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siampie · 3 months ago

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Still working on the ins and outs of how she's going to get involved in it. But I hope it'll work out well, and people will love it.

I'm having fun writing the next chapter, and it's giving more insight in her background. And having some interaction between the boys and her brother.

And also, just realised this might be actually the real first hunt they'll get to work together.

So excited for this! 💜💜😊😊

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 8

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 1.9 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) continues into the next chapter.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Garth, call me back please,” you said on the phone. “I need to know that you’re okay. Just call me, okay?”

You shut your trunk after dropping your duffel bag in. You were starting to get worried about Garth. You received a call from a hunter, two towns over, he couldn’t reach Garth but the latter had given him your number a few months ago just in case.

The last you’d heard of him or even spoken to him, was during that werewolf case, outside of Portland. And ever since, he went radio silent. You had no other way to reach him. You reached out to the Winchesters, questioning them about Garth. But they hadn’t heard from him, either.

Unfortunately, you had to put your worries regarding Garth at the back of your mind. The job never stopped.

“Anybody home?” You called, walking down the stairs that led you into the underground bunker.

“Hey, what brings you to our necks of the woods, Princess?” Dean greeted you at the foot of the stairs.

“I just finished up a hunt two towns over,” you explained. “Thought I’d make a quick stop. If that’s okay with you?”

“And if it’s not?”

“Too bad, I’m already here.” You moved past him as he rolled his eyes, stepping into the war room. “Woah. You look a little worse for wear,” you commented when you saw Sam.

He looked sickly sitting at the table, with a blanket around his shoulders, “good to see you too.” He let out a low ghost of a laugh.

You gave him a quick hug, “you got a terrible fever, my dude.” You placed your hand on his forehead, and brushed his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam assured you. But you weren’t convinced.

“Yeah, well, you need to take something for that fever,” you stepped around him towards the bedrooms area. “Like some paracetamol or something.”

“Hey, you’ve heard anything from Garth?” Dean followed you.

You shook your head, “nothing. I keep trying but he’s not returning my calls.” You stepped into your assigned bedroom, with Dean on your heels, “and my contacts haven’t heard of him either. I don’t like that.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it, anyway,” he retorted, you dropped your bag on the bed.

“I know—but I’m worried. I know he’s capable and all, but—he’s off the grid. And no one’s go off the grid unless—you know.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But it’s Garth. He’s a tough one.”

“Yeah,” you crossed your arms over your chest, letting out a deep breath. “I guess I’m just worried about him.”

“Yeah,” he turned around to leave your room.

“Hey, is everything okay with Sam?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he told you. “I’m handling it.”

And without a word, he walked out, pulling the door behind him.

“Noted.”

Although, you and Dean had grown somewhat friendly within the last few months. He was still guarded around you. Certain subjects, such as his brother’s conditions, were topics he’d rather not discuss with you. You were a little miffed about it. It was a little unfair, you thought, that he would shut you down. Not that you were much of an open book either.

Barefooted, dressed in dark spandex and tie dye crop top, you made your way into the kitchen. You dropped the empty laundry basket on the kitchen table. It was a lazy day at the bunker for you, the brothers were working on their own thing. You didn’t pry but you were curious, wondering whether or not it had anything to do with Sam’s declining health. Dean had made it clear that it wasn’t any of your business.

“Someone’s getting comfortable around here,” Dean quipped from behind you, startling you.

“How do you keep on doing this?” You hissed, clutching your chest. You looked down at his boots, “it’s not like you’re really quiet.”

“You should get your ears checked,” Dean walked up to the fridge.

“You’re right, I might have hearing problems,” you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “At least, it would explain all the nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

He scoffed, opening his beer bottle. Sam stumbled into the kitchen, looking worse than he had the morning you arrived. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, clammy with sweat because of his high fever.

“Can I get you anything, Sam?” You asked gently.

“No, I’m good,” Sam shook his head, with a strained smile. “Thanks,” he poured himself a glass of water.

The tension grew instantly when your eyes caught Dean’s while Sam walked out of the kitchen.

“Not so fast, Bucko,” you rushed to step in front of him, blocking his exit out of the kitchen. “I’ve been here a total of three days and he’s not getting better. So, what’s really going on?”

