#because at least daredevil is fun!

[wanderingmind867]

Batman was best when he was silly, honestly. I still found him a bit boring then, but at least adaptions like the Adam West Batman show or the silver age tribute that was Batman: The Brave and the Bold...at least they had a sense of fun to themselves. I still probably only liked those shoes as much as I do because of the villians, but at least their version of batman isn't a man I'd want to completely write out of comics. So they clearly did a better job than most adaptations do.

I still don't get why there was such a backlash to the Adam West style. I know it happened (as evidenced by 70s batman under Denny O'Neill being darker than anything done in the 50s or 60s), but I see no good reason for the switch. If batman had stayed in the 60s, maybe I'd like him a little bit more. But if he stays in the grim shadows forever... then I'll feel no shame hating him. At least Daredevil or Nighthawk or the Blue Beetle kept a sense of fun!

[monzabee]

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!” 

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

Unpleasant Anniversaries

Daredevil Masterlist || Based on this request!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Every year, it was the worst week of your life. A week absolutely brimming with unpleasant anniversaries. But when you sleep through your alarm for work, you don’t expect a certain Matt Murdock to come knocking at your door. Or that you’d confess the feelings you have for him.

Author’s Note: I can’t believe I reference a game of truth or dare so often in this fic just to not be able to come up with what the dare would be. Smh. Sorry guys. You can use your imagination I guess. 😂 Thank you SO MUCH for the request anon!! I hope it’s everything you were hoping it would be and that it’s not too cliche… (And that it’s not too long, because this baby really got away on me. 😬) This is actually my first time writing (or at least posting) for the DD fandom, so please let me know if I’m OOC!

Warnings: Angst (but with a happy ending), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, References to Parental Death, Cussing, References to Alcohol and Hangovers, no use of y/n (I’m getting pretty good at back flipping and somersaulting around it, but I still apologize if it comes off clunky), Fluff at the end (because what’s the point of hurt/comfort if we don’t have some cute, fluffy comfort??), Love Confessions. I’m posting this without editing, and yes, that is a warning. (I am SO going to regret this decision later, but I am way too tired to edit).

Word Count: 2.3k

———————————————————————————

This cannot be happening. I cannot be falling in love with Matt Murdock.

It was stupid, really. The stupidest thing that had caused you to realise it.

Freaking Foggy.

Granted, you couldn’t entirely blame him. You were far too old to succumb to peer pressure anyway. Far too old to be playing Truth or Dare with a six-pack of beer and the exhaustion of an emotional week under your belt.

A week absolutely brimming with unpleasant anniversaries.

The anniversary of your mother’s death, the anniversary of your long-term boyfriend breaking up with you for your best friend, your birthday. Bing, bang, boom…back-to-back.

Every year, it was the worst week of your life, and you just wanted something fun and lighthearted and silly enough to make you forget about the ache wrenching your heart in two.

Stupid. Stupid anniversaries and stupid emotions and stupid, stupid, STUPID, idiotic game.

It was juvenile, and you cursed yourself for going along with the idea. Because now, you had another item to add to the list.

And the week wasn’t even over yet.

A steady thumping at your door matched the rhythm pounding in your head, your name spoken through the thin wood.

Peeking through cracked eyelids revealed afternoon sunlight streaming into your apartment, the alarm clock beside your bed happily displaying 12:05pm.

Shit!

You bolted upright in bed, groaning as your head throbbed in protest. Another series of knocks rapped against your door, followed by your name again. Double shit!

Matt.

Stumbling out of bed, you grit your teeth against the headache and tripped your way to the door, fumbling with the lock and cursing your hangover. The drinking hadn’t stopped once you got home, and you were really starting to regret that decision.

The lock clicked, and before Matt even had a chance to step into the apartment, apologies were spewing from your lips.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Matt. It won’t happen again. I must’ve slept through the alarm or forgot to set it or something, but it won’t happen again, I promise. I—”

The words were spilling out of you like a river, and even you were struggling to make sense of them. Embarrassingly, tears pricked the backs of your eyes, something that only deepened the ache pounding through your skull.

“Hey.” Matt dropped his cane in the entryway, door closing behind him and strong, steady hands placed groundingly on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad. Foggy, Karen, and I were just worried when you didn’t show up to work. We thought somebody better come check on you.”

