siampie

[siampie]

Ramble away my friend. I love reading what everyone is thinking about the new season. Especially since I wasn't really part of the fandom when it was on netflix and now, I get to see everyone being as excited as I am live.

A bit like the 50th anniversary special of Doctor Who when it was broadcasted worldwide. It was amazing!!!

I have to say, I missed this feeling of being of the edge of my seat waiting for the next episode.

2026 can't come soon enough !

After doing some screaming, I have managed to collect my thoughts. Sort of. This was the last episode of season 1, so I’m in mourning, but that also means I can finally rewatch the entire season and see if I missed anything the first time around.

That being said, let’s dive in. Spoilers for Episode 9 of Daredevil: Born Again under the cut.

Before this episode, we already knew Vanessa had something to do with Foggy’s death, but watching her use a very mentally ill Dex, who was a mess in that mental hospital but at least he was getting help, for her own agenda was crazy. Good, but crazy, and I actually felt a little bad for him. I mean, yes, he did something horrible, but he wouldn’t have done it again if she hadn’t taken him out of that place. And Foggy would still be alive. She got him out and hired him to kill him, and now here we are.

“Karen?” OSYEUSHEYWIA GET OUT OMG sorry that wasn’t very collected of me BUT THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT Matt, that was the last nail in the coffin of your relationship, I fear. Saying another woman’s name after getting shot because you don’t recognize your girlfriend’s voice will just about do it.

Also, I can’t believe that man walked home in his little hospital gown (with his ass out). Can you imagine if someone stopped him? ‘Sir, you okay?’ And he probably just walked on because that man has no fucks left to give.

“What’re they calling you now? Nightgown Man?” I’m CACKLING Frank please

Frank being pissed about the lack of decent coffee is also so on brand for him.

“You’re gonna do it with your ass hanging out?” And Matt just flipping him off while he struts off to get his suit THEYRE SO FUNNY but also, Frank, we all know you looked. It’s okay. We all would. He has a whole bakery with him.

Anyway. The entire scene was fucking gold. The banter. The ‘Red’. Frank blazing through every single corrupt cop with his gun to the point there’s blood spilling everywhere. Fighting about their different attitudes to killing, again. The very thing they always fight about. And it felt so natural, too. Fucking finally.

Of course, it was Karen who worried about Matt. And of course Frank did it because Karen asked. Because it’s Karen. She cares about both of them so much.

Also, was this episode confirmation that Matt drinks oat milk? If so, I love him even more now.

Frank loves Karen and Karen loves Frank, Matt heard that in their heartbeats, but he also heard her heartbeat when she saw him. She has chemistry with both of them, but hearing them talk in that storage unit made me root for Matt and Karen because the way she asked if he heard her heartbeat was basically her telling him that no, it wasn’t just adrenaline, even though neither of them wants to admit it.

But Kastle will always be my number one ship because I just love the yearning between them. Because Karen knows Frank better than he knows himself, and he knows that. That tends to be a thing with her. She understands broken men because she, herself, has been through hell and back. And she doesn’t judge what they do because she understands. She gets it. She supports it. In this house, we love Karen Page!

And oh my God, the box. I knew I’d cry when Charlie hinted at it, but I wasn’t prepared for Matt to tell the Avocados At Law story again. The way he smiled with those sad brown eyes, I can’t even...

He loves that man so much. Because the only reason he is crashing out like this now is because Foggy’s death made him put on an invisible Matt Murdock suit that wasn’t quite Matt Murdock, and he started this fake life to get away from everything. He was the most collected with Karen this episode than he was all season. I said what I said. Because around Karen, he can be himself (and Frank riles him up just enough to tickle something inside him, and I’m sure he secretly likes it).

Fisk giving the AVTF the kill order and them killing an innocent kid that was just loitering, pulling the mask over his eyes and saying he was a masked vigilante was terrifyingly accurate because we know the police tend to spin things their way when they use lethal force. That’s not just fiction, that’s reality. Love that they weren’t afraid to go there.

Karen being Matt’s voice of reason and him listening. Yes, yes, YES! And not even a day after she came back, that man was opening up to her about how he let the darkness take over. How he didn’t know who he was anymore. And she let him know they were both hurting, but that he is still good. That he is not the darkness or whatever bullshit he keeps telling himself. She cradled his head, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and she gave him hope.

If the last 8 episodes weren’t an indication of the fact that Matt Murdock needs Foggy and Karen or he will become the shell of a man he once was (because he did do that), I don’t know what is.

He opened a new firm. Got a therapist girlfriend who didn’t know about his past and who he kept just about every feeling he ever had from. He put down the mask. He almost killed Dex the night Foggy died (and he admitted this episode that he wanted to), and he almost crossed that line a few more times ever since picking the mask back up. He was crashing out, going after Fisk without anyone there to remind him of who he is, and without anyone there who really knows him. And now that Karen’s back, he allowed himself to be a little more open. To listen. Because she knows who he is, and she gets him.

And that is nothing against Heather. She didn’t know about Daredevil. She wasn’t dealing with her trauma the way she should have, but the things she said to Matt cut him deep. And if she’s saying those things without knowing about Daredevil, I doubt she would have accepted the truth. They just didn’t fit. They didn’t work. They got together when Matt was at his lowest, and he probably viewed her as a distraction, or the normal thing to do, but now that he’s on the run, Heather is the last thing on his mind. And she’s too hurt to care about him anymore.

She’s now conspiring with the man who declared martial law and allowed his AVTF to kill people. And I do believe that a huge part of this is her trauma with Muse.

That doesn’t make her a bad character, of course. I just think she lacked the foundation necessary to make her, let’s say, a compelling side character. Because we didn’t learn that much about her other than how she interacted with Matt and some of the off-putting things she said.

I have to keep reminding myself that she was treated horribly by her boyfriend (because Matt sucks at being a boyfriend, we all know that), and that she was almost killed by Muse, and that she was curious about vigilantes at first before she almost died. She was hurt, and having her boyfriend be so distant when she clearly needed someone certainly didn’t help. They were two cars of very different and non-compatible makes on a collision course. It was never going to end well.

There are a million different things that come into play here, but I don’t think that makes her a bad character. In the comics (I haven’t read them, only seen snippets) there is a lot more to her, but I personally think Marvel missed an opportunity here because they could have made her more interesting if they wanted.

But by not making her more interesting, everything felt as though it was happening from Matt’s POV (because it kind of was), and he didn’t know anything about her either (not much, anyway) the same way she didn’t know anything about him, so it worked. The relationship was supposed to feel fake and dysfunctional. And I’m not mad about it, either, I just think there’s different sides to this, things that could have been different, but didn’t necessarily have to be. Again, that’s just my opinion.

Characters are meant to be viewed from different perspectives, met with different opinions and interpretations because we as human beings always view fictional characters differently. We view them with prejudice, with things we know about behavior and other human beings from real life, and maybe what we know about fictional characters from school. But it’s definitely a personal thing. Some you like, some you don’t, and some you are conflicted about. Anyway.

Fisk and Vanessa put Frank in a cage, but you can’t put that man in a cage and expect it to go well. For now, he’s restrained, but he will find a way. And if he doesn’t, Matt will.

Also, when he said they’d need an army, I was half expecting to see the Defenders pop up. I am kind of hoping for a cameo in Season 2 now. You need someone like Luke to defeat an army with as much fire power as the AVTF has. And Jessica, because someone needs to make sarcastic comments while Frank is in time-out.

I’m just glad Matt let Karen convince him not to do this alone and find people willing to help them. I’m glad he’s not doing it on his own. Matt is not indestructible, after all.

Anyway, I will be screaming about the season finale until season 2 comes out. Thank God for the overhaul and for the writers and Charlie’s sexy ass voiceovers with that low voice that made my belly tingle every single time. Thank you to the accent slips that made me giggle. Thank you to Matt calling Heather ‘sweetie’ and Dex ‘sweetheart’ like a derogatory asshole (affectionately). Thank you to the costume designers who made those fitted suit. Thank you to Charlie Cox for taking his shirt off. Thank you to Charlie Cox, again, for kissing his love interests like Matt eats pussy every day (he probably does). And thank you to Marvel for at least giving us Karen back for longer than 15 minutes, and I hope to God they bring Foggy back, too. And thank you to every single actor on this show for acting the shit out of this crazy patchwork blanket. Hope the Marvel curse doesn’t befall them (it probably will) and they get some awards for this, especially Charlie because he deserves it. Amen.

We had so much to feast on these past two months and now we have to wait? We are about to enter a serious Daredevil drought. Stay strong, soldiers. Stay strong.

I, for one, will be jumping back into the writing pool now. Hope you guys are buckled up.

[siampie]

This Finale was amazing in every way.

Spoilers ahead!

I don't know if you seen it but there is a post-credit scene. I say that only regarding some of the points you made.

And yes, like you I was hoping to see the Defenders. Alas, no. I hope they'll make an appearance in season 2. I really want to see Jessica Jones again.

Now, regarding Heather, I don’t hate her...well, I dislike her a little bit at the moment. But I’m also trying to see things from her POV. I'm guessing she’s accepting the position because of Muse. And yes, Matt didn’t seem to worry too much about her while all of this was happening. Which also begs the question: where was she? I thought those two mofos (I say that affectionately of course) lived together? And also, does she not know that he isn’t in the hospital anymore or that his new appartment exploded? Which also means she doesn’t really care where he is.

Can I also say I love the symbolic of let's destroy the fake life and let’s go back to the roots. I really hope his loft makes a come back in the next season.

I hope they give my Kirsten more screentime in the next season, she deserves more respect. I want to see her do lawyer stuff while Matt is on the run.

Overall, the next season looks promising. All that was wrong in the beginning were righted somehow by the end. Fisk and Vanessa are back together. Matt and Karen are back together with some help from Foggy (from the grave???). And Daredevil is truly back.

Season 2 can't wait for you. In the meantime, I'll rewatch season 1.

After doing some screaming, I have managed to collect my thoughts. Sort of. This was the last episode of season 1, so I’m in mourning, but that also means I can finally rewatch the entire season and see if I missed anything the first time around.

That being said, let’s dive in. Spoilers for Episode 9 of Daredevil: Born Again under the cut.

Before this episode, we already knew Vanessa had something to do with Foggy’s death, but watching her use a very mentally ill Dex, who was a mess in that mental hospital but at least he was getting help, for her own agenda was crazy. Good, but crazy, and I actually felt a little bad for him. I mean, yes, he did something horrible, but he wouldn’t have done it again if she hadn’t taken him out of that place. And Foggy would still be alive. She got him out and hired him to kill him, and now here we are.

“Karen?” OSYEUSHEYWIA GET OUT OMG sorry that wasn’t very collected of me BUT THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT Matt, that was the last nail in the coffin of your relationship, I fear. Saying another woman’s name after getting shot because you don’t recognize your girlfriend’s voice will just about do it.

Also, I can’t believe that man walked home in his little hospital gown (with his ass out). Can you imagine if someone stopped him? ‘Sir, you okay?’ And he probably just walked on because that man has no fucks left to give.

“What’re they calling you now? Nightgown Man?” I’m CACKLING Frank please

Frank being pissed about the lack of decent coffee is also so on brand for him.

“You’re gonna do it with your ass hanging out?” And Matt just flipping him off while he struts off to get his suit THEYRE SO FUNNY but also, Frank, we all know you looked. It’s okay. We all would. He has a whole bakery with him.

Anyway. The entire scene was fucking gold. The banter. The ‘Red’. Frank blazing through every single corrupt cop with his gun to the point there’s blood spilling everywhere. Fighting about their different attitudes to killing, again. The very thing they always fight about. And it felt so natural, too. Fucking finally.

Of course, it was Karen who worried about Matt. And of course Frank did it because Karen asked. Because it’s Karen. She cares about both of them so much.

Also, was this episode confirmation that Matt drinks oat milk? If so, I love him even more now.

Frank loves Karen and Karen loves Frank, Matt heard that in their heartbeats, but he also heard her heartbeat when she saw him. She has chemistry with both of them, but hearing them talk in that storage unit made me root for Matt and Karen because the way she asked if he heard her heartbeat was basically her telling him that no, it wasn’t just adrenaline, even though neither of them wants to admit it.

But Kastle will always be my number one ship because I just love the yearning between them. Because Karen knows Frank better than he knows himself, and he knows that. That tends to be a thing with her. She understands broken men because she, herself, has been through hell and back. And she doesn’t judge what they do because she understands. She gets it. She supports it. In this house, we love Karen Page!

And oh my God, the box. I knew I’d cry when Charlie hinted at it, but I wasn’t prepared for Matt to tell the Avocados At Law story again. The way he smiled with those sad brown eyes, I can’t even...

He loves that man so much. Because the only reason he is crashing out like this now is because Foggy’s death made him put on an invisible Matt Murdock suit that wasn’t quite Matt Murdock, and he started this fake life to get away from everything. He was the most collected with Karen this episode than he was all season. I said what I said. Because around Karen, he can be himself (and Frank riles him up just enough to tickle something inside him, and I’m sure he secretly likes it).

Fisk giving the AVTF the kill order and them killing an innocent kid that was just loitering, pulling the mask over his eyes and saying he was a masked vigilante was terrifyingly accurate because we know the police tend to spin things their way when they use lethal force. That’s not just fiction, that’s reality. Love that they weren’t afraid to go there.

Karen being Matt’s voice of reason and him listening. Yes, yes, YES! And not even a day after she came back, that man was opening up to her about how he let the darkness take over. How he didn’t know who he was anymore. And she let him know they were both hurting, but that he is still good. That he is not the darkness or whatever bullshit he keeps telling himself. She cradled his head, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and she gave him hope.

If the last 8 episodes weren’t an indication of the fact that Matt Murdock needs Foggy and Karen or he will become the shell of a man he once was (because he did do that), I don’t know what is.

He opened a new firm. Got a therapist girlfriend who didn’t know about his past and who he kept just about every feeling he ever had from. He put down the mask. He almost killed Dex the night Foggy died (and he admitted this episode that he wanted to), and he almost crossed that line a few more times ever since picking the mask back up. He was crashing out, going after Fisk without anyone there to remind him of who he is, and without anyone there who really knows him. And now that Karen’s back, he allowed himself to be a little more open. To listen. Because she knows who he is, and she gets him.

And that is nothing against Heather. She didn’t know about Daredevil. She wasn’t dealing with her trauma the way she should have, but the things she said to Matt cut him deep. And if she’s saying those things without knowing about Daredevil, I doubt she would have accepted the truth. They just didn’t fit. They didn’t work. They got together when Matt was at his lowest, and he probably viewed her as a distraction, or the normal thing to do, but now that he’s on the run, Heather is the last thing on his mind. And she’s too hurt to care about him anymore.

She’s now conspiring with the man who declared martial law and allowed his AVTF to kill people. And I do believe that a huge part of this is her trauma with Muse.

That doesn’t make her a bad character, of course. I just think she lacked the foundation necessary to make her, let’s say, a compelling side character. Because we didn’t learn that much about her other than how she interacted with Matt and some of the off-putting things she said.

I have to keep reminding myself that she was treated horribly by her boyfriend (because Matt sucks at being a boyfriend, we all know that), and that she was almost killed by Muse, and that she was curious about vigilantes at first before she almost died. She was hurt, and having her boyfriend be so distant when she clearly needed someone certainly didn’t help. They were two cars of very different and non-compatible makes on a collision course. It was never going to end well.

There are a million different things that come into play here, but I don’t think that makes her a bad character. In the comics (I haven’t read them, only seen snippets) there is a lot more to her, but I personally think Marvel missed an opportunity here because they could have made her more interesting if they wanted.

But by not making her more interesting, everything felt as though it was happening from Matt’s POV (because it kind of was), and he didn’t know anything about her either (not much, anyway) the same way she didn’t know anything about him, so it worked. The relationship was supposed to feel fake and dysfunctional. And I’m not mad about it, either, I just think there’s different sides to this, things that could have been different, but didn’t necessarily have to be. Again, that’s just my opinion.

Characters are meant to be viewed from different perspectives, met with different opinions and interpretations because we as human beings always view fictional characters differently. We view them with prejudice, with things we know about behavior and other human beings from real life, and maybe what we know about fictional characters from school. But it’s definitely a personal thing. Some you like, some you don’t, and some you are conflicted about. Anyway.

Fisk and Vanessa put Frank in a cage, but you can’t put that man in a cage and expect it to go well. For now, he’s restrained, but he will find a way. And if he doesn’t, Matt will.

Also, when he said they’d need an army, I was half expecting to see the Defenders pop up. I am kind of hoping for a cameo in Season 2 now. You need someone like Luke to defeat an army with as much fire power as the AVTF has. And Jessica, because someone needs to make sarcastic comments while Frank is in time-out.

I’m just glad Matt let Karen convince him not to do this alone and find people willing to help them. I’m glad he’s not doing it on his own. Matt is not indestructible, after all.

Anyway, I will be screaming about the season finale until season 2 comes out. Thank God for the overhaul and for the writers and Charlie’s sexy ass voiceovers with that low voice that made my belly tingle every single time. Thank you to the accent slips that made me giggle. Thank you to Matt calling Heather ‘sweetie’ and Dex ‘sweetheart’ like a derogatory asshole (affectionately). Thank you to the costume designers who made those fitted suit. Thank you to Charlie Cox for taking his shirt off. Thank you to Charlie Cox, again, for kissing his love interests like Matt eats pussy every day (he probably does). And thank you to Marvel for at least giving us Karen back for longer than 15 minutes, and I hope to God they bring Foggy back, too. And thank you to every single actor on this show for acting the shit out of this crazy patchwork blanket. Hope the Marvel curse doesn’t befall them (it probably will) and they get some awards for this, especially Charlie because he deserves it. Amen.

We had so much to feast on these past two months and now we have to wait? We are about to enter a serious Daredevil drought. Stay strong, soldiers. Stay strong.

I, for one, will be jumping back into the writing pool now. Hope you guys are buckled up.

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 10

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 2.9 k 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, brief talk of religion and faith

A/N:

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

The book dropped on the table with a heavy thud. Sam glanced up at you quickly while you took a seat at the table.  

“How is one supposed to cure a demon, uh?” You asked no one in particular, “this is ridiculous.”

Sam scoffed, “please tell me that’s everything,” he said as Dean walked in carrying files.

“Yeah,” he said back, “heh, no, not even close. See, the Men of Letters kept files on every demonic possession for the last 300 years. We got, uh, Borden, Lizzie, all the way to Crane, Ichabod.”

“Lizzie Borden was possessed?” You glanced up at Dean.

“Really?”

“What? It’s a legitimate question.”

Sam groaned dropping the files on the table, “how you’re feeling?” Dean asked him.

“Honestly,” Sam started. “My, uh—my whole-body hurts. I feel nauseous and like I’m starving at the same time. And everything smells like rotting meat.”

“I’ve had that hangover,” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. You and Sam glared up at him, “Jäger, man. Pfft. Maybe you should, uh, take a break, get some air.”

“That’s an idea,” you agreed with him.

“Only thing that’s gonna make me feel better is finishing this.” Sam turned it down.

“All right. Well, I’ll go get you some grub. Keep your strength up.”

“Morning,” Castiel greeted the room as Dean walked away. Ignoring him.

“Hi,” you timidly answered the angel.

It wasn’t everyday one found themselves in the presence of an Angel of the Lord. It was one thing to know about Castiel and another to be in his presence. Although, you had envisioned him to be much more impressive than this. Taller even. But Castiel was dressed in a trench coat, which you kinda dig, and quite shorter than Dean and Sam.

As a matter of fact, you would find that Castiel had been quite weakened by recent events, that you were not completely privy too.  And from what you gathered so far, it seemed that Dean and Castiel were no longer on good terms. Or at least, Dean couldn’t stand him anymore. If the cold shoulder he was currently giving to Castiel was anything to go by.

“I like this bunker,” Castiel’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “It’s orderly.”

“Well, give us a few months,” Sam sighed. “Dean wants to get a Ping-Pong table.”

“Heard of that. It’s a game, right?”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “More like a sport, really?”

