#and so to force his focus on him he kills foggy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

confietti · 1 year ago

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CAN U WRITE FOR SUKUNA IM BEGGING HJFJFJRR

Never Lose Me

you knew sukuna would kill you if he knew where you were right now, but you didn't care. you had it in your airy little head that he was a cheater because of what one of your 'homegirls' told you.

it all started when you were in your shared apartment laid on the bed scrolling through instagram waiting for 'kuna to come home when your 'friend' sent you a picture of him hugging this girl.

you never were the smartest, so you never second-guessed the photo. you on the other hand immediately broke down into tears. sukuna never liked her and always suggested you get better friends for a reason.

he always got weird vibes from her because she continuously tried to make passes at him whenever you weren't around.

you could only imagine your boyfriend's surprise to get drunken texts and voicemails of you telling him to 'go fuck himself' and how you 'don't need him'.

my supersoaker🫶🏼💞: [ forwarded an image ]

my supersoaker🫶🏼💞: nigga FUCJ you

my supersoaker🫶🏼💞: i thoguth we had somethgin anf you trwest me like thid??? i hste you!

hubby💝: ??? baby? who sent you that???

hubby💝: and are you at the fucking club??

you stared at your phone through teary eyes as you blocked his number and turned off location sharing. you shoved your phone into your purse and continued to drink.

sukuna had been watching from across the bar for probably 20 minutes now. he watched you flirting with the guy you were talking to for maybe the same amount of time. he studied the way you held onto his arm and laughed at all his jokes. it made his blood boil.

“what do you say we take this a step further hm?~” his hand slipped up your thigh and you giggled when he started nibbling on your neck.

“nah fuck this.” your boyfriend slammed his drink on the counter and stormed towards you, angrily shoving people out of the way but he didn't care. his main focus was you.

he didn't say anything as he heaved you over the shoulder like a sandbag, ignoring your protests and the weird looks he got as he exited the bar. he practically threw you in the passenger's seat and locked the door.

the car ride to his house was dead silent. except for your protests and complaints about your boyfriend's behavior.

“Bitch why the fuck did you do all that for?” you stared at him with your arms crossed over your chest in annoyance, glaring at him for an answer that never came.

the rest of the ride was just you looking out the window and light curses underneath your breath of “cheating ass”, “hoe ass”, “worthless ass”.

once you got home, sukuna parked the car and dragged you into his house with a tight grip on your arm.

he walked into his bedroom and threw you down on the bed before locking the door. then sukuna finally spoke after what was hours after not speaking.

“you gonna explain your sudden little tantrum or do i have to fuck the attitude outta you first?”

sukuna chuckled when you still had your arms crossed over your chest, not looking in his direction. your eyes were puffy as you let out little hiccups and sniffles. you were still mad at him for spoiling your fun. how cute.

just then he harshly gripped your chin forcing you to look at him. “it’s really rude to not look people in the eyes when they’re talking to you.”

his hands traveled down to your neck and he squeezed it tightly, you felt a breathy chuckle in your ear before he began to speak.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh ma?”

it was about 20 minutes later and your brain was so foggy to the point where you couldn’t remember how you got into this position.

your boyfriend had you on all fours, one of his hands pulling your hair back into a makeshift ponytail, the other wrapped around your neck pulling your head back to whisper the most disgusting things into your ear.

“you think what you said t’me was nice? you thought it was funny to send me those voicemails and texts while i was working? huh? y’had me worrying my ass off you dumb. fucking. bitch.”

he emphasized those last three words with harsh thrusts, before pulling your head back to tap his fingers at the side of your cheek. “open.” he mumbled before spitting roughly in your mouth. “swallow all that shit.” he spat before shoving your face back into the pillow before you.

he took this time to analyze how small your figure was compared to his. you were so much smaller… so vulnerable… so much easier to manhandle.

sukuna decided to tease you. fucking you slowly, working every inch of his thick cock into your little hole as slowly as he could. he wanted you to memorize every vein and inch. he wanted to make sure you never forget tonight and you should never disobey him ever again.

“wouldn’t have to be this way if you were just a good little girl who followed the rules. tsk.” this had been going on for hours now. the rough fucking, the degradation, even after what? 4 orgasms? he still hasnt had his. you figured out by now that this wasn’t a punishment… he wanted to torture you.

“p-pleasee ryo.. i’m- haa~ s-sorry! wan’ you t’fill me up. please!” he chuckled darkly. “ y’want me to fill you up? huh?” “please! hnghh- m’sorry!” “you never did have any shame did ya hun?”

sukuna’s thrusts began to get sloppier as he was nearing his release. you whimpered for him to slow down as your tear stained face was pressed into the pillow. his balls slapping against your clit with each harsh thrust.

“i won’t f-fuck- i wont slow down. you’re grown, right? if you can go to the bar on your own then you can take this shit like a big girl, right?”

before you knew it hot ropes of cum start spurting out filling your tight cunt. your boyfriend’s thrusts began to slow down until they came to a complete stop.

he slowly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers to keep his seed in. humming lowly before getting up to get some towels from the bathroom.

you woke up the next morning in his shirt. you tried to get up before feeling an immense pain in your back. you groaned before you felt a large hand rubbing at the small of your back.

“y’wanna talk about your feelings now? if you don’t want too then we can always go for round two. i still have some energy left over.” he smirked down at you.

“also.. this was supposed t’be a surprise but… the girl i was hugging in the picture you sent wasn’t anybody baby. remember when we were apartment shopping and you mentioned you really wanted the one in tokyo?”

you nodded as sukuna pushed some of your hair behind your ear to see your face better.

“it’s ours now.” sukuna thought that nothing could compare to your smile in that very moment as you hugged and peppered kisses across his face while murmuring little ‘thank yous’ in his ear.

“yeah, yeah.” he chuckled and hugged you back. “you could never lose me that easily.”

a/n: thank you so much for this request anon!!! it took me a little while but i really enjoyed writing it. hope you enjoy!! </3!!

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little-diable · 1 year ago

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I'd rather be with you – Spencer Reid (smut)

I won't lie, I love a good enemies to lovers Spencer fic. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Spencer hate one another, at least in the moments where they're not tangled beneath the sheets.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, oral (m), face fucking, bickering, love confession, enemies to lovers

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (2.3k words)

Her necklace bounced off her naked chest with every thrust, with every moan leaving her as if it was her last. Her necklace bounced off her naked chest with every jerk of his hips, forcing his cock even deeper into her. Her necklace bounced off her naked chest with every call off her name, with every tug on the small pendant dangling between her breasts.

The necklace was a reminder, a reminder whenever Spencer’s eyes snapped down to it, momentarily distracted from the case they were working on – just for a second or two, though seconds too long for a man with a brain like Spencer‘s. She was his nemesis, the one that has taught him what it means to hate somebody, but yet, in the moments where he fucked her on the nearest surface, he couldn’t remember the hate she elicited inside of him.

“Spencer? Shit, I truly fucked your brains out last night, huh?” A dark chuckle left (y/n) as she leaned back against the table, arms crossed in front of her chest. A growl left the smart man, murmuring something under his breath she couldn’t pick up on. And yet her smirk didn’t waver, glued to her lips.

Before Spencer could reply with snarky words rolling off his tongue, Derek had stepped into the room that had been assigned to them. His eyes were focused on his phone, speaking to Penelope with a bright smile – a sight that left (y/n) fawning over the two. Whenever she watched Penelope and Derek interact, she felt some kind of hope burning inside of her, a kind of hope that left her praying that somebody will eventually treat her with this much love and respect.

“I’ll talk to you later, babygirl.” Derek hung up the call before his eyes first found (y/n)’s and then Spencer’s, smirking at the two profilers. “Good to see that you didn’t kill one another while I was gone. Hotch wants you two to visit the unsub’s childhood home again.”

“But we’ve been there this morning?” Spencer cut into the conversation before (y/n) could ask the same question. An annoyed huff left her, very well knowing what he was trying to do, taking away the focus from the woman he couldn’t stand, the woman he had always detested, hated since the first case they had worked together.

“Hotch wants us to go through the photo albums again, maybe we’ve missed something, and why not send our two superbrains to go through the pictures. It’d take the rest of us way too long to do it.” (Y/n) had already reached for her jacket before Derek had finished his sentence, watching with amusement glistening in his eyes how Spencer followed her out of the room, probably already plotting over a new chance to finally murder her.

……

“Oh fuck, fuck, Spencer.” Her moans echoed through the foggy bathroom, back pressed against his front as he fucked her closer and closer to the edge. The warm water kept streaming down their bodies, washing away the reminders of the past day, of their arguments, and their bottled emotions.

His teeth left marks on the spot where her neck met her shoulders, drawing pained whines from (y/n). She couldn’t speak up, couldn’t remember how to speak, fully distracted by the feeling of his cock nudging her swollen spot with every thrust. She was putty in his hands, allowing him to do as he pleased. No matter the spiteful words she wanted to speak, riling him up even further, she kept quiet, not daring to push Spencer away when she was so very close to her release.

“Look at that, did I finally manage to shut you up?” His words were rough, dripping with a mean undertone that momentarily managed to rip her out of her state.

“Fuck you, Spencer, don’t act as if–” her rambling was cut short by the feeling of Spencer pulling away, leaving her empty. (Y/n) clumsily turned around in his grasp, staring up at the man with wide eyes, wondering what was about to happen.

“Onto your knees, it seems like you still haven’t learned your lesson.” She struggled to drop to her knees, holding onto him as the water kept cascading down his back. Spencer forced his cock into her mouth, making her choke on the air lingering inside her lungs. He fucked her mouth with moans clawing through him, sounds that left her swollen bundle of nerves pulsing.

Spencer had always been rough with her, taking the upper hand she claimed around their team, stealing his title of being smarter than them all. He had detested her from the start, jealous of the way she managed to interact with the team, how she seemed to know how to handle every situation, no matter her high IQ. Perhaps it truly was jealousy that had pushed him away, not understanding how someone with an IQ almost as high as his didn’t struggle to with simple interactions like he did, how she made it seem so effortlessly easy.

“You act as if you’re so much better, as if you don’t give a shit about me. But let me tell you something, doll,” a groan left Spencer as one of her hands found his cock, holding onto the part he hadn’t pushed down her throat just yet. “You are nothing special.”

Spencer was too far gone to pick up on the hurt expression tugging on her features, no longer focusing on the sounds he made, on the way his cock rested on her tongue, all she could focus on were his words, the spiteful insults. Her heart skipped a few beats, unsure how to react, not understanding what he was trying to tell her.

“They don’t see through your pathetic games, you’re nothing but an imposter, but trust me, I always win, every single game.” His cock twitched in her mouth, about to cum down her throat, about to force her to swallow his every drop. Perhaps she deserved being treated like this after the things she had said today, the way she had made fun of him - whatever it had been, (y/n) was now paying the price.

He came with a moan, head rolling back, hand gripping her hair. (Y/n) didn’t dare move, unable to stop thinking of the words he had spoken, of the insults he had thrown his way. She barely noticed how he pulled away, how he reached a hand out of her to take, pulling her back to her feet.

No further words were spoken between the two, she didn’t give him a chance to fuck her again, to push her over the edge. She left the shower before he could touch her again, quickly redressing herself to find her way to her hotel room.

……

The sound of somebody softly knocking on her door forced her eyes away from her book. She needed a few seconds to snap into motion, wondering who wanted to speak to her that late in the evening, wondering if it was Hotch to tell her that they had a breakthrough with their case. But the sight of Spencer waiting in front of her door left her frozen in her movements, looking at him with raised eyebrows and confusion swimming in her pupils.

“Can I?” (Y/n) stepped aside, allowing him to find his way into the room, walking towards the bed she had been laying on moments ago. They were engulfed by an uncomfortable silence, looking at one another to try and figure out what he was doing, why he had found his way to her.

“It’s late Spencer, what are you doing here?” Her voice had an unfamiliar undertone to it, urged on by the uncertainty she felt, still focusing on the angry words he had spoken earlier. He cleared his throat, gaze flickering down to his slender fingers, fumbling with them as his mind kept racing, trying to speak up, trying to say the words he struggled to speak out loud.

“I haven’t met many people who have an IQ that’s way above the ordinary, well, at least not normal people who aren’t killers. I am not used to feeling intimidated, but I am used to being the one people make fun of, I am used to feeling alone and to being the outsider. But it had never been like that with the team, they’ve accepted me and the way I am, I didn’t have to prove myself like I had been forced to do before meeting them. But then you joined the team, and suddenly I was once again back to being caught in a fight of proving myself. For the first time in years I no longer feel like I fit in.” His words made tears well up in her eyes, slowly sitting down next to the rambling man with her hand finding his warm one. (Y/n) squeezed his hand, encouraging Spencer to keep on speaking, to let go of the bottled up words he had tried to swallow down for the past months.

“Hating you is so much easier than accepting that you’re everything I’ve always wanted. Hating you is so much easier than forcing myself to accept that I don’t have any reason to be jealous of you, than accepting that you’re perfect for me. You’re everything I’ll never be.” A shaky breath left Spencer, once again allowing the thick silence to wrap itself around the two. She needed quite a few moments to speak up, to see through the information he had just dumped on her.

“I knew that there was some kind of jealousy that left you to treat me like that, and I guess I gave in, I played the game instead of trying to figure out why you acted like that. I am sorry that I make you feel like that, Spence. But fuck, you truly have nothing to be jealous of. You’re so much more than just a smart brain, and whoever won’t see that must be blind.” Their eyes met, making a small smile tug on Spencer’s lips before he titled his head down to softly kiss her. The gasp leaving (y/n) allowed him to deepen the kiss, hand letting go of hers to pull her into his lap.

“I am sorry for being such an asshole who is heavily crushing on you.” A laugh broke through (y/n) at his words, forehead falling against his.

“I am sorry for being such a bitch who is heavily crushing on you.” (Y/n) found herself being pushed down on the mattress, with Spencer laying half on her and half on the mattress, lips locked in a loving kiss. One of his hands started to wander, finding its way under her shirt, down to her panties.

“I owe you at least two orgasms, don’t I?” She couldn’t reply, interrupted by a moan as his fingers pushed her panties aside, finding her pulsing clit. Spencer moved his fingers just the way she needed him to, touching her like he had done numerous times before. Her heart was pounding, mind hazy and filled with lust, purely focusing on Spencer.

“I want to cum on your cock, fuck me again, please Spence.” He shuffled around, pulling her panties down before he freed his hard cock. Neither of them wanted to waste any time, set on properly fucking, needing to feel one another close. (Y/n) watched him spit into his hand, lubing himself up before he pushed into her.

(Y/n)’s moans spurred him on, arms finding their way around his neck, tugging him down for a greedy kiss. He fucked her ruthlessly, though without any anger guiding him, allowing his heart to finally give into the love he felt for her. No longer were they speaking hateful words, no longer were they set on making one another pay for their teasing, fucking like lovers for the first time.

“I love you, so fucking much.” His words left (y/n) gasping in surprise, eyes rolling back into her head the second his skilled fingers found her bundle of nerves. Her sounds made him feel as if he had ascended to heaven, engulfed by the sounds no human had ever been fortunate enough to hear. And even as she spoke the loving three words he had just spoken, Spencer couldn’t stop himself from staring down on her.

Spencer picked up his pace, fucking her into the mattress like a mad man, set on leaving marks that would stay for eternity, never fading, always renewed by his wandering fingers and lips. He marveled at (y/n), hoping that he’d never part from her again, he wouldn’t survive being away from her, needing her like a shot of insulin to save his heart.

“Fuck, feels so good.” His cock stretched her perfectly, forcing her walls to adjust as he kept pounding into her, not holding back with his lips pulled into a smirk and his eyes staring down on her. She clawed her fingernails into his skin, drawing blood from the marks she left, leaving Spencer torn between a hiss and a moan.

The second he added more strength to his touch, rubbing her clit faster than before, she gave in, tumbling over the edge without another warning. His name left her over and over again, guiding him through his own high. She felt him paint her walls white, heard him choke on his moans, saw him collapse on top of her.

And for the first time since they’ve started sleeping with one another, neither of them felt the need to escape, to hide away from the other.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds smut #Spencer Reid imagine

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alittlegiraffe · 3 months ago

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Title: "Backstage Cravings: Part 2"

The party blurred around you—just noise and color and heat. None of it mattered.

Because you were with him.

Marshall had you tucked against him in the booth, his arm draped over your shoulders, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your hip.

It was maddening.

You were already gone—drunk, not on alcohol, but on him. On his touch, his scent, the rough scrape of his beard when he leaned in to murmur something low and teasing in your ear.

He wasn’t even paying you full attention. He was caught in a conversation with someone—one of the producers, maybe. You weren’t sure.

Because his hand—

His hand was killing you.

His fingers dragged just under the hem of your dress, feather-light but deliberate. He knew what he was doing. Knew you were barely hanging on.

You were slipping into that place—that soft, foggy, submissive space where nothing else mattered except him.

Then—

"Hey, I was wondering where you went."

A voice.

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus as someone stepped up to the table.

Oh.

It was the guy from earlier—the one you’d been talking to before Marshall dragged you away.

You smiled, polite but distracted. "Oh, hey."

Marshall’s fingers paused.

The air shifted.

"I didn’t mean to interrupt," the guy continued, glancing between you and Marshall. "Just wanted to say it was nice talking to you earlier."

Marshall’s grip tightened.

The lazy strokes on your hip turned to something firmer, possessive.

You swallowed, your body hyper-aware of his touch, his presence.

"Yeah, you too," you replied, your voice softer, breathier than you meant. Because Marshall’s hand—

His fingers dragged along your inner thigh, deliberate and slow.

The guy chuckled, oblivious. "So, uh—how long have you and Em known each other?"

Marshall finally turned his head, his gaze dark. His fingers dug into your skin, his jaw clenching.

"Long enough," he said, his voice dangerous.

The guy hesitated, glancing at Marshall’s grip on you.

You could feel the heat rolling off him, the sheer, coiled tension in his body. His jealousy was radiating.

Marshall tilted his head slightly, his fingers sliding even higher, making you tremble.

The guy took a step back.

"Uh, well," he said, clearing his throat. "It was nice meeting you."

He walked away. Fast.

The second he was gone, Marshall leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You liked that, didn’t you?" His voice was low, rough, threatening. "Me gettin’ all possessive over you?"

You whimpered, pressing closer.

His grip tightened.

"You wanna act all polite while I’m sittin’ here ready to fucking lose it?"

His hand slipped under your dress, fingers grazing over your soaked panties.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, smirking when he felt just how wrecked you already were.

Then, his lips brushed over your jaw.

"You better hope we make it back to the hotel," he whispered, his voice like gravel.

"‘Cause I don’t think I can wait much longer."

---

Marshall was seething.

You could feel it—rolling off him in waves, tightening his grip on your waist as he led you through the afterparty crowd, straight toward the exit. His jaw was clenched, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to strike.

And you?

You were soaked.

His jealousy ruined you. Had you aching, needy, every nerve in your body strung tight because you knew what was coming.

The second you stepped outside, the cool night air hit you—right before he did.

The guy.

Again.

“Oh, hey—”

You barely had time to react before Marshall yanked you behind him, putting himself between you like a fucking wall.

The air turned thick.

The guy hesitated, glancing between the two of you. "Didn’t mean to—uh—bump into you."

Marshall didn’t say a word. Just stood there, staring, his grip on your wrist unrelenting.

You saw it happen in real time—the guy realizing he’d fucked up, realizing he’d pushed too far.

He took a step back. “I was just heading—”

"Yeah," Marshall finally spoke, voice low, controlled. "You were."

The guy nodded, mumbled something, and practically ran down the street.

Silence.

Then—

Marshall grabbed you.

Not rough. Claiming.