That was…really sweet.

And the floodgates opened.

Gut-wrenching sobs tore through your body, every ounce of hurt and despair and loneliness bottled up for the last several years breaking through your carefully-constructed walls and flowing like a wellspring onto the hardwood floor.

For a second, Matt froze, stunned, and you wanted to kick yourself. This was not what Matt had signed up for by volunteering to come check on you. If anything, he was probably wishing right now that Karen or Foggy or literally anyone else had offered to go instead.

“I’m–I’m sorry.” You tried to apologize for crying, for not showing up to work, for being a crazy, messed-up disaster that Matt certainly shouldn’t have to deal with.

His arms wrapped around you, warm and comforting, and despite your best intentions, you found yourself melting into the touch, clinging to the front of his dress shirt and probably ruining it with your tears.

“I’m–I’m sorry, Matt. I–”

“Shhh.” He interrupted you with a hum, gently resting his chin on top of your head, strong arms locked securely around you.

Still, you felt the need to explain.

“It’s–it’s just a really rough week for me, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. I always end up fine. I just–”

He shushed you again quietly, warm hands running soothing strokes up and down your back. The tears began to slow, and you hiccuped before attempting to take a long, controlled breath.

“That’s it. That’s good. Just breathe.”

His hands didn’t stop moving, and you closed your eyes, savouring the touch for however long it would last. Burying yourself in the comfort of it.

Maybe you could make a piece of this moment last forever.

When a deep, shuddery sigh expelled itself from your lungs, Matt stepped back, head tilting as his hands rested back on your shoulders, seeming to be listening for something. What, you didn’t know. Concern marred a crease on his forehead though, and another wave of guilt roiled in your stomach.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was small and weak, pathetic. “Matt, I’m so–”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” His tone was firm, brooking no argument. His hand started stroking up and down your arm. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I was late for work.” The words fell to the floor with your gaze.

“We got by for the morning.”

You squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the ache behind your eyes barely manageable. “I made you guys worry.”

His tone remained smooth, calm. “That’s okay. You’re okay, and that’s all that matters.”

“And…” You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, worrying your lip between your teeth. “I got tears on your shirt.”

A wry smile tilted his lips, and you could just picture the amusement dancing behind those red glasses. “I’ll live, and it’ll wash.”

“I just…” You sighed, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes, trying to uproot the headache that seemed to be drilling a hole through your skull. “I just wish this week was over.”

The tips of his fingers danced over your arm, and his voice became low, tender. “Why?”

Tears sprang to your eyes again, but you forced them back, swallowing down the lump attempting to rise in your throat.

Could you tell him? Could you really, truly trust him with this information? Would it make him look at you differently? Would it make him see you as broken?

“It just…” You paused, hesitating. “It’s just got some bad memories attached to it, is all.” Then, before you could stop yourself. “Did you know my mom died six years ago yesterday?”

Matt frowned, lips twitching like he wanted to speak.

But you kept going.

“Heart attack. The doctors never saw it coming. I was in my first year of university…” You swallowed, bitter memories you regularly kept locked away rising to the surface. “I was on the plane when she passed—didn’t even know until my dad met me at the airport.”

Your name drifted from his lips, hushed and sad. It should make you stop—it should make you shove the feelings back into a box, lock them up tight, and forget about them forever. Instead…

“Two years later, this great guy came into my life. Smart, funny…” Almost as handsome as you. You pushed the thought aside and continued. “We were talking about marriage. Family, kids. We would buy a house on the coast, right next to his parents. We were going to be so happy…”

The memory played out before your eyes. Big house, a dog, 2.5 children—you’d even talked colour schemes, baby names. Had tentatively set a date for just after graduation.

“Until the doctors thought they found something on one of my routine screenings. Suddenly, ‘in sickness and in health’ became a little too close to home. He was sleeping with my best friend before I even had a chance to tell him it was a false alarm.”

By the hard set of his jaw, Matt was less than pleased to hear about your piece-of-shit ex, lips pressed firmly together like he might be trying to keep himself from having a word with him this very moment.

A near-hysterical laugh floated up from your chest, heart ripping apart inside you.

“It was really a stupidly shitty thing to do on someone’s birthday, but hey, live and learn I guess. Just gives me one less reason to celebrate. It hasn’t been the same since my mom passed anyway…”

His head tilted sharply. “Your birthday is this week?”