“That’s crazy,” you commented. “Shutting the gates of hell for good that sounds—unreal.”

“Locking away those sons of bitches, halve our workload,” Dean agreed. “Promised Land.”

“Just forgot to read the fine print, that’s all,” you said sardonically. “He’s gonna be okay, you know that, right?”

Dean’s eyes locked onto yours, “yeah, Sam’s a tough son of a bitch but I don’t know, man. Those trials are messing with him in ways even Cass can’t heal.”

“I still can’t believe you have an Angel on speed dial,” you shook your head.

“He’s not answering much these days,” he said dryly.

“So, there’s one trial left, right? And you haven’t figured out what it is, yet?”

“Still working on that,” Dean leaned against the wall.

You didn’t know exactly what to answer to that. So, you remained quiet. Frankly, you were trying to wrap your mind around the fact that the Winchesters were friends with an Angel of the Lord. Also, that prophets were real. This was a lot to take in.

And yes, the prospect of demons no longer being able to roam the earth was amazing. Was it worth the sacrifice? Sam and Dean thought it was and took on the challenge, still, this seemed unreal and unfeasible.

“You know he’ll pull through, right?” You tried, “you said it yourself; he’s a tough nut to crack. He’ll make it through.”

“Should’ve been me,” he said, his expression hardening to stone.

“Maybe it worked out this way because Sam needs to go through the trials more than you do?” You suggested very tentatively.

“I don’t want to hear that,” he growled, pushing away from the wall.

You watched as he stalked away from you, coming to the realization that the thought had probably crossed his mind already. The trials were messing with Sam in a very bad way, and Dean couldn’t fix it. It must be frustrating for him to see his little brother be in pain and not be able to do anything about it. And as a big sister, yourself, you understood the feeling more than he knew.

“Hey, stupid!” You greeted your brother, folding your clean and dry clothes, in your bedroom.

“Hey,” your brother, Matt, greeted back. “Are you on a hunt, right now?”

“Nah, having some R&R here in Kansas, why?” You asked curiously, pausing the folding.

“I think there’s a case here for you,” he breathed out.

“A case? How do you mean?”

“Well, some weird stuff had been happening lately at my workplace,” Matt started to explain, you could hear people talking in the distance, behind him.

“Weird how?”

“Look, a few weeks ago, one of my good buddy completely lost it and walked right into traffic,” he explained.

“And is he okay?”

“He’ll survive but it’s gonna take a while for him to recover fully,” Matt sighed. “There’s more.”

“Tell me,” you encouraged him to continue.

“A few days after that, another coworker thought drinking hot boiling water was a good idea.”

“What the hell?” You stood up from your bed, fishing for clothes. “Did something weird happen before it all started?”

“That’s the thing. Nothing changed,” your brother told you. “Does that sound like your kind of weird?”

“Yeah, it does,” you agreed. “I’m gonna hit the road as soon as I can. Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t touch anything until I get there.”

Once you changed into fresh clothes, you walked into the war room, clutching your duffel bag in one hand.

“You’re leaving already?” Dean questioned; his bows scrunched up.

Your eyebrows went up, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound pretty sad that I’m leaving.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, princess,” he rolled his eyes. “Just curious.”

“Whatever you say, bucko,” you snorted. “And to answer your question, yes, I’m leaving. My brother found me a case back home. I’m gonna go check it out.”

“I thought he wasn’t a hunter?” Sam asked you.

“He isn’t,” you shook your head. “It’s just that some weird things have been happening and he thought I could do something about it.”

“What kind of weird things?” Dean questioned.

“One colleague of his walked directly into traffic. And another one drank boiling water. I was thinking along the lines of cursed object or maybe some sort of mind control. But I’ll know more when I get there,” you shrugged.

“Do you want help?” Sam offered.

“I’m sure you guys have bigger fish to fry,” you shook your head quickly. Ready to bolt out of there. “I’ll call if I need anything.”

“Afraid of us meeting your family or something?” Dean stood up and walked up to you.

You glared up at him, “look, if you just want to come with, you can just say it.”

His lips tugged up at the corner, “come on, Sammy, grab your stuff.”