He bent over, letting out a groan. “You okay?” Sam asked him.

“My wound isn’t healing as quickly as I’d hoped,” Castiel sat down at the table. “But I’m getting better.” You cast your eyes down on your book. “And you’re getting worse.”

“Well, two trials down, one to go,” Sam said.

“And the final test, you know what it is?”

“I have to cure a demon.”

“Of what?”

“That’s the mystery to solve,” you commented from your spot.

“Soup’s on,” Dean walked back into the room with a tray. He put it down next to Sam. “Here you go. I think this is, uh—” he took a long sip of the beer that was destined to Sam, or so you thought. “Ah, it’s still good.”

“A half-drunk beer, um—jerky and three peanut-butter cups?” Sam listed out, unimpressed.

“Yeah, we’re running a little low,” Dean replied, you let out a snort before he glared at you. “I’ll make a run.”

“Dean, I can go with you.” Castiel volunteered. Dean didn’t acknowledge him. “Dean,” the Angel called. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Dean questioned.

“For everything.”

“Everything?” Dean repeated. “Like, uh—? Like ignoring us?” You couldn’t help but glanced at Sam, as though asking if you should be here for this conversation.

“Yes.”

“Or like bolting off with the angel tablet then losing it. Because you didn’t trust me? You didn’t trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. No, that’s not gonna cut it. Not this time.” Dean’s tone held a finality to it. As though he’s had enough of Castiel’s lies. “So, you can take your little apology and you cram it up your ass.”

You squirmed on your chair, uncomfortable by the confrontation. You shouldn’t be in the room for that. Neither should Sam.

“Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, you always do.”

Sam cleared his throat, breaking the tension that momentarily thickened in the room. “Hey, uh, do we have a room 7B?” He asked his brother.

“Hey, princess, do we have any popcorn left?” Dean stomped into the kitchen. You stopped scribbling on your notepad.

“Yep. Why?” You looked up to him.

“Movie night,” he announced cheerily.

“What are we watching?”

***

A grainy, white and black motion picture. Found footage, one might call it. A young woman was behind the camera speaking to a priest about a new ritual. An exorcism. The camera panned over a mirror where you caught a glimpse of the woman holding it.

“Wait—is that Abaddon?” Sam seemed to have recognized her.

“She’s not kill-y enough. It’s gotta be the, uh, the chick she possessed.” Dean replied.

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion. Apparently, the brothers had been quite busy. Grunts filled the room as the camera followed the young priest. The grunts grew louder, and the rattling of chains could be heard, as an old woman appeared on screen. Black eyed and chained to the ground, the woman seemed to have been through a lot.

“Dead. They’re all dead. Everyone you ever loved,” she threatened.

“Those chains look exactly like the ones in our dungeon,” Sam interjected.

“In your what?”

“You have a dungeon?” Both you and Castiel asked at the same time, but your questions remained unanswered.

“Demon on a leash. Cool,” Dean commented.

The possessed woman wailed as blessed water was thrown onto her. Her skin sizzling at the contact. Both priests started to recite the exorcism. You recognized a few words but something wasn’t quite right. The words sounded different; the litany seemed to have been changed. The oldest priest cut open his palm and slammed his hand over the possessed’s mouth. A blinding light spilled out of her eyes. The camera fell on the ground.

Coughing sounds were now filling the room, as the woman on the screen got back on her feet. Taking back the camera, she appeared briefly on screen before she panned over to the now deceased woman.

“What the hell?” You exclaimed.

Her chest was burst open.

“Well, that was weird, with three exclamations points.” Dean said as soon as the movie ended.

“That wasn’t a normal exorcism. They changed the words,” Sam said back.

“But why?” You questioned leaning over the table.

“I believe lustra is Latin for ‘wash’ or ‘cleanse.’” Castiel provided.

“Yeah, because that was the most freaky thing was the vocabulary,” Dean replied. “What about the, uh, bloody high-five or the chest-burster? Anything else on the film? Like director’s commentary? A sequel maybe?”

“Yeah, listen to this,” Sam moved over to Dean with his laptop and so did you. “The older priest, Max Thompson, bit the dust in ’58—but the younger one is still alive and still in St. Louis.”

“Think this kind of weird is worth the drive?” Dean asked his brother as you stood next to him.

“Dean, everything in those folders, the possessions, the deals, all of it, we’ve seen that before. But that—that was all new. Yeah, it’s worth the drive.”

“All right, let’s roll,” he agreed getting up. “Not you,” he pointed to Castiel.

“Sam is more damaged than I am,” the Angel argued back.

“Yeah, well, you know, even banged up, Sammy comes through,” Dean countered.

“Dean, I just wanna help,” Castiel said almost begging for Dean to accept his help.

“We already got all the help we need,” Dean snapped back, giving a slight nod in your direction. “Just stay here—and get better.”

You crossed yourself as you walked through the threshold. Raised Catholic, you had a complicated relationship with God. Your faith had not really wavered through the years. Still, you sometimes had a hard time understanding God’s motive for letting certain things happen to certain people. Of course, you were aware that people still had their free will and most often than not, their misfortunes or fortunes were consequences of their own choices and actions. But what about the things out of their controls? Why would he allow certain people to become parents? Why would he let wars happen still? Or natural disasters destroy entire cities? Let children suffer? Surely, a loving God would not allow that. A merciful God would spare them the pain and the heartaches.

And surely, He would not have created monsters.

Not the God you believed in anyway.

“Father Thompson had some unorthodox ideas which is why the Men of Letters were interested,” Father Simon told them.

“Unorthodox how?” Sam questioned.

“He believed demons could be saved,” the priest answered.

“What exactly do you mean, ‘saved?’”

“A demon is a human soul twisted and corrupted but its time in hell,” you intently stared at the priest as he continued. “Father Thompson believed that you could wash that taint away and restore that humanity.”

“So, what, they just stay in whatever schmuck they’re possessing—and get a ticket upstairs?” Dean asked him, skeptical.

“I wish I knew.”

“Okay, but this, this ritual can cure a demon?” Sam inquired.

“I suppose, if it worked,” Father Simon softly said. “But that night something went terribly wrong. The demon escaped into the world, and that poor old woman—it was horrible. I know Father Thompson kept trying. There were other possessions, experiments—but I couldn’t face that, not again. And then, a few months later—he was dead.”

“How did that happen?” You asked the priest.

“Something tore him apart,” he said gravelly.

“Did he keep any, uh—?” Sam suddenly coughed but kept going, “did he keep records or—?”

He coughed in his fist; it sounded dry and painful. You winced. When he opened his fist there was blood in his palm. Sam glanced at his brother.

He cleared his throat, “you have a bathroom, maybe?”

The priest pointed to the back of the church, and Sam left the pew quickly. “Is he all right?” Father Simon asked Dean.

“Uh—” Dean stood up, you glanced up at him. “No, Padre. He’s pretty damn far from all right. That’s why we’re here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, the short story is, Sammy there is gonna take whatever shredded your friend and every other black-eyed bitch out there and he’s gonna get rid of them, for good.”

“He is? In his condition?”

“Over the past couple of months, I’ve seen him do crap that I didn’t even think was possible. I mean, sure, he’s miserable and he’s hurting, but you know what? There’s not a doubt in my mind that he’s gonna cross that finish line. Not one. So, will you help us?”

“I’ll get Father Thompson’s things for you.”

“Thank you.”

Father Simon left you both in the pews. Dean sat back down next to you. “Are you okay?” You asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly.

“You’re not—but I’ll take that answer for now,” you stared at the cross on top of the altar.

There was nothing you could say to make him feel better. Dean was worried for his brother. And frankly, so were you. You did not know much about the trials, and the sort of forces the brothers were up against. All you knew, was that they decided that it was their burden to carry. That they would do what they needed to for the greater good. But it wasn’t without consequences.

The trials were taking their tolls on Sam’s body. He was deteriorating as the days went by. Coughing up blood, the constant fever, the chills, and Sam was barely sleeping or eating. Sam was slowly dying. Even their angel friend couldn’t cure him or at least, stall the inevitable. You hoped that after the last trial, after curing the demon as he was supposed to, Sam would only get better.

That was what you hoped for.

With all Father Thompson’s belongings, you and the brothers drove back to the bunker. There was so much in that box. All of his researches, his experiments, notebooks. So many things that could help the brothers—or rather Sam overcome the third trial and come out the other side stronger.

“I can’t find Cass,” Sam stepped into the war room while you were deep into one of Father Thompson’s notebooks. “You think he blew town?”

“Sounds like him,” Dean said back. “So, it turns out that, uh, Father Thompson recorded all of his demon-cure tests.”

“Pretty gruesome stuff, I’d say,” you commented not taking your eyes off of the page.

“This one here, this was the last one. Two days before he died.”

***

“The date is August 3rd, 1958. This is trial 19, hour one. My subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons—"

You listened intently to the voice recording. Father Thompson was doing it alone this time, At the sounds of chains clanking, you deduced the possessed man was in shackles while Father Thompson was attempting to cure him.

Father Thompson went through the trouble of extracting his own purified blood. And injected it in the man’s body. Six injections, it took for this man to finally break through possession. Although, you weren’t entirely sure about this. Did he cure the demon of all evil? Or had he saved a man from possession?

“Did he just cure a demon?” Sam questioned, in awe of Father Thompson’s accomplished.

“Maybe,” Dean replied. “Can we take this hoodoo on a test drive?”

“Um,” Sam turned a page from the notebook. “I mean, I have the exorcism right here, all we need is the blood—consecrated ground and a demon.”

“What?” Your eyes shifted from a brother to the other. Confused.

“So, what, we summon a demon, trap it—?”

“Or we use one that we’ve already tagged.” Dean said. “Do we still have Dad’s old, uh Army field-surgeon’s kit?”

“It’s in the trunk. Why?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time we put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

“Humpty Dumpty?”

“Bucko, wait!” You rushed after him, “Dean, would you stop for a minute?” you grabbed his arm to stop him.

He turned around, his eyebrows high on his forehead, looking down at your hand on his arm. “It’s final, Princess. You’re not coming with us on this one.”

You let go of his arm, “yeah, you made that pretty clear. Which I have to say it’s pretty hurtful and rude.” He turned to face you, rolling his eyes, and crossing his arms over his chest. “But I have a few questions?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Who’s Humpty Dumpty? And do you actually have a demon on layaway?”

“It’s more complicated than that and I don’t really have time to explain,” Dean started to turn away.

“So, that’s it. You’re just gonna go in head first, not knowing if it’s really going to work.”

“That’s the point of the test drive.”

“And why should I stay back?”

“Look, Princess, this is between me and Sam, and those sons of bitches. And we’re going to finish this.” He argued back. “And I don’t need you to get involved now. We need to do this on our own.”

You scoffed, “right. I get it. You don’t trust me. You still don’t think I’m capable of handling myself.” It was your turn to walk away from him. “Good luck, Winchester.”

And he was his turn to hold you back, “hey! Hey! Don’t put words in my mouth, okay? I know you can handle yourself. I’ve seen it, sweetheart. But this is different, okay?”

“How?”

“Damn it, woman! Can you just do what I’m asking you for once?”

Your lips curled up at the end, in spite of yourself. “Woman?” You repeated, cocking up an eyebrow.

“You think this is funny, uh?”

“I know it isn’t,” you answered, your eyes boring into his green ones. “You’re worried about Sam. About the trials. You, guys, are literally betting your lives on this. I get it, okay? I just wished I could help more, that’s all.” He opened his mouth to protest, you shushed him quickly, placing your index on his plump lips. “I’ll stay, alright? Doing as I am told by you—for once.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled your index away from his lips, “about damn time, Princess.”

“Don’t push it, Bucko.” You countered, “But if you need anything—”

“I know.”

Your eyes roamed over his face, taking in every small detail, from his freckled nose to red lips. His tongue darted out to wet them. Your eyes snapped back up to his green and beautiful eyes. Suddenly, highly aware of your close proximity, of his rough fingers around your soft wrist. A flush crept up your neck as Dean imperceptibly leant in closer.

“Hey,” Sam came around the corner. “You’re ready?”

As though the very touch of him had burnt you, you ripped your wrist away from his grip. Stepping away from him.

Dean cleared his throat, “yeah, just give me a minute.” He stepped away from you, without sparing you a glance and disappeared in his room.

“You’re okay?” Sam questioned you while you walked up to him.

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice slightly squeaky. “Your brother is just very stubborn.”

“Yeah, he is,” Sam snorted. “You know he means well, right?”

“I know he’s worried about you,” you said back.

You heard Dean’s boots thudding against the floor from behind you, “alright, let’s go.”

“You be careful, okay?”

Sam gave you a small smile, and a slight nod before walking away. Dean touched your back as he walked by, his eyes finding yours immediately. Your lips turned up quickly, and soon his back was facing you.

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[siampie]

First, I agree with all of it.

And I am on the side of Foggy might still be alive (at least, I’m hoping for it!)

I'm ready for everything to go to shit next week. Can't wait for the implosion 🤭

I'm liking Buck more and more. And I do have a soft spot for Daniel. And in this episode, some of the side characters felt more real. Like BB, I was glad we got her motivation to get involved in some ways with Daniel. And I still don't know if there's real friendship there or not.

Heather is not ready for who Matt really is. The fact that she can't recognised that Fisk is a danger or rather doesn’t want to recognise that, is pissing me off. Also, comparing Daredevil and Muse and putting on the same level, is quite insane.

I didn’t feel much about her before, she was okay. But she also wasn’t really fleshed out. But now, I'm a little mad at the attitude. I get it her boyfriend is zoning out on her and not listening. I don’t know her whole attitude this episode rubbed me the wrong way.

I was so happy to see Josie. I've missed her and the place.

Also, really glad they finally looking into Foggy's death. I like a good old mystery.

And the colors in this episode were just...amazing. Loved everything so much. Last week's episode was a bit of a let down personally but this one was just great.

I wrote down my thoughts while watching this time, so you’ll get the full picture toward the end of this post. Before I get into it, I just want to add that you could tell this was episode part of the rewrite and, in my opinion, it felt so much better paced. I have no doubts that episode 9 is gonna make Season 1 go out with a bang next week.

Spoilers for episode 8 of Daredevil: Born Again under the cut.

The ‘this is all going to implode in his face’ moment I’ve been talking about is finally upon us. Hallelujah.

We can see Matt and Heather’s relationship falling apart, and I think what happened with Muse was the catalyst. Not only does he seem cold and detached from the woman he said he loved (She was tied up, cut open, and bled, and if that had been Karen or God forbid, Elektra, he would have been more doting)

If I think back to those domestic scenes they showed between Matt and Elektra in the Defenders, or how soft he was with Karen, this is so fucking far from that and it’s fucking intentional and I love that they really leaned into it this episode.

Also, I can’t get over what she said about Muse and Daredevil. She put them both in the same drawer, which I completely disagree with, but it shows that their views are already so fundamentally different.

Daredevil wasn’t there for himself. Matt came because he figured out it was her, which yes, she doesn’t know, but one of them saved her and one of them tried to kill her. I’m with Matt on this one. She spoke about both of them in rather derogatory ways because she doesn’t understand Daredevil the way the people in Matt’s life do/did, or the way we do. And I don’t think that would be any different if she knew it was Matt. She’d still think that way, I believe.

Adding this after watching: his rash and manic behavior toward the end was met with concern from her, which I get, but my gut is telling me she will not deal well with finding out the truth.

Sure, she’s a therapist, and she views it from a different angle, but even from a psychological angle I don’t really understand the things she said. I’m not a psychologist, but even with what little I know about psychology I can easily differentiate between the different vigilantes and their possible motivations. It might have been her trauma speaking, but I was a little mad at her, and I could tell so was Matt.

Also, he was worried when British Wesley came, and I don’t think it was wrong of him to express that because Fisk, even if you don’t know him, has a reputation, and Heather just shot him down. There is so much tension between them, and none of that is good. It’s just further proof of their dysfunctional relationship, and I honestly thank Marvel for finally making it so obvious.

Matt’s speech about his life feeling fake was a Freudian slip, and we’re seeing it more and more now this episode, and Heather is a part of that, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. He loves her in a way one might love a friend or a situationship, but he’s not in love with her. Definitely not.

Heather doesn’t know both sides of him, and as I said, after what she said I don’t think she’d accept both sides of him without seeing him as a basket case. I don’t think their relationship would survive the implications of Matt being both himself and Daredevil, openly. But to love Matt Murdock is to love all sides of him, as damaged as they are, and he needs the pull between Matt and Daredevil to even exist.

We’ve seen it work before Foggy died, and you can’t take Daredevil from him without it feeling fake, so you have to accept both sides. That’s not something you can compromise on, I fear. Not when those two parts are so intertwined inside him. But that’s what makes him such a complex character, and honestly, as self-centered he can be, and he is, he still cares so deeply. And Daredevil? Definitely not just for his own gain.

Fisk taking Vanessa to see Adam was unexpected but I absolutely loved how she had the choice to set him free but shot him instead. I don’t know if this is part of some elaborate play at power or if we really have the power couple back.

‘We’re babysitting chaos’ Matt who decided to put his faith in the system because he was struggling with his faith in God and he decided, for Foggy, not to put the suit in again is finally admitting that it feels useless. Not enough.

The Matt we see is broken. He’s not the same Matt as in the original show or other Marvel cameos. He couldn’t be. He’s darker now. Even with the suit on, he still feels useless, and now that he’s pulled in all these different directions he is so close to falling apart, and that’s what we’re seeing. He’s desperate.

He’s not himself without Foggy or Karen, and now he’s flailing because he has no one in his life who accepts Daredevil or at least tries to understand. Everyone only really knows that fake version he’s put on, except for Cherry (and Fisk), and he feels trapped.

Matt misses his old life because that was the one that made him even remotely happy, when he could have everything, but then everything was taken from him and now Dex wants to see him (I wrote this before the scene came up), and it’s all just continuing to crash down. He’s everything but okay, but he refuses to deal with it because he’s got his mind set on figuring shit out and fixing it, and that is so Matt Murdock it’s almost painful. I just want to hug him.

‘You’re blowing up your life’ I think, Cherry, he’s blowing up his fake life because he can’t keep doing this and pretend everything’s fine. He always does that. The people who stuck by him are gone now, so he already feels alone. There’s not much more Matt feels he can lose, and Heather obviously doesn’t seem to count for him. Of course, he’s blowing that fake life up now because there’s so much left unsaid and unknown, and he just wants back what he’s lost, but he can’t.

I love how he went back to Hell’s Kitchen and Josie’s, and that she offered him a drink.

We finally FINALLY get some kind of additional information on what happened the night Foggy died. And Matt actually allowing himself to go after that and engage with it?? He allowed himself to think about Foggy, to say his name, and make sense of it. The timer on the bomb that was his Fake Life was running out, and then it exploded. And you know what? The fandom is fucking cheering.

Let’s talk about the whole Dex scene because HELLO? I mean, it’s one thing that he’s finally asking questions, but the way he was berating him? The ‘sweetheart’? Honesty, what did Dex think was gonna happen? Did he think Matt was going to help him out? But fuck, that was so hot. Help.

The way he grabbed his hair? Smashing his face into the table? The ‘fuck you’???

He said fuck you. Oh my God. He said the f-word again. I’m crashing out, help. (This was my live reaction)

“You’re not the only one wearing Chanel no. 5” and his little cackle LMAO

On another note, I understand that Heather’s upset because Matt really is everywhere but present and I’d be pissed too if my boyfriend wasn’t listening to me.

That being said, I’d climb that man like a Christmas tree in that suit. I mean it.

“You’re starting to worry me on a professional level” this shouldn’t be as funny as it is. I mean, if I didn’t know why he’s acting that way I’d probably worry about his sanity too, but that’s who he is, and now that Heather is seeing that version of him she doesn’t know how to deal with it. I called it.

Anyway. The way he grabbed her and pulled her in to dance?? I’m screaming without the s.

Was it Vanessa? Was it Fisk? Was it someone else? I love how we have all these theories who ordered Foggy to get killed but no answers. I NEED TO KNOW! And the fact she told him to calm down has made me a member of the WitPro Theory Club.