Your back hit the car, the cool metal shocking against your heated skin. Before you could even gasp, Marshall was on you—his hands bracketing your hips, pressing his body flush against yours.

"You think I fuckin’ like that?" His voice was pure gravel, breath hot against your lips. "Other people lookin’ at you? Thinkin’ they even got a chance?"

You whimpered, shaking your head, pressing your palms to his chest. "No, daddy."

"No, daddy," he mocked, his smirk dangerous as he gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"You liked it, though," he accused, tilting his head. "Liked watchin’ me get all fuckin’ worked up over you."

You swallowed, your breath shaky.

"Answer me."

"Y-yes," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Marshall growled.

"Fuckin’ knew it."

Then—

His lips crashed against yours.

Hot. Possessive. All tongue and teeth, leaving no room for hesitation.

His hands roamed—one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your ass, pulling you flush against his hard length.

"You’re mine," he muttered against your mouth, grinding against you, making you feel how hard he was. "You fuckin’ get that?"

"Yes, daddy," you gasped, gripping his hoodie.

His fingers fisted in your dress, tugging it up. "Then show me."

Your heart pounded, eyes flicking toward the club doors—anyone could walk out.

"Here?" you whispered, breathless.

Marshall grinned, dark and dangerous.

"Here."

Then his fingers slid into your panties, and all you could do was hold on.

The car ride back to the hotel was tense.

Marshall had you wrecked against the side of the SUV, his fingers buried inside you, his grip tight as he reminded you—over and over—who the fuck you belonged to.

But he didn’t let you come.

Not outside. Not in the car.

Just played with you, kept you shaking and needy, pushed you right to the edge before pulling back, chuckling darkly when you whined.

By the time you got to the hotel, you were dripping for him.

And he knew it.

The second the door slammed shut behind you, he snapped.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, shoving your dress up, fingers digging into your thighs as he pinned you against the wall.

"You think I’m done with you?" he muttered, voice dark, dangerous.

You barely had time to shake your head before his mouth was on you—hot and unrelenting, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hands gripped your ass, lifting you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, your body already surrendering, already giving in to him completely.

Marshall growled, his lips dragging down your throat, biting, sucking, marking you.

"Been fuckin’ waiting all night to wreck you," he muttered against your skin. "Teasin’ me, lettin’ other motherfuckers look at you—"

"I—I wasn’t—"

His hand cracked against your ass, the sudden sting making you gasp.

"Don’t," he warned, eyes blazing as he held you there, completely at his mercy. "Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, baby."

You swallowed, nodding, your entire body trembling.

"That’s what I thought."

He threw you onto the bed.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on you again—shoving your dress over your head, tossing it aside like it offended him.

His fingers hooked into your panties, tearing them down your legs before flipping you onto your stomach.

"You wanna act like a fuckin’ brat?" His hands pinned your wrists above your head, his chest pressed to your back, his breath hot against your ear.

"Then I’m gonna fuck you like one."

Your entire body shook, your thighs already squeezing together in desperate, aching need.

"Please," you whimpered.

Marshall chuckled darkly, nipping at your shoulder. "Oh, you’re beggin’ now?"

You nodded frantically.

"Should make you wait even longer," he muttered, dragging his fingers down your spine, teasing, taunting. "But you’re so fuckin’ wet for me, baby—"

His fingers slid through your soaked folds, and you cried out.

"Dripping for me," he groaned, grinding against your ass. "All mine."

"Yes, daddy," you gasped. "Only yours."

Marshall growled—and then he snapped.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t hold back.

He slammed into you in one rough thrust, stretching you, claiming you, his grip unrelenting as he fucked you hard against the mattress, every thrust forcing a desperate, needy moan from your lips.

"Who fuckin’ owns you?" he muttered against your ear, his breath ragged, his body relentless.

"You," you sobbed, gripping the sheets. "You do, daddy—"

"Damn right I do," he growled, his pace brutal, each thrust deeper, harder, forcing you closer and closer to the edge.

He reached down, rubbing tight circles against your clit, dragging you over with him, both of you coming so hard you saw stars.

When you finally collapsed against the sheets, trembling and breathless, Marshall didn’t move—just held you there, his body pressed to yours, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

"You’re mine," he whispered, softer this time.

You smiled, pressing your cheek against the pillow.

"Always, daddy."

---

The hotel room was quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing. Your body still trembled from everything Marshall had just done to you—every touch, every command, every possessive growl that had left his lips. He hadn’t just claimed you. He’d ruined you in the best way possible.

And yet…

You could feel it.

He wasn’t done.

His weight still pressed against you, his arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and even though his body had relaxed slightly, you knew him.

This wasn’t over.

Marshall’s fingers brushed over your hip, slow and thoughtful. Then his lips—soft, teasing—pressed against your shoulder.

“You really thought I was just gonna let that be it?” His voice was a low rasp, still rough from everything he’d said to you earlier.

Your stomach fluttered.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim light of the room. His blue eyes were darker than usual, filled with something more than just jealousy or hunger.

Something deeper.

“Didn’t think you had anything left,” you teased, your voice still breathless.

Marshall smirked, fingers tightening on your hip.

“For you?” he murmured, his lips brushing your jaw. “Always.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

This was different.

He’d been fierce earlier, rough, driven by jealousy and possession. But now? This was intentional. A slow, steady reminder that even when the heat of the moment passed, even when no one else was around to challenge him—

You were still his.

He rolled you onto your back, leaning over you, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb traced over your lips, his eyes locked onto yours.

“You get why I lose my mind over you, don’t you?” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “Why I can’t stand the idea of someone else even looking at you?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

“Because I’m yours,” you whispered.

His jaw clenched, and for a second, he just looked at you—like he was trying to memorize you, like he wanted to burn the image of you beneath him into his mind.

Then—

He kissed you.

Not rough. Not desperate.

This was different.

It was deep, slow, lingering. Like he wanted to make sure you felt it, like he wanted to leave something behind with every brush of his lips.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, sighing against his mouth as he pressed even closer. His body was warm, solid, safe.

And you realized—

This wasn’t just about possession.

This was about devotion.

He didn’t just want to claim you. He wanted to keep you.

And you’d never wanted anything more.

---

Morning came slowly.

The hotel room was still dark, the heavy curtains blocking out the early light, but the warmth wrapped around you was unmistakable. Solid. Heavy. Unrelenting.

Marshall had you trapped.

His arm was slung over your waist, his chest pressed to your back, his legs tangled with yours like he couldn’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between you.

You stirred slightly, stretching, but the second you moved, his grip tightened.

A low grumble rumbled against your neck. “Don’t even think about it.”

A sleepy smile pulled at your lips. “Think about what?”

“You know what.” His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual, dangerous in a way that sent a slow, warm shiver down your spine. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You sighed, sinking further into the bed, fully prepared to let yourself be kept there forever. “Didn’t know I needed permission to get up.”

Marshall huffed, nuzzling against the crook of your neck. “You don’t.”

Then his lips brushed against your skin.

“But I ain’t lettin’ you.”

A flush crept over you, warmth blooming in your chest. There was no edge of jealousy this time, no lingering frustration from the night before. Just him—possessive in the way only he could be, in the way that made you feel like you belonged to him, but also that he belonged to you.

You shifted slightly, your body still sore from everything he’d put you through last night, and he noticed.

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled against your shoulder.

“You feel me, huh?” His hand slid over your stomach, slow and teasing, like he was reminding you of exactly what he’d done to you. “Bet you’re sore as fuck.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “A little.”

Marshall grinned against your skin. “Good.”

His fingers drifted lower, tracing the curve of your hip, his touch light, lazy—like he had all the time in the world to just lay there and keep you like this.

“You’re mine, you know that?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You turned your head slightly, catching the way his half-lidded blue eyes were locked onto you, hazy but still burning with something deep.

“I know,” you whispered.

His grip tightened slightly, fingers flexing against your skin.

“Then stay.”

It wasn’t a demand. Not really. It was something more.

You smiled, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, his soft, messy curls brushing against your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere, Marshall.”

And that was all he needed.

His body relaxed against yours again, his lips pressing a slow, warm kiss to your shoulder. He let out a deep breath, content, settled, and for the first time in a long time—

It felt like peace.

---

The hotel room was still quiet, the world outside waking up while you were still wrapped in the warmth of him.

Marshall hadn’t loosened his grip.

Not even a little.

You shifted again, stretching beneath the sheets, but the second you tried to move from his hold, his arm tightened around your waist.

You huffed a soft laugh. “Baby, I gotta get up.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice was thick with sleep, raspy, but there was no missing the edge of stubbornness in his tone.

You turned slightly, just enough to catch the lazy smirk on his lips, the way his blue eyes were barely open, but still locked onto you like he was making sure you weren’t actually going anywhere.

“Marshall,” you started, trying again.

He groaned, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his scruff scraping against your skin. “You really wanna fight me on this?”

Your stomach fluttered.

His grip on you changed—less sleepy, more deliberate. His hand slid down, over your stomach, fingers teasing at the hem of the t-shirt you’d thrown on at some point in the night.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your spine.

“Thought you’d be too tired,” you murmured, voice soft, teasing.

Marshall chuckled against your skin. “You underestimate me, baby.”

His fingers splayed over your hip, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world to remind you exactly what you were to him.

“Stay,” he muttered again, voice lower now, thick with something darker.

You should have known he wasn’t just keeping you in bed for sleep.

You turned fully onto your back, eyes locking onto his, and that smirk of his deepened.

His knee slid between yours, his hand gripping your thigh, pressing you open beneath him.

“You really tryna leave me right now?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

You let out a slow breath, heart pounding.

“No,” you whispered.

Marshall grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

Then his lips were on yours, slow and hungry, making sure you knew—

The day wasn’t starting until he said so.

---

Time didn’t exist in this room.

The world outside might have been awake—phones buzzing, schedules waiting, the aftermath of last night’s show lingering in messages and missed calls—but none of it touched you.

Not here. Not in this bed.

Not when Marshall refused to let you go.

His body was still pressed against yours, his arm heavy over your waist, his lips dragging lazy, teasing kisses along your shoulder.

You stretched slightly, sighing at the warmth of him, and he grumbled in response, pulling you closer.

“You twitchin’ over here like you got somewhere to be,” he muttered against your skin.

You let out a soft laugh, shifting beneath the weight of his arm. “Maybe I do.”

Wrong answer.

Marshall’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hip just enough to send a slow, heated pulse through you.

“Yeah?” His voice was still thick with sleep, but there was something dangerous under it now. “And where the fuck would that be?”

Your breath caught as he rolled you onto your back, his knee sliding between your legs, his blue eyes sharper now—awake, focused, locked only on you.

You swallowed. “I—I don’t know.”

Marshall smirked. “That’s right.”

His hand trailed down your side, fingers grazing your skin, slow and possessive.

“You got nowhere to be.” His lips brushed against your jaw. “Nothin’ to do.” Another kiss, lower this time. “No one to answer to.”

He hovered over you, his body caging you in, his gaze dark, intentional.

“‘Cept me.”

Your stomach fluttered.

You nodded, exhaling a shaky breath. “Only you.”

Marshall hummed in approval, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then quit fuckin’ tryin’ to leave me.”

You melted beneath him, your fingers threading into his curls, pulling him closer as the morning stretched on—

The world outside could wait.

---

Eventually, the morning had to catch up.

You knew it. He knew it.

But that didn’t mean Marshall had to like it.

You’d barely made it out of bed—barely—after several failed attempts where he dragged you right back beneath him, grumbling about how you didn’t need to get up, how everyone else could wait, how he wasn’t done with you yet.

Even now, as you stood in front of the hotel mirror, attempting to fix your hair and look like someone who hadn’t spent the entire morning wrapped up in him, he was still making it difficult.

His hands were on your waist, his scruffy jaw resting against your shoulder, his lips brushing lazily over your neck every few seconds, like he was making sure you knew he wasn’t ready to let you go.

You caught his eyes in the mirror—blue, heavy-lidded, sharp with something unreadable.

“You’re pouting,” you teased, smiling softly.

Marshall grunted. “No, I’m not.”

You turned in his hold, raising an eyebrow. “You are.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Tch,” he muttered, looking away like he didn’t want to admit it.

You laughed, reaching up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Baby, we have to get ready.”

Marshall’s gaze flicked back to yours, and for a second, he just looked at you—like he was still debating whether or not he could get away with pulling you back into bed again.

Then, suddenly, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you against him, your body colliding with his chest.

You gasped, startled, and his smirk deepened.

“You feel that?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your breath hitched.

“Been hard all morning ‘cause of you,” he murmured, dragging his lips over your jaw. “And now you think you’re just gonna leave me like this?”

Your pulse spiked.

“Marshall—”

“Nah.” He cut you off, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you right against him. “We got a problem now, baby.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, your entire body burning under his touch.

You should have known.

Letting you go was never going to be that easy.

---

You really thought getting out of the hotel room would help.

That maybe, once Marshall was forced to be around other people, he’d snap out of whatever mood he was in. That he’d stop making it so damn hard to think straight.

You were wrong.

So wrong.

Even now, as you sat beside him in the car on the way to soundcheck, his hands were still on you—one gripping your thigh, his fingers just shy of where you needed them, the other draped over the back of your seat, fingertips brushing along your shoulder in slow, lazy circles.

And he was doing it all like it was nothing. Like it was just casual.

Like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing to you.

You shifted slightly, pressing your lips together, trying to breathe through the heat rising in your chest.

Marshall noticed. Of course he did.

His fingers flexed against your thigh, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You good, baby?” His voice was low, teasing, just between the two of you.

You swallowed, nodding stiffly. “Fine.”

He hummed, clearly not convinced.

“You sure?” His fingers trailed higher, dragging over the denim of your jeans, deliberate. Torturous. “You seem a little… tense.”

Your stomach flipped.

You shot him a warning look, but it only made his smirk deepen, his blue eyes dark with amusement.

This wasn’t going to stop.

Not until he decided it would.

Inside the venue, it didn’t get any better.

If anything, it got worse.

Backstage, while the team ran through last-minute checks, Marshall stuck closer than usual—always within reach, always touching you.

A hand on your back as you walked. A subtle, lingering drag of his fingers along your wrist. A grip on your waist that lasted too long.

You were losing your mind.

And he knew it.

Because every time your breath stuttered, every time you had to stop yourself from reacting, he was watching—grinning like he had all the power in the world, like he owned you, and he loved watching you fall apart without him even trying.

You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

---

Marshall had been toying with you all day.

The lingering touches. The whispered teases. The way his hands never left you for long, always drawing you back into his space, making sure you felt how badly he wanted you—but not letting you do anything about it.

You were wound tight.

And he knew.

The smirk on his face had been infuriating—pleased, cocky, knowing exactly how much he was getting to you.

But now?

Now, he wasn’t smirking anymore.

Now, his grip on your waist was tight, his breath rough against your neck as he pressed you against the cool surface of a dressing room counter, his body flush against yours.

“You been waiting on this, huh?” His voice was low, gravelly, his lips dragging along your jaw.

You barely had time to nod before his fingers tightened, his body pressing you harder into the counter, like he needed you closer, like even now, it wasn’t enough.

“You wanted me to lose my patience, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched as his hands moved, deliberate, teasing, the slow build-up he’d forced on you all day coming to a boiling point.

You wanted to answer him, but words weren’t possible anymore.

Marshall chuckled darkly, his grip on your hip tightening. “Now you got my full attention, baby.”

Then, suddenly—

The door creaked.

A quick shuffle of feet.

And then a sharp, startled intake of breath.

You barely had time to process it before Marshall’s hand was at the back of your neck, keeping your focus only on him, not the shadow lingering at the half-open door.

“Let him watch,” Marshall muttered, voice thick with possession. “Ain’t like he’s ever gonna get what’s mine.”

Your heart pounded.

The door slammed shut just as fast as it had opened, footsteps retreating in a hurried, embarrassed scurry.

But Marshall?

Marshall just grinned.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your ear. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he was back to wrecking you.

Because no matter who saw—

Everyone knew you belonged to him.

---

Marshall was still on edge.

Even after he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Even after he’d left you completely spent in his dressing room, shaking and breathless, your body marked by him in ways only he could see.

It wasn’t enough.

Because someone else had seen you.

Not really—not in any way that mattered—but just the idea of it had Marshall’s possessiveness spiking all over again.

And now, as you sat beside him in the dim glow of the afterparty, surrounded by people but focused only on him, you could feel it.

The weight of his arm over your shoulders. The steady, deliberate press of his fingers against your hip, gripping you just enough to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

You reached for your drink, but before you could lift it, Marshall’s hand covered yours, stopping you.

You blinked up at him, startled. “What—”

His blue eyes were dark, unreadable. “You don’t need that.”

Your stomach flipped.

He wasn’t talking about the drink.

You swallowed, heat crawling up your spine as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low, teasing murmur only you could hear.

“You’re already drunk off me, baby.”

Your breath caught, your fingers tightening around the glass.

And he was right.

You were.

Completely intoxicated—dizzy with him, his presence, his touch, the way he made you feel like there was nothing else in the room but him.

Marshall smirked, clearly pleased with himself, his fingers moving to trace slow, lazy patterns along your thigh.

You exhaled shakily, your body leaning into his instinctively, your entire focus narrowing to the deliberate, teasing way his touch never quite went where you wanted it.

You were falling apart, and he hadn’t even done anything.

He chuckled, voice dripping with amusement. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You turned your head slightly, your lips just shy of his. “You enjoying yourself?”

Marshall hummed, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Immensely.”

Then he kissed you.

Slow. Deep.

A deliberate, public display—one that left zero room for doubt in anyone’s mind.

Because tonight?

Everyone was going to see exactly who you belonged to.

And Marshall was never letting them forget it.

---

Marshall wasn’t letting you out of his grip.

Not tonight.

Not after that guy—the same one who had already seen too much—was still hovering.

You could feel it. The weight of his stare from just beyond your peripheral. Watching. Waiting.

And Marshall?

Marshall felt it, too.

That’s why his grip on you had tightened. Why he had pulled you straight into his lap, his arms locking you in place, making sure there was no question about where you belonged.

You swallowed, your breath hitching as he shifted beneath you, his mouth dragging over your shoulder in slow, lazy kisses—like he had all night to remind you who owned you.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, your entire body warming under the possessive weight of him.

He wasn’t just touching you—he was claiming you.

Publicly.

Deliberately.

And still—still—that guy lingered.

Marshall’s lips left your neck just long enough for him to mutter against your skin, voice low, sharp. “What’s he waiting for?”

You shivered. “I don’t know.”

Marshall’s jaw clenched. “He’s got about five fuckin’ seconds to figure it out.”

His fingers dug into your waist, his body tense beneath you—like he was itching for an excuse to do something about it.

You shifted slightly, trying to get a read on the guy without being too obvious, but before you could even turn your head, Marshall’s grip tightened, stopping you.

“Nah,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jaw. “You don’t look at him.”

Your breath caught.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

Marshall hummed in approval, his fingers trailing deliberately down your spine, his voice thick with warning.

“He keeps watchin’—then he’s gonna see exactly what he’s never gonna fuckin’ have.”

You should’ve been embarrassed.

You should’ve wanted to stop him.

But you didn’t.

Because the way Marshall was touching you—slow, possessive, intentional—made it impossible to care about anything except him.

And if that guy was still watching?

That was his mistake.

Because Marshall wasn’t letting up.

Not until everyone in this room knew exactly who you belonged to.

---

Marshall was done playing.

The guy wasn’t taking the hint. Even with you in Marshall’s lap, even with his hands all over you, even with the way he was wrecking you right there in front of everyone—he was still watching.

Waiting.

Like he was hoping for some miracle where Marshall would loosen his grip, where you’d slip from his hold for just long enough to give him a shot.

Like that would ever happen.