You puffed out a deep breath, “this ought to be fun.”

The impala parked next to your beat-up truck; you fished out your keys as you made your way to your building. Sam and Dean walked up behind you. You were still annoyed at their being there with you. It wasn’t so much; you didn’t want them to meet your brother. But more of your not wanting your brother to be part of the hunting world. It was your way of protection him. Sure, Matt had met Andy and Garth but no one else. And now, you were bringing the Winchesters to your door. You weren’t sure, it was a great idea.

You unlocked your door, Dean and Sam followed you inside. You dropped the keys on the table near the door, and you moved to your brother’s side. He was sleeping on your couch. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam took a look around your apartment. Up on your wall, next to your television, was a picture of four kids. Three out of four kids were sitting down, while the one he recognized as you, stood behind all three, with your arms around their shoulders. Looked like a school picture.

Your apartment looked lived in, it was neat, with some green plants here and there. There was a bookshelf in the small space near the couch, with some collectibles placed on it. A real nerd. He shook his head, turning back to you, your brother sitting up, slightly coming back to the land of the living.

“Go wash up your face, stupid,” you slapped his leg. “I’ll get some coffee ready for you.”

“Who are the lumberjacks?” Matt yawned.

“I’m Sam,” Sam was the first to introduce himself. “And that’s my brother, Dean. We’re friends of your sister.”

“Barely,” Dean mumbled, and you glared at him.

“So, you weren’t lying, you do have friends.” Matt teased you.

You stood up, before slapping his shoulder, “get going already.”

“So, we’re friends, now?” Dean said with a smug smile on his lips.

“Shut up.”

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#lovely mutuals #zepskies reads #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester x fem!reader

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siampie · 3 months ago

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Yes, her brother is her greatest support, and it's nice she can go back to him after a hunt. Also, it's sort of a love letter to my little brother who's actually always there for me. 😊😊

And she is very capable, in my head she's actually a real badass.

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 7

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 1.5 k

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Just a little light chapter. Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated.

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Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie; @lyarr24; @deans-baby-momma; @just-cuz22; @cheshirecat484;

@ninii-b; @msjb2002; @foxyjaina; @soph69420world; @kr804573;

@zepskies; @impalari; @urinternetmom; @sushiumex; @maackiimoo; @stoneyggirl2

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You were bopping your head at a tune playing in your mind while cooking. Lost in your own bubble, you didn’t see Dean walking into the kitchen, drawn there by the smell of the food. You had remained at the bunker for a few more days, in spite of your numerous spats with Dean.

“Whatcha you’re cooking, princess?”

You gasped at his question, your hand flying to your chest. “Wear a fucking bell, bucko.” You glared at him. “Stop sneaking up on me.”

You and Dean Winchester had become somewhat cordial in the few days you had stayed at the bunker. Especially, after your nightmare. Who would have thought that one drink could solve conflicts? Now, the bickering had not stopped entirely but they were less—hostile. Somewhat, they were almost friendly, dared you say?

He grabbed the spoon on the counter, “it’s not my fault if you couldn’t hear me.” And scooped up some of the sauce.

“Hey!” You protested as he brought the spoon to his mouth, “I hope it burns your tongue.” He smacked his lips a few times after slurping some of the sauce. “So?”

He shrugged, “not bad,” he placed the spoon back on the counter.

“Not bad?” You repeated, wounded in your pride. “It’s excellent. Perfect. The best curry I’ve cooked in a while. And all you gotta say is; not bad. How dare you?”

“I’ve had better.” Dean continued with a smirk.

“Where? In a burger joint?” You shot back, “you wouldn’t know good cuisine even if it was staring at you in the face. Get out of my kitchen, away with you.”

Dean raised his hands in a surrender manner, “no need to get your panties in a twist.”

“Not bad,” you grumbled under your breath.

Your moral had improved in the few days you remained there. Less anxious and depressed. You felt slightly better in your mind. There were many things you were still struggling with. But like most things, there were good and bad days.

And unfortunately, there had been more bad days, than there were good.

However, you couldn’t hide away in the bunker forever. You had to, eventually, go back real life. The job never truly stopped. And your brother had wanted to meet up with you, so, you had to leave for the time being.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Sam bent down to give you a quick hug.