Matt took a bullet for Fisk. He did that. This isn’t some alternate universe, and he didn’t take that bullet for Heather, either. But he took that bullet for a man he not even a mere minute ago called a monster. And part of me thinks he did it because one, he didn’t want to give Dex the satisfaction of killing someone else, and two, he has too many unanswered questions. Or he did it for some entirely different reason, but the fact he did it absolutely baffles me in the best way possible.

Matt Murdock jumped in front of Wilson Fisk and took a bullet in the same place Foggy did the night he died, fired from the same man, and he lay there the exact same fucking way, with his heartbeat fading in the background. What the hell are these parallels? Someone sedate me oh my God. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.

Thank God we don’t have to worry about Daredevil dying because it’s literally his show, but my heart did drop into my stomach for a split second because I didn’t anticipate it.

The blue lights for Dex? The red for Matt? Fisk holding a bleeding Matt against his white suit and then Heather proceeding to kneel over him? What the actual fuck. The cinematography this episode was amazing, if I may say so.

Overall, I thank Marvel for making this episode happen because some strings felt a little loose to me ever since the first episode, but they’re tying them up, and they’re building up the storyline for season 2, and they did an incredible job.

They did the best they could with the scraps they were given, and the actors are really knocking it out of the park to make sure every scene feels authentic, especially Vincent and Charlie. I just thought I had to say that again.

WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! And this time, I really fucking mean it.

Just a reminder that this is just how I interpret the characters, their actions and the storyline overall. Everyone has their own interpretations and I love reading every single one of them. So, if you want to chat (or scream) about the show, I’m here, and I’m ready!

[siampie]

The Detective and The Devil || Chapter 2: The Courtroom Showdown

Pairing: Matt Murdock x female OC (Mannie Hunt)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings/tags: None really for this chapter, canon typical violence.

A/N: No knowledge of lawyer talk. So, don’t judge too harshly when it comes to the trial stuff. Also, reblogs are always appreciated, so are likes and comments.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Mr. Mullins,” Matt sat across from him. “My partner and I agreed to represent you but we won’t be able to help you if you don’t tell us the truth. The whole truth.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, listening intently to his heartbeat, to the way it had sped up under his ribcage. He heard the hitch in his breath, and the way he gulped down. A bead of sweat was forming on Mullins’ forehead.

“I appreciate you helping me, man. I really do,” Evan said, his breath shallow. “But like I said I don’t know nothing about those pharmacies. I didn’t steal nothing.”

His erratic heartbeat didn’t allow Matt to determine if he was telling the truth in that moment. Although earlier, he caught the young man’s outburst at his lawyer. Refusing a deal that was offered to him because he was innocent. His heartbeat was steady, then. Truthful.  

“There is something you are not telling us, Evan,” Matt’s voice dropped low. “Detective Hunt did find the stolen drugs in your apartment. I believe you when you say you’re innocent but you’re hiding something from us. And if you’re not willing to share it with us—whatever this is that you’re hiding—we can’t help you.”

Evan rubbed his face, exhaling deeply, “I can’t do that, man—I—”

His heart kept speeding up, he clenched his left fist. He was anxious. Terribly so, his breath grew shallow.

“Mr. Mullins, let’s go back to the beginning. What can you tell us about the night of the burglary?” Foggy suggested.

Evan Mullins, 23 years old, was trying to earn living honestly. He worked long hours shift in a burger joint. The pay wasn’t great but it was better than nothing. Evan only wanted to get by in life and he wanted to do it honestly. His parents had not given him and his siblings the safest home when they were growing up. Both drug addicts, they had shown themselves unfit to be parents. And as soon as he turned 18, Evan left the home—and his siblings behind. He regretted it. Broke his heart. But he didn’t really have a choice. He had to get out of this hellhole.

The night of the last robbery, Evan was supposed to work but he had to call in sick. He was stuck in bed, shivering and burning up from a fever. He was alone. So, no alibi. Adding to that, the stolen drugs were found in his apartment, his fingerprints found on the stolen items. And a key witness had placed him near the crime scene that night. Making him the perfect suspect. And yet, he kept claiming his innocence.

“Detective Hunt built this case like she was on the stand already,” Foggy remarked.

Matt stopped running his fingers on the papers he was reading, “I’m sure there’s something we can use to help our client.”

“What if he’s actually guilty, Matt?” Foggy suggested. “I mean everything points to him. No alibies for any of the robberies. He was seen near the last pharmacy. And let’s not forget the stolen drugs in his apartment.”

“Evan Mullins says that he’s innocent, and I believe him.” Matt leaned back into his chair.

“I might have something,” Karen said.

“What?” Matt turned his head to her.

“Mrs. Belkacem had filed many complaints against Evan Mullins in the past,” she read out loud. "After claiming she never seen the man in her life before."

“Unreliable key witness,” Foggy snapped his fingers triumphantly.

“We still have the stolen drugs found in Evan’s apartment,” Karen reminded him.

“Yeah, that would be harder to explain away,” Foggy sighed.

“Eleven pharmacies have been hit, and thousands worth of medication stolen in the most recent burglaries.”

“They are not gonna let this go so easily,” his partner agreed. “Even if we use their own witness against them.”

Matt frowned at that, and rubbed his mouth, the chances of Evan weren’t looking great. Karen left the room briefly with promises to return with coffee. Foggy leaned over the table, “okay buddy, I know you’re a human lie detector but are you sure about this?”

“He didn’t rob the pharmacy himself. But I have a feeling he’s protecting someone, Fog.” Matt assured him. “Plus, Evan has no criminal history. He has a clean record, considered a good employee. There is nothing to indicate he would suddenly go on robbery spree around New York.”

“Who do you think he’s protecting?”

Matt gave a small shrug, “I don’t know. Not the kind of question you ask without raising suspicion.”

“So, what’s our strategy?”

The thrill and challenge of a trial always made him feel as though he was stepping into the ring. Foggy being his boxing partner, tagging each other when it was their turn to spar with the opponent.

The energy in the room shifted as soon as he stood before the prosecution’s witness. Curiousity, mostly. And doubts at the blind lawyer. Underestimating him.

And he couldn’t wait to prove them wrong.

“Mrs. Belkacem, are you sure this is the man you saw leaving the store at the time of the burglary?” Matt pointed behind him, supposedly to his client, although his aim was completely off.

Mrs. Belkacem nodded quickly, “yes, it is him.” A heartbeat skipped; she wrung her hands over her lap.  

Lie.

“Mrs. Belkacem, I believe my client, Mr. Mullins is one of your neighbors, correct?”

“Yes,” there was a slight tremor in her voice.

He ran his fingers over the braille documents—for effect, “I also believe that you have been involved in many disputes with your neighbors, correct?”

“Objection, your honor.” Whitfield stood up. “Irrelevant.”

“Your honor, Mrs. Belkacem placed my client near the crime scene that night. Now, she has made it a habit to get involved in many neighborly disputes that often required the intervention of the police. I’m only trying to establish if Mrs. Belkacem is making a genuine testimony or is rather trying to hurt, in anyway, another one of her young neighbors.”

“Overruled,” the judge turned to Whitfield.

“Of course, he would go for that route,” the female detective exhaled deeply.

Matt hid his triumphant smirk, questioning once more Mrs. Belkacem, “Of those neighborly disputes, Mrs. Belkacem, how many involved Mr. Mullins?”

She took in a deep breath, “erm—I don’t really remember.”

“Well, let me refresh your memory, the police intervened in your apartment building ten times before the night of the robbery. Eight out of those ten interventions involved Mr. Mullins. Each time because, and I quote, ‘he’s making too much noise when walking up the stairs,’ correct?”

“Well, he did,” she pursed her lips. “He’s always waking me up at 4 in the morning. Stomping and slamming his door.”

“Was that what woke you up that day? Mr. Mullins coming back from work?”

“No—well—I heard the crash. You know, like someone breaking glass. That woke me up.” She answered. “I looked through my window and that’s when I saw them breaking into the pharmacy. And I called the police immediately.”

“And how did you identify Mr. Mullins?”

“He stood under the streetlight, for a moment.”

“Was he alone?”

“No, there were two other people with him.”

“And the only one you recognized is Mr. Mullins?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “He wears those clothes all the time. Black hoodie, the black pants.”

“Your honor, may I present the witness with the photos from the security footage?” Matthew asked.

“I’ll allow it,” the Judge nodded.

Foggy Nelson presented the photos to the witness. “What is he doing?” Mannie leaned in to whisper to her colleague.

“Can you, Mrs. Belkacem, identify Mr. Mullins on those photos?” The witness looked at the photos and for several minutes, she didn’t say anything. Staring at them. Lost and confused. Her heartbeat sped up underneath her ribcage, swallowing her saliva. “You can’t, can you?”

“Those photos are very dark,” she replied hesitantly.

“No further questions, your honor.”

The female detective let out a sigh of frustration. “Good job, buddy.” Foggy tapped Matt on the shoulder.

This had been the easiest part, putting into question their key witness’ credibility. The toughest part would be to put into question the other evidences. Although, Mrs. Belkacem’s testimony had allowed them to recover the stolen drugs, they were still pretty solid. Their strategy was to prove his innocence beyond a reasonable doubt.

The judge had called for a recess for the day. Allowing the jury to process all the information that had been thrown at them. And also, allowing the prosecution and the defense to regroup. In the hallway, Matthew halted, tilting his head slightly. Foggy looked at his friend, confused before his gaze landed on the DA and the two detectives. They were talking, clearly, their mouths were moving. He turned his gaze back on his friend. Deducing his partner and best friend was eavesdropping on the conversation. Which he found questionable at best. Of course, finding shortcuts and loopholes in the law to help their clients was one thing, but this felt like cheating.

Three months ago, his best friend was a normal blind guy. Normal being the key word. But Matt wasn’t as normal as he had thought. Foggy was still reeling from the sudden discovery that his best friend had an alter ego. One that went out at night in a suit to beat the crap out of people. A topic of discussion neither of them really liked talking about unless necessary. Also, because he, Foggy Nelson, has not entirely come to terms with it.

“What are they saying?” Foggy asked him.

“Well, Whitfield is still pretty confident about the case, in spite of Mrs. Belkacem’s credibility being questioned,” Matt replied. “But I think we have enough to undermine the prosecution.”

The next day, the defense called Detective Hunt to the witness stand. Hunt was nervous, her legs bouncing, her heart hammering under her ribcage.

With a smirk on his face, Matthew faced the witness stand, his gaze off to the side, “you are the one who uncovered the stolen drugs?”

“Yes,” she said in a shaky breath. “We were able to trace some of it to the most recent robbery.”

“Which was the pharmacy closest to where Mr. Mullins lives?”

“Correct,” she nodded, her heartbeat slowing down slightly.

“You said some of the drugs were traced back to the last robbery. What about the others?”

“Those we were able to trace back were prescription drugs. Pharmacists are required to record them on a database for monitoring, mostly.  Those that couldn’t be traced back were off the counter drugs.”

“You seemed to know a lot about the subject, Detective Hunt?” Matt shoved his hand in his pocket.

“I did research how they kept track of the drugs briefly while working on the case,” she shrugged off one of her shoulders. Her heart had grown steadier by now. She was calmer, her legs had stopped their bouncing.

She was the one that came after him at the docks. He had recognised the cadence of her voice, her faint exotic perfume. He found it oddly funny that she was more nervous to face the court than to go after a couple of traffickers.

“What exactly led you to my client, Mr. Mullins?”

She took in a deep breath, “Mrs. Belkacem came forward to give us information. She is the one who identified him in a line up.”

“Were you aware of the conflicts between my client and Mrs. Belkacem?”

“Mr. Mullins mentioned it during his interrogation,” she replied.

“And you chose to ignore it?”

“I did not ignore it. I brought it up with Mrs. Belkacem and she admitted to the disputes. And I checked the reports. And yes, Mr. Mullins was involved in most of them. Unfortunately, it was the common cases of she said—he said,” she explained it. “However, this doesn’t change the fact that the stolen drugs were recovered at your client’s apartment.”

Smart.

Matt huffed out a laugh, “Detective Hunt, without Mrs. Belkacem would you have considered my client a person of interest?”

“No. I wouldn’t have.”

“In fact, I believe you had no lead in this case before his neighbor came forward, correct?”

Her tongue darted to wet her lips, her legs started bouncing again, “correct.”

“It was a lucky break, wasn't it, detective?"

She scrunched up her eyebrows, “what are you suggesting, counselor?”

“Well, I think it’s pretty convenient that someone came forward with a suspect ready, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes, that’s all that’s needed,” detective Hunt replied, defensively. “Unless of course, you doubt our capacity to carry out a swift and fair investigation?”

He could sense the warmth that spread to her cheeks. He heard her teeth grinding together as she tightened her jaw, in anger. Right where he wanted her.

He laughed tonelessly, his eyebrows rose above his glasses, “in the light of recent events, can you truly blame the public’s disillusionment with their demoralized police force? Is there even an honest cop left in the precinct?”

“Objection, your honor,” Whitfield stood up. “Mr. Murdock is badgering the witness.”

“Sustained,” the Judge said. “And I would appreciate if you kept your personal opinions to yourself, Counselor.”

Matt’s mouth twisted, and he turned away from the witness stand, “no further questions, your honor.”

“I hate this guy,” Mannie said through gritted teeth as she stood on the landing outside waiting for Rush.

Evan Mullins had been found non guilty. And now, he was a free man again. She wished she could punch a hole through a wall. Three months of hard work had been reduced to nothing.

“Detective Hunt,” Nelson tapped on her shoulder. She stifled the groan that was about to escape her throat. “May I formally introduce ourselves; Foggy Nelson, Matthew Murdock.”

“Detective Mannie Hunt,” she gave a tight smile, shaking hands with Foggy before turning to Murdock. Her hand lingered in the air unshaken, long enough for the situation to get awkward. Mannie berating herself for realizing too late that he couldn’t see it.

“Hand,” Foggy whispered, loud enough for her to hear. Saving her from the embarrassment. His eyes narrowing at his partner. Murdock raised his hand for her to take.

His calloused hand felt rough against hers. Matthew Murdock was almost taller than his partner, wearing a polished navy-blue suit. He looked ruggedly handsome, with his almost perfect stubble and reddened lips. And the fact that he was attractive, that she found him attractive annoyed her even more.

“Well, we’ve been introduced,” Mannie let go of his hand. “I really hope to never see you again.” She turned around to leave.

“Detective, wait!” She glanced behind her; Matt had released his hold on Foggy. She groaned as she climbed back up the stairs to meet him halfway.

“What can I do for you, Murdock?” She replied with a tight smile.

“Evan Mullins is innocent,” he said.

“Yes, I was there, Mr. Murdock,” she said back, annoyed. “The jurors delivered their verdict ten minutes ago.”

“He didn’t commit those robberies, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know who did it.”

She folded her arms over her chest, “oh, I’m aware he knows something. But he’s always refused to acknowledge it.”

“And you pursued your investigation knowing my client was innocent?” Matt frowned angrily.

“He wasn’t. And I pursued my investigation with the evidences that I had. And they were all pointed at your client, I only followed where they led me.” Mannie told him. “Mr. Murdock, your client was willing to go to prison for people who are criminals and still out there."

“Your failing to arrest the robbers has nothing to do with my client,” Matt argued back.

“My failing?” She scoffed. “Maybe, you should have a talk with your client about a little something called obstruction of justice. Seeing as you are a lawyer, you must be familiar with it.”

Matt let out a sigh of frustration, “I thought you could investigate Mullins’ family, or anyone he’s had close ties with in the past.”

She stared at him, cocking her right eyebrow in response, “oh really? Do you have any more thoughts to share with me, Counselor? Or maybe you’d rather tell me how to do my job better? Seeing as the public is disillusioned with the police force.”

“I apologized for—my outburst in the courtroom. What I said was out of context,” Matt said, placing his hand on his chest.

Mannie buried her hands in her pockets, shaking her head in disbelief, “apology accepted.”

“Detective, I’m only telling you this because I think it’s worth checking out Mr. Mullins’ family or associates. They may lead you to the robbers.”

“You’re talking like you know something I don’t,” she smirked up at him.

He gave her a neutral smile, tightening the grip on his cane. “I’m only giving you a lead.”

“Not a really good one,” she snorted out a laugh.

“You’re the detective, you tell me.” He smiled wickedly, and unfortunately for Mannie, she found it highly endearing. Coaxing a smirk from her. He closed both of his hands around his cane, and leaned closer to her. “I’ll go easy on you next time,” he whispered.

Mannie groaned, shaking her head, “for a moment there, I almost thought you were charming.”

Back at the precinct, Mannie was nursing a bruised ego. Three months of work reduced to pieces by none other than Nelson and Murdock. She must admit—a bit unwillingly—that their duo was quite efficient. From their coordination to the way they seamlessly wove their arguments together was quite impressive.

“Hunt,” Captain Strieber called her, “in my office.”

“Somebody’s in trouble,” Ainsley sing-sang, Mannie only rolled her eyes and flipped her off in response.

After the night at the dock, Captain Strieber kept a close eye on her. To say that he was unhappy with her, was an understatement.

“I said no to your task force and your solution is to—what? Go off on your own, with no back-up or reasonable plan. Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Captain Strieber yelled, pacing up and down, behind his desk.

“In my defense, I did call for back-up once I’ve assessed the situation. They were just—late,” Mannie explained.

He slammed his hands on the desk, “are you trying to be funny, detective?”

“No, sir,” she shook her head.

“Are you aware that this was reckless on your part? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Mannie remained silent, “and on top of all that, Daredevil was at the scene and you let him escape.”

“I did not—let him do anything,” she stammered. “You’ve seen footage of him. The guy is exceptionally fast.”

Captain Strieber let out a frustrated sigh, “at least you got the traffickers. Which is better than nothing I guess.” He turned towards Mannie, “Hunt, I’m reassigning your case to Ainsley. I want you to turn all that you have to her.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear anything, Hunt,” he cut her off. “It’s final,” he pushed a file towards her. “This is your new case.” She leaned back in her chair, grabbing the file. “Clubbers are turning up in hospitals all drugged up, and their belongings missing.”

“Do we have any leads?” Mannie asked him.

“Not at the moment,” he shook his head. “But their latest victim is at the Metro General. Take Rush with you.” Mannie stood up to leave, “And Hunt, this is your assigned case. You solely working on this and nothing else, understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

Most of the girls had been returned to their families after that night. Some of them were staying in a hotel, protected by officers, until their families could come an get them. As for Aubree Martin, her mother had wished her body to be moved to her hometown. Where she was to be buried. Mrs. Martin had been devastated to see her daughter but, in a way, glad that she could take her back home. And although, she wasn’t working on the case anymore, she did promise to the mother that the people behind the trafficking and her daughter’s death would be found and arrested.

“Do you have any update on the clubber case?” Strieber questioned her.

Mannie sat down across from him. She was keeping a low profile these days. Granted it’s only been a few days. She did as she was asked, sticking to her current case. Trying, between coffees, to get Ainsley to update her on the case.

“I talked to the victim, yesterday. Unfortunately, she doesn’t remember much. All she remembered was going to the club, having a couple of drinks with her friends. Then she lost them briefly and that’s where things get hazy for her. After that, she’s at the hospital,” Mannie explained. “A rape kit was done, but no physical trace of sexual assault was found. And since the victim does not entirely remember that night, we are not sure there was rape. But I’m not completely ruling it out, sir.”

“Have you spoken to the other victims?”

“Not yet,” Mannie exhaled deeply. “They accepted to speak with us, so, that’s something. I’m also waiting on the security footage of that night. Hopefully, there will be something on it.”

“Well, I do hope for your case that you do find something,” Strieber said, dropping a new file in front of Mannie. “We have a new victim.” She grabbed the file and started to read it, “congratulations, detective, this is now a homicide.”  

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[siampie]

😍😍😘 So happy you love it!

Working on the second chapter currently! Can't wait for you to read it!

The Devil’s Bargain || Chapter 1: The Illusion of Freedom

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Snippets of Reader’s life as she worked for Wesley and Fisk.