Marshall’s fingers dug into your thigh, his jaw tight, his patience running on empty.

Fine.

If the asshole wanted to keep looking, then he was about to see something.

You barely had time to react before Marshall’s hand moved, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, just enough to make you freeze.

Your breath hitched. “Marshall—”

“Shhh, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice low and deadly calm. “Let him fuckin’ watch.”

Your entire body tensed, your fingers curling into his hoodie, heat rushing through you at the weight of his possessiveness, the sharp edge of his anger bleeding into his touch.

He was daring the guy now.

Daring him to keep looking.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering as Marshall pressed his lips to your neck—slow, deliberate—his grip tightening around you like he was making damn sure you didn’t move.

You couldn’t move.

And across the room?

That guy was still there.

Still watching.

But this time, his expression had changed.

The easy confidence? Gone. The lingering hope? Crushed.

Because now, he knew.

He knew he never had a chance.

Not when you belonged to Marshall Fucking Mathers.

And Marshall?

Marshall finally smirked.

That was the message.

Loud. Clear.

And now?

Now, he was done with everyone else in this room.

Because the only thing left to do…

Was finish what he started.

Marshall was done waiting.

He’d made his point. The guy had finally backed off, slinking into the crowd like he should’ve from the start. But it didn’t change the fact that Marshall was still on edge, still burning from the way he’d had to sit there, watching someone else look at what was his.

And you?

You were still in his lap, still dazed and drunk on him, still completely wrapped up in the way he was touching you—possessive, unrelenting, like he wasn’t going to let you out of his grip ever again.

You barely had time to react before Marshall was gripping your wrist, pulling you up, tugging you through the crowd without so much as a word to anyone.

You swallowed hard, breath catching as you struggled to keep up with his pace, your heart pounding. “Marshall—”

“We’re leaving,” he muttered, voice tight, rough.

And you didn’t argue.

Because you knew that tone.

He wasn’t asking.

He was taking.

—

The second you were outside, Marshall was on you.

The cool night air barely had a chance to hit your skin before he was pushing you against the car, his hands gripping your hips hard, his breath heavy against your jaw.

“You think I enjoyed that?” His voice was low, seething. “Think I liked watchin’ some other guy hover around you all night?”

You shivered, head spinning, your body completely at his mercy.

“No,” you whispered.

His fingers dug in harder.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Mine to touch. Mine to wreck. And I don’t fuckin’ share.”

Your breath caught.

And then—

The car door was wrenched open.

You barely had a second to register what was happening before he was pulling you inside, slamming the door shut behind you, locking you in the small, dark space with him.

And when he turned to you, blue eyes blazing with need, you knew.

He wasn’t waiting for the hotel.

He wasn’t waiting for anything.

Because after tonight, there was no way in hell he was keeping his hands off you.

Not for another second.

---

The air inside the car was thick.

Heavy with tension. Heavy with the weight of Marshall’s possessiveness pressing into you from every angle.

Outside, the driver was still standing a few feet away, talking to security, completely unaware of what was happening just behind the tinted windows.

And Marshall?

Marshall didn’t care.

His hands were already on you, gripping your hips, pulling you onto his lap, his breath hot against your neck.

“You know how hard it was sittin’ there, watchin’ that motherfucker wait for you to slip away from me?” His voice was rough, seething. “Like he really thought he had a chance?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tangling in his hoodie, body trembling from how badly you wanted him. “I—”

Marshall’s grip tightened.

“You liked that?” His teeth grazed your jaw, his tone dark, accusing. “Liked me losin’ my fuckin’ mind over you?”

You gasped, heat flooding through you at his words, at the edge in his voice, the sharp possessiveness bleeding into every syllable.

“I—No, I just—”

He cut you off with his mouth, his lips crashing into yours, swallowing whatever excuse you were about to give, like he couldn’t let you say it.

Like he had to remind you.

Like he had to prove—again and again—that you were his.

And outside?

The driver was still waiting.

Still completely oblivious to what was happening just a few feet away.

But that only made it worse.

Only made Marshall grip you harder, pull you closer, like even that tiny risk was too much for him to take.

Like he needed to erase any doubt, any possibility that anyone else could ever have you.

And you?

You let him.

Because there was no one else.

There never would be.

Just him.

Always him.

—

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader #eminem smut #smut

74 notes · View notes

eldritch-spouse · 4 months ago

Note

i-is it possible to get the full, delicious sex scene of this? uwu 'cause the idea of kalymir taking y/n frantically due to her matching his angel-killing-and-woman-in-robes-dream is so fucking hawttt https://eldritch-spouse.tumblr.com/post/769523379185319936/pinnie-pinnie-pinnie-pie-i-thought-of

[Yahoo, pain time!]

TW: NONCON; Gore; blood loss; delusional states; panic attacks; unhygienic moments; Kalymir's caps lock.

You didn't really have time to prepare.

It makes you think about how wars start, at times. How, in some circumstances, people are just outside performing their daily routines, before being subjected to unimaginable horrors at the hands of a force they'd never guess would show up.

Humans and monsters alike have always been tempted, it's natural, it's what leads to deals being established with those who aren't native to the surface. There had been rumors your city was hardly any different, and you've always thought that one day there might be consequences for the figures in power who think they can flirt with the fires- Pull the wool over the eyes of creatures who were made to deceive. Stories of high-ranking beasts unleashing punishment on those who break contracts always terrified you as a child.

There was no way to force judgement on them, their laws are different than ours, you sign and receive your goods on their terms, so any violations of protocol are also dealt with on their terms.

For all that childish fear your parents worked so hard to eventually snap out of you, they must be tearing their hairs off by now.

Because the very city you live in has angered a being so foul and tremendous that you felt the ground heat and shake before they even emerged.

Your night terrors couldn't have made this justice.

As screams rang ever closer, drowned out by belted roars and the horrid sounds of flesh being zipped apart, time seemed to slow down to a wounded crawl. You had barely the energy to breathe, forcing your head up towards the epicenter of the ruckus.

One look at him was enough to clamp your windpipe shut with terror. A sensation of vulnerability and hopelessness so nauseating that, when it finished raking down your spine, your stomach tightened into a marble and you held back your dinner.

That's no high-ranker.

That is so much more.

One of them. The embodiments, the focus points of each Ring, the demons who syphon all the sin around them like endless black holes of power. To provoke one of these things is to cast despair upon everything and everyone you've ever known.

This city will be nothing more than a corpse pile when he's done with it.

His generals -if you can call them that- spread out in a circle of gleeful gore. Smashing into crowds, letting no one escape their savagery and going as far as to toss each other people, playing volleyball with the lives of those they shame as weaklings. They seem equally as uncoordinated as they do strategic, hysteric with the freedom to cause as much death as possible yet still sharp enough to let none weasel out.

You've never seen a street get painted in red so fast.

Whatever chants and howls they emit do nothing but cause a ringing to take over your ears, buzzing into your brain. You can't even feel the tears running down your face.

You're outside of yourself in that moment. No longer a bystander in the massacre unfolding, you exist in a separate layer, watching it from above, everything muted to a much more bearable level.

Only the persistent, foggy sensation of touch keeps breaking that barrier. You try to shake it off, to ignore it, but it succeeds.

With a blink, the stench of innards and blood fills your lungs. You've become wet with crimson, things are now on fire. The force at your left ankle tugs again, some kind of gargle following, making you instinctively kick hard at whatever's grabbing you.

It was a man.

It is a man, more dead than alive, his lower body hanging but by a thread to the rest of him, so disfigured that you're sure adrenaline is the only thing powering his leaking, crushed body. When the force of your outburst makes him roll back, he heaves wordlessly, what you can only describe as a massive clot of blood pops out of his dismantled jaw. He stops moving.

And you vomit.

The shriek you let out felt like daggers through your acid-burned throat.

Louder still manage to be the cackles of the demons around, stopping to stare and taunt as if you're no more than a silly clown.

This mess, unfortunately, raises the attention of the entity you least want to think about. A spiked head bolts towards the general direction of the commotion, gluing itself to the miserable sight of you immediately.

Both of you freeze in burning time.

Where are his eyes...? A gaze of scorching intensity fixes you in place, but for the love of you, there seem to be no eyes on his gnarled face, just streaks of marred skin descending from a depraved crown of horns, and exposed teeth.

Aside from his hulking height, you can only focus on the sharp protrusions coming from his chest, the ones torn off his back and regrowing steadily, stalagmites of what you might guess to be bone. You wonder, briefly, sickly, if some of the scars on his form are from tearing these growths off.

When the rest of his body turns, when one heavy clawed foot steps forth, towards you, it must be towards you- It takes too long for you to react.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

Something like incredulity in the way he moves, but not quite hesitation.

Then sprinting.

Even if the whole city were between you, it wouldn't feel like enough distance was established.

Your heart begins thunderously pumping blood everywhere, limbs throbbing with the energy of a lone rabbit in a wolf's den before blind instinct takes a hold of you.

You run faster than you ever have your entire life. Faster than you ever thought you'd be able to.

Frantic legs carry you through sharp debris that stab through your shoes, tripping past corpses and obstacles without landing on your face, dashing and batting everything away with no clear goal. You dare not scream, saving every bit of air for the blood cells racing in your organism.

Large wrathful demons mockingly stand aside, going as far as to cheer -Not that you can hear much with the ringing of your panicked ears- You don't need sound to feel the thump of gargantuan footsteps behind you.

Your chest tightens, physical effort making you spit like an animal when gasps become desperate inhales.

He's too fast, too large, too much- You're going to die.

A swipe of claws across your back disorients you, ripping through your shirt and leaving bleeding welts in its wake. Like a whipped horse, you can only try to run faster.

Not fast enough, however.

Maybe it's because you're in debilitating panic, maybe just because you could never physically compete with such a creature, but everything starts hurting, the muscles in your legs almost pulling wrong, slowing you down, the pain in your chest now a raging headache.

You could have never escaped the shove that throws you to the ground.

Didn't even have the energy to shield yourself.

A wave of agony spreads through your whole face when you make contact with concrete, you fear you might have broken something when blood bubbles from your nose.

" FINALLY. "

His voice barrels through your entire body. He doesn't sound one bit exhausted, not even strained, just mortifyingly excited.

The demonlord rolls you over without a crumb of resistance, your open-mouthed, panting visage weakly staring upwards.

Towering over you is death himself, you don't waste time thinking about how he'll torture you for his own amusement. You don't think at all, waiting for the first blow. Will he kick your ribs in? While he crush your face with a foot? Will he pick you up and twist you in two?

Instead, the massive monster tries to pull you up by the already torn collar of your shirt, growling when that doesn't work. He tears it off brutally, knocking out the air you'd been trying to catch. You're yanked up by the arms instead, likely because if he did that to your neck, your head would have popped clean off.

" WHY AREN'T YOU WEARING YOUR ROBES?! "

...

Robes?

A terrified mind races to understand.

You've never once come in contact with him, he's mistaking you for someone else.

The pain coursing through your arms and shoulders only allows you to grunt, not that he seems very intent in getting an actual response from you.

The Icon of Wrath looks around, easily throwing you onto something hard and vaguely chipped. You realize it must be hood of a car, perhaps a truck, from the way it squeaked upon impact.

No time is wasted as he traps you there, studying you for a pause. There's the sound of something slapping onto the ground, though you can't possibly see it from this angle. In fact, all you can see is his intimidating physique casting darkness upon you.

" THE FOOL I WAS. TO THINK YOU'D COME TO ME IN THE PERFECT CONDITIONS... "

You shiver, though it has nothing to do with temperature.

Something about the way you're being regarded screams trouble is coming. A whole new type of fear encompasses you.

" WHY HERE, OF ALL PLACES?! " A balled up fist slams so hard against the car hood that you're jostled up for a moment. " YOUR HOME IS NOT WITH THESE MAGGOTS! YOU BELONG IN WRATH, MADE AS MY TROPHY FOR THE AGE OF BLOOD I'LL BRING FORTH. "

What can your shaking mind even respond with?

" ... W... What? "

He doesn't deign your squeak of a noise worthy of attention, this rumbling sound emitting from his chest, loud and low, the rattle of a satisfied predator. All at once, he uses both hands to grab the hem of your pants, lifting your lower body when he tugs up and rends the fabric apart, easily peeling it out from under you.

Animal instinct kicks in before you even confirm the gravity of the situation, flailing and kicking with sore muscles.

The beast laughs, this racuous sound devoid of any care, amused, easily holding you down by the midsection while his dominant hand comes to rip senselessly at your shoes, your underwear, your bra. All of it goes flying back. You don't even notice the shards of glass that have stabbed into the soles of your foot.

" Stop! Stop! " The scream rips out your throat, a pathetic sob.

" YES... " He nods, confirming something to himself at the sight of your now bare body. You realize idly that he's allowing you to scratch and hit however you please, entirely unfazed.

Incredulously, disgustingly, he strokes a hand upon his dark, blood-soaked skin, then slaps a warm wet paw over your body. You don't understand what's happening until both meaty hands are caking you in blood.

There's a different quality to his breathing as he paints you in red, it becomes harsher, his chest heaves like a bull about to charge. The knowing revulsion within you causes you to jerk and attempt to weasel away, but every time you get on his nerves too much, he lifts and slams you against the car.

The third time he does that, a sting spreads across your spine, vision swimming. You decide it might not be a good idea to encourage this. It's all you can do not to shake too much while warm and sticky crimson is spread all over your form. He seems to be thinking as he does this, trying to imitate some kind of pattern, deciding the zones where you should be most covered in the gross, foul-smelling results of his slaughter.

Whose blood is this? Your neighbors'? Your friends'?

A bit of it wedges past your lips, you're glad your stomach has already flipped everything it had.

When he passes by your tits, both hands squeeze and roll too hard, catching your nipples in a sharp pinch that zings through your whole figure. Desperation has you opening your mouth to say something pointless, to plea, to cry, but all it does is whimper when you take note of the growth bulging his unique loincloth.

With neither shame nor hesitation, as soon as he notices where your gaze has fallen, the massive monster uses one hand to untie the cloth, toss it aside, revealing a length that nearly makes you feel lightheaded.

It's not just the comparative size, something he seems very eager to display, it's the barbs flaring underneath, no doubt meant to tear into any hole he claims and anchor his cock as deep as possible. The mental image of your body stretching disgustingly to accommodate it is sickening. He looks incredibly hard, you're sure that there's no give to his shaft, that it's heavy and unmanageable for most partners he attains.

Partners... As if this beast doesn't just grab people randomly like he's doing to you.

There's a snort, you realize he's studying the newfound horror on your face.

" YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME. " It's not a question. " I'LL JOG YOUR MEMORY, WHEN I RATTLE THAT FUCKING BRAIN OF YOURS- "

" H- Hu-?! "

In a blink, the Icon is blanketing you in a suffocating closeness, panting against your face as the hand that isn't pinning you by the ribcage darts to his cock and pumps aggressively. While the lurid sound haunts your ears, all you can focus on are his misaligned blade-like teeth. The bits of flesh caught between them when he no doubt bit sections out of people. A dark tongue hovers behind them, wet with drool and shimmering in excitement. His breath is far from pleasant, though there's hardly a way to escape it.

When your head turns in an attempt to abstract from the situation, he forces it back in place and hunches further to lick the mess on your ruined face. A scratchy, far too hot sensation that claims the red he previously caked you in, then bridges over your nose to collect the river that flowed from it when you fell.

The god-awful agony of that location being nudged has a scream belt out of you. Flailing legs thump uselessly against his thighs, your foot nudging his dick at some point. Fuck if he cares. All force you have goes into slapping and scratching at his head, another fruitless effort seeing as he doesn't even flinch. It gets him to stop assaulting your face, to bite your right hand instead.

It wasn't too hard. You know he has the force to tear it right off, to sever all those ligaments and tissue. All he does is give you a taste, aggravate your suffering, cackling at your shriek.

It feels like your extremity's been crushed, fingers struggling to move when a frightening numbness sets in.

Your intact hand has no direction and no goal, furiously swiping at his neck in hopes that it would get him to back away. You mostly succeed in chipping nails.

The demon groans however, apparently incensed by the effort.

" FIESTY LITTLE FUCKTOY CAN'T WAIT FOR MY COCK, CAN YOU? "

...

He's interpreting your fight in the worst way possible.

" I'LL MAKE SURE IT'S ALL YOU GET WHEN WE'RE HOME. "

Home? Home?!

As soon as your bitten hand regains some feeling, the avalanche of trepidation within you just at the implication of being taken to Hell -to this beast's dwelling- makes you swing as swiftly as you can towards his jaw. A punch that pops the fluid between your aching joints yet hardly molds his rictus.

You try everything. Bruising your arms, letting the pain flare through them. There's little hope in your motions by the time you curl both fists around the horns sticking out his head, yanking aimlessly.

" TEAR THEM OFF! " He demands, the want in his insufferable voice utterly transparent.

You can't.

You pull and twist and try to snap them off his skull, but the protrusions stay lodged there as a crown of morbid victory.

" BAH- THE SURFACE HAS MADE YOU WEAK. ANOTHER THING I'LL HAVE TO FIX. "

The demonlord's disappointment is palpable, though enthusiasm quickly replaces it, you can't disappoint him enough to avoid being assaulted, it seems.

His focus shifts to your nethers. You're anything but wet, though he pays no mind to it, suddenly pushing your hips apart so he can frame your pussy.

" TINY FUCKING THING. " He chuckles, observing your fear-clenched hole.

Clawed thumbs trace the rift of your entrance casually, on occasion nudging the bud above in lazy rolls. It's not as if you wish to get aroused, the amount of pressure he uses behind every motion is just inescapably stimulating. The first jolt of your hips, entirely reflexive, is rewarded with a wanton hum.

He slips a thumb inside with some resistance, then the other. You can only wince at the stretch, alarmingly aware of how those claws might slice through your vaginal walls if you shake too much. The fear causes you to tighten further, a painful feedback of sensation that appears to excite him.

A visceral hiss escapes through the gaps between your teeth when he pulls, spreading you out forcibly and mercilessly.

With no inch of lubrication to be found, a burning Hell settles and you start crying quietly again.

" I NEVER GOT A GOOD LOOK AT YOUR CUNT BEFORE... WONDER IF IT'LL FEEL BETTER! "

And that's all you get.

Hot-flashes have you sweating when his thumbs finally leave you alone. A thick tongue swings around, preparing a ball of spit that unceremoniously lashes against your genitals. You realize then that his spit is the only semblance of help you'll have to handle that torture device of a cock.

He slaps it on top of your mound, and you don't look down.

You don't want to see how much he'll hollow you out, don't want to see where it reaches, don't want to think about the weight and heat of it on top of your skin.

Your body... Your poor body. What evil did you commit to warrant this?

" I WANT YOU TO SCREECH MY NAME, THE SAME WAY YOU DID IN MY VISIONS. " He giddily reveals, dragging himself lower to line up properly. A foul maw leans to snarl in your ear. " KALYMIR. "

The sound echoes in your mind, adding to the stab of terror when the tip of his much-too-large dick prods at your entrance. You can't breathe, for a second, wondering how he thinks this is actually going to work, morbidly questioning if this is really how you'll die.

As soon as trepidation releases your lungs and the first crack of pain from his pushing arises, you babble hysterically.

" Stop! Oh God stop- I'm gonna die! "

Kalymir does pause, likely because the sound of fear must be arousing to him in some way. He's already smirking before you even say another word.

" Listen- I'll do anything, please I'll do anything, anything you want- "

" HAH. " Bold teeth get a coating of saliva, one brutish hand holding onto your neck just hard enough to silence the rest of your whining. " I WANT YOUR HOLES AROUND ME. "

Perhaps it was a small mercy that he rammed into you.

Maybe, if he was less excited, he'd have taken his sweet time pushing inside, dragging out the pain until your throat is hoarse from screaming.