A small, pathetic nod tipped your chin. “Today, actually.”

Matt’s jaw worked, expression so pained you thought for a second he might be more hurt by the knowledge than you were.

“And then, of course, I’m stupid enough to play Truth or Dare, get so outrageously drunk that I sleep through my alarm, and if I worked for anyone other than you, I would’ve been fired on the spot, so…” The headache was splitting your brain in two. You needed an aspirin. “Icing on the cake.”

Walking into the kitchen to dig through your cupboards for the pill bottle and a glass of water, you genuinely hoped Matt would leave it as is. It was stupid—nothing but a hard week and an off day and two minutes of word vomiting. Or maybe closer to ten. Either way, you just wanted to keep your head low and forget about this little outburst until the end of the week, when you could cry properly.

Of course, you should’ve known better than to think Matt would leave it alone.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, following you into the kitchen, “you would not have been fired from any other job. You’ve been nothing but punctual every other day of the year—one bad day doesn’t scrap a perfectly good record. And second–” he interrupted your protest with a furrowed brow and his hand raised in the ‘stop’ position. “You were not that drunk when you left the office yesterday. What happened?”

You winced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, and you delayed by popping the aspirin in your mouth with a swig of water. When you were finished, Matt was still waiting.

“Nothing.”

He scoffed, and you tried not to let it hurt. “Nothing?”

“That’s what I said, Matt.” Whoa, you did not mean for your tone to be so sharp, but there was no stopping it now. “Maybe I had a few more when I got home. Maybe I had a whole case. Maybe—” your voice cracked, and tears pricked your eyes again. “Maybe I just didn’t want to think about my dead mother or my cheating ex or the fact that when I took that fucking dare yesterday, I didn’t realise I had feelings for you until it was too late. And I—” Tears flooded the dam, dripping down your cheeks, your words breaking on a sob. “I can’t have feelings for you, because all they ever do is get me hurt…and I can’t handle any more hurt, Matt. I can’t! I can’t–-”

For the second time that day, you dissolved into sobs, the sheer force of pain clefting you in two like a tidal wave.

Through a haze of tears, you watched Matt hesitate, hand flexing, before stepping forward and slowly wrapping his arms around you, keeping you together when you were sure you would fall apart.

The reality of what you’d just confessed washed over you, embarrassment now mixing with the sadness to create a whirl of agonising pain.

You wanted to choke on the feelings.

“I’m–I’m sorry, Matt.” Your words were so garbled, you have no idea how he understood them.

But he did.

“What did I say earlier?” he soothed, warm hand stroking up and down your back again. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

God, you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that you hadn’t just ruined your career confessing feelings for your boss. Wanted to believe that he wouldn’t just slowly disappear from your life, like a ship in the night, fading out of friendship, out of reach of a lighthouse.

Your body bucked and hiccuped, lungs struggling for air through the emotion filling your chest. His arms tightened around you.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Shhhh.” His lips graced your hairline—a soft kiss, tender—before he again rested his chin on top of your head. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?”

You shook your head, the salt-stained fabric of his shirt swishing against your ear. “No. Matt, I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I ruined everything!”

Grasping fistfuls of his shirt in shaky hands, you felt his jaw shift atop your head.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “I—God, I…I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

You sniffed, wiping the tear stains off your cheeks with his shirt. “Told me what?”

He paused, chest expanding with a breath, like he was preparing himself for something.

“That I…I have feelings for you too.”

“Don’t patronize me, Murdock,” you snipped, attempting to push out of his arms, because that’s just what you didn’t need, someone to make fun of the emotions that you already knew were stupid.

He held you fast.

“I’m not. I promise you I’m not.” The conviction in his voice was almost enough to convince you of the truth on its own. And if it wasn’t, his heart racing against your fingertips, chaotic and wild, certainly was. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, sweetheart. I–I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

He smiled sheepishly, and the world moved in slow motion.

“You…love me?” A whisper is too loud to describe the question you breathed, but Matt chuckled, the tips of his ears flushed a dusty shade of pink.

“Yeah.” His head tilted, slight crease between his brows, carefully regarding your reaction.

“Matt Murdock…” you breathed, wiping the final few tears off your cheeks and looking up into his red glasses. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

He frowned. “Then we really need to fix that.”