Warnings/tags:, None in particular for this chapter. Canon typical violence. Mainly angst.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

I will never be free.

Those words echoed through your mind as you sat in the new CEO’s office, facing him and his right-hand woman. They had pushed a new contract in front of you and a pen in your hand.

“These are the new terms,” Octavia Turpin smirked down at you. Condescending. She knew she had the upper hand. She knew that you had no other choice but to agree.

You stare down at the pen in your hand.

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Do we have an agreement?” James Wesley, Fisk’s right-hand man, asked you.

Your eyes snapped up at him, swallowing down your saliva. “You must understand—that your father has a debt that needs to be repaid.” You turned your gaze towards Wilson Fisk.

The man was impressive. Physically he was massive, you were convinced he could crush skulls with his hands. He probably already had. And his presence—his presence took all the air out of the room. You were suffocating at this very moment under the weight of his words. Under the weight of his lies. Under the weight of his barely veiled threat.

“I understand that I have no choice,” you replied almost too quietly.

Money wasn’t the problem. You weren’t fool enough to offer to pay off his debt with your own money. Wilson Fisk had all of money he needed. No, this wasn’t how your father’s debt was to be repaid. That much you knew to be true. Wesley had made it clear, his boss—Wilson Fisk was not interested in that small sum of money. He was interested in what you could do for him. Problem with that; was that you had no clue as to what that was.

This was just another sacrifice, you thought to yourself.

I will never be free.

From that moment on, you worked under Wesley’s supervision. You were some sort of secretary to the man, working closely with him as he carried out his threats and managing Mr. Fisk’s affairs. The two things weren’t indissociable. You found James Wesley to be a cunning man, the smartest you’ve met in your life. His loyalty to Wilson Fisk knew no bounds. And Fisk repaid him with blind trust. If you didn’t know any better you would have even called them friends. Because they were; in their own twisted ways.

“Mr. Rance is on the line, sir,” you handed Wesley the phone you were holding.

“Have you arranged the meeting to Union Allied Construction, yet?”

“As you instructed, sir,” you nodded. “Should I let our employer know or this won’t be necessary?”

“It won’t be necessary,” Wesley replied shortly. “I won’t be needing you for a few hours, you are free to do as you please.”

“Thank you, sir.” You smiled at him.

“I’ll call you if I need anything,” he said before walking out of the office, answering the call.

If you were to be honest, working closely with James Wesley wasn’t so bad. The pay was good. Very good. Wesley was never cruel towards you. Neither was Wilson Fisk. They treated you surprisingly and fairly well. You weren’t stupid enough to believe that you were safe in any way working under them. But as long as you worked for and with them, you benefitted from their protection.

You put down the white porcelain teapot back on the tray, gave a slight a smile to Fisk before turning around and leaving his office.

“How’s our new addition acclimating to her functions?” Fisk raised the hot cup up to his lips.

“Very well,” Wesley crossed his legs. “She’s very efficient in what she does. I am surprised to see her adapting to her new condition so easily.”

“She is a survivor,” Fisk noted. “Adapting is key to live in these cruel times.”

“It is not in my nature to question you, sir,” Wesley started, crossing his legs under the desk. “But of what use is she to you?”

Fisk paused, his cup touching his lips, before taking a sip. “Our new employee has exceeded my expectations. I see her—potential. Her father’s bad life choices, instilled in her—qualities—that I believe to be of great use to us.” His left hand fidgeted, his thumb running along his fingers, “She is a dutiful daughter—even in her father’s death, she will do what it takes to protect her family.”

I will never be free

Financial freedom was bliss. Since Fisk didn’t rely on your money to pay back your father’s debt, you enjoyed your wages fully. Even putting some money on the side in case of emergency. Five years you worked for Fisk Industries. Five years you served under Wesley. Five years in which you didn’t have to worry about money. And it was bliss.

Working for these men had its perks but mainly it had drawbacks. You knew they were involved in criminal activities. The kind that was harder to uncover because they made sure of it. You knew their methods. You, yourself, was a victim of it. That was how they got you to sign the agreement. You weren’t entirely free but this—arrangement was better than nothing.

Five years you worked under Wesley’s supervision. You were no longer someone paying off debts, not to Fisk anyway. You were his loyal secretary, working alongside Wesley, ensuring that his affairs were running smoothly. Five years, during which, you became acquainted with Fisk closest—associates. People you thought to be as dangerous as he was.

The cold wind whipped at your face as you followed Wesley out the elevator. The building was still in construction and closed to the public for the night. You understood why Wesley wanted to arrange a meeting there. No one to overhear. No one to see.

“Oh please, tell me he’s right behind you,” Leland Owsley said as soon as he saw Wesley.

“Unfortunately, my employer is attending to other matters,” Wesley announced, coming to a stop, you halting besides him. “He apologizes—to you in particular, Madame Gao.”

One of the Ranskahov brothers cussed in Russian, under his breath. “We do not deal with lapdogs,” Valdimir, his brother, said moving to leave. “Tell Mister—”

“We don’t say his name.” Wesley cut him off. Valdimir and his brother, Anatoly wordlessly continued on their way. “He would like to know why you’re short on the cargo totals.”

“There was a problem on the docks,” Valdimir spoke.

“Barret and our men were attacked,” Anatoly continued. “Some moodak in a black mask.”

Leland laughed, “and you bought that?” Vladimir glared at him and bit back something in his native tongue. “Okay, calm down. Fine, we’ll go with the man-in-a-black-mask story.”

You couldn’t help but glared at Owsley, you despised him. He acted tough, provoked, condescended but deep down he was a small man. And you despised him for it.

“Our men would not lie,” Valdimir assured him.

“I said I’m on board.” Leland turned to Wesley, “I’m glad to hear there’s some new blood running out there. Heroes and their consequences are why we have our current opportunities. Now can we review the latest numbers and—”

“Tell me more about this man,” Wesley questioned the brothers.

“Took Barrett and our guys out while they were loading our container,” Anatoly told him.

Madame Gao interjected. She only spoke in Mandarin, words you did not understand, but loved to hear. You loved the way her voice dipped down and rose up as she spoke. Wesley laughed at her words.

“She wants to know if this man stole the shipment for himself,” he turned to the brothers.

“No,” Vladimir said, turning to Madame Gao. “He let the women go.”

Your eyes dropped to the ground, a spark of hope bursting through your chest at those words. You had almost forgotten what it felt like. It felt warm as its golden tendrils wrapped around your heart. But your heart was hardened. Impenetrable. Snuffing it all out.

“This is different. My employer will be—” you turned to look at Wesley, “—displeased for being inconvenienced by a lone vigilante.”

“Then he should tell me to my face,” Valdimir snapped back.

“This is on you,” Wesley gave a tight smile. “Deal with it. Quietly.”

“We must be quiet. Yes.” Anatoly agreed, “we would not want another Union Allied situation, would we? Big, loud, lot of questions.”

“We’re handling it.”

“Like you keep saying you’re handling Prohaszka?”

“We’re in the process of negotiating with Mr. Prohaszka,” Wesley said.

“Negotiating?” Anatoly repeated. “Maybe we handle our problem same way. Sit down with this man in black, break bread.”

“I think what Anatoly is trying to say is that it would be in our best interests for Union Allied to be tidied up as expeditiously as possible.” Leland intervened.

“As I said—we’re handling it.”

You could hear in his tone that Wesley was getting fed up with the Russians. Did they not know they couldn’t make demands? That Fisk did not answer to them. They answered to him. Weren’t they aware of that? Why did they keep provoking him?

The man in black became a problem for Fisk and his opportunities. Finding himself where he shouldn’t be. A thorn in Fisk’s side. Words were going around the city. Spreading like wildfire. The man in black was saving people, protecting Hell’s Kitchen. Doing what the police couldn’t do. Going after thugs, criminals, traffickers. Sparking hope in Hell’s Kitchen. Hope that had been long forgotten.

Despair and loneliness were your companions in this existence. Outside of your work life, you didn’t have a personal life. No friends. No boyfriends. Your family were mostly living out of state. And honestly, this was better for you. The farther away they were from Fisk, the better. You breathed better knowing they were safe outside of Hell’s Kitchen. You did not doubt that Fisk had ways to get to them but—you still felt they were safer outside of New York. And as long as you did what was expected of you, Fisk would not go after them.

They were safe.

Locking your door behind you, going to your right, you made your way to your bedroom. Dropping your purse and keys on the bed, you walked around the bed, into your walk-in closet. Dragging your step-stool in the corner in order to retrieve the large metal box you kept on the highest shelf. You grabbed the keys you kept in one of your shoes and opened it. You added a file about Nelson and Murdock to your already growing collection. Several files that you had put together about Wilson Fisk, James Wesley, and their different associates.

Why? Why did you go to the trouble?

You had no idea. One day, you just started to gather the information you were trusted with. Wilson Fisk and James Wesley used intel they gathered to pressure others. To force their hands. To get them to do what Fisk wanted. Needed. You would never dream to do such a thing. And yet, knowing more about them gave you some sort of power. Some sort of control back. Although looking through your files, you realized that you had more intel on Fisk than you would ever have on Wesley.

He was a mystery. You knew nothing about him. Except that he was loyal and he sincerely believed in Wilson Fisk’s vision for Hell’s Kitchen. Although, he didn’t care for this city. James Wesley was a mystery. And he made sure it remained so.

“I represent a consortium with diversified interests in the private sector,” Wesley explained to the lawyers. You sat beside him, directly across Matthew Murdock. By his side was his partner, Franklin Nelson. And sitting at the very end of the table came Karen Page, their new secretary. “Both domestic and international. From time to time, we scout the landscape for promising talent to put on retainer.”

“Retainer?” Nelson repeated excitedly.

“Why are you approaching us? Why not a larger firm, Mr., uh—“ Murdock trailed off, waiting for Wesley to say his name.

“Confederated Global Investments is my employer.” Wesley said instead.

“It’s not what I was asking,” he smiled tightly back. The man was sharp and suspicious of him.

“It’s the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock.” Your boss chuckled back.

“Oh,” he smirked. “So, why us?”

“Obviously, the larger firms aren’t able to provide the same hands-on attention that we pride ourselves on at Nelson and Murdock,” Nelson tried to temper his partner’s hostility towards Wesley and yourself.

“It’s a fair question,” James assured him. “I’m here because my employer does extensive business in Hell’s Kitchen, and who knows it better than two local boys who graduated from Colombia Law, cum laude and summa cum laude?”

“Uh, the ‘summa’ part is politics,” Nelson interjected.

Wesley laughed at him, “you set up shop right here in your backyard despite the fact that both of you were made a very lucrative offer from Landman and Zack in Manhattan where you interned.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Murdock noted.

“My employer expects no less.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt,” Murdock begun.

Nelson stammered, “’blunt’ is a strong word.”

“In my line of work, I find it refreshing.”

“What is that line of work exactly?”

“What my partner is trying to say is we’re still building a practice,” Nelson scrambled to come up with an excuse. Trying desperately to cover for his partner’s hostility. “So we’re very particular about our clientele.”

“I assure you, all my employer wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men—good lawyers. And for that, nothing more than your exceptional skills and your discretion—” Wesley looked down at you, and you pulled out an envelope. You pushed it towards Nelson, “—would be fairly compensated.”

Nelson opened the envelope and pulled out the check that was inside. As he was doing so, you observed his partner. He was stiff on his seat, tight with tension. His jaw clenched.

“Your partner doesn’t seem convinced,” you spoke for the first time since you entered their practice.

“Like Foggy said, we’re particular about our clientele,” Murdock replied, his head tilting in your direction.

“I’m curious about your—clientele,” Wesley started. “Do they all end up working for you after you get them off for murder or just the pretty ones?”

You kept your eyes trained on your hands as Wesley turned to Karen Page. “You, uh, give us a minute, please?” Murdock turned to her. She left the room closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he wasn’t. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.” He meant to do just that.   

“How did you know about Miss Page’s situation?” Murdock questioned him. “She was never charged. There was nothing in the papers.”

“I have friends on the force. I hear I’m not the only one,” Wesley pointed out.

“I think we might be veering off the subject,” Foggy tried to save the situation. Bringing it all back to the subject at hands.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Murdock. Perhaps—you should review one of our cases—before you make a decision? Peace of mind and whatnot.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Foggy agreed. “Matthew?”

“Yeah, what harm could it do?” He nodded. Still not convinced.

“Excellent,” Wesley exclaimed as you pulled out two folders. “You have—38 minutes to get to precinct 15.”

“What? Now? What’s the case?” Foggy asked quickly.

“Everything you need are in those files,” you pushed the folders towards both partners.

“Oh, he—” Foggy started to say.

“They are in braille,” you cut him off. “He can read them.”

“Thank you for your time.” Wesley buttoned his jacket, taking his leave.

“No. Thank you. Thank you very—” You followed Wesley out of the office, barely sparing a glance to Karen Page sitting behind her desk.

You threw your door open, rushing to your bathroom. Which thankfully faced your entry. Dropping purse and keys on the ground, your knees slammed on the ground as you curled over the porcelain bowl. All that you’d have eaten during the day coming back up.

You always knew what Wilson Fisk was capable of but you had never witnessed first-hand. Not until tonight. Anatoly had made the mistake to want to talk to him. Interrupting his date with Vanessa Marianna, an art dealer. Enraged, Fisk had pulled him out of the car and beat him to death. It took everything in you not to flinch. To keep the screams and shrieks you wanted to let out, inside your chest. It took everything in you to not react when Fisk decapitated Anatoly with his car door. You did not flinch when the blood splattered on your face and clothes. Your stomach was churning at the squelching sound of flesh as it was being hit repeatedly until nothing was left.  

You kept your eyes on the ground when you were outside of the car. And tried as you may, you could not ignore the headless body that you could see out of the corner of your eye. A sight that would haunt you within the following months.

The hot water hit your back washing off the grime and blood. Washing off the tears as you sobbed under the hot spray. This wasn’t the life you wanted. You wanted to fall in love, get married and have children. You wanted a good job, to never again struggle financially. You wanted a simple and easy life. You spent your entire life surviving. Now, you just wanted to live. To enjoy life. To be taken care of.

Working for Fisk. Witnessing brutal murders. Having blood splattered on your face. Ruining other people’s lives. Taking parts in criminal activities. None of those things were part of your plans. None of those things were supposed to be in your future.

This wasn’t fair.

Your wails filled your empty bathroom, bouncing off of the white tiles. Lost. Heartbroken. Hopeless.

And alone.

I will never be free.

You added a folder to your collection that night. Vanessa Marianna. Art dealer. Employed at the Scene Contempo Gallery. It was just a few lines that you’d scribbled down on a piece of paper and shoved into a folder. You would have to make further research to learn more about the woman that could attract Wilson Fisk’s attention.

You downed the shot glass of rhum you had poured yourself earlier, “thanks for the life you’ve given me, father.” You said to the empty room. “Was this what you envisioned for me? Your precious daughter. The one you’ve always wanted,” tears poured down your face. “Is this the life you had in mind when you imagined my future? Because if that’s the case then let me tell you—it sucks.”

The Beast had a heart, after all. At least, for one woman. His infatuation with Vanessa grew more and more each day. And so, did hers. You always thought that for a man like Wilson Fisk, love was a liability. Especially since the man had a tendency to use it as leverage against the people he used. The people he wanted to intimidate. But maybe, the Beast was more human than you thought. Even a man like Fisk couldn’t resist the appeal of a beautiful and smart woman. Even a man like him couldn’t resist the appeal of love.

And while his relationship with Vanessa grew into something beautiful and twisted, his circle of associates shrunk. Little by little. When Hell’s Kitchen went up into flames, as Fisk intended, Vladimir met his tragic end, joining his brother in death. The man in the mask was, of course, blamed for the chaos of that night. After Vladimir, Nobu was killed trying to eliminate the man in the mask. Going up into flames.

Fisk’s schemes to destroy and better rebuild Hell’s Kitchen were not going as he wished. The Man in the Mask had efficiently thrown a wrench into the, so far, well oiled machine. And Fisk was not too pleased with it. And tried as he may, it was hard for Fisk, or even Wesley to fix it.

None of that mattered, anyway. The night of the Benefits came, Vanessa, along with many others had been poisoned. Between life and death, she remained in a hospital bed with Fisk by her side.

“Sir, are you sure you should go alone?” You inquired following Wesley through the hospital hallway. He had just asked a bodyguard for his keys and gun.

“I need you here with him,” Wesley answered shortly coming to a stop. “You’re the only one I trust right now. Make sure no one’s get in or out of that room without being checked first, understood?”

“Understood,” you nodded quickly. “I really don’t think you should go alone, sir.”

“I’m touched by your concerns,” he said your name in a mocking way. “This is a matter I’d better deal with on my own. I won’t be long.”

And he left. This was the last you would see of James Wesley.

Fisk’s most loyal friend and henchman found death. Murdered.  Body cribbled with bullets.

Something strange happened when you heard the news. Something you had forgotten how to feel. Something you had chosen to ignore for your own survival. As you stared down at his dead body, a spark of hope. Once again, you chose to snuff it out.

Wesley was gone but Fisk was still in the picture. And without his most loyal ally, he seemed more dangerous.

Then, the spark burst into flames. Burning ablaze. You dared let hope settle in your chest when he was put away. You dared let it take root. Fisk was put away. In prison. And the shackles of your figurative imprisonment were taken off of you.

You were finally free.

A weight had been lifted off of your chest and your lungs could expand once more. Breathing came easier in the following days. You looked for a new job, wanting and needing nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between Fisk Industries and yourself. You would leave New York and Hell’s Kitchen behind. You would start anew.

You could see it. For the first time in forever, your future awaiting you.

You dared hope.

Hope.

It had been crushed under the sole of Harry Leblanc’s shoes. You should have known better than hoping, believing that you would finally be free. Man like Fisk always have back up plans. His empire was never to fall because he was gone. Prison was simply a minor inconvenience. Man like Fisk, and now Leblanc would never let you be free.

Harry Leblanc, accompanied by Octavia Turpin, was to take over North Star Holding; formerly named Fisk Industries. The name change was vital, no one would invest or trust a company that carries the name of a known criminal. So, Fisk Industries became North Star Holding.

I will never be free.

“You understand that a debt still needs to be paid,” Leblanc smiled down at you, sitting on the side of the desk.

“And your former employer seems to believe that you are an incredible asset,” Octavia said. “We would love to have you and—see it for ourselves.”

“Understand that your position won’t differ much from your former work under Mr. Fisk. You will complete the same sort of task with—some minor alterations to the previous terms.”

This was your fate, it seemed. Protesting would serve nothing. Only result in more threats. Threats against your siblings and their children, that you loved more than anything in the world. Offering money would also serve nothing, you knew better. It was not about the money. It was about what you could do for them.

You swallowed down your saliva, your chest grew tight with anxiety and sorrow. You tightened your hold around the pen and signed the new agreements. The shackles around your wrists and ankles clicked back into place, tighter than before. You did not care what the minor alterations were. All you could see was that the end of the tunnel became dark again.

You realized in that very moment, as the pen moved across the paper, that this “debt” could only be paid with your life.

Or theirs.

Your life was never your own. And it would never be again.

I will never be free.   

Chapter List || Next chapter

[siampie]

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵

First off, shower scene is chef's kiss.

“Come on, baby. Make me retile the bathroom,”

That line right there is my favorite 🤭. Never heard of that one before but it's one I would love to use in the future.

And most importantly, the idea of 53 year old Dean Winchester warms my heart in so many ways. Because he deserved those "one more day[s]" in retirement.

Also, am I crazy for loving the idea of Dean being a father once again in his fifties? I mean, if the show had let him live that effing rebar, he would have most likely be a dad in his late forties, early fifties. Which in these days, it's not unheard of.

But yeah, I don't know what you have planned for those two in the future, just know I'm completely on board with Dean going through fatherhood again in his fifties.

ONE MORE DAY

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: You and Dean take a beat to de-stress with a nice hot shower.

AN: Surprise! I know I said this was coming on Friday, but I rearranged my posting schedule so I decided to drop this one early.