All you feel is a flash of indescribable agony, vision going black and body tensing like a coil about to break. There's no direction to go and nothing comforting to hold onto as Kalymir's member carves its place within you.

This must be how vivisected bugs feel.

Writhing is all you're allowed.

Distantly, you realize you're bleeding. You can sense the way your torn body tries to lessen the pain, tries to lubricate itself, tries to contract in pulses meant to shove him out, yet only cause him to groan happily.

Every single time Kalymir throbs inside you, he presses into everything and offers a contradicting mix of feedback. There's the scorching of your poor insides begging you to remove the unwanted intrusion, and the creeping pleasure of sensitive spots being crushed into submission.

The monster himself looks vaguely out of breath, drooling openly onto your stomach while he recovers from the suffocating hold your body has around him. Kalymir cants his hips to somehow slide more of himself inside you, but there's no space left, he merely ends up sliding you back.

" LOOSEN UP ALREADY- " The Icon huffs, a note of incredible cruelty following. " OR WILL I HAVE TO FUCK YOU OPEN? "

You know those barbs aren't in use when he pulls back, and thankfully, your insides don't shred into ribbons.

There's no describing the vacant sensation of his retraction. The split second where air chills your abused hole as it tries to pitifully shrink anew, only to be rammed wide again in yet another nauseating piston.

He's too hot to handle, too rough, the mere contact of his war-hardened hide against your skin causes scratches and rashes from unrequited friction.

You wish you were wet. Maybe you are, but it's hardly enough. Only blood can periodically ease the torment of his jarring, mercilessly mechanic thursting. The truck hood bounces while he damn near crushes you to the vehicle, frantic claws finding purchase on squealing metal, perhaps mocking your own cries of pain.

The stimulus becomes too much.

No matter how hard you might want to alienate your mind from the situation, he won't let you. Kalymir's barking comments, the way he'll clumsily paw and grip at your softer sections, the press of teeth around a bare neck- It all stabs alertness into you, forces a figh or flight heave of primal panic whenever you so much as manage to vaguely dissociate.

Perhaps you instinctively can't abstract from this torment at all.

Kalymir yanks at your soul, chewing and tearing into it, all-demanding and all-consuming.

There's no escape from what's being done to you.

A confused body, unable to escape, fights for a different kind of preservation by drowning you in waves of arousal. It's unavoidable, you think through the slightly muted burning, it's predictable. You don't care to stifle the way your cries have shifted, don't try to mask twitching legs and curling toes.

You don't want this, you never wanted this, whatever is forced upon you isn't evidence that your mind has changed.

You just want it to end, really.

Ignoring your own creeping orgasm is impossible, though you try to focus on breathing evenly, shoving away his snarls of pleasure by listening to the squeak of the vehicle beneath you.

You're not too sure what you screamed when he hilted inside you in a telltale erratic grind, when you were claimed in a way so vile it chilled your bones. When it seeped out of your ruined orifice, onto the car, a pinkish hue that reminds you of sickly discharge.

The rest of it coated you, the monster grinning and huffing with pride at his work.

At this point, most of the pain you feel has become unreachable, replaced by an ambiguous throb of physical exhaustion and trauma. You cannot move, as if your limbs were made of cement and your back had rooted itself to the metal contraption beneath.

Yet your eyes still find Kalymir's face.

Inside them, burns an animal rage that creases your complexion into something borderline inhuman.

This demon will die by your hands.

Kalymir must have felt the silent, sweltering fury showering you from head to toe, releasing a delighted swoon as he picks you up like a soaked rag.

You wonder what Hell is like.

#Kalymir oc

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theblogwithoutfear · 2 months ago

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About what might happen in episode 1...

I think most of us sense what's coming, but just in case I'll put my thoughts/predictions/wishful thinking under a spoiler line.

I understand that the current team came in to a weird situation; in the previous script, which they had to work with, someone major had to die in order for Matt's arc to unfold. They didn't have much of a choice to kill off Foggy.

However, it feels like SUCH A WASTE. In the comics and in the TV show, Foggy Nelson is an integral part of Matt's story and Daredevil's story. He's deeply tied in, and it feels like a foolish narrative decision to kill him off—not to mention, it would alienate a lot of fans, which Marvel really can't afford to do. They've been on thin ice for a while now.

I think, though, if they HAVE to kill him off, there's a way that they can both have their cake and eat it too. This is what I'm hoping happens (or, in other words, what I would have done if I was a writer who was told Foggy Nelson had to be killed off at the beginning of the show):

I'd start with the first episode featuring Matt, Foggy, and Karen spending a lot of time together. Really focus on the friendship and the deep bonds they all have. Then have the whole fight with Dex, things we saw in the trailers, yada yada yada. Foggy gets rushed to the hospital, and Matt can't make it there for some reason (maybe he gets knocked out, maybe the police force him to stay to take a statement, idk) so he can't use his abilities to know what's really happening to Foggy's body. But Foggy is declared dead, Karen tells Matt, and they have a funeral with some cremated remains (so Matt can't sense Foggy's body).

Then I'd have the rest of the season as previously written; Matt losing it, getting super depressed, crossing a line, all the stuff we've seen in the trailers.

Then, at the very end of the season, I'd have some sort of reveal where we see a private hospital with Fisk's name on the outside. Some charity thing he's using to launder money probably. It's mostly empty and all really sketchy. Camera pans to a room inside; we hear the hiss of an oxygen machine and the beeping of a heart rate monitor. We pan up to see Foggy Nelson; not dead, but in a coma—and sitting next to him is Wilson Fisk, doing some sort of menacing monologue (like in DD s2 when he's talking to Dutton).

It makes sense to me that, with Fisk becoming the mayor, he'd find a new sort of vulnerability along with the new power. He'd have a lot more to lose. And with Matt being who he is, Fisk would probably want some sort of collateral; something he could have in the back pocket to use against Matt at some point. Fisk has Matt's identity, but I think he'd want something Matt values even more. So, if I were a writer on the show, I'd have Fisk keeping Foggy alive and hidden somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to use him against Matt.

Then Foggy could be a major part of season 2, while still keeping with the storyline that the writers got stuck with for season 1.

He's just too important for the writers to waste him like that.

Anyway I know that's probably wishful thinking, but I REALLY think it would be stupid (and bad writing) of them to kill off Foggy, especially so early on. And with all the leaks and buzz around it, I can't help but feel that Marvel might be faking us out somehow.

(Or maybe I'm just delusional 🤷‍♀️)

#daredevil #daredevil born again #daredevil born again spoilers #daredevil born again theories #foggy nelson #matt murdock

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sunflowersandsapphires · 1 year ago

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If the Sun Starts Setting

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 7

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: Swearing, family drama, characters celebrating Christmas, mom with terminal illness, crying mentions

a/n: Sorry to post this so late everyone! I have had the WORST brain fog today. I hope you enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs fuel me!

After just one semester of law school, the drive between suburban Connecticut and the Columbia campus was one you were becoming well-acquainted with. It wasn’t unbearably long, nor flooded with traffic on a dark Sunday evening. Headlights of oncoming vehicles painted swatches of light against the navy sky, a semi-urban work of art unlike anything you’d enjoyed before. Usually, it was a sight you took the time to admire. However, this particular evening you were unable to focus on anything but the tinny voice bubbling out of your phone’s speaker.

Gritting your teeth and rolling your eyes to the heavens, you cursed the universe for a moment, tuning out the man on the other end of the line while you did so.

The sharp call of your name across the speakers regained your attention. ”Are you listening to me?“

Your father's inflection was grating on the best days. After three weeks spent waiting on him and your two ungrateful siblings while they preached about the importance of family during the holidays, you were ready to scream with every word he spat at you. The two hour drive back to campus was supposed to be the growing light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, you'd spent the last third of it arguing with your father about healthcare charges.

”Yes, I'm listening.“ ‘Unlike some of us’, you thought to yourself. ”As I said, that charge was for her brief hospital stay over Thanksgiving. I've already paid it and it might take a week or two to reflect—“

”This is a debt collection notice, hun. That means they didn't receive the payment yet. Which means they'll be coming after me when your mom inevitably cannot pay.“

Contemplating banging your head against your steering wheel just to remove the memory of this conversation, a flash of movement across the parking lot caught your eye. Expression softening, you almost sobbed in relief when you caught the two beaming expressions of your friends waving from the exterior door. Unfortunately, your father wasn't quite done arguing with you.

”Dad, I understand you don't want to be on the hook for this—“ ‘Not like you would be anyway.’

”I most certainly do not.“ He interrupted. Once again ignoring his rambling, you snatched your backpack and exited your car, slamming the door with a bit more force than usual.

”Dad, just forget about it, ok? I'll deal with it, just—“

”Well, clearly you won't deal with it in a timely fashion, which is why I'm calling...“ ‘Was he trying to kill you? It sure felt like it.’

”Ok, well I just got back to school so I need to go now.“ You tried to nudge him into polite farewells as you practically sprinted across the pavement towards your friends. As expected, he didn't take kindly to being rushed off the phone.

”Of course you do,“ He laughed incredulously. ”You know, this is your mother's livelihood we are discussing. It wouldn't kill you to be a bit more compassionate.“ ‘You're one to talk asshole.’

”You're right. I'll try to work on that this semester,“ You remarked drily. ”Gonna go inside now. Bye.“

Not bothering to listen to the screaming that answered your callous goodbye, you hung up, breaking into a strained smile as you greeted your boys. ”Why hello there, strangers.“

As if he didn't just witness you walk literally and figuratively closer to a breakdown, Foggy squealed, nearly taking you to the pavement in a tackling hug. “Welcome back, bug!”

“Christ, Fog, you're gonna crush her.” Matt laughed, hearing you grunt as you fumbled to stay upright with Foggy coiled around you like a boa constrictor.

“I missed you too, Fog.” You murmured, tears welling in your eyes at the sensation of being embraced.

You had missed them. Deeply and almost pathetically. After an entire semester at each other's sides, the few weeks in your hometown for Christmas had felt like an eternity.

After Matt and Foggy had been struck with the campus flu, the rest of the semester passed in a whirlwind. The two clingy boys had unsurprisingly infected you, meaning you were unfortunately sick for Thanksgiving and had to remain on campus to avoid passing the virus on to your immunosuppressed mother. Matt had been incredibly apologetic, and plagued with his typical Catholic guilt, so he'd stayed with you while Foggy returned to Hell's Kitchen for Turkey Day.

The next few weeks were spent cramming for finals and, eventually, celebrating the end of your first semester at Columbia—which you had all, amazingly, passed. Leaving for the lengthier winter break had been an abrupt end to the joy you felt over your grades, however.

You returned to New Haven a day earlier than expected to sit in the local hospital's oncology ward with your mother. While you were ill over Thanksgiving, she'd had a recurrence of stage 3 pancreatic cancer, which meant more frequent trips to see her doctor as well as numerous bills that neither of you could afford. Because of her declining health, your father and siblings had come to Connecticut for Christmas. The extra company meant that your holidays–which were meant to be a time for recuperation following a strenuous first semester–had been frustrating to the point of tears. Which, embarrassingly enough, Matt had been burdened with when you called him to complain.

The two of you called multiple times a week, exchanging stories and annoyances just like you did when you were living within a few blocks from each other. But it didn't stop you from missing him and Foggy fiercely for 24 excruciating days.

Swallowing a lump of pent up emotion, you huffed out a shaky exhale, your breath clouding in the frigid winter air. “Ok, Fog. You know I love you, but it's cold as fuck out here.”

“Right! Sorry.” Foggy withdrew from the embrace, blushing furiously as he scratched at the back of his neck.

Immediately replacing Foggy in front of you, Matt took a chance to hug you quickly before pulling you inside. “Glad you're finally here, I thought Nelson here was going to combust.”

Letting Matt usher you inside, you heard Foggy's baffled scoff. “Do I look like a patient man to you, Murdock?”

Matt smirked, “How would I know?”

You and Foggy both groaned loudly, looking to each other for support as Matt cackled. “C'mon, you set that one up perfectly. What's a guy to do?”

“You should've heard him over break, bug. He was driving my poor mother towards a stroke, I swear.” Foggy shook his head in feigned irritation.

“Oh please, she loved me.” Matt shoved his roommate, nearly bowling the three of you down the staircase as you trudged toward their room.

“I bet she did.” You snorted, “You probably dialed the charm up to 11.”

“Try 15.” Foggy remarked, unlocking the door and shoving it open.

Ignoring the jab, Matt held out a hand for your bag, allowing you to slip out of your coat and shoes.

“Who were you on the phone with?” His question was meant to open the can of worms in a structured way, rather than answer his own burning question. He’d bet dollars to donuts that it was–

“My father.” Came your fatigued response, confirming his suspicions. Your words were tinged with a bitterness that he’d expected, but they held a deeper upset thinly veiled by your exhaustion.

“Is everything ok?” Foggy asked quietly, his brow pinching with worry as he studied the bags under your eyes. The blond was less informed on the hell you’d been put through over the last month or so, only picking up bits and pieces if Matt relayed them.

With a groan, you collapsed unceremoniously onto Matt’s bed beside him, leaning heavily into him as one of his arms fell across your shoulders. “Of course, it’s just…it wasn’t the pleasant send off I was hoping for.”

Your pulse jumped when you spoke, steadying out as you reached the end of your sentence. Matt already knew that things weren’t “ok” with your mom or your home life in general, but he blinked in surprise to hear the disappointment that coated your words as you referenced your father’s curt goodbye. Making a note to bring that up when you seemed more inclined to be vulnerable, he rubbed a palm over your arm in a comforting gesture.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish it had been better.”

Huffing a tiny laugh, you let your head fall against his shoulder. “Me too. How were your holidays?”

“Pleasant.” Matt murmured at the same time Foggy clapped his hands together.

“Fantastic! I forced Matt to watch all of the Star Wars movies with me and we ate our weight in cookies.” The long-haired boy explained with genuine enthusiasm. As he began to recount the escapades from the annual Nelson holiday party, your eyes flicked upwards to look at Matt, whose arm was still moving slowly across your shoulder and back as he caressed your sleeve. His eyes were trained forward, but a muscle in his jaw twitched as you focused on him, so you had a sneaking suspicion that neither of you were listening to Foggy’s story. You’d forgotten how well he could read you, until he gave you the option to pretend everything was fine with your dad.

He knew it wasn’t, and you did too. And maybe shoving that shit deep down and pretending it didn’t exist wasn’t a healthy way of handling it, but if you met Foggy’s worried gaze right now it would make you cry, which you were not prepared for. So, whether it was a wonderful coincidence or Matt could truly read you like a picture book, you were thankful for his deflection.

Smiling softly, you looked back to Foggy, listening to him talk about his drunk aunts fawning over Matt and feeling the thick tension bleed out of your shoulders.

Eventually, Foggy took a deep breath, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Woah, head rush!”

Matt chuckled, “You didn’t even stand up, buddy. You ok over there?”

“Yah, I’m fine! Just excited!” Foggy waved a hand, unfazed.

“And I can’t wait to hear about everything, Fog. But maybe we should take a break for presents?”

“Presents?” Foggy’s eyes widened along with his grin, his behavior as animated as a child’s at the mention of gifts. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

You laughed, prying yourself out of Matt’s secure grip and opening your bag. Tossing two wrapped bundles across the room and onto Foggy’s bed, you set the other two in Matt’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, my lovely Musketeers!” You giggled as Foggy mime-fenced toward you. As soon as the blond was finished beating you in the imaginary sword fight, he eagerly tore into the glittery wrapping paper. Next to you, Matt looked much more apprehensive about the packages in his lap.

“Go on, Matty. Open them!” You encouraged, bumping his shoulder with your own.

“But we don’t have anything for you,” Matt’s lips curled into a pout, looking like a sulking kitten as he trailed a single finger along the crisp edge of the parcel nearest to his hand.

You rolled your eyes fondly. The poor kid had a strong enough sense of justice for the whole campus. ”Matty, we're in college. And I'm the only one with a job. I didn't expect you to get me anything.“

”But—“ Matt argued, but you cut him off with a laugh.

”No more buts! I got these presents for you because I wanted to, not because I thought I’d receive something in return. Please open them?“ Though he couldn't see your face, you batted your lashes and widened your eyes, hoping he could sense the pleading expression.

With a frown, he nodded once, carefully peeling the tape from the paper as if the task required surgical precision. Grinding his teeth as the paper crinkled raucously, he slid the first gift out of its casing carefully, as if he was expecting it to shock him if he moved too quickly. Withdrawing a lump of the softest material he'd ever felt, he ran a thumb over it, trying to decipher what it was. The strip of wool was composed of thick braided stitches, promising to retain warmth in even the most bitter winter weather.

”A scarf?“ He asked, his lips pursed into a small, surprised oval. A rosy blush dusted the tops of his cheeks.

”Yes! I made one for you and one for Foggy. Except yours is a deep red and his is orange.” You spoke softly, smiling over to where the longer-haired boy was wrapping the length of yarn around his neck triumphantly.

“Our favorite colors.” Matt murmured, his fingers still tracing the fuzzy stitching. “You remembered?“

”Of course I did, trouble. That's important information. I'd be a fool to let it slip through the cracks.“ You hoped the joke would make him laugh, but he continued to stare blankly at the scarf as if it was an animal that had just died in his arms. ”If you don't like it, I can take it back, and donate it or something–“

”No!“ Matt looked up, horrified, clutching the scarf to his chest. ”No, I love it. I just...“

Turning his face back to his lap, he licked his lips before continuing. ”I've never gotten something like this before. I don't know what to say, is all.“

”No need to say anything, bub. I'm glad you like it.“ You rubbed your palm over his arm, mirroring his actions from just a moment ago.

Still focused on his own gifts, Foggy's excited screech startled both you and Matt. ”NO WAY!“

Turning to you with a dropped jaw, Foggy shook his head. ”There is no way you got this.“

”What is it, buddy?“ Matt asked, his lips curled into a soft smile as he heard Foggy open a hardcover book eagerly.

”A first edition of The Fellowship of the Ring!“ Foggy was practically giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rifled through the pages. ”How did you even get this?“

Grinning at him, you giggled. ”My mom has a friend with an extensive book collection and asked where we could find one. Turns out, the friend had one of her own and was willing to part with it for next to nothing. Guess she owed my mom a favor.”

Diving across the room to crush you in another hug, Foggy kissed the top of your head. “Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!”

Laughing brightly, you struggled to shove your friend off of you. When he was this worked up, Foggy had the tenacity of an overexcited golden retriever. As usual, Matt helped release you from his clutches. ”You're welcome, Fog. I wanted to get you a nice copy since you lost the one you brought to school.”

“I'd say you accomplished that, my lovely jitterbug.” Foggy ruffled your hair, retreating to his bed and launching himself onto the mattress–the rusted springs creaking in protest.

Giggling at him, you turned back to Matt. “Alright, Murdock. Your turn, again. After this, I promise never to put you through this torture again. Until next year.”

Matt groaned in response, snatching the second gift with more vigor. “Let's get this over with.”

Approaching the gift with the same systematic tactic as the first, he slid the paper off of the box without a single tear. Setting the wrapping aside, he opened the cardboard package and pulled out his real gift.

“Ok so, I'm not sure how helpful these will be,” You warned, fidgeting with your hands as he ran his fingers along the band connecting the ear pieces. “But, they're, um, noise-canceling headphones?”

Matt's breath caught in his throat. He was overwhelmed with guilt and affection and surprise at the present, all words of gratitude pulled back down to his vocal chords as he focused solely on not bursting into tears.

Over the past few weeks, the Nelsons had been kind enough to invite him to stay and celebrate with them. He was flattered, and so thankful, but he wasn't used to so many...people. During a few of your phone calls over the break, he'd mentioned that the excessive stimuli, mainly noise, had been getting to him and giving him headaches. And rather than chastising him for being ungrateful, you'd listened and sympathized with him over the phone, ultimately buying him a solution to the issue with your own money.

