press his forehead to yours. 

“I’m okay,” he whispers, the Devil gone from his voice, and he sounds so so tired. “I’m okay, my darling. Let me get out of this and you can clean it, yeah? Then we can go to bed.” 

You press into his touch, needing it to ground you and help you keep your emotions in check. 

Matt’s hurt, but he is okay. It’s just a little wound, something you can handle. You know he is going to get hurt, going out and acting as a vigilante, and it isn’t always going to be bruises and split knuckles. 

People shoot at him. They try to stab him. They might have weird fire breath or laser beams. 

He’s going to get hurt, but right now he is okay. He just needs to be patched up and that is something you can do. 

You’ve been practicing and studying to make sure he will stay okay. 

You take a shaky breath and center yourself, then let your lips turn up into a small smile, “You’re all sweaty, you need a shower before bed. Or Minnie will complain that you are stinky in the morning.”

Matt huffs a small laugh and tips his head up to kiss your forehead. “Well, according to her my whole apartment is stinky and dusty and cold.”

“That’s why we are playing housekeeper tomorrow,” you whisper as he pulls away. 

You allow yourself to wipe your eyes with your nightshirt as Matt removes the rest of his armor, leaving him in just his boxers. You then focus on double checking all the items you’ve gathered, letting your mind go back into Practical mode versus Emotional. 

“Why do you have a duffel bag?” you finally ask, curious as to what he had been up to all night and why he has a new accessory. 

Matt gives a quiet groan, then begins to explain as he sits himself in front of you. “I found an abandoned…lab is the only way I can put it, in one of the utility tunnels. I guess it got flooded out with all the rain and whoever was running it was clearing it out. When I got there, there was only one guy.” As he talks, you begin to clean his wounds, and you are not surprised at how stoic he remains despite the stinging of antiseptics. “I think he was just grabbing files, and that is what is in the bag. Paper files and what I think are thumb drives. I’m not too sure.”

You look up in time to see him turn his lips down into a hard scowl. “The whole place reeked of human blood, though. Not fresh - stale. And there were cages. It was just a few rooms, but someone was definitely up to no good down there.” He flexes his fingers, then says your name softly. “I think it was some sort of government agency. The gun the guy had was standard issue for the FBI and the way he moved was in line with their training, but it didn’t feel like the FBI. It felt more advanced and after everything with Fisk I don’t think they’d try something twice here so close together. But in my gut, it’s telling me this isn’t something like the Hand or something underground.”

You turn to look at the simple bag laying on the floor, your heart sinking as you take it in. You trust Matt’s gut with this - this is not his first rodeo, and he has so much more information about all of this than you ever will. 

“Do you want me to read them for you?”

He shakes his head, “No. Well.. yes, but no. I think this is something I need to take to everyone - Foggy, Karen, Frank, Jessica. Another piece of the puzzle of what has been going on lately. I think we all have different parts, and we need to start looking at what fits together.” He pauses, rolls his lip between his teeth. “I’d like for you to be there, too..if you’d like. I don’t want to keep you in the dark. You aren’t out there, like we are but..I’m dragging you into this just by being with you. I…” 

He stops, and turns to fully face you, pulling his bicep from your grasp so he can cup your jaw with his other hand. He runs his thumb over your lips. 

“I can’t risk losing you. If you being in the know and understanding everything that is going on is what is going to keep you safe - keep Minnie safe - then I can’t lie to you and I can’t hide anything. But I need you to understand that there is a risk of knowing what lurks in the shadows. It is your choice; I want it to be your choice. I need you to be okay, too.” 

You don't need to let the words turn over in your mind - you know your answer. “I want to be there. I want to help, even if it is just helping you talk through things. You don’t need to hide things from me. I…I understand what you are doing.”  You mimic him and reach to cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb so lightly over his lower lip. “I just want you to be safe, Matt. I want you to come home at night.” 

You purposefully use the word, knowing it triggered a reaction before. 

It does again.  

His eyes flutter close, and he kisses your finger gently. 

“I’ll always come back to you,” he breathes out before swallowing thickly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and you wonder if he wants to say more.

Do you want him to say more?

You don’t know.

You don’t know and you don’t want to think about it. 

“Okay,” he whispers as you hand drops, and he turns so you can apply butterfly strips to the holes in his bicep. 

You just want Matt to be safe and right now that means finishing wrapping his bicep. You let your thumb linger on his lip for a moment before pulling away, “I’m almost done with your arm. I..I think it doesn’t need stitches. Everything here should be plenty.” 