Finally, another little story for the Midnight Espresso-verse! This one is going in chronological order, shortly after the end of In Bad Weather, in which she and Dean have retired from hunting, gotten married, and have a family. 💜

(Oh yeah, for those who read If I Stay, their son is also named "Robbie" in this storyverse. 😂)

Posted on Patreon: 3/18/2025

Word Count: 2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Shower smut. Established relationship (married!), grumpy middle-aged Dean, fluff, and a slight twist.~

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Dean’s body tenses under the hot spray of the shower head. His humming stops, his head tilts, and his awareness sharpens in the way that only thirty years of honed hunting reflexes can’t dim, even after ten years of retirement.

The bathroom door creaks and shuts, oh so quietly.

“Robbie, you better not flush that damn toilet, or it’s an old-fashioned spanking this time. I’m serious,” Dean warns. His voice is deep and grousing, laden with the weight of his day. He’s too fucking tired to withstand third-degree burns at four o’clock in the afternoon, just because his son wants to prank the old man (again).

When the shower curtain peels back, revealing your manicured nails and the sight of your little smirk, Dean relaxes in relief.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you tease.

A smile twitches at his lips. “For you? Both.”

You laugh, and it reaches your eyes. They’re still beautiful. You’re still beautiful to him, especially when you have that cheeky gleam in your eyes.

“Can I join you?” you ask.

Dean begins to grin as he gestures with his chin. “Get in here.”

Quickly you shed your jeans, V-neck top, bra and panties, having already taken off your ankle boots. You do that delicate, sexy thing of twisting your hair up into a twisty bun and securing it on top of your head, then Dean reaches for your hand to help you step into the tub. There you slip your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your naked breasts against his back.

“You’re not gonna get soaked up back there, sweetheart,” he says.

“What if I’m already wet?” you reply. You press your smile against his skin.

Dean smirks, watching your hand that’s already wandering south of the border. You graze your nails through his happy trail. It stirs arousal low in his gut. 

“Sounds like you’re ahead of the game,” he says. He tries to turn around in your arms to face you, but you tighten your hold around his waist. Your hands move up to playfully squish his belly.

“Ooh, what’s this little paunch?” you tease.

Dean snorts. “You know damn well. That’s where all your paella’s goin’.”

You giggle and continue to stroke his soft stomach. He feels a bit self-conscious about it, truth be told. There was a time where he could wake up after a bender, eat a double bacon cheeseburger for breakfast, and keep driving for eight hours, just to grab a beef burrito and a plate of nachos for dinner and wash it all down with a few beers. He’s finding the evidence of it now with some love handles that don’t want to straighten out, among other places on him that never used to jiggle.

“Hey, I’m fifty-three,” he says. A number he never used to think he’d hit. “Dad Bod is a rite of middle age.”

You hum in agreement. “I like it. Gives me something to hold on to.”

Dean feels you nip the back of his arm, then soothe the bite with your tongue. He smiles hard, despite the way his cheeks are warming up.

That’s it. He winds back an arm to wrap around your shoulders, gaining leverage enough to turn around and face you. He cradles your cheek in his hand and guides your face up to his for a steamy kiss.

But he cuts himself short before you can truly sink into it as much as you want to.

“Wait, where are the kids right now?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Robbie’s at baseball practice, and Cari’s at her friend Tiana’s house. They’re working on a history project,” you supply. You give him a mischievous look that says, You really thought I wouldn’t think of everything?

Dean slowly smiles. “God, I love you.”

The water is starting to losing its steam a little, but it doesn’t stop him from capturing you in another kiss. You breathe into it, and into him as you cling to his hips. Your nails lightly bite into his flesh and drag white lines of pressure across his skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah? How much?” you ask, between kisses; between the wandering of his hands over soft curves he's never gotten tired of. He likes his hands full, especially of you.

Dean chuckles. He secures you with an arm around your waist, then settles you against the bathroom wall. He grabs a good handful of your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your leg around his hip. Then he frees his other hand, so he can drag his fingers through your slick folds.

“Hmm, you were right about already being prepared,” he says, laying a smiling kiss to your forehead. You tilt your head up to him, aiming for a kiss. He ends up swallowing your soft cry when his fingers brush your clit, first just circling the hood, then massaging with more pressure. Precision. Just like the way two of his long fingers slip deep inside your wet channel.

You cling to his arms and whimper against his lips, a wordless plea from your tongue curling and tangling with his. It’s quick and rough, the way he fucks you with his fingers, strokes that sensitive place along the ridge of your walls, and circles his thumb over your clit until he feels it swell.

Then he drags his hand away, smirking against your lips. Some things don't change, and that includes how much your cocky-ass husband likes teasing you. Today he has time, and he's taking full advantage of it.

“Mmph,” you whine, but you don’t let him get far. Your hand moves with intent down his body, from chest to soft stomach, to then wrapping firmly around his thick, solid length. You caress him a few times, smiling at his grunt of pleasure and the way he presses his forehead against yours. His weight and the broadness of his frame pin you to the wall. He’s all you can see, his warm skin all you can feel, except for the cool tile against your back and your ass.

Dean grasps your jaw with one firm hand, slipping his glistening fingers into your mouth. You know what he wants, and you immediately suck on his digits. Your tongue swirls around each one, tasting yourself on his calloused fingers.

“Fuck, wanna feel your pretty mouth doing that on my cock, baby,” he grits in your ear. You release his fingers with a soft slide of your lips.

“I can do that,” you say, but you lead him closer by the hand you have wrapped around him, your thumb teasing the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. “After you fuck me hard enough to split this tile.”

Dean pauses, shooting you an amused look. “You sure about that?”

“Come on, baby. Make me retile the bathroom,” you challenge, half-giggling all the while.

He shakes his head and captures you in a kiss. You’re fucking ridiculous sometimes.

He still takes your challenge (somewhat) to heart though. He takes your hand that still has a firm grip of his cock and guides it to your entrance. Inch by inch, he pushes inside and makes you both groan loudly. He further parts your folds to strum at your clit again, this time to a rhythm of his own making. Your nails bite into his shoulders as he begins to move inside you, inching you higher on the wall. A curse falls from your lips as you cast your head back against the tile.

Dean palms one of your breasts, teases a hardened nipple; the little tingles and zings feed the well of pleasure building in your core. Your fingers rake through his hair and grip him tight. The inner walls of your pussy do the same around his cock. Every deep, hot stroke is like a firebrand of sensation pulsing against your G-spot.

“Oh, fuck—” you choke, grabbing the back of his neck. Dean once again invades your mouth for a deep kiss. He consumes your cries of pleasure as your core pulses with that heady, fluttering warmth.

Ten years of marriage, and he’s still the one who makes you come apart.

The suddenness if your orgasm flooding around him, your inner walls gripping him tight, soon has Dean’s hips stuttering and his body locking up on him. He burrows in deep on reflex, pressing every inch of your body against his.

You hold him just as tightly, with his strong hand helping you keep your thigh wrapped snug around his hip. You even clench around him on purpose while you feel him hot and throbbing inside you. Dean shudders.

For a moment, it’s ragged panting breaths and the shower spray beating down on you both. It’s familiarity, and the anchoring sureness of being home.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. Slowly, he pulls out and releases your thigh. He raises a hand to brush wet strands of hair from your cheek. A grin curves his lips. “We still got the fuckin’ heat.”

“Mhmm,” you agree airily. You stroke his back in turn…until a sudden realization strikes you, makes you almost dumb with shock. Oh, fuck. “Dean.”

He’s busy pressing slow, tantalizing kisses along your jaw. “What?”

“I just remembered something…kind of important.”

Dean pulls back enough to see your face. He’s mostly blissed out, but still sharpens to attention. Did we lose track of time? Does one of the kids need to be picked up? Is dinner burning on the stove?

“I haven’t taken birth control this month...or last month either,” you say, biting your lip. “I was gonna go by the pharmacy later today.”

Dean pauses. He tilts his head as he processes. And then, he snorts and shakes his head.

Of fucking course.

He ultimately drops his forehead on your shoulder in defeat.

You rub his back more in apology now.

“I’m sorry, baby. I forgot,” you say. And you laugh, because that’s what you do when you’re embarrassed.

One little adventure doesn’t guarantee you’re going to get pregnant, of course, especially so soon after being off birth control. But history dictates that Dean is a potent man.

“This is entrapment,” he claims, even though his voice is muffled by your shoulder. Even though you feel the edges of his smile, threatening a smirk.

He finally untangles from you, to the tune of you laughing in earnest. You both clean up under the now frigid water. Dean slaps a hand over the knob to turn it off.

“Aw, come on. We have two already. What’s one more?” you ask, as Dean pulls back the curtain and helps you out of the shower. He’s a gentleman, even when he’s giving you skeptical side-eye.

“Okay. I’m gonna remember that when you’ve got your legs put up in those stirrups and you’re cursing me to high hell,” he remarks.

“Hey, I never once did that, not even with Cari,” you point out while drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel. For some reason, your daughter had been a more difficult birth than Robbie, maybe because she had been your first. Or maybe that was already foreshadowing the way she’d torment her little brother.

“Hmm, I dunno, I seem to remember a lot of never again! And why the hell did we do this? And a lot of other things in Spanish I literally can’t repeat.” Dean wraps his towel low on his hips, his Dad paunch proudly displayed. He grabs you by your waist and tugs you in close while you laugh.

“Well, then you’re remembering wrong,” you say, smirking up at him in amusement. You take his face in your hands and give him a slow, lingering kiss. When your lips break away from his, he opens his eyes and meets you with a wry smile.

“I guess so,” he says, quirking a brow.

The more he thinks about it…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you guys did get to add to this little circus. As much as he’ll admit to becoming a grumpy old man sometimes, you and his children are the best parts of him.  

Soon a heavy breath escapes him, his thumbs stroking your waist.

“One more eventful day of retirement for the books, huh, sweetheart?” Dean teases.

You nod, giving into the urge to rest your head against his bare, dewy chest. His anti-possession tattoo lies in the corner of your vision. You have one to match along your hip. It’ll always brand you both in body and in mind, but for your children, for each other, and for yourselves, you try to remind yourselves that this is real.

It’s yours.

It won’t be taken away.

Neither of you will let it.

“One more day,” you say.

AN: For those of you who haven't dipped into the Espresso-verse yet, I hope you enjoy this little window into their future! 😘 ☕

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[siampie]

The Devil’s Bargain || Chapter 1: The Illusion of Freedom

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Snippets of Reader’s life as she worked for Wesley and Fisk.

Warnings/tags:, None in particular for this chapter. Canon typical violence. Mainly angst.

A/N: Reblogs are always welcome. As are comments and likes.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

I will never be free.

Those words echoed through your mind as you sat in the new CEO’s office, facing him and his right-hand woman. They had pushed a new contract in front of you and a pen in your hand.

“These are the new terms,” Octavia Turpin smirked down at you. Condescending. She knew she had the upper hand. She knew that you had no other choice but to agree.

You stare down at the pen in your hand.

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Do we have an agreement?” James Wesley, Fisk’s right-hand man, asked you.

Your eyes snapped up at him, swallowing down your saliva. “You must understand—that your father has a debt that needs to be repaid.” You turned your gaze towards Wilson Fisk.

The man was impressive. Physically he was massive, you were convinced he could crush skulls with his hands. He probably already had. And his presence—his presence took all the air out of the room. You were suffocating at this very moment under the weight of his words. Under the weight of his lies. Under the weight of his barely veiled threat.

“I understand that I have no choice,” you replied almost too quietly.

Money wasn’t the problem. You weren’t fool enough to offer to pay off his debt with your own money. Wilson Fisk had all of money he needed. No, this wasn’t how your father’s debt was to be repaid. That much you knew to be true. Wesley had made it clear, his boss—Wilson Fisk was not interested in that small sum of money. He was interested in what you could do for him. Problem with that; was that you had no clue as to what that was.

This was just another sacrifice, you thought to yourself.

I will never be free.

From that moment on, you worked under Wesley’s supervision. You were some sort of secretary to the man, working closely with him as he carried out his threats and managing Mr. Fisk’s affairs. The two things weren’t indissociable. You found James Wesley to be a cunning man, the smartest you’ve met in your life. His loyalty to Wilson Fisk knew no bounds. And Fisk repaid him with blind trust. If you didn’t know any better you would have even called them friends. Because they were; in their own twisted ways.

“Mr. Rance is on the line, sir,” you handed Wesley the phone you were holding.

“Have you arranged the meeting to Union Allied Construction, yet?”

“As you instructed, sir,” you nodded. “Should I let our employer know or this won’t be necessary?”

“It won’t be necessary,” Wesley replied shortly. “I won’t be needing you for a few hours, you are free to do as you please.”

“Thank you, sir.” You smiled at him.

“I’ll call you if I need anything,” he said before walking out of the office, answering the call.

If you were to be honest, working closely with James Wesley wasn’t so bad. The pay was good. Very good. Wesley was never cruel towards you. Neither was Wilson Fisk. They treated you surprisingly and fairly well. You weren’t stupid enough to believe that you were safe in any way working under them. But as long as you worked for and with them, you benefitted from their protection.

You put down the white porcelain teapot back on the tray, gave a slight a smile to Fisk before turning around and leaving his office.

“How’s our new addition acclimating to her functions?” Fisk raised the hot cup up to his lips.

“Very well,” Wesley crossed his legs. “She’s very efficient in what she does. I am surprised to see her adapting to her new condition so easily.”

“She is a survivor,” Fisk noted. “Adapting is key to live in these cruel times.”

“It is not in my nature to question you, sir,” Wesley started, crossing his legs under the desk. “But of what use is she to you?”

Fisk paused, his cup touching his lips, before taking a sip. “Our new employee has exceeded my expectations. I see her—potential. Her father’s bad life choices, instilled in her—qualities—that I believe to be of great use to us.” His left hand fidgeted, his thumb running along his fingers, “She is a dutiful daughter—even in her father’s death, she will do what it takes to protect her family.”

I will never be free

Financial freedom was bliss. Since Fisk didn’t rely on your money to pay back your father’s debt, you enjoyed your wages fully. Even putting some money on the side in case of emergency. Five years you worked for Fisk Industries. Five years you served under Wesley. Five years in which you didn’t have to worry about money. And it was bliss.

Working for these men had its perks but mainly it had drawbacks. You knew they were involved in criminal activities. The kind that was harder to uncover because they made sure of it. You knew their methods. You, yourself, was a victim of it. That was how they got you to sign the agreement. You weren’t entirely free but this—arrangement was better than nothing.

Five years you worked under Wesley’s supervision. You were no longer someone paying off debts, not to Fisk anyway. You were his loyal secretary, working alongside Wesley, ensuring that his affairs were running smoothly. Five years, during which, you became acquainted with Fisk closest—associates. People you thought to be as dangerous as he was.

The cold wind whipped at your face as you followed Wesley out the elevator. The building was still in construction and closed to the public for the night. You understood why Wesley wanted to arrange a meeting there. No one to overhear. No one to see.

“Oh please, tell me he’s right behind you,” Leland Owsley said as soon as he saw Wesley.

“Unfortunately, my employer is attending to other matters,” Wesley announced, coming to a stop, you halting besides him. “He apologizes—to you in particular, Madame Gao.”

One of the Ranskahov brothers cussed in Russian, under his breath. “We do not deal with lapdogs,” Valdimir, his brother, said moving to leave. “Tell Mister—”

“We don’t say his name.” Wesley cut him off. Valdimir and his brother, Anatoly wordlessly continued on their way. “He would like to know why you’re short on the cargo totals.”

“There was a problem on the docks,” Valdimir spoke.

“Barret and our men were attacked,” Anatoly continued. “Some moodak in a black mask.”

Leland laughed, “and you bought that?” Vladimir glared at him and bit back something in his native tongue. “Okay, calm down. Fine, we’ll go with the man-in-a-black-mask story.”

You couldn’t help but glared at Owsley, you despised him. He acted tough, provoked, condescended but deep down he was a small man. And you despised him for it.

“Our men would not lie,” Valdimir assured him.

“I said I’m on board.” Leland turned to Wesley, “I’m glad to hear there’s some new blood running out there. Heroes and their consequences are why we have our current opportunities. Now can we review the latest numbers and—”

“Tell me more about this man,” Wesley questioned the brothers.

“Took Barrett and our guys out while they were loading our container,” Anatoly told him.

Madame Gao interjected. She only spoke in Mandarin, words you did not understand, but loved to hear. You loved the way her voice dipped down and rose up as she spoke. Wesley laughed at her words.

“She wants to know if this man stole the shipment for himself,” he turned to the brothers.

“No,” Vladimir said, turning to Madame Gao. “He let the women go.”

Your eyes dropped to the ground, a spark of hope bursting through your chest at those words. You had almost forgotten what it felt like. It felt warm as its golden tendrils wrapped around your heart. But your heart was hardened. Impenetrable. Snuffing it all out.

“This is different. My employer will be—” you turned to look at Wesley, “—displeased for being inconvenienced by a lone vigilante.”

“Then he should tell me to my face,” Valdimir snapped back.

“This is on you,” Wesley gave a tight smile. “Deal with it. Quietly.”

“We must be quiet. Yes.” Anatoly agreed, “we would not want another Union Allied situation, would we? Big, loud, lot of questions.”

“We’re handling it.”

“Like you keep saying you’re handling Prohaszka?”

“We’re in the process of negotiating with Mr. Prohaszka,” Wesley said.

“Negotiating?” Anatoly repeated. “Maybe we handle our problem same way. Sit down with this man in black, break bread.”

“I think what Anatoly is trying to say is that it would be in our best interests for Union Allied to be tidied up as expeditiously as possible.” Leland intervened.

“As I said—we’re handling it.”

You could hear in his tone that Wesley was getting fed up with the Russians. Did they not know they couldn’t make demands? That Fisk did not answer to them. They answered to him. Weren’t they aware of that? Why did they keep provoking him?

The man in black became a problem for Fisk and his opportunities. Finding himself where he shouldn’t be. A thorn in Fisk’s side. Words were going around the city. Spreading like wildfire. The man in black was saving people, protecting Hell’s Kitchen. Doing what the police couldn’t do. Going after thugs, criminals, traffickers. Sparking hope in Hell’s Kitchen. Hope that had been long forgotten.

Despair and loneliness were your companions in this existence. Outside of your work life, you didn’t have a personal life. No friends. No boyfriends. Your family were mostly living out of state. And honestly, this was better for you. The farther away they were from Fisk, the better. You breathed better knowing they were safe outside of Hell’s Kitchen. You did not doubt that Fisk had ways to get to them but—you still felt they were safer outside of New York. And as long as you did what was expected of you, Fisk would not go after them.

They were safe.

Locking your door behind you, going to your right, you made your way to your bedroom. Dropping your purse and keys on the bed, you walked around the bed, into your walk-in closet. Dragging your step-stool in the corner in order to retrieve the large metal box you kept on the highest shelf. You grabbed the keys you kept in one of your shoes and opened it. You added a file about Nelson and Murdock to your already growing collection. Several files that you had put together about Wilson Fisk, James Wesley, and their different associates.

Why? Why did you go to the trouble?

You had no idea. One day, you just started to gather the information you were trusted with. Wilson Fisk and James Wesley used intel they gathered to pressure others. To force their hands. To get them to do what Fisk wanted. Needed. You would never dream to do such a thing. And yet, knowing more about them gave you some sort of power. Some sort of control back. Although looking through your files, you realized that you had more intel on Fisk than you would ever have on Wesley.

He was a mystery. You knew nothing about him. Except that he was loyal and he sincerely believed in Wilson Fisk’s vision for Hell’s Kitchen. Although, he didn’t care for this city. James Wesley was a mystery. And he made sure it remained so.

“I represent a consortium with diversified interests in the private sector,” Wesley explained to the lawyers. You sat beside him, directly across Matthew Murdock. By his side was his partner, Franklin Nelson. And sitting at the very end of the table came Karen Page, their new secretary. “Both domestic and international. From time to time, we scout the landscape for promising talent to put on retainer.”

“Retainer?” Nelson repeated excitedly.