“I won’t,” you smiled at him and turned to Dean, “try not to miss me too much, Bucko.”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied with a smirk.

You lightly punched his shoulder, “see you guys on the road.”

Your brother had been waiting for you at your apartment. As soon as you stepped into your home, his eyes roamed over you, checking you up for any injuries.

“I’m fine,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Matt shot back. “I mean you disappeared for days without texting me, once.” He scolded you. “So, yes, I’m gonna check if you’re alright.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you told him. “I didn’t disappear, I was staying with friends.”

“Friends?” He frowned at you, confused. “You don’t have friends.”

“Rude.”

“Well, it’s true,” he shrugged. “The only person you talk to is me, and I’ve never heard you mention a friend before. Let alone, friends.”

“You’re done?” You glared at him, “and that wasn’t the point.”

“What was the point?”

“That I was fine and safe where I was, so you didn’t have to worry about me.”

Now, he was the one to glare at you, “easy for you to say. You’re not the one who stays behind, knowing all about the monsters you’re hunting. And how fast it could turn into a shit show. You are also not the one who gets to see your face, every time you come back all black and blue from a hunt.”

Your eyes fell shut at his outburst, guilt now blooming in your chest. You took a deep breath and turned to him. He was truly worried about you and you kept dismissing him. He was younger than you, and you’d practically raised him, but it felt nice to know that someone was worried about you. And only wanted you to be okay. You pulled him tightly into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean to worry you; I’ll call more often. I promise.”

“You better,” he patted your back. “You’re my big sister, okay? I only got one like you, I’d love to keep you for as long as I can.”

You felt tears pressed against your eyes, your heart swelling with love for your younger brother. “I’ll do better.”

“I know.”

He’d always been your greatest support. Probably because he was the one who had stayed the longest in the household after your siblings left to leave their own lives. He was your greatest support then, and still was to this day.

It was you and him against the world.

Once your brother was reassured of your wellbeing, and staying at your apartment for a few more days, you made the decision to get back on the road. In fact, Garth had required your help with a hunt close by.

You walked into the rundown diner, greeting a waitress walking by you with a smile. It wasn’t really busy, empty tables mostly. But a few patrons were sitting at the counter, regulars probably. Garth, sitting at the window, waved at you. Your lips tugged up at the corner as soon as you saw him.

Garth was one of those people who could just put a smile on anyone’s face. You didn’t know what it was about the guy, but he had a way to wove his way into your heart. And once he was lodged there, you couldn’t take him out. It was impossible.

“It’s so good to see you,” Garth hugged you immediately.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you patted his back.

You nodded your thanks at the waitress who placed your order in front of you. “So, what do you need my help with?”

“A big bad wolf, not too far away from here.” Garth told you, “could do it on my own, but it might get ugly real fast. I thought I’ll ask for your help,” you stopped mid bite as he trailed off.

“My brother called you, didn’t he?”

“Andy,” Garth answered. “He’s worried and he’s not the only one.”

You took a bite out of your sandwich, “look,” you wiped your mouth, “I’m alright, there’s no need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Well, sometimes you get a little too much into your own head,” Garth said, raising his hands in the air. “And starts spiraling into your own dark little pool.”

You looked at him as he was spitting facts at you. Garth always had a way to tell the uncomfortable truth, and to look unbothered by the reactions he would get. You hated it and loved it at the same time.

You swallowed the hard pill, “I just had a couple of rough days, but I’m fine.” He gave you a pitiful smile, that somehow bothered you greatly, “At least, I’m getting there.”

It was easy to pretend with Sam and Dean that everything was alright. But with Garth, things were different. It was as though he could read your mind or something. Since the day you met him, on that fateful night, he had been able to read through you. You hated it and at the same time, you felt seen somehow.

You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

“GARTH,” you cried as the werewolf pounced on his small frame. You rushed to your friend’s aid, the beast snapping his sharp teeth at him. Garth struggled to keep him away.

You picked up the phone off of the ground and aimed it at the wolf, “hey, ugly!” You called, distracting the wolf, and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit his chest, and the wolf reared back, screaming in pain. Garth got back on his feet as fast as he could, his own gun back in his hands.