You laughed, a real, genuine laugh, probably the first one this entire week, and melted back into his arms.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi, can I please get Wally West x trans reader? Maybe something where the reader is feeling dysphoric and he comforts them, and also some dry humping?

Wally West x FTM reader

Headcanons

Readers vaguely based off of Daredevil, since I like that guy a lot. And the mental image of Wally and his gritty boyfriend is fun to me. Don’t correct me on if keystone city is right, idc.

Nobody could really tell when you and Wally started dating. You just happened to be a vigilante in Keystone city before Wally showed up after being kid flash and all that. His presence really messed up your mojo.

You were the devil incarnate, ready to break as many bones as it took, but you didn’t kill. That didn’t stop you from maiming folk though. Having Wally swoop by to bring people to the hospital and then be back to try and lecture you, really hurt your image.

You were there first though, so there was no way Wally was gonna stop you from doing what you had to do. In the beginning it was kind of like a new tomcat showing up in someone else’s territory.

You didn’t have the speed to be all over the city like Wally, so it was kind of accepted that hed take care of everything else when you were busy. People started begging for Wally to be the one to catch them doing a crime, since you’d break their kneecaps, and then nail them in the head with your billy club.

The relationship between you two was kind of a running joke in the league, especially in the Titans. They all knew that Wally thought you were hot in your own broody, horned way. Someone, probably Garfield, would joke about your suits matching, since you both were red. And yellow, if you wear the yellow and red daredevil suit.

You two were kinda like Batman and Superman, in a way. With you being broody, growly, the night, I am vengeance and will make you suffer the consequences. And Wally being easier going and lighter, full of jokes and hope.

That didn’t mean Wally couldn’t snap and get down and gritty if he needed to. That was probably when you started feeling attracted to him in return, when he couldn’t go easy on somebody who deserved it.

Up until this point you’d have picked up the changes in his pheromones and body heat, as well as his heartrate, which made you understand that he liked you. But it was after you smelled the blood on him and heard his blush rushing through his veins from an almost animalistic adrenaline that you started returning the feelings.

You guys probably date for months, if not a year before the league and the Titans figure it out. Wally would say something about needing to get back to the city since he had to make it in time for your anniversary dinner, and that’s when everyone would figure it out.

The two of you a very much opposites attract. Someone is gonna try to use your relationship with Wally to make you join the league, but he wards them off before you can break tall their teeth for even asking.

You being trans doesn’t matter much to Wally, outside of how it may affect your relationship. And by that I mean, if you for example don’t want him touching your torso or specific areas of your body, what wording to use, helping you with your T injections, so on and so forth.

Hes more perceptive than people think, at least after you guys have been dating a while. Hed start noticing the different signs that point at you feeling dysphoric. Like you going out for longer patrols because being the devil makes you feel more masculine. Or you wearing your binder for too long, if you need one of those.

I don’t think hes just gonna appear and demand answers, instead Wally has tried to figure out overtime what might help. He knows you aren’t the type to just talk about all your feelings and what can be done about it, so Wally would try to find other ways to be supportive and helpful.

You can always tell what he’s doing, since Wally starts going on about how handsome his boyfriend is, how manly you are and smell, how good your muscles look. Even if he’s buffer than you, you better expect him to drool over your muscles.

If you are fine with being touched, Wally would also just cuddle you when you have days where you struggle to look at yourself or even being in your own body. Hes always ready to talk or make changes if he can do anything to help, or just lay in silence if that’s what you need too, even if laying still for a longer time is difficult for a speedster.

Having a speedster boyfriend also means it’s easy to sense it’s him. Having the abilities you do, means you can point out any hero or villain you’ve met before, even in a crowd of a thousand. But the speedster’s connection to the speed force makes them so easy to point out.

It becomes a comfort for you, to feel the buzz that’s seemingly always present around Wally. It’s different around each speedster, but Wally is the most special out of all of them, to you anyways.

Having a speedster boyfriend also means you have access to something very few do, a boyfriend who can vibrate and who has close to no recovery period. This just means Wally is all over you on days where you are fine with that.

And if its one of those days where you want to get off to deal with dysphoria, you barely have to say anything before he’s on you, or beside you, or behind you.