You let your mind fall back to your guides as you wrap the gauze, mentally picturing exactly what you need to do while also making mental notes about directions you need to change and products you need to buy to fill out Matt’s first aid kit. While he has apparently been so much better at taking care of himself, his supplies are a bit lacking. 

As you finish, you hesitate before leaning in and placing a small kiss over the entrance wound, mumbling as you do, “Minnie would admonish me if I didn’t add a kissie for extra healing.” 

“She is the Doctor,” Matt replies gently, and you can’t help but smile.

You start to repack the first aid kit as Matt pushes up into standing to gather his own gear. You both clean in a comfortable silence and only once everything is put away, does Matt come back to you. 

“Shower with me?” He asks, his voice soft and low and your whole body quivers for him.

You don’t reply with words. You take his offered hand, and he leads you to the small room. 

The two of you can barely fit in the shower together, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as you are under the water, you are one.

Matt cups your jaw with both hands as he kisses you like he is savoring every microsecond. It is slow and languid, and you melt together so easily. Your hands are in his hair, pulling his closer, like you want to absorb him because maybe you do. Maybe you want him to absorb you, because you are safe in his arms, and nothing will ever hurt you or make you cry if he is there. 

You have Matt Murdock, and you have the Devil and he has you.

You don’t know if it's hours or minutes or days that pass before one callused hand drops to your thigh and with the lightest of touches, urges it up. Once it is around his waist, Matt rocks forward and slides into you with no resistance.

His pumps are as slow as his kisses and you lose yourself in him. If you could think, you would imagine he is lost in you as well, but the only thing on your mind is the pleasure he is bringing you and how perfectly full you feel.

His name is falling from your lips over and over, breathless and needy, but not for a release - just for him and it is like he knows that. His head drops to your shoulder, and he buries his nose into your throat, his lips moving in words barely heard above the spray of the shower.

Your name.

Mine.

Yours.

Perfect. 

Please.

God.

Love. 

((“I love you.”))

((“I love you, too.”))

---

:) <3

---

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@the-devils-angel @savvyreyes4587 @diasnohibng @blobygree18 @givemylovetoall 

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[carlotaamm]

If you like long fics, I'd DEF reccommend you reading this! It literally has it all

https://www.tumblr.com/mcrdvcks/765953273054330881/i-love-you-in-every-time-masterlist-%F0%93%86%A9-%F0%93%86%AA?source=share

why is the 'logan howlett x reader' tag. ALL SMUT. like I want cute fluff or heartbreaking angst, why is everything just him being a horny ass? yall please send good fics about my bby logan😖😖 I cant find any good ones i just keep rereading the same ones.

[carlotaamm]

awww

JOE KEERY The Edge NZ — February 2025

[carlotaamm]

Sketch is done ✨

[carlotaamm]

goddamn, good morning tumblr

editing your own work is like fighting a hydra. fix one thing and three more issues appear.

[carlotaamm]

CRAWLING AT THE WALLS BC I STILL DON'T HAVE TSATS IN MY SHELVES 😭

Daily remember that in TSATS Nico calls his Mother 'mamma' ☹️

[carlotaamm]

just reminding y'all this series is MY canon version of stranger things 💌

﹂come home (s.h.)

"come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington. (a stranger things rewrite).

﹂pairings: steve harrington x henderson!reader, slight jonathan byers x reader

﹂contains: fem!reader, slow burn, slight enemies to lovers (reader more just pities steve), cursing, miscommunication, unrequited love, angst, protective older sister chaos, violence in the later seasons.

﹂blurbs

﹂director's cut

﹂playlist

﹂jonathans mixtape for bug

﹂SEASON ONE

﹂SEASON TWO

﹂SEASON THREE

﹂SEASON FOUR

⌑ status: COMPLETE (for now)

⌑ main masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[carlotaamm]

nobody does young adult crisis like jonathan byers

Hi! I know you probably can't answer this till the end of season four or until we're a little further into the season, but could we see the talk between Jonathan and argyle? When they're at that junk yard playing "golf" and Jonathan opens up about college and Nancy and bug . I'm really curious to see more insight on Jonathan's conflicting feelings.

of course !! im actually really excited to dig into some more longer scenes that i had to cut because bug wasnt directly in them <33 welcome to the first directors cut of come home !

words: 1.6k

enjoy <3

“Yes! 

A golf ball shatters a car window, the sound ringing through the desert air. Jonathan throws his hands up, cheering, the satisfying sound of glass breaking mellows the dull roar that’s been ringing in his head ever since moving to California. 