The werewolf growled at you, sneering almost. The silver bullet had hit his chest, but not his heart. Clearly, the monster was in pain. It didn’t stop him, though. You became his next victim; you took a step back as he stepped forward. He was faster than you, stronger than you. You had his attention, now what?

You aimed your gun at him once more. A shot rang. The werewolf let out a pained howl, gripping his chest. Before it turned back into a human, as it fell to the ground. Garth was standing behind him, smoke coming out of the gun he had just fired.

“You alright?” Garth asked you immediately.

You nodded, still shaken up by the near death, your eyes roaming his frame, checking him for any injuries. “You?”

“I’m good,” he nodded.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, before pointing to his shirt, “that looks like blood.”

“It’s not mine,” Garth assured you. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that was a close one,” you sighed. “Tell you what, we clean this up and I’ll take you out for a drink.”

“I thought you didn’t drink on weekdays?”

“You’re the exception to the rule,” you smiled at him. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

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#lovely mutuals #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader #zepskies reads

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siampie · 3 months ago

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THANK YOU SO MUCH SAPH!

This was amazing. I love it so much. It's so rare to see some enemies to lovers that involved Matt Murdock. Which I find odd because, let's face it, Matt can be quite insufferable at times.

And this is just AMAZING!

And yes, I would love to see more of these two. Because now, I'm intrigued. I want to know more.

🌻: I would love an enemies to lovers ficlet for Matt Murdock. Always been curious how an enemies to lovers would go with Matt Murdock. But since it's ficlet, I’d be more than happy with the just the midpoint of them turning from enemies to somewhat friends. But you're free to do as you please. I'd be happy with anything really.

Again congratulations for your 1K subscribers. I'm so happy for you and it's well deserved.

I hope this is sufficient, darling! If you want to see more for these two, let me know!

You wanted to deck Matthew Murdock right in his perfect fucking teeth.

You'd been fighting the urge to do so pretty much every day since you started working for Nelson, Murdock, and Page a few months ago. Foggy had begged you to jump ship with him when he left HCB, arguing that you'd do more good working for the common man. That you could get the experience you'd always dreamt of.

If that experience was counting to ten as your arrogant coworker slash employer taunted you with his own abilities, then you'd gotten what you wanted.

The smirk he was currently wearing as he silently challenged you was too damn smug. It deserved to be knocked straight off his mouth. Who on earth could look that cocky as they took on a shitload of work? Only Matthew fucking Murdock.

Stubborn as a mule yourself, you crossed your arms, angling one of your hips to the side in a defiant stance. Two could play this foolish game.

But then you saw Foggy's grimace—a hand flying up to rub at the back of his rapidly reddening neck as he averted his gaze. “Actually, I think Matt should take the lead on this one.”

Eyes bulging with surprise, you whirled to face him. “You don't trust me on this?”

“Of course I trust you!” He backpedaled, holding up his hands as you glowered at him. “But Matt just handled the Richardson case, and this one is so similar, and—”

Rage bubbled under your skin, the frustration you'd been bottling up for months threatening to overflow as Matt sent you a pitying smile. “We all want what's best for the client, don't we?”

His mocking tone hurled you over the edge. You stalked toward him with gritted teeth. “You narcissistic, duplicitous, expedient, piece of—”

“Woah now,” Rushing between you and the dark-haired lawyer you were closing in on, Foggy placed a hand on each of your shoulders guiding you backwards and out of Matt's office. “Lets chat outside, my little thesaurus.”

Huffing and puffing as Foggy scrambled to drag you out into the hallway, you turned on the blond, fuming. “I can't believe you're enabling this, Fog.”

“I'm not 'enabling' anything—”

“You are.” You interrupted, pacing angrily. “You're putting his desperate desire to flaunt his intelligence above the needs of the firm and our clientele.”

“I know it's been a slow week, but there will be more cases for you to—” Foggy tried for an appeasing tone, but you were having none of it.

“You think this is about *me*?” You asked incredulously, hands clenching into tight fists. “My ego isn't that goddamn fragile, Nelson. I don't need a pile of cases to prove my worth. This is about you and Murdock being so wrapped up in each other that you couldn't tell how goddamn terrified that woman was when you were speaking to her.”