Dysphoria means you don’t want to be touched skin on skin sometimes, and on days like this, good ol dry humping is just as good as anything else Wally could think up. Hes especially a fan when its him laying down and you on top.

It makes you seem so strong and in charge, even if your eyes can’t meet since well… you cant see like the average person. Wally is just giddy and almost buzzing out of his skin as you guys grind together, his hands shaking where they’re holding your hips.

Your heightened senses let you notice just how much he starts buzzing when he gets close. Other people would never notice until he’s just above to fall over the edge, but you can almost taste how his scent and pheromones start buzzing in the air when he’s turned on.

Hearing his heart race and his blood rushing through his body becomes a turn-on in its own way, just as much as grinding down on him and listening to him moan. Wally is also the type to kiss when you guys grind together, his tongue almost fizzy feeling against your own.

It becomes a lot easier to forget your dysphoria with a boyfriend like Wally, who does everything in his power to distract you from it, especially when he gets to rut against you and moan into your ear or neck. Just watch out for small sparks that might come off him, and that your senses don’t get too overwhelmed thanks to the speed force.

[thats-godscomma]

Since rewatching Psych, I've been thinking about how weird and arbitrary Shawn's interests are. Sure, late 2000's writing had something to do with it, and maybe a bit of Henry and Gus's influence, but hearing Shawn be so vocal about how he hates certain popular things or (more importantly) refuses to give them a chance BUT at the same time knowing so many pop culture references, it got me thinking.

What if the reason Shawn has so many pop culture references on hand is because of his eidetic memory, and he doesn't actually have as much of an interest in pop culture? Throughout the show, he actively avoids getting roped into big interests and franchises (see: comic books, soap operas, etc.) despite the fact that he genuinely seems excited once he's part of it. In fact, we don't get to see a lot of Shawn's interests at all unless it's based on an idea.

Take being a bounty hunter, for example. According to him, he's obsessed with the idea, but he doesn't make many references to an actual bounty hunter show or franchise. Instead, he just remembers the one bounty hunter he saw as a child and maybe references a movie or two. Because once he remembers something, he's never going to forget it, or at least not for a very long time.

That's why he thinks in references. Everything is a reference if you have a good enough memory. Everything reminds you of something. If Shawn hears someone make a Spock reference, it's in his repertoire forever. But he wouldn't be caught dead watching the shows or movies because that's just too much information. Why on earth would he endure that?

Of course, it also intertwines with his ADHD. He has bouts of energy and trouble focusing. He can't sit still to save his life, and he hyperfixates...or he would if his memory didn't make him averse to it. So if he doesn't want to hyperfixate on an information-based interest, then what does he hyperfixate on? Physical activities. Instead of learning about his favorite daredevil, he tries to be one himself. When he learns about oil rigs, he doesn't get a book from the library. He tries to find oil in his backyard.

This is also where he and Henry differ regarding Shawn's "potential." Henry is correct when he talks about Shawn's "wasted" potential, but he doesn't understand the toil of having this eidetic memory and ADHD. Here's what I think happened: Henry probably noticed Shawn's stellar memory at a young age, realized he has a gift, spoke with his wife about her eidetic memory, learned that you need to challenge your child's eidetic memory at a young age or it'll go away, started the hat game to make it fun and exciting, but then Shawn's ADHD appeared. Suddenly, it made him much harder to raise (because let's be real, Shawn was not an easy child.) Henry didn't know what he was doing anymore, and since it was the 80's, he didn't have the resources to properly understand his kid's behavior, so he tried to find a common interest, and started training Shawn to be a detective "because kids love cop shows." But Shawn struggled to stay attached to one single interest, and when he grew up, he stopped trying to articulate his problems because his mom (the only person who remotely understood his struggles) left, and he blamed his dad for it.

And academics? Those are a joke because what is the point of studying if he already remembers everything? Until, of course, he needs to apply it to a problem-solving test or writing an essay. Suddenly, he's memorizing a math teacher's answer sheet and copying Gus's report.

Yes, Shawn could have been a great cop. He could be an amazing scientist or anything really. He could have been a national spelling bee champion like Gus wanted to be. Even 15 years later, Shawn remembered exactly what word Gus messed up, how to spell the word, and what letter he made Gus slip up, but he didn't want to be on that stage with Gus because that requires so much learning. And so much time. And so much memorizing. And he refuses to sit still for that long when he knows that overloading his head is going to give him migraines.