The sound mellows the roar, and with some help from Argyle’s “special flowers”, the smoke stifles the ache that Jonathan’s bones possess. Yet as the golf ball lands and the silence after the wreckage settles, all that’s left within Jonathan, the very thing he can’t seem to outrun, is his loneliness. 

“I don’t know,” he finds himself saying to Argyle. “Part of me expected Nancy to be on that plane… or something.”

Seeing Mike again hadn’t been so bad, Jonathan supposes. The teen has grown a lot since leaving Hawkins, and he knows how much Will and El missed Mike, but Jonathan couldn’t mask the disappointment he felt when Nancy hadn’t been by her brother’s side.

“No Y/N, man?” Argyle swings his club and sends a ball flying, but it misses the junkyard of abandoned cars by miles, and he angrily throws the club. “Shit!” 

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair, the familiar feeling of bitterness creeping upon him. “No,” he laughs, harsh. “I didn’t even think she’d consider coming all the way over here, anyways.”

“You never know,” Argyle points his club at him. “You always drone on and on about her, man. Seems like the type of chic to hop on a plane and surprise her man.”

“I’m not her man,” Jonathan rolls his eyes. He’s tried explaining to Argyle a million times who you are and who Nancy is, but after months of explaining and re-explaining, Argyle still believes Jonathan left Hawkins and two girlfriends behind. “Not that it matters, anyways. I just–”

More anger and confusion washes over Jonathan. He doesn’t know how to express the words that perpetually get stuck in his throat. There’s a mix of emotions that swirl within him, always begging for release. 

Remorse, because he misses you and Nancy. Guilt, because he hasn’t been honest with either of you in a long time. Confliction, because he can’t do what you want, what Nancy wants. Jonathan can’t do the one thing you and Nancy ask of him, and it’s slowly driving him insane. 

“I felt this intense relief when Nancy wasn’t there, when Y/N wasn’t there.” He admits.

Argyle shakes his head. “No, that’s the Purple Palm Tree Delight working its magic, my man. Makes your troubles float away like the seed pods of a dandelion flowing in the wind.”

The mention of dandelions makes Jonathan’s bones ache even more. They’re your favorite flower. At least, they used to be, but it’s been so long since he’s really talked to you, and even longer since he’s laid down in a field with you to listen to music together and stroke each other’s skin. 

And then the thought of you sparks memories of last night and how Jonathan had called you, high as he always seems to be these days, and the whispered confusion he felt fall from his lips. His stomach twists, wondering if what he asked you, if his question of what if was too soon, too much, too revealing.

But everything is just so hard between him and Nancy. Exhausting. All her expectations of him, all the hiding Jonathan has to do, the lies he keeps feeding her because he can’t stand the thought of upsetting her, and he’s tired. 

And yet he’s hiding the same things from you, though Jonathan knows that eventually you’d forgive him. You always do, and he always forgives you, always accepting the molted parts of the other. Everything is easier with you, and that’s why Jonathan hasn’t called you back. He knows that this time he doesn’t deserve your unyielding understanding of who he is. 

The memories of last night are hazy, smoke infested and dull. But he remembers the tears in your voice and thinking how disappointed you’d be in him if you knew all that he was hiding from you. 

He isn’t ready to face any of it just yet.

“If I showed you something, you wouldn’t tell anyone, right?” Jonathan asks Argyle, needing to confess his sins to at least someone.

“Who would I tell?” He chuckles, slightly confused. “You’re my only friend, Jonathan.”

Argyle’s words make the taste in Jonathan’s mouth even more bitter. Last spring, Jonathan never thought he’d ever have to say goodbye to you, the only friend he would ever need. Now, it seems he only really has one friend in the world, and somehow that friend isn’t you. 

He throws the golf club down and lets Argyle putt another ball as his fingers dig into his flannel pocket. The paper beneath his fingertips is worn, smoothed over by his anxious fingers. 

“What’s that?” Argyle looks at the piece of paper being offered to him. Jonathan doesn’t say anything, he just hands it to him. 

“It’s an acceptance letter to Lenora Community.”

“That’s where I’m going.” Argyle observes, holding the piece of paper close to his face as he reads its lettering.

Jonathan sighs. “I know.”

“But you’re going to Emerson with Nancy.” Argyle then looks up. “Or was it NYU with Y/N? It’s hard to keep track of your girlfriends, dude.”

“Nancy is my girlfriend, Y/N is my best friend.” Jonathan practically says this through muscle memory now. “And no, I’m not going to either of those schools. They just… don’t know it, yet.”