Sure, there was no guarantee that these would work for his heightened senses, but you didn't know that. And the idea that you were willing to go to such immense lengths to ensure his comfort...it was evidence of a love he hadn't experienced in a decade.

“Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?” Your worried murmur broke his train of thought.

“No,” He choked out. ”No, they're perfect. So is the scarf. Thank you, bug.“

”Of course. Merry Christmas, Matt.“ You kissed his cheek gently and he felt a flush crawling up his neck. Wrapping an arm around you, he tucked you close to his chest, hand cradling the back of your neck.

”Merry Christmas, sweetheart.“

The two of you sat there in silence, holding each other close for a minute before your phone rang. Sighing deeply, you rested your head against Matt's shoulder as you fumbled for your phone. Thankfully, the screen displayed your mom's contact information, not your father.

“Sorry, trouble. I have to take this.“ You squeezed his arm, pulling out of his embrace and stretching as you stood. ”I'll be right back. Hopefully.“

Smiling at your near-groan, Matt jerked his chin towards the door. ”We'll be here.“

Slipping into the hallway, you lowered your voice. ”Hey mama, everything ok?“

”Hey baby, everything's fine, just had a couple questions for you about bills.“ Her sweet voice was strained and you could practically see her flicking her gaze to meet your father's, his metaphorical gun to her head as she made the call.

”Ok,“ You ground out, trying not to snap at her when she wasn't the reason you were frustrated. ”Um, what questions did you have?”

“You did pay the one from November?” She asked, predictably.

“I did. It'll reflect soon and Dad has nothing to worry about. The bill is attached to our names, not his. That's why Collections isn't writing to him.“ You explained as calmly as you could, knowing that she was aware of this already, but probably had you on speakerphone. ”Was that all?“

”Not exactly.“ Her tone shifted, pitching lower and sounding almost embarrassed. A crackle rippled over the line and suddenly your father's gruff voice replaced the one you adored.

“You need to come home next weekend to help your mom with the next round of billing. I've run out of time off and can no longer assist.” He commanded, the ‘compassion’ he held for her livelihood nowhere to be found.

‘Oh because you were so helpful this month when you were ordering us around.’ You griped internally. “What round of billing? The one from Thanksgiving–”

“Was four appointments ago. These things aren't free, you know. They’re wanting us to pay for them.”

Both you and your bank account were intimately familiar with the steep cost of her treatment. Inhaling deeply, you paced a few steps from Matt and Foggy's room. “I know they aren't free. We signed her up for a payment plan two weeks ago that offers a deferral–”

“She was denied.” His laconic answer made your spirits plummet as time came to a halt. Your pounding heart froze in place, dread creeping up your spine.

“What?” On the off chance that he was being unintentionally misleading, you needed to clarify.

Your mother's apologetic voice came over the line once again. ”I wasn't accepted into the financial assistance program, baby. But, it's ok! I can pick up more shifts–“

”No!” You exclaimed, the shrill edge of your cry echoing down the hallway. You tried again, digging your nails into the flesh of your palm as you fought to keep your voice steady.

“Don't...you don't need to do that mama. I don't want you to overwork yourself. I'll come home on Friday and we can talk about options, ok?“ You bargained, running through your work schedule in your head to create a plan.

”Are you sure, honey? Won't you be busy getting a head start on the semester?“

Blinking back tears at her obvious care for you, you cleared your throat before answering. “It’s alright, mama. It’s just syllabus week, I’m sure I’ll have time to come home and sort things out.”

“She’ll make time.” Your father’s promise was more for your mom than you, but it felt like a swift kick to the gut all the same.

Because you would make time. You had to. No one else would. You were your mom’s last line of defense. Prioritizing yourself and failing to be there for her wasn’t an option you had. The emotional burden you were carrying felt impossibly heavy, as if there was a line of anvils across your shoulders and chest, slowly forcing the oxygen out of your lungs until you perished.

“Of course I will. I’ll see you this weekend, mama. Love you.” You choked out, slapping a palm over your mouth before you broke.

“I love you too, baby. Have a good week at school!” You could picture her tired smile as she wished you a proper goodbye, the image cracking your composure.

You hung up before the first tear rolled down your cheek. Dropping your face into your hands, you bit your lip to stifle a sob, letting the tears flow silently instead. Falling back against the wall behind you, you let your legs give out as you collapsed to the disgusting dorm hallway carpet.

The blood rushing in your ears drowned out the noises drifting through the thin walls, an urge to scream churned in your chest. Ugly, rage filled sobs were barreling up your throat, desperately trying to claw their way out, to make your pain known. Hunching over your knees in a pitiful crouch, you shielded your face with your arms, preventing any passersby from seeing your much-needed meltdown.

Choking out a breath around another half-smothered sob, you nearly screamed when a warm hand landed on your shoulder. Looking up frantically, the outburst downgraded to a strangled whine when you saw Matt’s furrowed brow directed at you.

Wordlessly, he sank down beside you, opening his arms with a frown. Throwing yourself into his embrace, you couldn’t help the hideous sounds that escaped you as he enveloped you in his muscular arms with ease. Tucking your head under his chin, you shook violently against his chest as you bawled.

“I can’t do this, Matt. I can’t–” You gasped out, your breath stuttering as you wept forcefully into his shoulder.

Shushing you gently, he rubbed circles into your back with his large hand.

Whimpering at the touch, you wiped at your tear-streaked face furiously. “”I’m barely an adult. How am I supposed to do this?” Your voice shattered around the words, throat constricting with anguish.

“I don’t know,” Matt cooed, stroking a fresh pair of tears away from your skin with his thumbs. “But I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’ll get through it together.”

Burying your face into his neck miserably, you shuddered with distaste. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask.” He whispered gravely, pressing a kiss to your crown.

With that promise, your brain seemed to shut off. Your tears gradually slowed to a halt, leaving you dazed and exhausted in Matt’s lap. Heaving out a shaky exhale, you closed your eyes, letting his soft touches wash over you like the tides. Kissing your forehead tenderly, Matt cupped your cheek.

“Why don’t we go sit somewhere softer than this shitty floor, hmm?” His small question was meant to make you laugh, but your fatigue had chased away every other emotion.

Nodding softly, you let Matt pull you from the ground and back into his room, welcoming the darkness after the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Sliding off his glasses and placing them on his nightstand, he guided you to Foggy’s bed. The blond frowned at you, setting his book aside.

“You ok, bug?” He asked, sitting up to inspect your puffy eyes.

Shaking your head tiredly, you crawled onto his mattress and let him wrap you in a hug. Matt, with an impressive amount of agility, somehow leapt onto the bed behind you, snaking his arms around your middle so that you were sandwiched between him and his roommate. You listened to their steady breathing, letting the sound lull you into a more peaceful state of mind.

Tangling his fingers with yours, Matt’s lips scratched over the back of your head. “Fog, think you could read some of your book for us?”

“Uh, yah totally.” Foggy pouted, gaze still lingering on your drained face. “Let me just find my page.”

The combination of your worn-out consciousness and the comforting presence of your two best friends was dangerous. Your eyes fluttered shut and you could feel yourself drifting off.

As if reading your thoughts, Matt kissed your hair. “Go on, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

Squeezing his fingers, you stopped fighting the darkness pulling at the edges of your vision, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe@abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705 @mattmurdockstateofmind

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 4 months ago

Note

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117 for 🪩:

---

“So we have to figure it out, Dad!” Chris presses. “We have to! I can’t let her down!”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on the prom, Christopher,” Eddie says. “You know, it’s okay, right? You already got into a great college! That’s the big thing.”

Chris glares at him.

Okay, that logic is not going over well, then.

Buck walks back into the living room and hands Eddie his glass of water.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

Buck bends to kiss the top of Eddie’s head by way of response.

“Listen, Chris,” he says when he straightens out again. “I have a lot of wedding errands to run tomorrow, but if you and Ainslee can be flexible, I can try to fit your thing in.”

“Hon-” Eddie starts to protest.

“It’s really fine,” Buck waves a dismissive hand.

“Thank you, Buck!” Chris gushes. “You’re the best!”

Okay, it’s not like Eddie doesn’t want to do it. Jeez. He literally cannot.

“Hey, you know, if Mom can jet off to Cabo, and Dad is a hotshot at work, why can’t Ainslee drive herself?” Eddie asks. “Out of curiosity.”

If he made money like that, he’d be buying his son the

“Ugh, Dad,” Chris rolls her eyes. “She hates Los Angeles traffic.”

“Does anyone not?” Buck asks.

“She lives in Los Angeles,” Eddie says. “But yeah. Okay.”

“Dad!” Chris protests. “Come on. She has anxiety.”

“Hey, Chris,” Buck says. “Your dad has had a long, crappy day. I know Prom is super important, but maybe we can just keep that in perspective.”

Says the guy who was worried earlier that Eddie’s air boot might clash with his wedding tux. Right. But, you know what, Eddie will take it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Chris sighs. “Yeah. You’re probably on all kinds of pain medication making you foggy.”

“Uh…” Eddie frowns. He is not, in fact, high on pain meds.

“Sorry, Dad. I’m going to go back to my game,” Chris says.

“By all means, my most darling child,” Eddie says with a forced smile.

“Oh, yeah. I see what you mean, Buck,” Chris winces.

Chris walks back to his room, leaving Eddie gaping. Buck laughs and flops down next to Eddie on the couch.

“Is my son a monster?” Eddie asks. “He’s like a bridezilla and he’s not even the one getting married.”

Buck sort of snickers. “He really is.”

Eddie moans, defeated.

“Relax,” Buck says. “He’s just trying to impress this girl.”

Ainslee? The kid who complained for fifteen minutes that their classmate accidentally ordered votive faux-candles instead of tealights. That’s… Well, okay. Chris is the kid who still insists on a specific cranberry to popcorn ratio on garlands for Christmas… Maybe it does make sense.

“You think so?” Eddie asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Buck nods.

“He can’t be with her,” Eddie whispers. “Think of how insane they’d be together? That wedding? No thanks.”

Buck laughs. “Not everyone marries their high school girlfriend.”

“He’s a Diaz. We all do!”

“Listen, Eddie. He likes her, he wants to dance with her at Prom, maybe-”

“Don’t,” Eddie cuts him off.

“I’m just saying,” Buck continues. “He’s not really this crazy about a dance. He just has a fantasy in his head about Ainslee.”

Eddie sighs. “Guess that makes sense. When I was his age, my dad breaking a foot would not have kept me from going after what I wanted.”

“Mmm,” Buck nods. “I might have broken my dad’s foot.”

“I really hope it’s not a comparable scenario,” Eddie says.

Buck chuckles and squeezes his hand. “Obviously not. Just, relax, okay? Focus on healing that foot, and I will make sure Chris and Prom and the wedding are handled.”

Eddie sighs. “Thank you, hon.”

“And killing the probie.”

“Oh my god.”

#daisies and briars writes

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jumpywhumpywriter · 7 months ago

Text

Living Weapon Whumpee part 13

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, war, bleeding & bullet wounds, several deaths, hostage situation, held at knifepoint

Whumpee tuned out the vicious fight going on behind him, the screams of pain and panic as the two sides tore each other apart with bullet and blade. He only had one mission now…

Using Myra as a human shield, Leader turned away from Whumpee so that Whumpee could protect and cover his back while Myra blocked his front, aiming for the hall to escape. The fight was almost over now, the Flint soldiers dispatching the last few of Leader's men.

Leader took one step toward the exit, roughly shoving Myra ahead of him -- when a bloody blade suddenly came bursting out of his chest, the tip of bright metal protruding out his front in a spray of blood.

The knife fell from Leader's hand as he stared down in pure shock and horror at the blood rapidly soaking through his shirt.

Whumpee leaned in from behind to whisper into his ear. "With all due respect, which is none... I'm not your puppet anymore. And you forgot to never turn your back on an enemy." That was always the biggest rule Leader had drilled into him, to never take your eyes off your opponent. Ironic, that it would be Leader's own fatal mistake.

Leader choked, mouth agape as he gurgled blood, drowning in it. Then Whumpee yanked his dagger out, and Leader fell to the floor, twitching and jerking spasmodically. It lasted mere seconds before he stilled, dead.

Whumpee stared down numbly at the body of his former handler -- before crumpling to one knee with a wheeze, clutching at his ribs. He must have taken more hits than he thought, and now that the adrenaline was starting to wear thin, he could feel it catching up to him. The agony, sharp and piercing, stabbing every nerve and setting it on fire.

He was barely aware of the scene around him anymore, the last dying cries of Leader's men as Flint soldiers took them out, a gorey mess of blood and death painting the floors in a gruesome mosaic. His ears were ringing, head throbbing with every heartbeat, but he was distantly aware of a hand on his shoulder, followed by arms around his neck.

It was Myra, clinging to him for dear life and shivering all over, hiding in front of his large form and burying her head into his shoulder to stop looking at all the carnage behind his back.

"T-Thank you W-Whumpee," she whispered, voice wobbling. She was sobbing and shaking like a leaf, and Whumpee couldn't blame her for being traumatized by all the death and destruction.He had learned to tune it out to focus on his missions, but Myra hadn't tasted war before -- her first glimpse had been when Whumpee killed the townsfolk.

Whumpee's chest was heaving, raspy breaths escaping him, but he put a reassuring arm around the small girl in a careful, gentle hug, being highly conscious of his own supernatural strength. His hands were covered in blood, but Myra didn't seem scared of him in the least, and it made Whumpee's heart ache. The only person who didn't see a monster to run away from. He craved that feeling of being wanted and appreciated as more than Weapon, being more than a scarred-up war beast.

"It's okay... Myra... You're safe now..." He panted, holding her close. "I just... need to lay down... for a bit..." Whumpee’s voice grew faint and thin as he gently untangled her small arms from around him so she wouldn’t get hurt as he awkwardly fell onto his side with a grunt, blood pouring from his wounds. Everything hurt, it was hard to breathe, and the room wouldn't stop spinning.

In his peripheral he could see Flint soldiers watching him warily, unsure if they should approach or run away before he had a chance to get up and attack. Mixed reactions of curiosity and terror.

Myra was leaning over him, and he saw a blurry figure appear behind her, tugging her into a fierce hug, and Flint's worried voice filtered into his foggy conscience.

"Myra! Thank the stars you're all right..."

Whumpee couldn't help cracking a small smile, a wave of satisfaction rolling over him. He'd done the right thing for once, fought on his own terms, not because someone told him to. He felt accomplished... free.

His vision was growing hazy, and he closed his eyes against the pain, not wanting Myra or anyone else to see it. And before long, the darkness floating in his head swallowed him whole. And he knew no more.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

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bellaxgiornata · 2 years ago

Text

Falling For the Devil [Part nineteen: "The Time You Almost Told Him"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt accompanies you as your date to a charity event where you're being honored for a journalism award.

Absolutely everything has you nervous–your speech, how handsome Matt looks in a tux, Katy's inappropriate silent commentary, Jessica Manning (a news reporter who always has it out for you), and the fact that Matt apparently notices something off with your body every damn time you almost blurt 'I love you.'

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 4.3k

a/n: Another fluffy installment here with Matt being sweet (and Katy being Katy). You can find the full list of the installments for this series on tumblr here! There's a total of 75 of these bad boys I'm still trying to transfer over from AO3...

"...and I just want to thank the Pelman Foundation for honoring me tonight with this incredible recognition, though I certainly had some help from my sources when it came to outing the corrupt elite in our city," you said, throat feeling uncomfortably dry as you neared the end of your speech. "And honestly, they're as much to thank for that as I am."

You were trying hard not to focus on the many eyes staring up at you as your hands fidgeted nervously, toying with the fabric of your dress. You felt like you were going to throw up right on everyone who was standing just below the stage you were on with the way your stomach had been twisting the moment you'd stepped your shaky, heeled feet onto the stage. Maybe you'd even manage to vomit on the foundation owner standing just your left if you did, and that thought only had you rushing faster through the rest of your speech. Silently you thanked whatever deity above that you'd refrained from a drink before you came up here. That would have made things worse.

"When I chose journalism as my profession, I honestly had no idea how often I'd be chased by guys with guns wanting to kill me," you nervously joked.

A few people laughed, but a multitude made faces at the comment and your instinct to bolt quickly set in. Your eyes darted to Matt, who was smiling in amusement up at you among the sea of people– he was the real reason those guys with guns had been thrown behind bars and had never managed to do more than try to intimidate you these past few months. Really, he deserved this recognition. But he had practically forced you to promise him that you'd in no way make a public statement linking you to his alter ego for your own safety.

"So–so thank you, again," you stammered, eyes darting to the foundation owner now as you stepped away from the microphone, desperate to get off of the stage.

Polite applause erupted in the ballroom and you quickly shook the foundation owner's hand once again, giving him one more nervous 'thank you' before you and your trembling legs hurried across the stage as fast as possible without looking too ridiculous.

Hands shaking just a bit as the adrenaline still surged through your nervous body, smiling politely at those you passed who offered a friendly congratulations, you carefully made your way back towards Matt from across the ballroom. His dark glasses were covering his eyes, but with the wide smile spread entirely across his face, you knew he was focused solely on you despite the room full of people you were slipping your way between as gracefully as you could.

Your heels clicked along the wood floor with each step, the silk of your floor length black dress swishing softly across your legs. You'd picked silk intentionally for tonight, knowing how much Matt had seemed to enjoy it on you at Marci and Foggy's wedding. Since he could only feel what you were wearing, you’d found another way to dress for him–and he’d certainly complimented you on the dress a few times already this evening.

And just like at Marci and Foggy's wedding, Matt looked heartbreakingly handsome in his tuxedo with the bow tie you'd helped him with earlier tonight. The coat fit him just right, his shoulders somehow looking even broader underneath it. Somehow the full ensemble made him look even more intimidating to you tonight. Your heart had been wildly beating in your chest when you'd first seen him open the door to his apartment, entirely in amazement that this man was accompanying you as your date tonight. Before the two of you had left for the event together, you had been almost more nervous to spend the evening with him than you were to give the brief acceptance speech you had just given.

"That was terrifying and I never want to do it again," you told Matt when you finally reached him, wringing your hands anxiously in front of yourself.

"You were perfect," he told you, warmth and calm radiating from him as he reached a hand out, placing it gently on the small of your back. "Just as I said you'd be. I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

"I almost tripped going up those little stairs," you told him, stomach still twisting with nerves.

"No one noticed," he assured you.

Still wringing your hands in front of you, you tried to release a deep breath, but the exhale came out as shaky as your knees. Matt's hand on your back pulled you in towards him and you eagerly accepted the comforting embrace. To anyone else it probably looked like he was congratulating you, but you were grateful for the brief moment to bury your face into his neck and block out the room around you as you inhaled the faint warm, woodsy scent of his cologne while his strong arms held you to him.

Slowly stepping out of his embrace a moment later, you tried to take another calming breath. "I don't know how you do it," you muttered.

His head tilted curiously to the side as he gazed back at you. "Do what?" he asked.

"The whole lawyer thing," you said, waving a hand at him. "Having to memorize your speeches and deliver them in front of so many people. And they're picking apart everything you say. Not to mention the consequences of fucking up are pretty big, too."

He chuckled lightly, his hand gently rubbing along your back. "Somehow you just managed to make me nervous for court on Tuesday," he teased.

"Sorry," you muttered.

"I'm kidding," he answered with a smile. "I do get nervous, actually. I just hide it well. Plus knowing my client is innocent and having the evidence to back it up helps."

"You do everything well," you mumbled. Matt chuckled beside you and you blushed, realizing you said that aloud. "Sorry, I'm really focused on not throwing up right now."