Also his "I've heard it both ways" probably comes from the fact that people with eidetic memory can still make lots of mistakes if they don't actively commit something to memory. If Shawn only overhears something, he'll still naturally try to fill in the gaps like everyone else, but because he's so confident in his memory, he just believes what he remembers to be true, leading him to repeat incorrect information with confidence. That could also be why some of his references are incorrect due to mixed-up homophones.

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about how Shawn is just a walking movie reference because his memory won't let him forget quotes, but then I fell into a rabbit hole of the negative effects of having an eidetic memory as a child, and I am very passionate about how Henry actually tried his best, and people need to stop calling him a horrible parent. Love y'all. Let me know what you think.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 14: Sickfic

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Sickfic (🌼)

Summary: Matt doesn't like admitting when he's sick, but his behavior says more than a thousand words.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of vomiting, sickfic (the flu, to be more precise), Matt being a mess, established relationship, mentions of nudity (nothing sexual, but Matt's Devil is on display)

Word Count: 1.1k

A/n: I always wonder what it would be like for Matt when he gets sick because my senses are out of whack when I'm sick, so he must be in hell, right?

Read Me On AO3!

Matt Murdock doesn’t get sick.

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself. 

His immune system is strong, and people with a strong immune system don’t get sick. Except, his logic is incredibly flawed, and when he does get sick, he refuses to admit it until he’s quite literally on the brink of death. You’ve learned this the hard way over the years; he turns into a feverish, disoriented, ridiculous man-child whenever he’s down with something.

The door falls shut behind you, a bag from the local pharmacy in one hand and chicken broth take-out in the other. Matt managed to catch himself the flu—again. You told him that is what he gets for going out in the dead of night, but he never learns.

“Honey, I’m home!” you sing. 

Though instead of finding your boyfriend wrapped in a burrito of blankets in bed, where he should be, he’s standing in the middle of the living room, trying to wrestle the Daredevil suit over his clammy skin. So far, he has only managed to get half of it on, and—oh no, why—his pants are on the floor. No pants, and yes, no underwear. 

From the looks of it, he is as hot as he is cold.

“Uh,” you frown, “hello? What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“I have to–” Matt tries to catch his breath, failing to find the opening in the fabric. “The city. The city needs me.”

He’s so congested you would have laughed at him any other day, but not today. 

“Nuh-uh. Your bed needs you,” you retort. “And for God’s sake, Matt, put your pants back on!”

He tugs on the suit again, but it’s like watching a toddler trying to put on a pair of socks. He’s too weak, too sweaty, and too feverish to even know which way is up.

“I don’t… need pants,” Matt argues.

“Yes, you do.” You put the bags down by the coffee table and grab his boxers off the floor. “Normally, I don’t mind seeing you naked, but you’re sick, and sick people need pants.”

He frowns at you, head tilting in your direction. “No… Is someone knocking?” 

You pause, trying not to laugh. “That’s my heartbeat.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

His hand drifts up toward your chest on autopilot, and the moment his fingers brush against the swell of your breast, you stop him. “That’s my boob,” you say.

God, he’s exhausting. If you didn’t love him so much you would turn around and run. The last time he tore off all his clothes, he ended up on the roof while it was snowing, trying to cool off. It sounded as though he was holding a seance, and you swore you would never make the mistake of leaving the rooftop access open again, not when he’s sick and doesn’t know what he’s doing. His senses get cloudy, and he starts to hallucinate. 

Fun times.

Matt’s hand stays there for a moment. “Soft,” he murmurs.

The groping stage is new, but you find it more endearing than anything. You take his hand away. “Remember what I said?”

“No?”

“Underwear,” you tell him, lips curling into a smile, “Then straight to bed.”

He retreats like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“Alright, come on. You’re dizzy.” You start to guide him toward the bedroom. Maybe you can finally convince him to get some rest. 

“No, I’m not—” Matt takes one wobbly step and immediately starts to tip forward, legs giving out underneath him.

You catch him just in time, which is a feat because he is heavy, keeping him from face-planting into the coffee table. “Yep. Definitely dizzy,” you say.

He groans. Happens every time. “I don’t get sick,” he insists.