Argyle blinks a few times, desperately trying to understand what he’s being told. “Hold on a second, what’s going on?”

Everything that’s been building within Jonathan, every phone call he’s lied through his teeth, every soft bee that pierces his skin, ever I love you that Nancy whispers through the phone, it all comes spilling out.

“I-I can’t leave my mom and my brother to… to chase a dream that isn’t mine.”

“You’re dead, man. You’re so dead.”

Jonathan grips at his hair. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Not lie!”

“Not lie?” Jonathan is yelling now, slowly losing grip on reality. “Not lie?”

Argyle waves his hand at him. “Yeah!”

“I-I mean, NYU used to be my dream. Me and Y/N. That was all we used to talk about, but now if I tell her the truth, she’ll be stupidly understanding and wonder why I even lied in the first place and then-then she’d just learn to live without me!”

Jonathan blinks away tears he hadn’t known were coming. “She already is learning to live without me! I can feel her slipping away and it’s all my fault because I’m practically forcing her to forget about me and-and Nancy?” He paces the earth, body thrumming with insecurity. “She’d just throw her dreams out the window to come out here and be with me.”

He swings his club, messy and anxious, needing something to do with his tired hands. “And I… I just can’t take that. This-this huge knot of resentment would build like… like some cancer until eventually she hates me and then before you know it, we’re just like mom and dad and Y/N is gone and-and then I’m divorced and my kids hate me and I can’t call her or Nancy–”

Argyle misses his swing, having stopped listening to Jonathan’s spiral long ago. “Shit!”

He starts whacking his club on the ground and Jonathan joins him, slamming the ground repeatedly, every thud sending a painful jolt up his tendons, but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah!” He screams out, exhausting himself. “It’s all just shit, shit, shit!”

Jonathan throws his arms up in the air again and rests his club between his shoulders. He rests his head against it, aching for your voice and for Nancy’s touch and for the two girls who mean the most to him. 

“The cycle never ends,” he exclaims to the sky above. The cycle of your endless forgiveness for Jonathan. The cycle of Nancy’s desire for him to be better, to live a life he deserves. Over and over again all he ever does is let the two of you down. 

“Yeah, man. Your nightmare cycle.” Argyle rolls his eyes. “Two hot girls who want what’s best for you. Must be real hellish for you.”

Jonathan glares at him and Argyle raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’m sorry, man. So you want it to stop, but what is your approach here? To just force Y/N out of your life and slow-motion break up with Nancy?”

“I…” Embarrassment stings Jonathan’s body. Hearing it from someone else is only more jarring, knowing how pathetic he’s being. “I guess?”

“No, man!” Argyle screams at him. The genuine despair in his voice startles Jonathan. He’s never seen his friend so serious before, which only means how completely fucking stupid he’s being. 

“I know!” Jonathan winces. “Okay? I know, but I don’t know what to do!”

“Palm Tree Delight! That’s what you do!”

“Palm Tree Delight?” Jonathan knows that smoking has only made everything worse for him, but the idea of the acrid smoke filling his lungs causes his mouth to water and his body to shiver. 

Argyle shoves him towards the van. “Go!”

Jonathan stumbles over his feet, dropping his club to run towards the vehicle. He runs to escape his guilt, to forget how weak you sounded last night and how defeated Nancy sounded during their last phone call. Jonathan runs towards the van and throws his body inside, allowing the pain of the impact to lessen the sting of losing you.

-

﹂director's cut masterlist

﹂if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[carlotaamm]

GET. AI. OUT. OF. FANDOM. Stop making headcanons with it, stop making fanfic with it, stop making fanart with it. If I see one more "asking chatgpt *blank* about *character/characters in a fandom* I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Use your own fucking brain, stop asking AI to do everything. You could even ask other real people what they think. Just. Stop. Using. AI. In. Creative. Spaces.

[carlotaamm]

good lord i'm scarred

partners in crime

luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader [the trouble!verse]

MAIN SERIES MASTERPOST

summary: few things are certain in this life as a demigod, but one thing is for sure— you can’t fight fate when it pulls you and luke castellan together, over and over again. two young people who hate the gods are more like them than they think, for better or worse. annoyances to best friends to lovers

things to know: dionysus!reader's nickname is trouble & most of these can be read as standalones!

here's a playlist (spotify & apple music links now available!)

child of dionysus headcanons!

trouble!verse moodboard 1 & moodboard 2 & college!trouble by the lovely @24kmar

deleted scenes from a different universe (AUs)

play the extended cuts (blurbs from in-between)

character study: luke castellan & trouble

any works, updates, thoughts, musings, etc about this series will be tagged under #trouble!verse !