"Yes, I've noticed," Matt said. "You just need to take a few deep breaths, sweetheart. You were great, really."

"I didn't say anything stupid like I did earlier to the senator, did I?" you asked him nervously.

Matt barked out a laugh, the sound carrying as his head fell back along his shoulders. You frowned at his response, noticing a few eyes on the pair of you now.

" Matt ," you chided.

He tried to recover, shaking his head as his laughter died down. "I'm sorry," he said, still smiling, "but you brought it back up. I can't believe you told the senator you thought Daredevil was probably 'a pretty cool dude' in defense of his vigilante endeavors."

A hand flew to your face and you groaned. "He's not being a pretty cool dude right now," you mumbled behind your hand, which only brought on another round of laughter from him beside you.

“Alright, I’ll stop laughing,” he promised, removing his hand from your back and offering you his arm instead. “Would you like to dance?”

Your hand dragged its way down your face and you studied his offered arm for a moment. “Can we…get some alcohol in me first?” you asked. “Now that I don’t need to worry about slurring my way through that speech?”

The smile never fell from Matt’s face, his arm still held out to you. “Seems a terrible way to try not to throw up,” he teased, “but yes, whatever you want. You are the woman of the hour.”

“Please do not say that,” you begged as you slipped your arm through his. “I would much prefer to fade into the background for the rest of the night.”

You began to lead Matt towards the bar at the opposite end of the ballroom, careful to navigate the pair of you between the different small circles of conversing individuals gathered around the areas not filled in with tables. His cane was currently folded up in his right hand, allowing you to do most of the guiding, even if he did have his extra senses that he was pretending not to be using.

“Why do you so often want to go unnoticed?” Matt asked curiously.

Caught off guard by the question, you turned a fraction towards him, your heel slipping along the floor and causing your ankle to twist uncomfortably. You would have fallen straight to the floor if Matt hadn’t instantly tightened his hold on your arm, his other hand that was holding his cane quickly darting out to grab your waist and steady you. Readjusting your foot, you slowly glanced up at Matt beside you as you regained your balance.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He shot you a charming grin, his hand falling from your waist. “Anytime, Bambi,” he teased lightly.

You snorted inelegantly, noticing a tall, slender blonde nearby turning and shooting you a disgruntled look at the sound. Biting your lip, you threw a hand over your mouth and glanced away, carrying on leading the pair of you towards the bar.

“You never answered my question,” Matt pointed out.

“I just…don’t like the attention,” you answered him. “Not all of us are as charismatic and charming as you, Matt.”

“I think you certainly are,” he disagreed.

You couldn’t resist the laugh that came from you. “Pretty sure someone would be more inclined to describe me as awkward and socially-inept. And I am still waiting for you to realize that.”

“I’d be more inclined to say quirky and adorable,” Matt countered, shooting you another charming grin.

You couldn’t fight the smile that slid onto your face as you reached the bar. The pair of you ordered a drink, waiting for the bartender to make them. As you were about to open your mouth, attention returning to Matt, you felt an arm sling itself over your shoulder and you startled. Glancing to your right you spotted Katy with a drink in hand and a sly smile on her face.

“Congratulations lady,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Katy,” you told her. “I honestly can’t believe they picked me this year.”

“Oh, I can,” she replied. “You’ve been busting your ass chasing some big, dangerous stories all year long. But I meant I’m so proud of you for giving that speech up there. You did great and I’m sure you were fighting to not vomit on the head of the Pelman Foundation that was standing beside you the whole time.”

You rolled your eyes, handing Matt his drink from the bartender before accepting yours. “Yeah, and now I’m planning to drink off the lingering nerves,” you informed her.

Her attention shifted to Matt just in front of you, her smile still widely plastered across her face. “Hey, Matt,” she greeted him. “Been a few weeks since I last saw you. You treating my girl good? Because I’ll kick your ass if I have to,” she threatened him, raising her half-finished wine glass and pointing a finger at him firmly.

Matt only grinned in response. “Threatening a blind man, Katy?” he joked back.

“Yeah, I am,” she said with a shrug. “Equality. Don’t hurt my girl.”

“Katy,” you said, shooting her a look.

Matt’s free hand reached up, adjusting his dark glasses on his face as he smiled back at her, entirely unphased. “You know,” he began, something in his tone causing you to instantly narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, “our girl here said you seem to be under the impression I own a bakery?”

A hand flew to your mouth instantly, covering the laughs dying to break free from you. Your shoulders were shaking lightly as you fought them down. Beside you, Katy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I just want to clarify that I’m a lawyer,” he continued, that charming fucking grin on his face. “Not really sure I’d know how to bake a cake.” His head turned towards you, the lights overhead glinting off the red of his glasses as he added, “Though I do appreciate a good cake.”

The laughter died in your throat, your eyes on him like a deer in the headlights. Katy beside you bit down on her lip, fighting back laughter at your discomfort and embarrassment now.

“Good to know,” Katy said with a laugh, slapping you hard on the back. “Hope you both enjoy some cake later. I’m going to go find the cute brunette in the blue suit. Keep an eye out for Jessica–she’s exceptionally pompous tonight.”

You huffed, shoulders sagging at the mention of that particular woman, but as you watched Katy take a few steps away, she abruptly came to a stop when she was just a little behind Matt. Spinning back around, her movement catching your attention, Katy waggled her brows at you and your eyes narrowed as you watched her just over Matt’s shoulder. She exaggeratedly gestured a hand towards Matt’s ass before shooting you two thumbs up, managing it even with the wine glass in hand, and then followed that up with a few lewd hand gestures afterwards. Matt’s head tilted curiously, his gaze still on you.

“She’s behind me, isn’t she?” he asked you.

“Yeah,” you answered, shaking your head roughly at Katy.

You watched as she gestured to Matt’s ass again before making the same lewd gestures, this time adding an inappropriate facial expression. Your eyes went wide, mouth dropping.

“She’s making hand gestures, too,” Matt said. “I’m guessing about my ass?”

You swallowed hard, trying to shoo her away with a hand and a pointed glare. She rolled her eyes at you, turning and ignoring the older gentlemen who you were pretty sure was some big CEO shooting her a disturbed look at the scene she’d just been making.

“Yeah,” you answered Matt, attention returning to him. “She wants me to–” you abruptly stopped, shaking your head as Matt’s mouth twisted into a sly grin. Blushing, you quickly said, “Not important. How about we chug these and go dance?”

“Now I’m curious,” Matt whispered.

"And you're going to stay that way," you told him, bringing the glass to your lips and downing it.

With a wince you set the glass back onto the bar counter, Matt slowly raising a brow at you.

"You were serious about chugging the drink?" he asked.

"Or at least moving far, far away from this spot," you said, your eyes catching sight of Jessica making her way right to the bar.

You grabbed Matt's wrist, trying to be mindful of the drink in his hand, and led him away from the bar. He willingly followed along beside you, but as you maneuvered around a group of people loudly discussing some current political drama, you almost ran headlong into Jessica Manning. Internally you felt yourself deflate.

One of her perfectly plucked and penciled dark brows slowly slid up on her forehead, her blue eyes that looked almost as soulless as you knew her to be scanned you from head to toe, taking in your dress. Of course she looked like a living doll in her form-fitting and quite low cut red dress. She said your name–as if it was something that tasted horrible–in way of greeting.

“Jessica, hello,” you greeted flatly.

“It’s cute they’re still giving awards to print journalists,” she sneered. “Surprised The Bulletin is actually being read and not just used as packing material and fire kindling.”

Your grip tightened on Matt’s wrist at her words. Katy was right–she was extra pompous and insufferable tonight.

“Though I suppose you don’t have quite the right look for actually being on the news,” she mused aloud, her eyes once again scanning you over. “Or the presence and refinement necessary.” Her eyes slid over towards Matt, approvingly and openly roving his face and his body with her gaze. “Suppose that’s how you landed this particular date–he can’t quite see what you’re lacking. But let me assure you," she hissed, leaning towards Matt, "you certainly can do better than her .”

Her words stung, striking something inside of you that was already vulnerable and unsure when it came to you and Matt. You fought hard to keep your composure, forcing away the sting of tears. Opening your mouth to form some sort of retaliation or dismissal, you were quickly cut off by Matt beside you.

"It would appear you lack the refinement you claim to have," he replied, tone low and sharp, yet somehow oddly composed. "Only a jealous woman would tear down the success of another and make a tasteless comment about someone's disability in the same breath. So," he continued, "I'm quite certain you've only further cemented the reason I'm here with the beautiful and talented woman beside me and not someone quite as… lacking as yourself."

He pulled you along beside him, your mouth partially agape as Jessica Manning stood seething, a group of onlookers having overheard the brief interaction and whispering to each other as they glanced in her direction.

Quickly you remembered you needed to lead the pair of you and you focused on guiding the both of you towards an emptier corner of the room far away from Jessica. You hadn't expected Matt to stand up for you like that, and as you glanced over beside you, you saw his dark brows pinched together behind his glasses, his cheek twitching just a bit as if he was irritated.

Drawing to a stop, you released Matt’s wrist, your hands once again nervously fidgeting in front of you. That had been embarrassing and humiliating even if you were touched that he'd stood up for you.

"I'm sorry," Matt abruptly said.

Your brows furrowed together at the unexpected apology. "What?" you asked him.

"I'm sorry you've had to watch as women slip me numbers and flirt while you're standing right there," he answered, his voice low. "I'm sorry any of them ever made you feel like you were somehow less than. Or like you're somehow not good enough. It–it pisses me off," he admitted, the irritation still apparent on his face.

"It's not your fault, Matt," you whispered. "You don't control how others react or what they say." You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. "But Jessica is…another thing entirely. She's been like this ever since I started at The Bulletin and I ran into her covering the same story."

"She's jealous," Matt told you. "I read it in her body the moment we ran into her."

You laughed lightly–Jessica Manning, New York City's favorite, darling reporter–was jealous of you? That was even more unbelievable than the fact that you'd received the Pelman Award tonight.

"The only thing I'd believe she was jealous of was you not being on her arm," you told him.

Matt shook his head, his expression finally relaxing. "No, she was reeking of jealousy before she even noticed me, sweetheart," he told you.

You blinked a few times, trying to wrap your mind around that information. It was still too absurd to believe. The motion of Matt raising his glass to his lips and downing his drink caught your attention again. When he'd finished, he roughly set the glass on a table beside him, his eyes never leaving you. He shifted the folded cane in his hand, setting it down on the table as well before holding a hand out to you. Your eyes dropped down to it, feeling your stomach flutter pleasantly.

"Why don't we focus on enjoying our evening instead," Matt suggested, the irritation gone from his voice. "Dance with me? Make up for all the dances I missed out on with you at Fog and Marci’s wedding?"

You swallowed hard, eyes slowly sliding up to the sweet look on his handsome face. Your heart stuttered in your chest–one of these days that 'I love you' was going to just come barreling out of your mouth at him.

But no, not tonight. Despite how sweet he had been handling Jessica and your feelings after, and the fact that he was choosing to focus on you instead of the situation, tonight was not the night. You'd make sure the alcohol didn't loosen your tongue too much just in case. The last thing you needed was to drunkenly admit your feelings.

"I'd love to," you whispered instead, accepting his hand.

You led the pair of you out towards the dance floor where there already were a handful of couples holding each other close and swaying to the live string quartet playing just off to the side. Finding a place a little out of the way, you stopped, turning a little nervously in towards him. He flashed you a curious smile and you couldn't fight back your own nerves at the sight.

"What?" you asked him.

His hands easily slipped onto your hips, gliding their way over the silk of your dress towards your lower back and carefully drawing you in close. Your hands carefully slid underneath his arms, snaking their way to his back.

"You've been nervous around me all night," Matt finally answered as the pair of you began to gently sway to the music. "And you just got really nervous before we stepped out here to dance. More than you usually have been during our relationship so far. Reminds me of back before we were together and you'd find reasons to bolt out of the room whenever we were alone. I've noticed it off and on the last couple of weeks, but you seem even more nervous than the other times. What's going on?"

Of course Matt would notice every time your heart fluttered and your body freaked out whenever you were fighting down the urge to tell him how you felt these past couple of weeks. Your nerves had also increased tonight solely because he looked like he should have some model hanging on his arm instead of you with your awkward bumbling in your heels.

Lightly clearing your throat, you quickly replied the first not ‘I love you’ response that flew out of your mouth. “Nothing. Nothing is going on at all. You’re just, you know, really attractive and sometimes when you focus on me, like you’re doing right now,” you rambled, the words just spilling out of you with no end in sight, “it makes me incredibly fucking nervous. And it doesn’t help that tonight, in that tux, you look really, really good. And you have that goddamn fucking charming smile on your face and it’s making me blurt shit that’s almost worse than having just blurted the actual reason and–”

You stopped, eyes going wide as Matt’s charming smile slid into a triumphant and devious smirk mere inches from your face.

“So there is a reason and I’m not just misreading you,” he whispered.

You tensed in his arms, swallowing hard as your cheeks grew warm. Licking your lips nervously, feeling like your breathing was becoming shallower, you asked, “Can we just, uh, forget I said all of that? Because I…I’m pretty sure I’m going to vomit and faint simultaneously if I have to answer your question for real right now.”

His head shifted, face lowering down towards yours. From this close you could see his eyes behind the lenses of his dark glasses; they were slightly narrowed, curiously scanning around your face and then dropping lower, towards your chest. Head canting a little to the left, the right corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly upwards. A moment later his gaze drew back up around your chin, the smile spreading a little further on his face and his eyes creasing lightly at the corners behind the glasses. You shot him a questioning look in return even though he couldn’t see it.

What was that look about?

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Matt teased gently.

One of his hands left its place along your back and a moment later you felt him gingerly tilting your chin with his fingers until your lips were almost brushing his. Immediately your gaze lowered, focusing on his own lips as a dizziness washed over you. Gradually he leaned in, closing the distance and drawing your lips against his in a soft kiss, one that sent your heart racing in your chest. A moment later you felt his lips tighten, pulling into a smile against yours, his fingers still carefully holding your chin. You swallowed hard, eyeing him curiously as he drew back.

“What?” you asked him cautiously.

He had an unusually large smile drawn wide on his mouth, one that was a prime example of the whole cat-that-ate-the-canary expression, and you were currently feeling like the goddamn canary.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I don’t want you simultaneously throwing up and fainting on the dance floor.” An amused grin slid across his mouth now as he straightened. “You might find that to be a little more embarrassing than talking about how Daredevil is a ‘pretty cool dude’ to a U.S. senator.”

Matt let out a laugh as your forehead dropped to his solid chest, your eyes closing and a groan of embarrassment falling from you. His other hand returned to your back as he held you close, still swaying with you to the music.

“For the record though,” Matt said, leaning closer to whisper into your ear, “Daredevil appreciated the compliment.”

A slow smile spread across your face as it rested against Matt’s chest, your hands clutching the material of his suit from their place along his back. He had been amazing tonight handling your nerves and every other potentially embarrassing thing that had happened, and internally in that moment you let yourself tell him ‘I love you,’ even if you were still too terrified to actually say it aloud to him.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #daredevil x female reader #daredevil x reader #fftd

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

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Do No Harm

CHAPTER FOUR: Overthinking

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt reminisces, and all of his thoughts revolve around you. When he accompanies Foggy to the hospital for a second time, he's nervous. Will he see you again? And how is he supposed to act around you?

Warnings for this chapter: slight angst, Matt's POV, attempt at humor, hint at gun violence

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: I'm back!! You guys are getting a double update today because this chapter is short af and I was on a roll.

Read Chapter 4: Overthinking here on AO3

The Braille underneath Matt’s fingertips feels unworn, freshly printed. His nostrils pick up on the heavy scent of coffee mixed with creamer from his mug. Foggy just had a sandwich from the deli around the corner; he asked for extra onions. There is a can of coke and a half-empty bottle of water next to his keyboard, muffling the sound of his fingers brushing along the keys but causing the liquid to vibrate ever so slightly in a way that Matt knows will soon cause him a headache.

He forces himself to re-read the same passage of the case file before him for the third time.

The Hudson moves with the wind, its waves crashing into the shore, and the air is starting to smell like the salt of oncoming rain. Those who aren’t busy with work or other responsibilities soak up the last few hours of sunshine of the day.

Matt tilts his head toward the door. Karen shifts in her seat. Foggy lets out a soft groan of pain. He is paying attention to every minuscule detail around him without actively trying to. He wants to focus back on his work and not the myriad of sounds that are crashing into him like the waves of the Hudson are crushing into the docks, but he can’t. His mind is elsewhere.

His knuckles are still bruised from the night before. Just thinking about it spikes his heart rate. Olivia. Or, as he learned at the hospital the other night, Olivia Clarke. That’s what you call yourself, at least. The name doesn’t do you justice. Matt wants to like it because it is your name, but something feels off whenever he thinks about it. Either he is overthinking or his gut feeling is right and you are hiding something else entirely, and it all starts with that name—Olivia Clarke.

Matt can be too curious for his own good. For your sake, he should just leave it be, but he made a decision last night. He made a decision he shouldn’t have made, but he could hear your heartbeat across Hell’s Kitchen. He could smell the fear seeping out of your pores mixed with the purest essence of adrenaline. You got yourself into trouble and you wouldn’t have made it out if it hadn’t been for him.

Perhaps he should have stayed away though. His actions have now complicated his already complex feelings, and you are present in every last thought that crosses his mind. And he can’t focus. He hates it when he can’t focus. He’s not just thinking about you; the curiosity is killing him, and he feels a pang of worry whenever he smells something that reminds him of you, or whenever your voice scratches the inside of his ear when he spreads his hearing out just a little too far.

He doesn’t even have to actively search for you in the city to be reminded of you because you are already all over him. That is the only reason he came to save your life; you were already all over him when he picked the sound of your heartbeat out of a million others.

He is still so painfully unaware of most of your facets. You’re feisty, you’re sassy, you would rather fight your own battles than ask for help—but you’re everything but selfish.

The way you carried yourself last night, the way your heart was beating, the way you were talking to that disgusting excuse of a human being after you saved a young woman from suffering a horrible fate, he knew that there has to be more to you than you let on.

He heard what you said to her before she ran away. The way you talked sounded so sincere—as if you were talking from experience, he believes—and that still makes his blood run cold now whenever he thinks about it.

His not-so-accidental encounter with you has made him wonder what else you’re hiding from the world to protect yourself. And he can’t stop thinking about whether or not you are okay because under all of that curiosity is a big ball of concern and an odd kind of protectiveness that is just waiting to start rolling.

You’re kind, you’re genuine and you’re warm. That perception of you hasn’t changed for him. If anything, his belief that you are a good person only manifested. You’re the kind of person other people can easily feel comfortable around. Your selflessness is what truly struck him.

You didn’t ask where he got his injuries, you simply patched him up and that was it. And you saved a woman you didn’t even know from getting raped, and you faced the man who did it with nothing but a bottle of mace on your keychain. As much as he doesn’t want to understand why you wouldn’t leave him to die, he does get it better than anyone. You have morals. You took an oath.

Matt has sworn to protect Hell’s Kitchen because the system is failing, and he is sure that if he told you that, you would understand. You didn’t even tell on him when you probably should have. You don’t see him as a threat. You weren’t scared of him last night. You weren’t even scared of death.

You have dealt with men worse than him, you told him. He still wonders what you meant by that, but it can’t be anything good. Just like that, the spiral his mind has fallen into starts all over again.

He left his number with the nurses at the hospital without even thinking that he would have to jump in and save your life a day later. Did you get his card? He followed his instincts, but now that it is nearing noon on the second day after first meeting you, he wonders if he made the right choice.