“She wasn't..was she?“ Blowing out a breath, Foggy dropped his face into his hands. ”Shit.“

”I wasn't suggesting he wouldn't do well with this case when I asked to take it.“ You explained firmly, your heart clenching as you recalled how she had flinched at Foggy's overly animated greeting. ”I understand why both of you assumed I was just being difficult, I know my transition into this role hasn't been...the smoothest. But that woman has clearly experienced violence. I wasn't trying to fuck the two of you over, I was thinking about what would make her feel safe.“

As your rant came to an end, you were met with silence. A sheepish looking Foggy raking his hands through his hair as he processed. Before he could respond, a voice behind you made you both jump.

”You're right.“

Stepping out into the hallway, a much less giddy Matthew Murdock wrung his hands, appearing almost ashamed. ”I shouldn't meet with her alone. She won't open up.“

”My thoughts exactly,“ Narrowing your eyes, you waited for him to continue, to let the other shoe drop and remind you why you hated working with him.

“It's your case. I'll give you my Richardson notes, once I figure out how to print them in text rather than braille.” He laughed weakly, tilting his head at you.

Hesitating, you could feel yourself dancing around his extended olive branch, worried it would shift into a serpent once you'd accepted it.

“You could work the case together,” Foggy shrugged, eyes flitting between the pair of you nervously, like he'd just pulled the pin from a grenade.

“We could.” You tentatively agreed, raising an eyebrow at the firm's other namesake.

“I'll try not to step on your toes.” There was that same devilish smile he was always sporting.

“If you didn't, I'd be worried about you.” You snarked, striding back into the office as Matt laughed behind you.

#matt murdock x reader #lovely mutuals #saph's flower shop

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siampie · 3 months ago

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Break from Writing

Hello, everyone!

For those of you that have been following my stories, I've decided to take a little break from writing for now.

I feel a little burnt out by life and work, and other things of the sort. I just need to take a little breather, that's all. Just wanted to let you know.

But don't worry,

#my writing #getting personal #a little hiatus #michael kinsella #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #michael kinsella x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester x reader

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siampie · 3 months ago

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Thank you so much for this headcanons. This is so sweet, Matt would definitely be tuned into Reader when they're being overwelmed by their surroundings. 🥰🥰

Also, I love the idea of a weighted blanket in the form of Matt Murdock. I'd give anything to have his body weight on top of him. It would heal me completely, I think. 😅🥰🥰

I would love some lilies please 😊.

I was thinking of a headcanon for Matt Murdock. And I was wondering how would Matt take care of reader going through some sensory overload.

Can you tell DDBA has taken over my life? Also, I think I’m slowly pulling my sister to the dark side. I may convert her to follow our devil man, yet.

We all know Matt is no stranger to sensory overload. He’d be a PERFECT partner for someone going through it.

He could definitely tell when it was affecting you, before you got to shutdown/meltdown levels of overwhelmed

He can feel you flinching beside him, hear your fingernails digging deeper into the flesh of your palms with every crash or yell or other sudden noise.

The electricity in the building has been buzzing erratically and, though it’s the noise that’s bothering him, he bets the uneven strobing of the lights are not helping you

He starts with soft, tentative touches. Reminders that you aren’t alone, that you can lean on him, that he wants you to

You grip his hand tightly, trying to ground yourself by tracing the scars on his knuckles

But when you tear up after Foggy accidentally splashes you with beer, Matt decides to take initiative. He tells his friends he has a few things to do at home before suiting up, gently wrapping your arm around his and tugging you up from your seat to “guide him home”

As soon as you’re outside, he can feel your body sagging as the tension building in your every muscle is released. He makes sure to walk confidently, keeping you close at his side to avoid anyone bumping into you.

Once you’re home, he starts running a cool shower, letting you decompress before tucking you into bed or into a bundle on the couch, sitting in your lap for a change to provide some weight and stability

#matt murdock x reader #saph's flower shop #charlie cox

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siampie · 3 months ago

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Doing a little makeover of some of my banners. Also you can check out the new schedule for september.