“Why are you approaching us? Why not a larger firm, Mr., uh—“ Murdock trailed off, waiting for Wesley to say his name.

“Confederated Global Investments is my employer.” Wesley said instead.

“It’s not what I was asking,” he smiled tightly back. The man was sharp and suspicious of him.

“It’s the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock.” Your boss chuckled back.

“Oh,” he smirked. “So, why us?”

“Obviously, the larger firms aren’t able to provide the same hands-on attention that we pride ourselves on at Nelson and Murdock,” Nelson tried to temper his partner’s hostility towards Wesley and yourself.

“It’s a fair question,” James assured him. “I’m here because my employer does extensive business in Hell’s Kitchen, and who knows it better than two local boys who graduated from Colombia Law, cum laude and summa cum laude?”

“Uh, the ‘summa’ part is politics,” Nelson interjected.

Wesley laughed at him, “you set up shop right here in your backyard despite the fact that both of you were made a very lucrative offer from Landman and Zack in Manhattan where you interned.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Murdock noted.

“My employer expects no less.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt,” Murdock begun.

Nelson stammered, “’blunt’ is a strong word.”

“In my line of work, I find it refreshing.”

“What is that line of work exactly?”

“What my partner is trying to say is we’re still building a practice,” Nelson scrambled to come up with an excuse. Trying desperately to cover for his partner’s hostility. “So we’re very particular about our clientele.”

“I assure you, all my employer wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men—good lawyers. And for that, nothing more than your exceptional skills and your discretion—” Wesley looked down at you, and you pulled out an envelope. You pushed it towards Nelson, “—would be fairly compensated.”

Nelson opened the envelope and pulled out the check that was inside. As he was doing so, you observed his partner. He was stiff on his seat, tight with tension. His jaw clenched.

“Your partner doesn’t seem convinced,” you spoke for the first time since you entered their practice.

“Like Foggy said, we’re particular about our clientele,” Murdock replied, his head tilting in your direction.

“I’m curious about your—clientele,” Wesley started. “Do they all end up working for you after you get them off for murder or just the pretty ones?”

You kept your eyes trained on your hands as Wesley turned to Karen Page. “You, uh, give us a minute, please?” Murdock turned to her. She left the room closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he wasn’t. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.” He meant to do just that.   

“How did you know about Miss Page’s situation?” Murdock questioned him. “She was never charged. There was nothing in the papers.”

“I have friends on the force. I hear I’m not the only one,” Wesley pointed out.

“I think we might be veering off the subject,” Foggy tried to save the situation. Bringing it all back to the subject at hands.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Murdock. Perhaps—you should review one of our cases—before you make a decision? Peace of mind and whatnot.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Foggy agreed. “Matthew?”

“Yeah, what harm could it do?” He nodded. Still not convinced.

“Excellent,” Wesley exclaimed as you pulled out two folders. “You have—38 minutes to get to precinct 15.”

“What? Now? What’s the case?” Foggy asked quickly.

“Everything you need are in those files,” you pushed the folders towards both partners.

“Oh, he—” Foggy started to say.

“They are in braille,” you cut him off. “He can read them.”

“Thank you for your time.” Wesley buttoned his jacket, taking his leave.

“No. Thank you. Thank you very—” You followed Wesley out of the office, barely sparing a glance to Karen Page sitting behind her desk.

You threw your door open, rushing to your bathroom. Which thankfully faced your entry. Dropping purse and keys on the ground, your knees slammed on the ground as you curled over the porcelain bowl. All that you’d have eaten during the day coming back up.

You always knew what Wilson Fisk was capable of but you had never witnessed first-hand. Not until tonight. Anatoly had made the mistake to want to talk to him. Interrupting his date with Vanessa Marianna, an art dealer. Enraged, Fisk had pulled him out of the car and beat him to death. It took everything in you not to flinch. To keep the screams and shrieks you wanted to let out, inside your chest. It took everything in you to not react when Fisk decapitated Anatoly with his car door. You did not flinch when the blood splattered on your face and clothes. Your stomach was churning at the squelching sound of flesh as it was being hit repeatedly until nothing was left.  

You kept your eyes on the ground when you were outside of the car. And tried as you may, you could not ignore the headless body that you could see out of the corner of your eye. A sight that would haunt you within the following months.

The hot water hit your back washing off the grime and blood. Washing off the tears as you sobbed under the hot spray. This wasn’t the life you wanted. You wanted to fall in love, get married and have children. You wanted a good job, to never again struggle financially. You wanted a simple and easy life. You spent your entire life surviving. Now, you just wanted to live. To enjoy life. To be taken care of.

Working for Fisk. Witnessing brutal murders. Having blood splattered on your face. Ruining other people’s lives. Taking parts in criminal activities. None of those things were part of your plans. None of those things were supposed to be in your future.

This wasn’t fair.

Your wails filled your empty bathroom, bouncing off of the white tiles. Lost. Heartbroken. Hopeless.

And alone.

I will never be free.

You added a folder to your collection that night. Vanessa Marianna. Art dealer. Employed at the Scene Contempo Gallery. It was just a few lines that you’d scribbled down on a piece of paper and shoved into a folder. You would have to make further research to learn more about the woman that could attract Wilson Fisk’s attention.

You downed the shot glass of rhum you had poured yourself earlier, “thanks for the life you’ve given me, father.” You said to the empty room. “Was this what you envisioned for me? Your precious daughter. The one you’ve always wanted,” tears poured down your face. “Is this the life you had in mind when you imagined my future? Because if that’s the case then let me tell you—it sucks.”

The Beast had a heart, after all. At least, for one woman. His infatuation with Vanessa grew more and more each day. And so, did hers. You always thought that for a man like Wilson Fisk, love was a liability. Especially since the man had a tendency to use it as leverage against the people he used. The people he wanted to intimidate. But maybe, the Beast was more human than you thought. Even a man like Fisk couldn’t resist the appeal of a beautiful and smart woman. Even a man like him couldn’t resist the appeal of love.

And while his relationship with Vanessa grew into something beautiful and twisted, his circle of associates shrunk. Little by little. When Hell’s Kitchen went up into flames, as Fisk intended, Vladimir met his tragic end, joining his brother in death. The man in the mask was, of course, blamed for the chaos of that night. After Vladimir, Nobu was killed trying to eliminate the man in the mask. Going up into flames.

Fisk’s schemes to destroy and better rebuild Hell’s Kitchen were not going as he wished. The Man in the Mask had efficiently thrown a wrench into the, so far, well oiled machine. And Fisk was not too pleased with it. And tried as he may, it was hard for Fisk, or even Wesley to fix it.

None of that mattered, anyway. The night of the Benefits came, Vanessa, along with many others had been poisoned. Between life and death, she remained in a hospital bed with Fisk by her side.

“Sir, are you sure you should go alone?” You inquired following Wesley through the hospital hallway. He had just asked a bodyguard for his keys and gun.

“I need you here with him,” Wesley answered shortly coming to a stop. “You’re the only one I trust right now. Make sure no one’s get in or out of that room without being checked first, understood?”

“Understood,” you nodded quickly. “I really don’t think you should go alone, sir.”

“I’m touched by your concerns,” he said your name in a mocking way. “This is a matter I’d better deal with on my own. I won’t be long.”

And he left. This was the last you would see of James Wesley.

Fisk’s most loyal friend and henchman found death. Murdered.  Body cribbled with bullets.

Something strange happened when you heard the news. Something you had forgotten how to feel. Something you had chosen to ignore for your own survival. As you stared down at his dead body, a spark of hope. Once again, you chose to snuff it out.

Wesley was gone but Fisk was still in the picture. And without his most loyal ally, he seemed more dangerous.

Then, the spark burst into flames. Burning ablaze. You dared let hope settle in your chest when he was put away. You dared let it take root. Fisk was put away. In prison. And the shackles of your figurative imprisonment were taken off of you.

You were finally free.

A weight had been lifted off of your chest and your lungs could expand once more. Breathing came easier in the following days. You looked for a new job, wanting and needing nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between Fisk Industries and yourself. You would leave New York and Hell’s Kitchen behind. You would start anew.

You could see it. For the first time in forever, your future awaiting you.

You dared hope.

Hope.

It had been crushed under the sole of Harry Leblanc’s shoes. You should have known better than hoping, believing that you would finally be free. Man like Fisk always have back up plans. His empire was never to fall because he was gone. Prison was simply a minor inconvenience. Man like Fisk, and now Leblanc would never let you be free.

Harry Leblanc, accompanied by Octavia Turpin, was to take over North Star Holding; formerly named Fisk Industries. The name change was vital, no one would invest or trust a company that carries the name of a known criminal. So, Fisk Industries became North Star Holding.

I will never be free.

“You understand that a debt still needs to be paid,” Leblanc smiled down at you, sitting on the side of the desk.

“And your former employer seems to believe that you are an incredible asset,” Octavia said. “We would love to have you and—see it for ourselves.”

“Understand that your position won’t differ much from your former work under Mr. Fisk. You will complete the same sort of task with—some minor alterations to the previous terms.”

This was your fate, it seemed. Protesting would serve nothing. Only result in more threats. Threats against your siblings and their children, that you loved more than anything in the world. Offering money would also serve nothing, you knew better. It was not about the money. It was about what you could do for them.

You swallowed down your saliva, your chest grew tight with anxiety and sorrow. You tightened your hold around the pen and signed the new agreements. The shackles around your wrists and ankles clicked back into place, tighter than before. You did not care what the minor alterations were. All you could see was that the end of the tunnel became dark again.

You realized in that very moment, as the pen moved across the paper, that this “debt” could only be paid with your life.

Or theirs.

Your life was never your own. And it would never be again.

I will never be free.   

Chapter List || Next chapter

[siampie]

Beth, sweetheart, please don't do this! Be safe, my love.

I agree with Matt and Kris, I don't want her near Fisk but...I'm also curious on how it's all gonna turn out in the end.

Also Bret for the win, my guy is sharp...Good detective work on his part.

Can't wait for the next chapter!

Break Into My Heart

Chapter 50: Heavy Is The Crown

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48175342/chapters/164975497

@pastafossa @bellaxgiornata @cometenthusiast @farfromstrange @takemetothelakes-poets @thornbushrose @abucketofweird @ebathory997 @danzer8705 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @mattmurdocksstarlight @hellskitchenswhore @siampie @shiorimakibawrites @sunflowersandsapphires

[siampie]

🔥🔥🔥 Oh, I'm loving this. I love how reader is getting more comfortable around Matt, less anxious. Or maybe the horniness acted as a buffer. Nonetheless, I loved seeing this side of her.

Also, sub Matt is the best Matt. 😏🤤😉

[[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.

--

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[siampie]

Risk and Reward || Chapter 12: Surrender

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: You and Matt talk about his secret identity.

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, p in v, oral (female receiving)

A/N: Commentaries and reblogs are greatly appreciated.     

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

Song the title is referring to:

No one will win this time

Whenever you’re ready

Whenever you’re ready

Can we, can we surrender?

Can we, can we surrender?

I surrender

“I’m Daredevil.”

You almost forgot how to breathe. Your jaw dropped open. You didn’t think you heard him right. He couldn’t be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. This was Matt. Your boyfriend. He was blind and clumsy and—there was no way for him to be able to do the things the Devil could do.

You had not known much about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Never even had laid eyes on him.

You had seen grainy footages of the vigilante in action. He was graceful, efficient and brutal. This couldn’t be Matt. His hands weren’t meant to hurt others. They were always gentle when they touched you. You refused to believe that Matt was the Devil. He couldn’t be.

They were two different people.

“No,” you stood up from the couch. “You can’t be—him. You’re blind!” You ran your fingers through your hair. “This is another lie!”

“I promised.” His hand came on top of the horned cowl, “No more lies,” he reminded you. “I am Daredevil.”

You stared at him for a long while. Your eyes roaming his face for any signs of a lie, anything. His head tilted slightly to the side, his unseeing eyes focusing on your chest area. Subconsciously, you brought your hand to your chest, feeling your own erratic heartbeat under your fingertips.

You couldn’t believe it. He let out a long breath, and dropped his gaze to the ground. Quiet.

He wasn’t lying.

“Oh, my god,” you breathed out before dropping back into the couch.

You rubbed your hands down your face, before bringing them back up, running them through your hair. This wasn’t possible.

You reached out for the glass of water, and decided against it.

“Do you have anything stronger than water?” You asked him.

He snorted, “yeah,” he got up.

Your ears were ringing, and your mind was buzzing. Floored by this bit of information, this huge reveal, you were trying to make sense of it all. To wrap your mind around the fact that your sweet boyfriend was in fact the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Sweet Jesus!” You swore with a shaky breath.

“Sweetheart,” he called softly, handing a glass filled with amber liquid. He sat down next to you, still putting some distance between you. “Talk to me.”

You took a sip of your drink, savoring the slight burn down your throat. You pushed out a sigh, “I don’t really know what to say.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Matt said.

“Understatement of the year,” you gave out a wry laugh. He remained quiet as you struggled to find your words. “How?” You turned to him, “how do you do all this?”

“Remember how I became blind?”

“Yeah, you told me. Chemicals.”

“Well, my other senses were all affected,” Matt said. “Heightened. I can’t see, not like everyone else but I can—sense things about you.”

“Such as?”

“Well—I know you had lunch at the Chinese restaurant near your workplace,” Matt told you, “And that you ordered your favorite. Fried rice, I can smell it on you.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “And I know what I’m saying is making you nervous, because I can hear your heartbeat.”

Your hand found your chest again. Remembering what he did earlier, “is that what you were doing?” His brows creased together, confused by your words. “Earlier. That head tilt of yours—you were listening to my heartbeat?”

“I was,” he nodded. “I do. Often.”

“This—this is a lot,” you dropped your face into your hands. “Does it ever get overwhelming? To hear heartbeats or to smell things others can’t? Isn’t it too much?”

He shrugged, “it can be. But I learned to—to block it out over the years.”

You stood up, picking up your glass, and you downed your drink. Wincing as it burned your throat on its way down. Matt remained quiet, his head tilting slightly. Listening to your heartbeat, your breathing. Giving you space to process. He knew this was a lot to take in. He clasped his hands together, tightly. Knuckles turning white with how hard he was clenching them together. You seemed to be taking it better than Karen and Foggy. Still, he was afraid. Afraid that you may decide to walk away from him. Afraid that you would ask him to stop.

You stood, looking out of the window, your arms crossed over your chest. Letting out a deep breath, you tried to wrap your head around it. His confession was not what you were expecting. You were prepared for everything else. A break up, because he no longer wanted to be with you anymore. Because you were too much to handle. Or not enough for him to stay in the relationship. But this. This was definitely not in the realms of possibilities. Matt being a vigilante was not on your bingo card.

Still, you felt relieved. You were relieved that he was a vigilante. How messed up were you?

“I suppose Karen and Foggy know—about you,” your voice broke the silence that had settled over you. “That’s why they covered for you.”

“Yes. They know.” Matt nodded.

You turned to face him, “why? Why are you doing it?”

“Because I can hear them,” he said quietly. “People asking for help. Suffering. Praying.” You walked back to him, sitting down on the coffee table, facing him. “I couldn’t just sit back. Not when I can do something about it.”

“You’re a lawyer. Why can’t you do something about it as a lawyer? Helping them—by going through the system.”

“Sometimes the law isn’t enough.”

Your eyes landed on his hands, tightly wrapped around each other. You reached out, and took one of his hands in yours. His free hand landing on one of your knees.

“I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart,” he squeezed your knee gently. “I just—didn’t know how to tell you.”

Your eyes roamed his face. Fear was written all over it; in the way his brows were pulled together. In the way his jaw was clenched, bracing himself for your answer. Whether good or bad, he would take it. And accept it. Even if, it broke his heart.

“I get that. Now. I—this is—this is big. But you did, you hurt me. You let me believe that—”

“I know,” his hand squeezed yours tightly, your eyes fell on his fingers wrapped around your hand. “And I’m sorry. I never—” he paused, his tongue darted out to wet his lips, “—wanted you to think that you were at fault. This was on me. Not you.” His free hand came up to your face. His unseeing eyes stared right through you. Fondness very apparent in his gaze.

“If I didn’t push you tonight, were you ever going to tell me?” You asked him.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his saliva, “Yes. I just—I was dreading your reaction more than anything. I thought telling you the truth would scare you away.”

“So, you thought lying would keep me close?” He shrugged off one of his shoulders, his silence loud and clear. He did think you would leave. “Matt—” you shook your head, pulling his hand down to your lap. “I get why you lied, okay? I do. This is huge and—it’s not exactly something you throw in a casual conversation. I mean how do you tell your girlfriend you moonlight as the Devil at night?” He scoffed, and you chuckled. A deep breath left your lungs, “still, I’m hurt.”

“I never meant for this,” his chin wobbled, as his lips turned down into a frown.

Your hands cupped his face, your forehead dropping against his. “I know. I know,” your thumbs brushed away the few stray tears that dropped down his face. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry you didn’t think you could trust me with this, I guess.”

“No, sweetheart, I—I trust you. I do.” His fingers wrapped gently around your wrists. And for a moment you breathed the same air. “I was afraid that knowing—that part of me would change the way you feel about me.”

“Well, it doesn’t. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Nothing could do that,” you assured him. “Don’t get me wrong this is huge. And it will take some getting used to but I—my feelings for you won’t change.”

Your lips brushed against his in a soft and gentle kiss. Sealing your words as a promise to him. You were already in too deep. Your feelings for Matt Murdock won’t change. Not completely. You knew deep within yourself that they could only grow stronger. Deeper.

“Matt—” his hands moved to rest against your shoulders. “I want all of you. The good. The bad. I can handle it. Trust that I can. Please?” You pulled away slightly so you could stare in his warm and sightless eyes. “It’s not going to be easy. But I don’t really care for easy. It’s overrated anyway.” A small smile pulled at your lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t walk away from you. And I’m sorry that I did tonight. It won’t happen again.” Your hands travelled down to the back of his neck. “I’m not going to hurt you. All I’m asking in exchange is no more lies. I can’t deal with the lies.”

“I won’t lie to you ever again, I promise.” He brushed his nose against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” Matt whispered, his breath fanning over your face. His eyes fell shut as he inhaled deeply.

“Maybe, I’m the one who’s not deserving you.” You said back quietly.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moving onto his lap. You buried your nose in the crook of his neck. “You deserve better.” His lips brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“I don’t want better. I just want you.” Your arms tightened around his shoulders.

No lie was told. Your heart beat steadily as those words flew past your lips. Dizzy with relief, he still couldn’t believe that you were still there. That you listened. He was convinced this was the end. But you were still in his arms. And you weren’t going anywhere.

“So, how does it feel?” You asked him, breaking the silence that fell over you. “Telling me your big dark secret.”

His arms around your waist pulled you in even closer, “not as terrifying as I thought.” He said, echoing your words. Words you had uttered the first night you’d ever talked to one another.

“No regrets?”

“No regrets.”

“I missed you,” you said quietly, your lips brushing along his neck as you spoke.

“I missed you too,” he tightened his hold on you.

Clinging to him still, you bathed in his scent. Cinnamon and salt, with a light touch of leather. As you breathed in his scent, an aching need grew in the pit of your stomach. The need to feel his skin against yours. The need to have all of him. It only grew stronger as you felt his warmth underneath you, heat pooling at your core. A shuddering breath past your lips as you tightened your hold on him. You shifted slightly on his lap, seeking for friction. The tension in the room thickened. Slightly pulling away from him, your eyes found his lips, immediately. Lips you were dying to kiss. His left hand found the back of your head, burying his fingers in your hair. Your nose brushed his, your breath fanning over his lips. His tongue darted out to wet them. And without wasting another second, your lips met his. Tentative. Hesitant. A tender question. You pulled away, and his lips chased after you, answering. Meeting yours in a firmer one of his own. His fingers curled in your hair, nails scraping along your scalp.

After weeks of him pulling away, this felt like breathing again. A slight buzz sunk through your flesh down to the very core of your soul. This felt right. This was where you belonged. In his arms.

His fingers clasped the hem of your shirt, pulling it up, momentarily breaking off your kiss, and off of you. It landed somewhere by the window.