You haven’t called him back yet, so maybe you didn’t get the card. Or maybe you did recognize him the other night and he is completely and utterly fucked. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re not interested in Matt Murdock. You’re not interested in the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. You may not even be interested in any man and maybe he made a huge fool out of himself. There is an infinite number of possibilities.

Matt stops moving his fingers over the Braille when the door to his office opens. It interrupts his thoughts, dispersing the picture of you in his mind.

Your gentle voice, the way you laugh, the way you smile, and how your fingers felt on his bruised skin when you took care of him—It’s not a face, per se, but he sees you in a way beyond functioning eyes. He uses the faint memory of your scent and the melody of your heartbeat to paint a silhouette of golden flames, and you are strikingly beautiful to him.

Maybe Foggy was onto something when he said that Matt has a knack for finding beautiful women with questionable morals.

“Hey buddy,” Foggy says.

Matt tilts his head upward, seemingly startled by his friend’s sudden appearance in his doorway. “Hey,” he replies.

“Sorry. Did I startle you?”

“Oh, no.” He adjusts his glasses. “I just… didn’t see you there.”

In the other room, Karen almost spits out her herbal tea before she starts laughing. Foggy, on the other hand, stammers for a moment.

“I—You’re awful, you know that?”

Smirking, Matt closes the case file. “It was a bad joke, sorry,” he says. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask if you’re still up for taking me to the hospital after work,” says Foggy. “You know, the check-up?”

Matt frowns. “The–” He cuts himself off. “Oh, right. The check-up for your, uh, your shoulder.”

“Yeah. You said you’d come with me. You know, ‘cause,” Foggy leans a bit further into the office, lowering his voice, “you’re much better at this stuff than I am.”

“Are you dying?”

“No. What? Why would I—” He realizes quickly that Matt is just making fun of him, so he rolls his eyes. “No, Matt, I’m not dying,” Foggy answers. “I just… I don’t like doctors. I don’t know shit about my own body. But you do. You always know how to talk to ‘em. It’s like a very creepy superpower for a guy who hates doctors, to be honest. But anyway, they could tell me to amputate my arm and I would say yes. You know that. So, I need you to come with me.”

Matt sighs. “Why don’t you ask Karen? She has a car.”

From the entrance hall, Karen’s voice rings out. “That’s true,” she says. “And I wouldn’t mind–”

“No,” Foggy cuts her off. “No offense, Karen, and I appreciate the offer, but this is a thing between Matt and me.” He lowers his voice again, and Matt can only imagine how hard he is glaring at him right now. “You owe me, Matt. Remember that time in college?”

“Okay,” Matt leans forward, “That’s blackmail.”

“Is it working?” Foggy retorts.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome! Two hours, buddy. I’m counting on you.”

Matt forces an exasperated smile. Foggy pats the doorframe with his functioning hand, and he turns around as if he just won the lottery. Walking past Karen’s desk, he even lifts his fist, which, as always, carries a baseball. Matt can hear the fabric brushing against his fingers.

His thoughts drift again. Instead of focusing on the case file like he should, he thinks about the hospital. He thinks about how in two hours, he will be at Metro General again, and there is a chance that you’re working. Or maybe you’re not. He knows what the hours of hospital staff are—he knows the legal limits, and he becomes acutely aware of the shift changes because he hears them loud and clear, even across the city.

What will he do if you happen to be there? Should he talk to you? Should he ask if you got his number or would that be taking a step too far? He doesn’t want to force you into a corner. If you aren’t interested, he has to respect that. And maybe, after all, that happened the night before, it is for the better that you haven’t called him yet. He shouldn’t seek you out.

He wants to. God knows that Matt wants to find you at the hospital. Deep down, he wants nothing more than for you to call him. He knows it’s probably a bad idea, but he can’t stop his heart from wanting what it wants. Cutting it out would kill him, but sometimes he wishes he could. He wishes he could just turn it off and focus on what his common sense is telling him. But he can’t. You intrigue him too much.

Two hours later, Matt and Foggy arrive at Metro General. Even with an appointment, the waiting room is packed.

The noise hits Matt like a freight train. Beeping, clattering, groaning, screaming… It’s a sensory nightmare.

He’s sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, surrounded by noise and people and overwhelming smells, and he feels as if he’s being burned alive—as if someone is scorching his skin from the inside out. He wants to scrub himself from head to toe with antibacterial soap and burn the hairs in his nose that will carry the scent of antiseptic, blood, and other bodily fluids for weeks to come.

He wants to lock himself in an empty, soundproof room until his ears have stopped ringing, and he wants to meditate. Just for a little while, Matt wants to be someone else and exist somewhere life could be just a little easier. But he knows that the jumble of thoughts that is burning through his brain at high speed will get him nowhere. That’s not how real life works.

Matt is standing in front of the vending machine that is placed neatly against the wall in the middle of the hallway. He pressed the button for his favorite chocolate bar an eternity ago, and the machine still hasn’t spit it out. His luck must have run out. The buttons have Braille indents, but the machine isn’t working. He should have expected this to happen.

His knuckles have gone white from the grip on his cane. He opens the first button on the collar of his dress shirt to breathe a little easier, but the oxygen he’s breathing still feels tainted when he inhales. He’s sweating. There are a million things he would rather do right now, including walking over hot coal barefoot, than be in this hospital right now. Too many thoughts, and too many feelings—he’s close to collapsing under the invisible weight he is putting on his own shoulders, and the vending machine still won’t give him his chocolate.

Matt is starting to consider that God finally doomed him for all his failings.

He put Claire at risk. His actions forced an innocent woman out of her home because she was kind enough not to let him die. Now, she’s in danger. She should stay far away from him, but he’s the one who keeps coming back for free medical attention. It isn’t fair. He knows that.

Matt managed to save the little boy from the Russians, but he still hasn’t figured out what is happening in Hell’s Kitchen. He still hasn’t touched the bottom of a very big problem, and until then, Claire will be in danger, and he will keep failing. One victory doesn’t make it right.

After all of that, he wouldn’t put it past God to forever doom him.

He tilts his head. He can’t make out your heartbeat in the chaos. Chances are that you’re not even there. Your voice is nowhere to be found and neither is that unique scent that sticks to your clothes like glue.

The universe made the decision for him. He won’t search for you in this labyrinth. He won’t chase you down. You haven’t called him, and he doubts that you ever will. He left you his number in a moment of weakness. He was selfish when he did. He doesn’t want to be selfish anymore because his life puts those around him in danger. Your soul seems troubled enough; he doesn’t want to drag you into this the same way he dragged Claire into this. Matt can’t drag you into a war not even he knows how to fight.

“There you are,” Foggy calls from the other end of the hallway.

Tilting his head in his direction, Matt stops pressing the buttons on the vending machine. “Hey,” he says. “You’re back.” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice. He lost all track of time.

Foggy stops beside him. His movements sound freer—probably because the sling that held his arm in place is now gone.

“What did the doctor say?” Matt asks him.

“All good,” says Foggy. “Yeah, I have my full range of motion back.”

In an attempt to demonstrate, he rolls his once-injured shoulder, and his fist accidentally brushes against the vending machine. The chocolate that got stuck when Matt ordered it finally loosens, and it thuds against the metal bottom.

The gears in Foggy’s head start turning. “Oh, a chocolate bar!” he sounds so happy that Matt’s first thought to grab it for himself dissipates into thin air. He closes his fist around his cane again, putting on a smile instead.

“Did you want that?” Foggy asks.

Matt shakes his head and says, “Nah, you can have it.”

“Nice!” His smile is audible when he reaches into the bottom of the machine to take out the candy.

On their way out, Matt’s stomach drops. He isn’t sure why. His senses are on high alert, but there seems to be no obvious explanation as to why. He just feels this impending sense of doom, and it makes him even more acutely aware of his surroundings. He can hear every heartbeat, every breath, and every uttered word in the halls of Metro General. He hears things he never even wanted to hear. He smells things that he only picks up on when he focuses. He doesn’t want to focus, but the dark cloud that is starting to form over his head makes it impossible not to.

Just as he and Foggy are about to pass the emergency room on their way to the exit, the cloud ruptures. Loud yelling can be heard even through the thin wall and the door that is separating it from the foyer. It’s so loud that even Foggy hears it. They both stop at the same time, Matt’s fingers tangled in his friend’s coat for some added support. He pulls him back, and they both turn toward the source of the noise.

“Holy shit,” Foggy mutters. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Matt answers.

In the distance, he can hear the clanking of keys and the echo of steel boots bouncing off the walls. There is a total of two security guards in the emergency room, but they called for reinforcements. And then, Matt’s blood runs cold.

The sound of your heartbeat has become oddly familiar to him over such a short time. It’s beating faster than usual, but it is still uniquely yours. The sound doesn’t come from far away, either. It’s right on the other side of the wall among the obnoxious yelling that has already sent goosebumps down Foggy’s spine. Instantly, Matt classifies the change in rhythm as either a release of adrenaline or fear, maybe even both. It reminds him of the night before, but there is something different about it, still. The hairs on his arms rise toward the ceiling. His own heart starts hammering in his chest.

He believed your shift to be over. What are you still doing here? And why does it sound like you’re in danger all over again, still trying to handle it on your own? Metro General is known for treating all patients, including those who are violent. The question Matt is asking him is whether or not you jumped in on purpose again or if your job simply put you in the line of fire this time. It sounds like a riot is happening, and the yelling only gets louder.

Before he can open his mouth to say something, the security guards he heard getting ready storm past them. The gush of wind slaps him across the face. He didn’t expect Foggy to see that as an invitation to follow them. He’s always been a curious man, but he isn’t usually one to run toward danger.

“I’m gonna check what’s going on,” he says as he brushes past Matt. “Stay here.”

Matt tightens his grip on his coat. “No! Foggy—” he can’t finish his sentence; his friend is already on his way.

He groans, and he decides, against his better judgment, to follow him.

The emergency room has fallen into chaos. Not the usual chaos of blood, disease, and gore, but a chaos that is charged with a dangerous tension that could snap and kill someone any second now. Matt doesn’t have to see to know what is going on. Foggy stops mid-way, and he almost bumps into him from behind.

“Gun,” Foggy breathes.

And you are standing right in front of it.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #reader insert #charlie cox #do no harm

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blizzardstarx · 2 months ago

Text

Blizzardstar’s Storm - Chapter 4

AO3 Link Table of Contents

Word count: ~2.7k

No warnings

The pungent smell of herbs flooded Blizzardkit’s nose as he slowly opened his eyes to find himself laying in the medicine den. I’m alive.

“You’re finally awake,” a cat meowed from the other side of the den, and he turned his head, seeing a flash of blueish gray fur in the corner of his eyes. Blizzardkit blinked blearily, his vision clearing to see the medicine cat apprentice, Bluepaw, sorting herbs. The tom was only a few moons older than them, halfway through his apprenticeship. “I found you collapsed outside of camp, and you were barely breathing.”

Blizzardkit felt as if his chest had been ripped out, nausea washing over him as he asked in a croak, “What happened?”

“Almost died. You were foaming at the mouth and convulsing. Probably ingested some kind of poison, water hemlock is my guess. Leafpelt told me once that yarrow forces vomiting, so I gave you some to help your body expel it,” Bluepaw explained calmly as he looked up from his herbs. “I had to act fast, since Leafpelt was at the gathering.”

The kit’s eyes widened. That explains why I feel like I swallowed a rock whole, he thought, his throat sore and aching in protest. His memory of the incident was foggy, a hazy mist shrouding his mind. He tried to clear it, shaking his head and blinking, but only could remember fragments. Pain emanated from his head as he groaned, recalling how he had been slammed down into the ground.

“Your family is worried about you,” the apprentice murmurs quietly, blinking pityingly at him. “Nearly tripped over their paws running to the medicine den after I told them what had happened.”

Right on cue, Blizzardkit heard loud voices behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his fur, springing up in alarm and hissing.

“How is he?” The familiar voice of his father asked the medicine cat apprentice.

“He’s recovering, I’d rather have him not go into shock,” Bluepaw remarked to Lightingstar. Blizzardkit turned around to face his father, who was looking down at him, blinking apologetically. His mother stood by his side, also staring at him in concern.

“Leafpelt went to go check on Fawnleap, I better go fetch her now that you’re awake,” Bluepaw meowed to no cat in particular, excusing himself before padding out of the den, leaving the three to themselves.

“Sorry Blizzardkit,” he meowed. “Are you okay?”

Blizzardkit nodded, forcing the fur on his back to flatten back down, sighing.

“What happened?” Whitefur asked, laying down, curling around him and ducking down to lick his head. Lightningstar sat on his haunches next to them, looking at Blizzardkit with his blue eyes.

“All I remember was hearing noises outside the camp, and I wanted to check them. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have gone out,” Blizzardkit mewed, pressing his ears against his skull, distress glimmering clearly in his blue eyes as he looked at Whitefur with remorse.

“Oh, Blizzardkit, you could’ve never known that would’ve happened,” his mother whispered, nuzzling him affectionately, pressing her cheek to his. Blizzardkit took a deep breath, trying to push his emotions down as they bubbled to the top, continuing.

“There was a group of cats gathered, a-and they were talking about wanting to kill you. And me, Splashkit, and Spiderkit.” His voice was frantic as panic prickled at his paws, shifting restlessly, his words tumbling out in a rush. His sad gaze flitted to Lightningstar as he said the word “you,” his eyes betraying his feelings of fear and guilt.

He saw the worry shining in his father’s eyes as he listened to his words, his eyes getting wider with each addition of the story.

“Can you remember who tried to poison you?” Whitefur asked gently.

Blizzardkit closed his eyes, trying to fight the swirl of emotions that threatened to overtake him while also trying to focus on his scattered memories, but to no avail, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” Lightningstar questioned, and he felt a pang of irritation.

“No, I don’t remember, I couldn’t see them!” Blizzardkit cried helplessly, his voice getting higher pitched as he got more and more upset, lashing his tail in frustration. “I can’t remember.”

Lightningstar’s tail rested on his shoulder gently, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to remember, okay? We will find the cat responsible,” he reassures, murmuring quietly. “And I have plenty of lives left.”

Blizzardkit felt the tidal wave that was rising slowly recede at his words, his tense body relaxing as he nodded. His gaze flitted to the medicine den entrance, staring outside at the camp clearing, asking, “What about us?”

“I won’t let anyone hurt my kits,” his father said firmly, narrowing his eyes. “We’ll be safe, I promise.”

The tom glanced behind him, hearing shuffling and pawsteps from the entrance. He shot a look at Blizzardkit that said Don’t tell your littermates about this, before they spotted the tortoiseshell and blueish gray fur of Leafpelt and Bluepaw. Lightningstar got to his paws, giving the medicine cats a nod of acknowledgement and telling Blizzardkit that he had to leave. The vines draping down from the den entrance rustled as he left and the medicine cats entered the den, and Blizzardkit felt a pang of disappointment at his absence. He snuggled closer to his mother’s belly, feeling her warmth envelop him.

“Are you feeling alright?” The tortoiseshell she-cat asked, turning her amber eyes onto the kit. Her eyes glowed with kindness and warmth, and he nodded, saying, “My throat and head hurts a little.”

Leafpelt nodded, turning to Bluepaw and asking, “What do we use for a sore throat and a headache?”

The apprentice was already looking through their medicine supply, finding a white and yellow flower that had small, dark-green leaves. “Honey and feverfew.”

The medicine cat purred in approval, praising, “That's right, nice job.”

Bluepaw dropped the flower at Blizzardkit’s paws, and he immediately lapped it up, chewing it. He almost spat it out, its intense, bitter flavor washing over his tongue, scrunching his face in disgust. Yuck!

“I was going to tell you to wait and eat them at the same time,” Bluepaw meowed, amusement in his voice as he came back with some honey.

“Is honey as bad tasting as that other herb?” Blizzardkit asked, frowning as he stared at it warily.

“Try it for yourself.”

Blizzardkit sniffed at it, and the sticky, yellow liquid was sweet. He stuck out his tongue, touching it gingerly, and instantly, he was awestruck at the delightful taste, a sharp contrast to the bitter flavor of the feverfew.

“Could you go gather some herbs for me, Bluepaw? We’re a little short of catmint and tansy,” Leafpelt says to her apprentice, who nodded. The blueish gray tom turned around and left the den, heading towards the camp entrance.

The vines rustled again as Blizzardkit spotted the familiar faces of his littermates popping into the medicine den, peeking inside.

“We thought we would bring Blizzardkit some fresh-kill,” Splashkit mewed, and Spiderkit nodded in agreement, his mouth full of mouse fur as he tried to speak, his voice muffled.

“Thank you,” Blizzardkit mewed, blinking at them gratefully, feeling a pang of hunger hit him.

“That was very nice of you two,” Whitefur meowed, giving her two other kits a smile. Spiderkit knelt down to place the mouse on the ground, his body practically buzzing in excitement.

“What happened? Was it scary? Did you fight them off?” Spiderkit asked excitedly. Blizzardkit felt a twinge of amusement, his questions, even if annoying, brought some respite to the storm of emotions in his mind.

“Obviously it was scary, and of course he did, dummy, he wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t,” Splashkit rebuked, cuffing him around the ear.

“Ow!” The gray kit cried, recoiling. “I was just asking.”

“Yeah, it was scary,” Blizzardkit answered, ignoring what had just happened. Whitefur scolded Splashkit, saying, “Don’t hit your brother. And Spiderkit, Blizzardkit has gone through a lot and needs his rest.”

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” the gray and white tabby piped up, taking a bite out of the mouse.

“Alright,” Whitefur murmured gently, nodding.

“I snuck out of camp yesterday because I heard some voices.”

Spiderkit and Splashkit perked up, and his brother leaned in, his eyes wide with interest.

“I went to go check it out, and there was a group of cats that were…” He paused, thinking back to what his father had said about not telling his littermates. “…talking about something. And one of them noticed me and almost tried to kill me.”

“What were they talking about?” Spiderkit asked.

“I…don’t remember,” Blizzardkit mewed, lying through his gritted teeth. I can’t tell you. Lightningstar told me not to, and I don’t want to disobey orders again.

Spiderkit didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the matter further, keeping his mouth shut.

“Are you feeling okay now?” Splashkit tilted her head, concern shining in her eyes. Blizzardkit nodded, and he realized the pain in his throat and head had receded. He quickly finished the mouse, scarfing down the remains.

“Could I leave now? I’m feeling better,” He asked the medicine cat at the other end of the den.

Leafpelt turned, padding over to him and running her paw over his body, checking to see if there were any other problems. Finally, she nodded. “You can go.”

Blizzardkit got to his paws, and his littermates followed after him. His mother, however, stayed behind, talking to the medicine cat in a hushed whisper, which Blizzardkit couldn’t hear.

The sun’s light dazzled him as he left the medicine den, and he took a moment to readjust, cursing under his breath, blinking. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he was reminded of how many clanmates he had. Two hunting patrols, led by Goldenstripe and Blossombreeze, were gathered at the entrance, preparing to leave. He saw Thrushwing laying on a rock near the elders den, basking in the sunlight, and his other Clanmates sharing tongues or eating fresh-kill. A sharp thorn of anxiety stabbed at him as he realized that any one of these could be the cat who had tried to kill him, and he swept his gaze around nervously. The attacker had smelled like StormClan, unlike the unfamiliar scent he had picked up on when eavesdropping.

Who would do such a thing? Blizzardkit thought, his eyes round with anxiety. His gaze landed on Cinderclaw, and he remembered his remark from the day before. Maybe him? Would the tom really do that, for accidentally bumping into him?

That’d be a dumb reason, Blizzardkit told himself, glancing over to the leader’s den. And plus, they had wanted to kill his father as well as his littermates.

“Hello, Blizzardkit? You there?” Spiderkit’s mew snapped him out of his worrying, and Blizzardkit jolted in surprise, jerking his head towards his brother.