Siampie's Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist. Here you can find and enjoy my series about Dean Winchester, Michael Kinsella, and Matt Murdock. Those are tumblr exclusives. You can find other works on mine on fanfiction.net under Siampie1990. There it is mainly OC stories, insert in many different fandoms. Don't hesitate to check it out.

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Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics

Masterlist of Michael Kinsella Fics

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siampie · 3 months ago

Text

This was so sweet 🥹🥹🥹

I need me some Mikey 😍😍😘😘

Mo Ghrá (Kin Fan Fic)

Words: ~1500 Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Summary: You're on your period and you miss Mikey. Warning: Period symptoms, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff, pumpkin obsession Masterlist / A03 Tags: @bellaxgiornata, @shouldbestudying41, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92

This little story interrupted the writing of "Bound". Guess Mikey wanted a little attention.

Thanks to @shouldbestudying41 for the title suggestion.

Mo Ghrá

You were on the couch, trying to find a position that was comfortable. It was a struggle. Your abdomen was in favor of the fetal position. Your lower back disagreed. Vehemently. Right now you were seeing if on your side, pillows supporting your back and heating pad pressed against your belly, would work.

You hoped so. You were so tired. You had gotten, maybe, two hours of sleep last night. If you added it all up. Yesterday hadn’t been much better. You had called off work, knowing there was no way you were hauling your ass into the office. Not today.

After failing for umpteenth time to find a comfortable position on your bed, you had given up on it. The couch wasn’t much of an improvement. Best thing you could say is that it wasn’t covered in sheets that smelled like stale sweat. You needed to change your bedding but that sounded like far too much work today . . . maybe, if you got lucky, you’d find the energy to fix that before attempting to sleep tonight.

You wished Michael was here. You wanted to bury your face in his chest hair while he rubbed your back with those large, warm hands. You wanted his voice softly murmuring into your hair. But you stayed at your place last night and yesterday night. Like an idiot. You didn’t know what Past You had been thinking. Probably some nonsense about needing to spend some time at your own place since you were still paying rent . . .

But you were also glad that Michael wasn’t here. Because you felt gross. You had scrapped up just enough energy for a shower this morning. But it was the second day of your period. When you had the worst cramps and the heaviest bleeding. So it didn’t take long for the refreshed, clean feeling to disappear.

You whimpered when another cramp ripped through your abdomen. The painkillers were wearing off. Granted, the ibuprofen was barely dulling your cramp pain. And it did absolutely nothing for your headache . . . But it was all you had. In a minute, you would get up and take more. Refill your water bottle while you were up. In a minute . . .

The knock on the door startled you. You weren’t expecting any company. Michael had mentioned something about running errands when you had called him to cancel your lunch date. Another disappointment, you had been looking forward to that date . . . you weren’t going anywhere special. Just the little cafe that you two had discovered that had really good coffee. Really good everything actually. Anna liked it too . . .

Another knock alerted you to that you had gone woolgathering instead of getting up and answering the door. It was tempting to pretend not to be home. But curiosity won out. Reminding yourself that you needed more medicine and water anyway, you wiggled out of your blanket cocoon and stood up.

Your abdomen protested the loss of the heating pad with an enormous cramp. The kind that made you double-up and brought tears to your eyes. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. You slowly straightened back up, then shuffled just as slowly toward the door. You reached it just as a third knock came. Whoever this person was, they were persistent.

You unlocked and opened the door to discover Michael standing here, a soft smile on his handsome, bearded face. “There ya are, pet. I was startin’ to think I had missed ya.”

“Mikey!” you said, torn between delight and embarrassment. You were happy to see him, of course, but you were also a mess. Crazy hair still wet from the shower, wearing old sweats, oversized tee shirt, and one of his hoodies. The one that you had shamelessly stolen from his house the last time you were over there.

Your unattractive messiness felt especially stark today. Michael’s hair and beard was neatly combed. He was wearing jeans, the ones that displayed just how fine that very fine ass of his was. And that sage green sweater that you had bought him, that really brought out those little flecks of green in his eyes, peeked out from under his jacket.

“I thought you were busy today?” You said.