“No bra?” He whispered against your lips.

“I was kind of in rush,” you said back, panting.

You pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it behind the couch. His lips crashed against yours. Your chest flushed against his. Skin to skin. A moan escaped your lips when his mouth moved to your neck, down to your collarbone. Hips grinding against his, you felt his rising cock through his sweatpants.

Your hips stuttered against his as wet heat surrounded your nipple, letting out a broken whimper. His hands gripped your hips tighter, moving you along his lap. Your fingers buried into his hair, pulling at it. A groan rumbling through his chest. He pulled his lips away from your nipple. Your lips crashed against his, his hands travelled down your ass and under your thighs. He gripped you as he rose from the couch. You broke off the kiss as he carried you to his bedroom.

Your heartbeat sped up in your chest. Nervous. Your face heated up, especially the top of your ears. Matt lowered you on the bed, his silk sheets making contact with your naked back.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Matt teased you.

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry,” you sounded breathless.

“Don’t,” he reassured you, a grin plastered on his face. “I like the way you react to me.”

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, before they travelled down your neck, your collarbone down to your navel. His hands made their way to the top of your jeans, slipping the button out. Wet heat kept pooling between your thighs as Matt pulled down your jeans, tugging them the rest of the way when they got stuck at your ankles. He tossed them to the side. And your underwear soon followed.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. A moan left your lips as Matt left opened and wet kisses along the inside of your thigh. The scruff of his beard pleasantly scratching your plush thigh, making his way up to your weeping cunt. Your head fell back between your shoulders at the first swipe of his tongue.

“Shit,” you moaned, hands gripping your breast and squeezing.

Like a starving man, Matt was feasting on you. Lapping up your arousal, greedily. His mouth shifted while his fingers slid inside you. Gasping, you let yourself fall on your back, your hands leaving your breast, reaching, searching for anything else to hold. His fingers curled just a bit, thrusting into you. You clenched around them, legs shaking as you neared the edge.

“Fuck, Matt,” you cried, hands finding his head, gripping his hair.

It had been weeks since you last had been together. Weeks since he had touched you. Tasted you. Maybe that was why you were so overly sensitive to his touch. To his tongue, lapping away, circling around the bundle of nerve. Driving you over the edge.

He pumped his fingers into you faster, his mouth and tongue never stopping their assault. Your climax was within reach, and Matt knew. He could feel it in the way you clenched tightly around his fingers. And before you could ask, he pumped his fingers faster. Unrelenting. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, clenching around his fingers, falling over the edge. Matt kept pumping and licking, carrying you through your orgasm. Your back arching up as you cried out his name.

Your legs fell apart, your body going slack as you reached the end of it. Matt moved off of the bed, pulling down his sweatpants and boxer. Your body felt like Jello while you desperately tried to catch your breath.

Matt crawled over you, his eyes dark with want, gazing down at you. You cupped his jaw before pulling him down to kiss you. You brought up your legs to cradle his sides, carefully sliding your calf across his lower back to hold him even closer. The taste of you was heavy on his tongue.

His erection laid heavy, trapped between your bodies. You felt it poking at your entrance, pushing against your clit, pulling a moan out of both of you as he rocked his lower half gently against you. You slid your hand between you, and wrapped your hand around his shaft, the head was slick with precum. He throbbed in your hand, Matt groaned, dropping his head down beside yours as you stroked him gently.

“I need you inside me, Matty,” you declared in a shallow breath.  

He pulled back, panting. His pupils were blown out with lust. He shifted slightly, reaching for the bedside table.

“Can—can we go without?” You stopped him. "I'm on birth control and I'm clean—"

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Yeah,” his lips met yours in a bruising kiss. “Yeah—” another kiss as you resumed your stroking. “—let’s go without.”

You kept your eyes on him, on the way his brows pinched while you kept stroking him. The sight of Matt coming undone at your touch always had a way to turn you on even more. The way he groaned and moaned, the way his brows pinched down, the way his mouth fell open. He had never looked so beautiful than in this moment.

You lined up his length with your entrance. You were so wet that the thick head slipped right in, pleasantly stretching you. He gave a slight roll of his hips and eased in just a bit more, both gasping with relief. You let go of him your hand moving to his lower back, a shy distance away from his ass.

Matt’s lips latched onto yours as he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. You broke off the kiss, letting out a gasp, your head falling back on the silk pillow, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Shit,” Matt hissed. The slight pressure of your naked walls around his cock was new to him. It felt wonderful. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” his voice sounded thick and hoarse.

You clutched his ass, pressing your nose against his cheek, reveling in the moment. He moved at a slow and steady pace, building up your orgasm.

“Look how well you take me, sweetheart,” his sultry voice made you clenched a little harder around him. “You like the sound of my voice, huh?”

“I like—” you cried as he gave an especially hard thrust. “—I like everything about you, Matty.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist as you pulled him flush against you. His chest, slick with sweat, made contact with yours. His forearms caging you in. He set a faster pace, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. Your toes curling as his cock hit a bit deeper inside of you. Your hips moved against him matching his pace as best as you could. Feeling him without any barrier between you, felt incredible. Heavenly.  

His lips attached to your pulse point, sucking on the skin. You buried your face in his shoulders. Your hips stuttered against his, no longer able to keep up the pace, too lost in your own pleasure. His hips never seemed to tire as they slammed into you. Relentless. His cock pushing against this bundle of nerve that you had never been able to reach on your own. Your legs were shaking around his waist. You could feel yourself falling over, ready to reach your climax.

His rhythm grew uneven, his breathing gone ragged. He moved his hand down to your cunt, his thumb finding your clit and playing with it. Your back moved off of the bed, into him, as electricity jolted through your body at his touch.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come all over my cock,” he growled.

At his words, you clenched around him, your body milking him, pulling him deeper. Your orgasm knocked the breath out of your lungs. You bit the junction between his neck and shoulder. He dropped his head down on your shoulder, “oh, fuck,” he hissed, hips working in stuttered motions, moaning while he spilt inside of you, his warmth coating your naked walls for the very first time.

“Don’t move,” you whispered to him, holding him tightly as the quaking after-effects kept shaking you.

He shook his head, droplets of sweat flying off in all directions.

“Not going anywhere,” he promised, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his weight comfortably heavy over you.

You both laid like that for a while, catching your breath, still joined. You raked your fingers through his damp hair, brushing them away from his temple. He looked so beautiful. He was. You couldn’t believe your luck that this man was all yours. You felt something warm burst into your chest, this fuzzy feeling, letting you know how you truly felt about him.

You loved him. You were in love with him.

He shifted his head slightly to rest a kiss on your neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answered quietly. "You?"

"Perfect."

He shifted to his side, pulling out of you slowly. You loved him, you had known that for a while. But those words weren’t the kind you spilled after you just had mind-blowing sex with your boyfriend. He pulled you into his embrace, tight against his chest. His forehead touched yours, his hand cupping the side of your face, brushing hair away from your temple. His eyes, although unseeing, were soft and and full of warmth, a fondness had settled within them.

Did he love you back? And if you were to say the words now, would he say them back? Maybe he wasn’t quite ready yet. Maybe you weren’t ready. After all, God had a strange sense of humor when it came to you—and the people you loved.

“Hey, what’s gotten you so nervous?”

You frowned, shaking your head, “I’m not nervous.”

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast,” he retorted.

“Oh,” you let out a low laugh. “Almost forgot you could do that.” You let out a deep exhale. “It’s nothing, really.” Your hand went up his back as you brushed your nose against his, “we can talk about it at a later time.”

His lips pressed against yours, “promise?”

“Promise.”

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[siampie]

Oh, I'm loving this! Dean and Plus sized reader, is my favorite pairing! Always.

Also this line might be favorite:

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

The way I cackled and thought, "girl, please do it! That ought to shut her up."

Lisa is really catty in this. I thought...almost hoped that she'd break up with him. But I'm guessing she has her own reasons to stay in the relationship.

Can't wait for the next chapter!!

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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[siampie]

Finding You || Chapter 9

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings/tags: angst, some comfort

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

Your mother was across the streets. She had seen you. You had to get away from her. The sight of her alone, standing in these streets was unbearable. The thought of her being in Dublin, in the same streets as you, was unmerciful.

Without a second thought, you rushed away. Trying to put as much distance as possible between the two of you.

“Where you’re running to?” You froze. His voice sent a chill down your spine. “Aren’t you going to say hello? To me? To your mother?”

You couldn’t breathe. You had not seen him. Too focused on your mother, you had not even thought about him. And there he was. Standing in front of you. Blocking your escape. Fear couldn’t describe how you felt in this moment. No, fear wasn’t strong enough of a word to describe the state you were in.

Terror.

You felt terror in these streets facing your stepfather. It was terror that slammed into you when your mother joined him. Facing you. You were standing in an open street, people surrounding you and yet, you felt trapped. You wanted to escape. You needed to get away from them.

“Sweetheart,” your mother smiled at you. “It’s so good to see you.”

“I—I—I have to go,” you said stepping away from them.

“Oh, come on, why are you in such a rush?” Her husband smirked at you, and blocked your way. “We came here to see you. The least you could do is say hello. Unless, of course, your father didn’t teach you manners.”

“Stephane, please,” your mother glanced up at him. She turned her eyes back onto you, “we could go into a coffee nearby, and talk.” She reached out to touch your arm, but you recoiled away from her. Her face dropped at the gesture. “I don’t want to force anything on you.”

“Then let me go,” you pleaded. “Please.”

She nodded, while Stephane scoffed. Nonetheless, both of them stepped out of the way to let you pass.

Yes, terror was the right way to describe it.

Terror was sitting in the pit of your stomach.

You walked away from them on shaky legs. Clutching your bag against your chest, your hands shook terribly. And your stomach felt queasy. You ducked into a coffee shop, quickly disappearing into the bathroom. As soon as you locked the door behind you, you dropped on your knees, your breakfast making its way back up your throat, painting the porcelain as it landed in the bowl.

You felt truly sick. You didn’t think you could make it home on your own. You didn’t want to. Not when they were still out there in the streets. Sitting on the porcelain throne, you stared down at your phone. You didn’t want to bother people, ask them for help. Ashamed of asking for it, really. But you really didn’t want to be alone.

“Hiya, love,” you let out a sigh of relief as Bessie answered your call.

“Bessie, are you busy?” You asked with a small voice.

“What? What’s goin’ on?” Bessie questioned; her tone laced with worry.

“Nothing, really, but—“ you let out a deep breath. “—I, uhm—can you come and pick me up?”

“Where are ya?”

Within thirty minutes, Bessie had come to your rescue. Seeing her walking into the small coffee shop brought you great comfort. It made you less alone.

“What happened, love?” she was sitting next to you in the booth, her arms around your shoulders.

“I saw my stepfather in town and—uh, I—I—I,” you shook your head. “I got scared. I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Bessie rubbed your arm soothingly. “I’m glad you called.”

“Thank you,” you rested your head on her shoulder. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Anytime.”

Bessie and you stayed at the coffee shop for a while. She waited for you to calm down a bit. She didn’t press you with questions, and you were grateful for it. You would tell her one day. Maybe. But not now.

Now, you just wanted to go home. Now, you only needed air.

And Michael.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my place tonight?” Bessie gently offered you again.

You smiled, unbuckling your seatbelt, “thank you, Bess—but I’d rather stay home tonight. But I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“I’m counting on it.” She embraced you tightly, “everything’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

Your lips pulled into a small smile, “drive safe, okay?”

What did your mother really want from you? Why was she so sweet with you?

You had hoped to never cross paths with her in Dublin. And hopefully, she would have given up and left.

She was there.

She had seen you.

And the worst part, he had seen you too.

His smirk, his face, his voice. Everything about him had thrown you back to that little girl, sleeping in her bed while he stood over you, stroking your hair, and looking at you in ways no adult man should have.

You remembered the times he tried to force you to sit on his lap. You knew it was wrong, you were too old to sit on anyone’s lap. And you had cried when he continued trying, pulling you forcibly while you fought back. Your mother had laughed it off, calling it teasing.

It wasn’t.

There had been signs of his fixation on you. Signs that your mother decided to ignore. Signs that your father couldn’t ignore. Her feigning ignorance had cut you deep. So much so, you had never healed from it. And you probably never would.

Your mother wasn’t always like this. She had loved you; you knew it. You had felt it. Once upon a time, she bought you your first book. She read you bedtime stories, kissed your boo-boos away, braided your hair. She did with you all activities that loving mothers did with their children. She was your hero and for that alone, you loved her more than anything.

But she failed you.

She failed to love you the way you loved her. She failed to protect you from her husband. She failed to believe you when you went to her. She failed to choose you before him.

She failed you.

You had read somewhere that when a baby was born, they left a group of fetal cells behind, in the mother’s body. It could remain in her body for years, decades even. And the same was said for the mother’s cells. It also lived on in the baby’s body long after they were born. For years, decades.

If this was true, why couldn’t she feel it? Why couldn’t she feel the pain she inflicted on you? Why couldn’t she feel the terror he was causing you?

Couldn’t she feel how you love her?

You jumped out of your skin when the knock came. Your heart jumped into your throat, as you made your way to your door. You took in a shaky breath, before opening it.

It was Michael.

Amanda made her way to Michael’s house next door. There was still so much to deal with. Especially now that Eamon wanted them dead.

It had been her decision. For her son; Jamie. She knew Michael would do it. No one else but him could do it. Not even Jimmy.

Jamie was Michael’s son. Jimmy raised him, but Jamie was his.

As she turned around the corner, she caught a glimpse of you as Michael walked into your home.

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me,” Amanda cussed under her breath. “Fuck, Michael.”

This was not the time for Michael to jeopardize everything for a quick fuck with the neighbor. Not now that Eamon Cunnigham was after them. What was he thinking about?

Amanda had never really cared for you. She knew you were their neighbor. She knew you had somewhat of a relationship with Birdy. But you weren’t important. Not to her anyway.

And now, you had caught Michael’s fancy. And this alone, changed everything.

“How was your meeting with Frank?” You asked him, sitting on the counter, Michael standing between your legs.

 “Useless,” Michael said, his hands rubbing along your thighs.

“That bad, uh?”

He snorted, “yeah, ya could say that.”

Your hands slid up his chest, to the back of his neck, “is it too soon to say, I really missed you today?”

He shook his head, “missed ya too.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, “ya alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered quickly. Lying through your teeth.

He didn’t believe you. He could tell something was off as his eyes roamed your face.

“Ya know ya can talk to me, pet.” He gently cupped your jaw, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheekbone.

And that was all it took.

The dam broke, and tears just poured down your face. He shushed you, slightly confused while pulling you into his arms. You buried your face into his neck. Your hands fisting the back of his shirt desperately, hanging onto him, counting on him to keep you afloat.

“Talk to me, pet,” Michael asked soothingly, his hand stroking the back of your head.

He tried to pull away but you clung onto him harder. You didn’t want to let go. You just couldn’t let go. Not yet.

You needed him. You needed his arms to keep you safe. To make the pain, the terror, to make all of what you were feeling go away. Your chest couldn't contain all of it. It was too small and the pain so great.

Michael brought you a glass of water, sitting down next to you in the couch. He leaned his elbows on his knees, giving you some space to breathe.

“She’s still beautiful, you know,” you said staring into the glass. “A little greyer but—still beautiful.” You put down the glass, clasping your hands together

She still was beautiful. And you hated that you thought so. This was the mother that abandoned you. She shouldn’t look beautiful still. She should be the ugliest human being on this earth. Only because she abandoned you and betrayed you. You should be disgusted by her.

You weren’t. And it angered you.

“They cornered me in the streets,” you continued, missing the way Michael’s jaw tightened. “Wanted to grab a coffee or some shit like that.”

 “Did they try to force ya?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I ran away as fast as I could.”

Micheal’s hand came to rest on your knee, he squeezed it gently. You looked up at him. His jaw clenched in anger, rage boiling in his veins. If he ever got his hands on your stepfather, he would certainly hurt him. He and your mother had hurt you. Broken your heart. And that alone was enough for him to want to protect you from them.

He would make sure they won’t hurt you ever again.

“You know what’s the worst part of it all?” Your knee bumped into his, his hand leaving your knee to rest on your shoulder. “I felt happy to see her there,” you gave him a teary-eyed smile. “I wanted to hug her. Do you know how long I’ve dreamt of that moment? I mean, she’s my mother. And I missed her. So much.”

Michael scooted closer to you, his arm curled around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. His hand rubbed soothingly along your arm. Your head found a place on his shoulder.

“I still love her.” You confessed, quietly, afraid to admit a secret that had been kept for so long.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Michael assured you. His lips pressed against your forehead.

“I hate myself for it,” your lips turned down into a frown. “Why am I like this?”

His arms tightened around you, “that’s because ya have a good heart, pet.” Your nose found the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. “Yer mother just doesn’t know how lucky she was to have ya.”

“I think she couldn’t see it,” you said. “She was angry at my dad. And she hated him. But she hates me more.”

“Why would she hate ya more?”

“Because I was born first.”

You were born first. Without you, your mother would have left your father a long time ago. Long before she would have given birth to your siblings.

And you understood why she would. It wasn’t fair on you. You didn’t ask to be born. This wasn’t your choice. She was the one who wanted to keep you. Who wanted to go through with the pregnancy.

But you understood why she would. Knowing what you knew, you could sympathize with why she would hate you more than the rest.

It broke your heart to know that she would never love you as much as you did her. It broke your heart to know that she blamed you for something you had no say in.

But you understood.

You wished you didn’t, though. There were many things you wished for. Things that would make your life much easier.

The rest of the night was spent with Michael. In his arms. In your bed. You didn’t want to be alone. And he didn’t want to leave you. Your right cheek laid across his bare chest. Warm. His fingers buried in your hair, scratching the back of your head. Your leg slotted between his.

 “If anything happens with yer stepda, or yer mother, I want you to call me.”

“Michael,” you protested, resting your chin on his chest.

“’M serious, pet,” his fingers found the back of your neck. “Whatever comes up, I don’t want ya to be alone. Ya call me, alrigh’?”

“What if you’re busy with family stuff? And - and you also have a bounty on your head, it's too dangerous for you," you tried to reason with him. "Also, I don’t really want to bother you with this."

“It doesn’t matter, ya call me. And I’ll come and get ya.”

Your hand slid up his right side, “Michael," you were about to protest but he cut you off.

“I'm on yer side, Pet. I got ya. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Your left hand pulled away from his side to cup his jaw, your thumb running across his lips. Your heart stuttered in your chest at his words. It was a promise. A promise you knew he would keep.

You shouldn’t trust him. He was Michael Kinsella. A known criminal. A known murderer. You shouldn’t trust him. And yet, a twisted part of you, in the darkest corners of your mind, trusted him.

He leaned down, gently pressing his lips against yours. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, demanding access. You let out a soft moan, your hand gripped his forearm. Pulling him down. He rolled on top of you.

No one had truly said those words to you. No one had declared to be on your side. Not quite like him. You knew he meant every word. And you knew, he would deliver on his promise.

And that twisted part of you, was counting on it.

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[siampie]

I'm curious to know if it'll last until the end of the season.

I mean so far, I think the show is doing great so far. The CGI in the first fight was a little clonky but I don’t mind.

So far, I love the new characters and the original ones are still the same. It’s not Netflix but it sure follows into its footsteps.

Oh, would you look at that.

[siampie]

I think Born Again is making a lot of people subscribe to Disney +, just so they could watch.

Oh, would you look at that.

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 9

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 4.3 k 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Events take place between Pac-Man Fever (8.20) and The Great Escapist (8.21), final part.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

You placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of your brother. “How long have you been working there?” Dean asked him.

“Almost a year,” Matt answered. “My friend got me a spot there. I always wanted to be a truck driver. They were looking for one and I just got my license.”

“That friend of yours,” you leant against the sink. “The one that walked into traffic, was he the one that got you the job?”

He nodded, “yeah, that was him.” You hummed quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Look, I don’t really know what you guys do. And this one,” your brother pointed at you, “isn’t telling me much.” Dean glanced at you, “but from the little I’ve heard, this is your kind of job. Those people are good people. And this isn’t something they would do to themselves.”