key: fluff - ☼ angst - ☽ smut - ☆ jo's favorites - ᥫ᭡

[rewind to before] pre-established relationship

trouble always finds me (trouble!reader origin story) 1.7k ☼

The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. (You're an annoyance, but not an enemy)

entropy 3.6k☼

The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. (the promise of becoming partners in crime)

buddy system 4.2k ☼

The one where he comes with you to rescue your younger twin brothers, Pollux & Castor. (this is as close to a real quest that Mr. D will give you--might as well take someone you trust!)

somebody's angel 4.4k ☽

The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. (songfic - Die Alone - Finneas)

feed the fire 1.2k ☼

The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. (Luke realizes this is more than playful banter)

bedtime stories 2.4k ☼

The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don’t mind at all. (the both of you have feelings you want to admit, but duty calls!)

crazy little thing 3.4k ☼

The one where he uses all his drachmas to make you smile on Valentine's Day. (the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite, sometimes)

anything you want 1.6k ☼

The one where you and him have your first kiss. (You've always loved teaching the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; except when your Orpheus runs away from you)

said he likes crazy 2.1k ☼ ☽

The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's avoided you since your first kiss. (For being a son of Hermes, he has a way of calming your nerves)

[pause and remember us like this] established relationship

play pretend 5.1k ☼

The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren’t exactly together yet. (Drunk words are sober thoughts. Your dad just wishes Luke told you instead of him)

a wish your heart makes 1.4k ☼ ☽

The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. (The dryads will probably ban you from the kitchen after this)

star crossing 4k ☼

The one where both your dreams come to life for a night (Crossing the stars for love is easier said than done)

to see the chaos through 4k ☼☽

The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. (Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you)

not your goddess 8k ☽

The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. (songfic - Goddess - Laufey)

don't blame the kids 7.6k ☼

The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. (the Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be)

trouble's coming for you 3.7k ☼

The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. (three times Percy is oblivious (and in the way) and the time he realizes you and Luke are in love)

now that we're older 3.5k ☼

The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. (Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl)

if you need to be mean (be mean to me) 1.5k☽

The one where he leaves before you wake up. (songfic - I Don't Smoke - Mitski )

[fast forward until we meet again] post-tlt

lovers, or partners in crime 2.1k ☽

The one where Annabeth and Percy think you’re guilty too. (the last day leading up to Luke's betrayal)

love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke 4.7k ☽

The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they’re still alive. (the five stages of grief after facing a loss)

to catch a thief 3.7k ☼ ☽

The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. (Your reunion with Luke isn't quite what you expected.)

solipsism 5.3k ☽

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. (the four times Luke uses Backbiter to visit you during college ft. the first time you trust a god to help you)

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves 4.3k ☼ ☽

The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him)

love me dry 4.5k ☼ ☽

The one where he meets you at his mother's house, though both of you didn't expect the other to be there. (a glimpse into May Castellan's idea of a perfect day)

when the curtains close 5.3k☽

The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Annabeth and Pollux find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.)

asking for trouble 7.8k (NEWEST ADD) ☽

The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all)

as above, so below ☽ ☼

The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either)

ask to be added to luke/general taglist 🥹

[carlotaamm]

here's a thought:

bartender!vi x flower shop!reader

where bartender!vi is always closing shop when you're setting up right across the street from the last drop and she always sees you, pushing open your old fashioned french windows, an apron gathered around your waist as you set up the outdoor arrangements.

one of these days, she thinks she'll go over to ask for a flower (or your number), or just to buy you a drink. one of these days, she's gonna gather up the courage to do it. but today... she thinks she'll just content herself with watching (yet again), with wondering what your name might be, dreaming about if you'd smell like flowers, if your smile would look just as beautiful.

she doesn't know that every evening, when you're closing shop and the last drop is turning on it's lights and she's busy helping vander carry in the stock for the night, you're watching her through those vast french windows, wondering if her laughter is just as intoxicating as a shot of whiskey, if her eyes might be bourbon-bright beneath the haze of a busy bar.

one of these days, you think, you'll go over there and... say hi. ask for her to make you her favorite drink (or just her number). one of these days. but --

not today.

[carlotaamm]

i totally believe this would happen tho-

percy: *mimicking luke* luke: what no i don't sound like that!! percy: hey thalia close your eyes and guess who's talking thalia: ok... *closes eyes* percy: *mimics luke whining* thalia: ugh luke quit whining