“Just a few things,” he said. “Can I come in, pet? The coffee's gettin’ cold.”

“Coffee?” you repeated, suddenly realizing that one of his hands was occupied. In it was a drink carrier with two coffees in it. Coffees with the name of the little shop written across the cups. You also noticed a small white bag with the same logo dangling from that wrist. A bag that smelled like fresh-baked pumpkin bread.

Your mouth watered. You hadn’t eaten much today. Just lacked the energy and had been vaguely nauseous. You had nibbled on a cereal bar with some tea hoping that it would stay down. It did. But the nausea remained and nothing sounded appealing . . . not until your nose caught a whiff of that pumpkin.

“Pumpkin bread?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “And yer pumpkin spice latte.”

“Really?!”

“I know ya love yer pumpkin,” he said.

He was right. You loved pumpkin. Pumpkin bread. Pumpkin pie. Pumpkin cookies. Pumpkin spice coffee. One of your favorite things about autumn was all the pumpkin things you could find. Michael had teased you about it, said it was very American. You had retorted that his snobbiness about whiskey was very Irish of him.

Remembering that he was still standing on your doorstep and it was a rather brisk autumn day, you moved to the side and ushered him inside. You watched him move through your living room. Particularly when he bent down to put the coffees down on the little table. As predicted, his ass looked incredible in those jeans . . . you felt a spark of irritation at the universe. If only you weren’t on your period right now . .

As if to remind you of that little fact, you got another cramp. It wasn’t quite as bad as the last one but it still had you pressing your hands against your abdomen in a vain attempt to stop the pain. A pointed reminder that you needed to take that ibuprofen and put the heating pad back on. While Michael sliced off a few pieces from the loaf of pumpkin bread, you slipped off to the bathroom to take those painkillers.

“How are ya feelin’ pet?” Michael asked as you settled back on the couch.

“I’m grand,” you said. “Why do you ask?”

While his lips did give an amused twitch at your borrowing of his phrasing, his eyes flickered over to the heating pad and the blanket piled on the couch. “Ya were wincin’”

Of course he had noticed. Michael was nothing if not attentive.

You fidgeted. He had never exhibited any disgust for periods. Never made any crude jokes, reacted with calm practicality every time it had come up. Anna had been more embarrassed by her dad buying her tampons than he had been going to shop to buy them. But your period wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about. You really didn’t want to talk about it with Michael.

For some reason, he seemed to think you were beautiful. And you didn’t want anything to destroy that particular delusion of his.

On the other hand, you didn’t want to lie either. You and Mikey were trying to build something solid here. Something that would last. Honest communication was key to that goal. And . . . well, your periods weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

“It’s just my period,” you muttered, staring at your feet. Your socks didn’t match. One was a bright pink. The other was black. You hadn’t even noticed before now. Tears filled your eyes. Couldn’t even dress yourself properly. You really were a disaster.

“Pet?”

His voice was closer than you expected. It startled you into looking up. Seeing your tears, the concerned frown deepened. “Can I sit with ya?”

You nodded. He sat down next to you, then turned so he was mostly facing you. He held his arms open in clear invitation. One you couldn’t resist. You slide into his arms, borrowing your face into his chest. The sweater might not have been the chest hair you had been craving earlier but you still had his strong arms around you. You had his cologne that smelled like a blend of whiskey, coffee, vanilla along with notes that you couldn’t describe as other than Mikey in your nose. Which was pretty damn good.

It got even better when one of those wonderfully warm hands began massaging your lower back while the other helped maneuver the rest of you into a more comfortable snuggling position. Michael was so warm. He was just as good as your heating pad. Better. Because your heating pad couldn’t murmur sweet nothings into your ear.

One of these days you were going to have to ask him what mo ghrá meant. Everyone had refused to tell you. Just smiled and told you to ask Michael.

You did eventually manage to drink your coffee and eat your slice of pumpkin bread, followed by more snuggles with Mikey. You felt your eyes getting heavy as the combination of comfort and warmth lulled you into sleep. The last thing you felt before you drifted off was lips pressing against your forehead with another soft mo ghrá.

END NOTES

mo ghrá is Irish for "my love".

#michael kinsella #michael kinsella fluff #writer appreciation

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