“Did anything happened? Anything unusual? Did they act differently?” Sam questioned.

“Not that I know of,” Matt shook his head. “I mean I’m mostly on the road these days,” he turned to you, “or dealing with Dad.”

You returned his gaze with an apologetical one, “sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry.”

Dean looked between you and your brother, before glancing at his own brother. This exchange between you and your brother had picked his interest.

“Anyway,” your brother sighed. “I don’t really know if things have been different or not.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly what you told me on the phone,” you reminded him. “You sounded pretty sure on the phone.”

“Yeah, well, I was panicking and as far as I knew at the time. Nothing had changed.”

You scoffed at his words, “well, we’re gonna have to talk to someone who knows.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, it’s bring your sister to work day.” You smiled at your brother.

“While you do that,” Dean slapped the table before standing up. “Sam and I are going to check in with the locals.”

“Yeah, you do that,” you pushed away from the counter. “Come on, stupid. You’re giving me a tour of your workplace.”

You followed Matt into the warehouse where most of the trucks were parked. They were currently being loaded by the workers. Matt greeted his colleagues and introduced them to you. They were all still pretty shaken up by the recent events. Their colleagues had harmed themselves in gruesome ways and some of them had been witnesses to it.

As you were offering support and comfort to his coworkers, you had asked questions. Trying to know more about the victims, to find out answers.

Had they been different lately?

Jerry Diaz, the traffic guy, was one of the managers. Described as a good guy, a hard worker, very patient and overall nice. It was the first face the workers saw when they started their shifts, and the last to greet them when they clocked out. No one had noticed anything different about him. It was the same guy they always knew him as. Even that morning when he decided to take a walk in traffic. The only change in his life was a positive one, he and his girlfriend were about to move in together.

Debbie Nelson, the boiling water lady, was the order management. Making sure that every order was tracked and delivered to the right people from the moment they were placed. Divorcee, she lived on her own. No one really knew what she did outside of work. She, unlike Jerry, was a very secretive person. She was kind and people did like her. But they didn’t know much about her. But again, they had not noticed anything different from her.

Matthew introduced you to Suzanne Jacobs, the receptionist at their company. If anyone could tell you anything about Debbie, according to your brother, it would be her. Sue was the biggest gossip in this office and she knew almost everything that was going on in the office. And most importantly, she was the aunt of Jerry’s girlfriend.

“What can you tell us about Debbie?” You asked Suzanne.

“Oh, well, in my professional opinion, she was a great worker. Very thorough, meticulous.” She sipped from her cup of coffee.

“And in your personal opinion?”

She looked between you and your brother, and leaned forward, “well, we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but—Debbie wasn’t a very faithful woman.”

“Meaning?”

“No one really knows but—uh—Jerry and Debbie had an affair while she was still married,” she paused. “Her husband found out and came to find them here. Threatened both of them. The boss had to call the cops on him.”

“How long did Jerry and Debbie remained a thing after her husband found out?” Matt questioned further.

“Not very long,” she replied. “After this it lasted almost a year. And they broke up right after her divorce was finalized.”

“How long was that?”

“Three years ago,” Sue said. “You don’t think this is all related, do you?”

“No—no I don’t think it is,” you shook your head. “We just found it strange the way they decided to end their lives.”

“I know. Terrible thing that happened to good people,” she brought her cup to her lips. You and Matthew glanced at each other at her words.

“Is this what you do all the time?” Your brother whispered as you broke into Debbie’s condo.

“Mostly,” you replied pushing the door opened. “It’s part of the job.”

“And your friends are doing the same thing right now?” He followed you inside.

“Well, we need to check Jerry’s apartment, so yeah, they are.” You shrugged.

“You know when you told me you were hunting monsters, I didn’t picture you breaking and entering into people’s home,” Matt commented. “You know this is wrong, right?”

You gave him a deadpan look. His lips were pressed together, in a feeble attempt to hold in his laughter. “Shut up, stupid!”

“Oh, come on,” he let out a sharp laugh. “Who would have thought that the rule follower extraordinaire is now breaking rules?”

“Maybe, I got tired of following them.”

A small smile broke onto his lips, as he followed you around the place. “Took you long enough.”

You stopped, and let out a snort. “Come on, the place isn’t going to search itself.”

Matt would never tell you in so many words but he was proud of his big sister. He was proud of you for growing into yourself. Your parents had been your worst enemies. They had not been kind or gentle to the rest of them. But they had been particularly harsh on you. He had seen it all, growing up. He was a kid then and he knew he had not made it easy on you. And you had not been kind to him either. After all, you were siblings, and as such fights tended to happen between the two of you. Over the years, though, things had changed between you. As he grew taller, he found himself falling into the role of the big brother. Now, that he had grown taller and stronger, he could stand up for you. He could stand between you and your father. He was your protector. As you had been his when he was younger and smaller.

It was now his turn to take care of you.

“Witches?” Your brother repeated leaning against the counter. Sam was examining the content of the hex bags you had found in Debbie’s and Jerry’s apartment.

“Yeah, witches,” you shut the oven door. “Hex bags are, well, hexes they place on people. Mostly to hurt them, or get them to do what they want. And in this case—to kill them.”

He took a swing of his beer, “and you deal with that kind of crap all the time?”

“Mostly,” you shrugged. “Sometimes it’s witches—”

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the back of her head if you keep this on,” Sam commented, not taking his eyes off of the books.

“I don’t get it, you know,” Dean leaned back in the couch.

“What?”

“She has a good life here. With her brother, her family,” his eyes landed on the photo of you and your siblings. “Why did she choose to be a hunter?”

“For the same reasons we are,” Sam shut down his laptop. “And maybe, you’re wrong about her family. Sure, her brother and her have a good relationship. But there are two more people on that picture that they’re not talking about or even mentioning.”

“Yeah, wonder what’s all that about?”

“Goddamn, woman,” they heard your brother cried from the kitchen. “Are you allergic to asking for help?”

“What?!” You retorted in the same tone. “I can do it on my own, why would I ask for help?”

“Because that plate’s heavy and hot, and you could have burnt yourself,” he pushed you out of the way.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, sure.” He dropped the fresh pan of lasagna on the table.

“Dinner’s ready,” you called out to the brothers.

“Don’t you think that’s a little too much food?”

“I’m about to have dinner with three grown men. I know how they eat. I know how you eat. Trust me, I’d rather have too much than not enough.”

Out of habit, you waited for everyone around the table to have filled their plates before serving yourself. For several minutes, all that could be heard around the table were the clanking of the forks on the plates as you all ate your meals.

“I take it you guys don’t get cooked meals a lot, uh?” Matt observed.

“Not really. We mostly have take-outs,” Sam replied. “Unless, your sister is around to visit.”

“Yeah, she’s always been a good cook.”

“At least, she’s good at something,” Dean couldn’t help but quipped.

You glared at him, “so, you admit it. My food is good.”

“Well, it’s decent.”

“Liar!”

“Are they always like this?” Matt asked Sam.

“Always,” Sam sighed annoyed. “I usually walk out when that happens.”

“You could just admit that you like the food. No one will be mad, Bucko.”

“Of course, I like food. Are you kidding me? It’s a home cooked meal.”

“It wasn’t that hard, now, was it?” Your brother was pouring himself some wine, and you raised your glass. “While you’re at it—”

“So,” Dean started as your brother poured you some wine. “There’s four of you,” you glanced up at him, “the picture by the TV.”

Your eyes landed on the portrait, “yeah, there are four of us. Matt’s the youngest. I’m oldest. And there’s two in the middle.” You said. “Mary and Dave.”

“Mary?” Sam repeated.

“Yeah, Mary, my sister. And Dave, my other brother.”

“What happened between you?” Dean questioned.

You let out a deep breath, “let’s just say we don’t have as close of a relationship as I do with Matt. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is there any desert?” Matt interrupted, putting an end to the topic.

“Ice cream in the freezer—or pies,” you sighed.

“You baked pies?” Dean asked you.

“No, I bought them.” You shook your head. “I’m not patient enough for that.”

Your two other siblings didn’t have that great of a relationship with you. There was no bad blood. It was just they couldn’t bring themselves to have a relationship with your toxic father. And since he was still in your life, they’d rather have little to no contact with you too. You understood that. And it hurt but at least, you knew it was no fault of yours. Maybe one day, your relationship with them would get better. And that was all you could hope for.

Matt had gone back to work that morning. It was just the three of you at your place. You were sort of hitting a dead end, however. Hex bags were indications that a witch was involved in the death of Debbie Nelson, and Jerry Diaz’s accident. But why were they targeted?

“Suzanne’s story checks out,” Sam pushed his laptop towards you, so you and Dean could take a peek. “Debbie’s husband asked for a divorce three years ago, citing infidelity. Once it was finalized, he moved out of town.”

“So, not our witch.” You stated.

“The girlfriend,” Dean exclaimed. “It’s got to be her.”

“Jerry and Debbie had broken up,” you reminded him. “If she is our witch, she would have no reason to go after them both.”

“Not if, she is our witch,” he corrected, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“Jerry and Debbie might have not entirely broken up,” Sam said, pulling his laptop back to him.

“What do you mean?” You turned to him.

“Debbie was three weeks pregnant.”

“Okay, that changes things,” you nodded. “Still, we don’t know if Jerry was the father.”

“Let’s find out.” Dean lightly slapped you on the shoulder. You glared up at him.

You walked behind Dean into the hospital where Jerry was in recovery. His girlfriend, Riley, remained at his side almost every day since the accident. Dean was convinced of her being the witch. You, on the other hand, were not. Maybe you were being naïve. At least, Dean had said that much. But you refused to believe that Riley had been the one who tried to kill Jerry. Not when she had looked so distraught about everything that had occurred.

“Morning Riley,” you smiled at her.

“Hi,” she stood up from her chair, stood at the foot of Jerry’s bed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, my friend and I have some more questions about Jerry. If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Sure,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Sorry,” you apologized and gestured to Dean, standing next to you, “this is Dean.”

“Riley,” she shook his hand.

“Look, we’ve learned a few things about Jerry and, uh, Debbie,” Dean started.

“I know,” Riley said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, he told me,” she turned to look at his sleeping form. “He was her affair partner while she was married.”

“Only when she was married?” He questioned.

She snorted, “it went on for a few months after her divorce. Then, she cheated on him with someone else from work.”

“Did he tell you who it was?” You asked her.

“She never told him.” Riley shrugged. “He never knew or try to find out actually.”

You glanced up at Dean, as he took in a deep breath, “has he ever—?”

“—gone back to her? No.” Riley glared at him. “After they broke up, he never looked at her again.”

“How sure are you of that?” Dean insisted.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Debbie was pregnant,” you told her.

“And you think—” she looked furious now. “Jerry and Debbie never saw each other again.”

“You lose ‘em like you found ‘em,” He finished his sentence with a slight tilt of his head.

You flinched as she rose her hand in the air and took a step back. Dean had barely flinched when she struck him. His jaw clenched in anger, red blooming on his right cheek where she had hit him. Dean had hit a nerve, it seemed.

“It was done between them before we even thought about dating,” her voice was quivering, whether it was with anger or sorrow, you had no idea. It might have been both. “He was done with her. And this baby wasn’t his. Debbie was a psycho; she just couldn’t let go of him. If anyone should be blamed, it’s her.”

“She’s dead,” you reminded her. Anger was now rising in your throat. It was easy to accuse someone who could no longer defend themselves. Dean turned his eyes on you. “And he’s in a hospital bed.”

“You think I wanted this?”

“No, I think you’ve been blinded by a man who’s been playing you and—you wanted to get even,” you continued. “By any means necessary.”

“Like what?” Riley sneered.

“You tell me,” you shrugged. “How far are you willing to go to hurt the man who broke your heart?”

She glared at you, “I want you out of his room. NOW! And don’t you ever come back.”

"That went well," Dean commented as you both rushed out the room.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but you might be right about her," you reluctantly agreed with the hunter.

Dean pushed the door to Riley’s place open and you followed behind him. Boxes were strewn here and there. Clothes thrown on a pile on top of the boxes, bookshelves half emptied. The place was a mess. Understandably so, as Riley was in the middle of moving out of this apartment. They seemed happy. From the outside, none would be the wiser, but knowing what you knew, it was all a façade. Riley loved Jerry. And he didn’t respect it.

The sound of keys jiggling drew your attention to the front door. Dean suddenly pulled you with him, and shoved you into a nearby closet. With her phone pressed against her ear, Riley stepped into her apartment.

“I don’t know!” Riley hissed on the phone, moving into her room.

Dean looked down into your eyes and you heard the soft click as he eased the hammer back on the gun he held in his hand. He pushed you a little deeper into the back of the closet. His body pressed against yours.

“Yes, but that’s not what I wanted,” Riley answered to the person on the other end of the line. “I wanted Debbie out of his life, but I didn’t want him in hospital bed. And now, people are asking questions.” She put her bag down and let out a long breath, “no! You’ve done enough,” she paused, “I don’t think they knew anything—I’m not entirely sure,” she threw some clean clothes into her duffel bag. “NO! Don’t do anything, it’ll draw more attention.” She hummed to what was on the other end of line, “I want to stay with him—Sue—alright, alright, I’ll be there.”

Riley hung up, grabbed the purse she had left by the door and left. The front door closing behind her.

You glanced up at Dean, his face closer than you thought. His eyes met yours, and you heard him uncock his gun. Highly aware of his body tightly pressed against yours, you thought it wise to take a step back.

You didn’t.

You felt every hard muscle through two sets of clothing. Paying closer attention to the smell of gun oils and leather that came from him, perfectly blended with the slightly stronger scent of sweat. Becoming painfully aware of how green his eyes really were, of the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

You should take a step back.

Your chest rose with every breath you took, pushing into his. Your eyes focused on his pulse pounding in the little dip at the base of his neck. Yours probably mirroring his. His eyes were filled with something you couldn’t really identify.

The moment had seemed to last longer than a few seconds. Slowed down by the strange and quiet interaction between you and Dean. But it abruptly ended as he stepped away from you, tucking his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

“Come on,” he didn’t look back at you as he turned away. You tucked away your own gun, gathering your wits, confused as to what had just happened between the two of you.

You cleared your throat, catching up to him. “She was probably talking to her aunt on the phone,” you suggested. “Sue knew about Jerry and Debbie and clearly, Riley told her about the baby.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna need a few ingredients,” Dean said before climbing into the impala.

“Pouah,” you recoiled from the bag Dean put on her table. “Chicken feet? Really?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam chuckled. “Quite important ingredient in the witch-killing spell. By the way, can we keep it in your fridge for now?”

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded quickly. “Witch-killing spell? How efficient is it?”

“It worked before if that’s what you’re asking,” Dean shrugged while put other ingredients into an opaque bottle.

“Can we just behead her?” You questioned them, they both shared a look before looking back at you. “What?”

“How exactly are you planning on doing that?” The eldest Winchester sat across from you. You opened your mouth to answer, he held up his finger to stop you from doing so. “Granted you get close enough to do so which you won’t be able to, cause the witch would have already killed you.”

Your shoulders slumped down as you let out a sigh, “alright, you got a point. I don’t have your witch killing skills.”

“So, you’re telling me you never hunted a witch before?”

“Not really,” you shrugged on of your shoulders. “I mean I have crossed paths with some of them but I was never really alone when I hunted them. It was kinda easy to get close and to—” you clicked your tongue, making a swipe motion with your hand. “Equally as efficient as a—witch killing spell.”

“Probably, still, I think we’ll go with the spell on that one,” Sam interjected.

“Alright, suits yourself,” you leaned back in your chair.

“Did you find out where she lives?” Dean asked you.

“Yeah, not too far away from her job,” you replied. “Matthew sent me the address a few hours ago.  He’s still on the road. So, he’s safe away from Suzanne.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sam said, and passed you a piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

“Incantation for the spell,” he simply replied. “Just in case, one of us can’t do it.”

“Oh, okay.” You looked at the paper and took note that it was in Latin, “in tongues, fancy. Could you sound them out for me please?”

The three of you made your way to Suzanne’s home when night came. There were two cars in the driveway. As promised, it seemed, Riley was also there. All geared up the three of you made your way to Suzanne’s house.

The streets were quiet and dark.  Stark contrast with the house they were about to walk into. The lights were on in every room of the house. And as they got closer, voices, precisely two, could be heard. They were clearly yelling at one another.

You all burst through the door, spell at the ready. The scene that welcomed you made your heart dropped in your stomach. Matthew was laying on the ground, unconscious, unaware of what was going on around him.

You pulled out your gun and aimed it at the witch, “no! Please, don’t shoot!” Riley raised her hands in the air, stepping between you and her aunt.

“I’m gonna say this once,” you aimed for her head. “Step away from my brother or I’ll rip your lungs out.” Riley didn’t move, her eyes going from you to the men standing behind you. “NOW!”

She flinched and scampered off, “this is on you, honey,” Sue sneered at you. “You shouldn’t have asked so many questions.”

“My questions should be the least of your worries,” you retorted, your eyes locking onto your brother. “Boys, whenever you’re ready.”

Sue glared at you, she threw her hands in the air and you froze on the spot. Your body rigid, your muscles seizing up, unable to move. With her hands at her sides, palms up and words of an incantation flowing past her lips. Unbeknownst to you, blood started to seep out of your brother’s nose, lips and ears.

Sue was killing Matthew.

“Aunt Suzie, stop!” Riley begged her. “Please, you don’t need to do this. No more deaths, please!” Sue didn’t stop. In fact, she didn’t seem to hear her niece. Matthew’s body convulsed, more blood gushing out of his mouth and nose.

She had to save Matthew; she couldn’t let her aunt do this. She didn’t even know that her aunt could do this sort of things. First, Jerry got hurt and then Debbie was killed. And now Matthew, the man had been nothing but supportive to her and Jerry. She had to stop her aunt. In a desperate act, Riley pried the gun out of your hands, aimed it at her aunt and fired.

Your body lurched forward as you regain sensations in your limbs. Blood covered Matthew’s lifeless body. Sue’s hands were gripping her stomach, and Riley had your gun in her hands.

“I did this for you,” Sue looked at Riley, feeling betrayed by her own niece. “And this is the thanks I get. For all that I’ve ever done for you.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Riley cried. “I was just venting; I didn’t ask for Jerry to get hurt. Or for Debbie to die.”

“I was protecting you.”

Sam started to recite the incantation, Dean lit up the cloth stuffed at the neck of the bottle and threw the bottle at Sue. The bottle hit her, a swirl of white smoke engulfed her as she imploded in a mix of blood and ash.

“Matty!” You immediately rushed to your little brother, “come on, little man, wake up.”

Dean moved to Riley and pulled the gun out of her hands. Matthew came to, his hands grasping yours tightly. “What happened? Whose blood is that?”

Relief washed over you, “yours. Are you okay?”

He sat up, “I think so. I’m not really sure.”

“We’ll get you checked out,” you hugged him tightly. “At the hospital. Just to be sure.”

“If you need any help figuring out the third trial, call me,” you offered. You and Dean standing at the foot of your building. Sam and your brother stood next to the impala.

“I’ll think about it,” he scoffed.

“Come on, Bucko, you’re gonna need all the help you can get,” you shrugged up one of your shoulders. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He snorted, “says the woman who’s hunting alone.”

“Well, I might call for your help more if you were less insufferable,” you quipped back. “Be safe out there, Dean-o.”

“You too, sweetheart,” Dean said back, you turned away from him, a slight flush creeping up your cheeks. “Come here,” and he surprised you when he pulled you into a quick hug. Your left arm awkardly curled around his back as he squeezed you gently before letting you go.

Much too quickly to your taste.

Your brother walked up to you as the brothers climbed into their car. He threw his arm over your shoulders, both of you waving the brothers goodbye as they drove away.

“I like them,” Matt said pulling you tighter into his side.

“Yeah, they’re alright,” you shrugged.

“You should hunt with them more,” he steered you inside the building. “I feel better knowing that you’re not alone out there.”

“You know what, I might.”

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