“Huh? Yeah,” he says, forcing the fur on the back of his neck to lay flat.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” Splashkit murmured, looking at him with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise. I’m just… tired,” Blizzardkit says. It was a half truth, but it somewhat convinced them.

“Come on, we should go catch a beetle and put it in Cinderclaw’s nest,” Spiderkit suggested, grinning devilishly. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off of whatever you’re thinking of.”

The gray and white tabby nodded, but he remained wary, occasionally glancing behind him, paranoia prickling at his pelt, terrified of experiencing what had happened yesterday again. They padded over to the leader’s den, as the rotten log could provide shelter for the small insects.

“You know what I heard from Shimmertail?” Splashkit piped up as they began to search, digging around and looking beneath and on top of the log. “The Clans were fighting over some fresh-kill found on their territories that had the other Clans’ scents.”

“Of course they did,” he mewed, giggling softly. At the mention of the silver tabby, Blizzardkit remembered a moon ago seeing Shimmertail with Acornleaf, a white and orange tabby, now knowing their names. They always hung out together, sharing tongues and going out on patrols.

“I heard it almost broke into a fight, after Houndstrike provoked the StoneClan deputy, Otterwhisker,” Splashkit says, letting out a mrrow of laughter. “And that StarClan got angry and covered the moon, ending the gathering.”

“If a leaf blew across their territory they’d find a reason to fight over it,” Spiderkit added, a purr rumbling in his throat as his claws scooped out dirt from the ground, nosing around.

“What are you kits doing there?” A cat asked behind them, and Blizzardkit jumped to his paws, swinging his head behind him. It was Acornleaf, staring down at them curiously with her leaf green eyes, her head cocked to the side. Blizzardkit slowly relaxed, letting out a sigh. Her eyes glinted with amusement as she added, “Looks like you’re trying to move Lightningstar’s den.”

“We’re trying to find a beetle!” Spiderkit yipped in excitement.

“Really? What for?” The she-cat looked interested, her eyes glowing with warmth.

“We’re going to put—” Splashkit’s mew was cut off as Spiderkit covered her mouth with his tail. “For no reason,” he says, giving Acornleaf a smile. The warrior’s whiskers twitched as she glanced at Splashkit, who was trying to get her brother’s tail off her mouth.

“Well, it’s good seeing you better, Blizzardkit,” she says, turning her attention to him. “I’ve never seen Bluepaw that scared before.”

Blizzardkit’s eyes widened, remembering how the apprentice had been indifferent and level-headed when he had woken up. He felt a pang of guilt for making him worry. If I hadn’t snuck out of camp…

His thoughts trailed off as he spotted the shiny back of a beetle near the end of the log, his eyes lighting up, letting out a gasp. “There!” He darted over to it, gently grabbing it in his jaws, careful not to crush it.

“Yay! Now we can sneak it into Cinderclaw’s nest!” Spiderkit bounded over to him, before freezing, realizing he had given away their plan. Splashkit gave him a half-hearted glare for his hypocrisy.

“You’re going to sneak a beetle into Cinderclaw’s nest?” Acornleaf repeated, amusement shining in her eyes. “How are you going to do that?”

“Can you distract him for us?” Splashkit asked, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

“Pleeease?” Spiderkit even added, and the white and orange tabby could not resist, chuckling. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

They watched as she left for the warriors’ den, where Cinderclaw and his brother, Wolfclaw, were talking, and Blizzardkit noticed them glancing around shiftily. As the she-cat got closer, they stopped their conversation, and Acornleaf struck up a new one with them.

Blizzardkit slunk across the clearing, flicking his tail for his littermates to follow, feeling the beetle wriggling slightly in his mouth, holding back the instinct to drop it. As he neared the den from the other side, he glanced behind him, checking to see if the coast was clear, and turning back to the front, seeing the gray warrior still preoccupied.

He slipped inside the warriors’ den, which was empty, as his Clanmates were busy on patrols or in the camp clearing. Splashkit and Spiderkit quietly entered as well, and Blizzardkit let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

They searched and found the moss nest Cinderclaw was occupying, spotting some tufts of his fur in one of them. Blizzardkit quickly placed the beetle in it, and they left quickly, barely stifling their laughter.

Acornleaf gave them a wink as she watched them go, smiling, and the trio of kits went to their spot under an oak tree’s shade.

“We did it!” Spiderkit cried, swishing his tail excitedly, and his littermates shared his energy. Blizzardkit had barely noticed the amount of time that went by without him thinking back to what had happened the day before, happily giggling in glee.

Maybe things weren’t so bad after all. Lightningstar will catch whoever had done it, and they’ll all be safe.

@castiels-destiny

A/N: one week until the chaos…

Next chapter:

Chapter 5

#blizz’s writing #Blizzardstar’s Storm #Blizzardstar!!!#StormStoneSunAU #warriors #warrior cats #warriors fic #warrior cats fic #warriors fanfic #warrior cats fanfic #warriors au #warrior cats au #warriors oc #warrior cats oc

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crimsonlyinglilly · 10 months ago

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Entangled Minds - Payback

You know what! If I don't post something for Entangled minds it will drive me mad so here's something from the very middle.

Entangled Minds - where Finn and Elijah are mentally linked and yet still end up on opposite sides.

Set The Originals - Season 2, Episode 12

Elijah realising with Esther torture session and the mind link with Finn leaves him as a more of a danger to his siblings and Hope offers himself to body switch instead of Rebekah and Kol doesn't change his plans.

So Elijah ends up trapped in the cottage and Eva's body.

----

Elijah is trying to get the hazy feeling to go away with pure force of will even as he can almost feel the drugs in his blood when he gets an echo of Finn’s view, their little brother rambling excuses.

This new body didn’t have the necklace that Finn had had mother make when she first returned and tried to kill them, yet given how easily he and finn were seeing into each other’s mind Finn hadn’t reclaimed it or gotten around to making another one, since his original was around Elijah’s real bodies’ neck before he had woken up in this one.

It wasn’t planned and was quickly clear to Elijah who was behind it, Finn had quickly worked out where he was and the fact he wasn’t taking the medicine from the mind share and helpfully informed those in charge who had ensured he received a double dose.

Then again the necklace had required Mother having the help of the Bennet line to be able to make something that could intervene with their connection, something they didn’t have, apparently the ancestors weren’t willing to help them interfere for some reason, he had learnt from Finn’s thoughts.

It seemed the Witch Sage had found truly was one of a kind and by strengthening her spell with her own death, she had ensured no one could permanently alter it in any way. Elijah had wondered many times why she had done it, had reached out to a sole wandering vampire with an offer to die for her.

Still it’s nice to see another member of his family, since seeing Finn’s new reflection and his original body in his mind just left him wanting to strangle him.

His fondness is ruined by Finn’s disgust and anger at it, he looks further into Finn’s mind, too distracted by the brother under his hand to guard his plans from Elijah probing.

Likely sure the drugs would stop Elijah from gathering the focus to do it, but then Finn should know better than to underestimate Elijah when it comes to their siblings.

The sealing Kol in that body was a start he found as he noticed the murderous intent, Elijah wasn’t letting it get past that, he had never done it himself but Finn had taken over his body enough it was time for payback.

One moment he was laying on his back in the cottage, drugs making his focus foggy the next he was standing clear minded.

Kol’s close he could hug him and then shake him to demand answers for his new body but they don’t have time for that

“Run.” The voice wasn’t his but closer than what his current body produced.

“What? Finn?” Kol’s questioned as Elijah pushed him slightly.

“He sealed you in that body, he was going to hex you.“ Elijah explains stepping back, putting more distance between them in case Finn took his body back over.

“Elijah?”

Elijah twists looking around, he hadn’t realised how much the drugs had slowed his thinking until he was suddenly free, but he didn’t have time to admire it, Finn was better versed in taking control, since Elijah had let him over the years to help with his own guilt at leaving him in the box, of learning he was awake.

Finn was going to kill their- Elijah’s little brother, Finn didn’t deserve him for what he was planning. His mischievous, too bright little brother who was finally free of the bloodlust mother had cursed them with and Finn wanted to wipe that away because Finn was a twisted selfish child who couldn’t get over a dead six year old.

Freya was brilliant and the memories of her ached since Finn had shared them but Elijah had lost one bright brilliant little brother once and had already mourned Kol, he wasn’t doing it again.

The collection of glass bottles is perfect for his plans.

The sound of shattering glass is satisfying but the sharp pain that spreads from his-Finn hand up his arm from where he had slammed it into the glass vials is far better, Finn was human, they both were at the moment, it would take time to heal if he couldn’t use magic and if he managed well, it was going to hurt.

“Elijah!” Kol called taking a step towards them.

“You're not running.” He said as he picked up a knife with the injured hand ignoring as it pushed glass further into cuts. He could feel Finn waking, he didn’t have much time.

He placed the uninjured hand flat on the table and turned back to the still frozen confused Kol.

“Run, don’t let Finn catch you, he will kill you.” He warned but couldn’t help but smile at him, “I don't want to mourn you again.”

He waited until Kol vanished out the door before he brought the knife down hard, he heard the thump as the knife went through flesh and wood all the same.

Blood pools -

And he’s back laying in the bed.

Elijah blames the drugs and the new body for the giggles he can’t stop as he stares at the ceiling above him.

He wonders if Kol had heard Finn’s scream of pain, he can certainly feel it.

“That’ll teach you to lay your hands on my little brothers.” He manages to get out though his giggles as he flexes uninjured but too small dark hands of his current body.

The voice was wrong, it was too short, too weak and that wasn’t going into the discomfort of being the wrong gender but he would adapt.

He would have to; given mother’s torture had ruined his control leaving him to dangerous in his own body and Finn’s new habit of entering his dreams despite the necklace, the way he was was too much of a liability to his family, besides from what he could tell before Finn had gotten him drugged, whoever this was, was a much stronger witch than Elijah had been in life.

He could still help his family this way.

#fanfiction #finn mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #the originals #fic #the originals au #tvd fanfiction #AU - Entangled Minds

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bluegoblinzz · 7 months ago

Text

Darewoof the Dazed Dynamic Doggo

Zach was surrounded by milkshakes, burgers, a lot of chatter, and his group of friends. All of them were laughing and joking with each other, and he looked around, smiling and appreciating the moment. And he wanted to appreciate it more, but he couldn’t help but shake the thought that there would only be so many more days like this before all of them would move on with their lives, and such a thought made it hard for him to stay in the moment, to enjoy himself.

Little did he know, his phone buzzed on the table, his screen flashing on as a notification appeared.

Master Morpheo

Attatchment: 1 image.

Zach knew exactly what this was about and what the attachment was. A lump formed in his throat, knowing he had no choice but to leave his friends, but at the same time: he somehow felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Just for today, he wouldn’t need to tell his friends how he felt, and he wouldn’t need to remind them that they had little time left together.

“Uhh, Guys?” Zach spoke up. “Sorry, I gotta go. Emergency at work.”

“Oh come on!” Gabe grumbled. “Don’t be such a party pooper.”

“No really, my boss will kill me if I don’t get take this.”

Or, something else will kill you, Zach thought to himself.

“No, I get it,” Cece said. “Good luck!” She smirked at Zach, which made his face go red with embarrassment. Cece knew Zach’s secret and she always teased him for it, no matter how much he told her to stop.

Zach stood up from the table, threw twenty bucks onto the table, and sped out the door of the diner. Cold air hit his face as he jogged, and the silence that was probably calm to some was deafening to him, bringing up his sense of urgency even more. He slipped into an alleyway, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked his phone, and clicked to download the gif that he received. The image was sent in this way on purpose, so Zach wouldn’t click on it by accident, triggering it prematurely. When the image downloaded, it expanded to fill his screen.

A lime and dark green spiral swirled before his eye. His muscles relaxed, and his breath slowed down, an overwhelming calm taking over. His eyes widened to look closer at the spiral, trying to make sense of the way it spun and to focus on one part of it, but the more he looked, the more it confused him, the more his mind became foggy, the deeper he fell into trance, the better he felt.

“Grroof!”

A doggish bark forced its way from his throat like a hiccup. At a point in the center of his mind, a seed emerged. It was seed of desire, a desire to be something different, a desire to obey. It was a seed of thoughtlessness and of calm. The seed cracked open and expanded outward, its slithering through his soul, branching out to every corner of his mind. His lips curved up into a smile, and his tongue lulled out of his mouth. He began panting like a dog.

As he continued watching the spiral, he was brought back to the time he was hired.

Weeks earlier, an old bearded man came to the campus for an event for school. He was a hypnotist who wore a top hat and carried a pocket watch. He hypnotized groups of people, and did things like make them forget their name, make them talk backwards, and made them do silly dances when a certain word was said. At the end of his show, he asked for a volunteer from the crowd for a special act. Zach’s friends pressured him to go up on stage and be hypnotized.

“Man,” Gabe had said. “You’re gonna look so stupid, I can’t wait.”

“Gabe, shut up,” Cece retorted. “Zach, you’ll do great! It’ll be fun!”

With some more coaxing and convincing, Zach went up on the stage, which garnered applause from the other college students in the audience.

“Thank you for coming up!” The old man said, “It’s very brave of you. What might your name be, young man?”

“Zach,” he replied. He tried to play it cool and act cool, but his stomach churned in that moment, realizing he didn’t know how to act and didn’t know what to say.

I look ridiculous, he thought, I already look ridiculous.

“Okay Zach,” The man said. “Like I said, I have a very special show for you, so if you could kneel down, we could get started.” He knelt on the ground before the hypnotist, and looked up at him. The spotlight from the stage irritated him, but soon enough he didn’t notice it, as he watched the pocket watch swing back and forth. Zach saw a green light emanate from it. His entire body felt warm, and his muscles melted.

“Allow yourself to fall into trance. You’re feeling better and better the deeper you go… going deeper and deeper the better you feel. You’re not thinking about exams, in fact forget your exams… you are here now… You remember nothing. You know nothing but now.”

Zach had always considered himself to be a dork, or just a social outcast.That lead him to being a man of few words, which lead some of his peers to think he was weird, and others to think he was mysterious and cool. Zach had thought “fake it until you make it,” and played into this “cool guy” that people thought he was. He had worn more dark colors and bought a grey hoodie. He spoke little of himself because he thought little of himself. But that was what synthesized into who “Zach” was that day.

And that Zach disappeared.

He wasn’t Zach, he knew nothing. He let himself melt further and his eyes followed the pretty green light.

“You’re not a college student now,” The hypnotist said, “You’re a dog… aren’t you? Yes, you’re a dog. And you have so much joy and love. You love belly rubs and chew toys. You love playing fetch.”

As the hypnotist spoke, Zach felt the words manifest themselves as truth. His skin tingled as an intense warmth spread across his body. The tingling briefly got more intense and then subsided as a layer of fur broke the surface of his skin, all over his body all at once. His stomach as well as his the bottom of his face, his chin, and his neck all became covered in white fur. Everywhere else, he became covered in brown fur that matched his hair color. The skin on his nose and on his palms became darker and softer until his palms had black paw-pads, and his nose was the soft wet nose of a dog.

There was was a brief but intense pressure in his lower back. His jeans ripped as a tail emerged and wagged wildly. He didn’t realize what he was doing, but the more he wagged his tail, the happier he felt.

The green light felt as if it seeped into his brain, taking roots in the forefront of his consciousness and silencing his loudest thoughts. As the tendrils of light continued seeping deeper into his brain, more and more thoughts and memories subsided. He tilted his head with confusion, trying to make sense of what was happening, but his mind wasn’t working, and his confusion was replaced with pure joy. He felt the green light swirling around in his brain, emptying his mind and replacing thoughts with doggish excitement.

His nose and mouth effortlessly extended forward, growing longer into the muzzle of a dog. The tips of his ears extended and grew pointy, folding and becoming concave at each of their tips, and moved to the top of his head. The final change was in his feet, as his shoes morphed under the pressure of his growing toes, before it burst open revealing fully formed paws. His tongue lulled out of his mouth and he began panting with excitement. All he could see was green light. His head was empty.

The hypnotist snapped his fingers. Zach snapped his head back upright, eyes wide and still panting with joy.

“Speak,” the hypnotist commanded.

“Grroof!” Zach replied

“Shake.”

Zach offered a hand covered in white fur.

“Good boy,” The hypnotist said, scratching Zach behind the ear. Zach nuzzled up to him, feeling immense joy and comfort. He didn’t know what was happening or why he felt this way, but he loved the way he felt. Zach’s ears perked up at a squeaking sound. He looked up and saw a blue ball held in the hypnotist’s palm. He pointed his muzzle toward it. The hypnotist moved his hand to the side. Zach jumped up and followed the ball, keeping it in his gaze. The man threw the ball into the audience. Zach bounded through the crowd on all fours, and picked up the ball in his maw. He was rewarded immediately by pets from the audience, He rolled over for belly rubs. He shook his arms and legs as each pet tickled him. He felt an intense love and appreciation he hadn’t felt in years. He was in heaven in that moment, in a world without any worries or fears, just joy.

The hypnotist snapped again. The dog was gone in an instant and the college boy was back. His tail fur and muzzle were gone. There was joy lingering, as if a friend had told him a joke that left a smile on his face even as his mind wandered elsewhere. Zach spat the ball out of his mouth, eyes widened as he processed what had happened. His mind had gone, and he wasn’t himself… but he was still himself, and he knew what he was doing as he did it. Was it an act? Thinking about whether or not he wanted to be a dog in that moment: the answer would be no, but when in trance the answer was yes. He wanted to do this… it was fun…. And he sort of wanted to do it again.

There was applause as the hypnotist took a bow, and walked off the stage. Slowly the crowd began filing out of the small theater on campus, and then the hypnotist walked right up To Zach and gave him a business card.

“You put on a great show,” the hypnotist told him. “If you ever want to be a dog again, and you’re looking for work: call me.”

Zach snapped back to the present moment, and looked up from his phone, up away from the green spiral, still panting with his tongue lulled out. His short nose in the middle of his vision was replaced with a long doggish muzzle. He was covered in fur once again, his feet were paws, and his tail wagged wildly. Most importantly, however, he was wearing a green shiny spandex suit, with muscular padding on his abs and arms, and a shiny cape flowing behind him in the wind. He stuck his hands on his hips, and puffed his chest out.

Another suggestion echoed in Zach’s mind, one that Master Morpheo told him when he officially gave him a job.

“You are a super hero, fearless, enthusiastic, and strong. You expect and accept treats and headpats from those you save, and you can never resist a game of fetch. You have the ability to fly, laser vision, super strength, a super sense of smell and hearing, and a super heart.”

“You. Are. Darewoof.”

Zach tilted his head back, let out two barks, and then howled in pride. He crouched down, and then rocketed upward, taking to the sky and flying across town, holding one fist out in front of him as he flew. Cars and houses zipped by him in his vision. The college students below either stared up in awe, pointed at him, or waved to him.

A distant high pitched scream pierced his ears. He jerked his head to the side to see where it came from and did a loop de loop in the air to fly toward it. screams were coming from one small house on the edge of campus. As he got closer to the house he saw holes in the roof and in the walls, students evacuating and scrambling, and he saw a big bulky figure holding a giant metal hammer, smashing holes into the walls.

Whoever this was wore a jet pack, allowing him to float, and also wore a spandex suit, however it was purple blue and black, and had a big blue spiral in the center of his chest. His eyes were concealed by a high tech visor that glowed a pinkish purple in the darkness. More importantly: his skin was a deep pink, his ears were floppy, the tip of his nose pointed upward like a snout, he had hooves instead of feet, and two big gleaming tusks jutted out from his jaw.

The big pig man brandished his hammer and snarled at the dog hero.

“Hello, Darewoof.”

To be continued?

#Furry #transfur #hypnosis #personality change #dog #superhero #pendulum #hypnotist #supervillain #pocket watch

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