You drag him over to the bed. “You sure about that?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Sure.” You lower him down on the mattress, and for the first time today, he lets you. “Let me just get you your medicine, okay?”

“No!” he whines. 

“Yes.”

He makes a face like a petulant child. “Tastes bad.”

You sigh. “Do I need to wrap it in peanut butter for you?”

He doesn’t answer, just grumbles something unintelligible. You grab the bag from the living room and the jar of peanut butter from the kitchen. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” you scoop up a spoonful of peanut butter, “I have a dog.”

But it’s the only way he will take the cough syrup. It’s the only way he will swallow the bitter taste of the ibuprofen. And it is the only way Matt will even eat something when he’s sick. “Eat this,” you say, “and I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

Matt, still half-delirious, opens his mouth obediently, taking the spoon into his mouth. “It’s not even… that good,” he says.

Liar. You chuckle. “Lie back, c’mon.”

The bed creaks under your weight as you climb in beside him, pulling the covers up and over him. He hesitates, torn between telling you for the hundredth time that he is not sick, and he never gets sick, and just melting into your embrace like a candle on its last bit of wax. His body aches, his cheeks are burning, and he can barely breathe without breaking into a fit of toe-curling coughs. He’s miserable, and he has to admit it. He has to admit it so he can rest—so you can get your boyfriend back.

He loves you to death. 

You brush your fingers through his messy hair. “Come here,” you say.

Matt presses his face against your chest. “I hate being sick,” he says.

It is the most honest he has been all day.

“I know.” You press a kiss to the top of his head. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

“Don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Shh,” you shush him. “Just rest, baby. I’ve got you.”

He clings to you, his breathing finally starting to even out. He snores, and he wheezes, but he falls asleep, finally, still holding onto you like his life depends on it, and you are right where you need to be.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[bluelotuswrites]

Some Matt Murdock fic recs because I've realized I don't promote him as much as Jason Todd :P

@ijustreallylovedaredevil has some good Matt-centric fics. The Murdock Mystery (Redux) A crossover fic with House M.D. Matt gets admitted to the hospital after mysteriously passing out, and for once it's not because of his nightly activities! At least in this one, it's not. It's a rewrite fic of the same premise, but different causes, so it was a very entertaining read. Not Your Damsel. Another one of those fics where Matt gets saved by the Avengers as his civilian persona in different scenarios. Natasha is the only one who knows, and fics the whole thing funny as hell. Faithful Unto... Matt gets shot by a cop while as a civilian. Warning for police brutality. It's a really good fic.

Our Daily Bread by torrential. Matt becomes a baker and opens up a bakery instead of becoming a lawyer. It becomes extremely popular to the point that the heroes and vigilantes of New York have taken interest in it.

Matt Murdock vs the Media by @jeannetterankin. Super funny fic of Matt Murdock accidentally becoming a media sensation by thwarting a villain's plan while in his civilian persona. Go read it, it's short but great.

@prettybirdy979 has a couple good ones that involve Matt meeting the Avengers in hilarious scenarios. Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost (But Matt's Not Wandering; He's Just Lost) Matt gets lost in Avengers Tower while on the way to a meeting with Stark's lawyers. Very funny. Look the Devil in the Face The Avengers think Matt is the actual Devil. Hilarity ensues. My Guardian Avengers (Can I Get a Refund?) has the Avengers trying to protect Nelson, Murdock & Page law firm from someone that's trying to get them to drop a case they're working on. Matt gets very irritated from the constant interventions.

Matt Murdock is a Really Good Lawyer by Seagull18. A two-shot series of Matt being a Really Good Lawyer. First fic has him helping out various Avengers stuck in legal situations as Matt Murdock. When asked how he's so good, he uses the same excuses of being a really good lawyer. The second one has Matt's perspective of No Way Home after claiming that his excuse works every time.

Shadowboxing by @thekristen999. Steve boxes at the same gym Matt does at night, and they become friends.

Garbage Day by @frownyalfred. This is technically Jason Todd-centric, but it has him meeting Hawkeye and Daredevil after he got beat up and thrown into the same dumpster the former two were in.

What Almost Was by spaghettixday. Bit of a sad one, but it's a 5+1 fic where 5 different families tried to adopt Matt and the one time the Nelsons succeeded.

They Do It With Mirrors by Prochytes. The Defenders get trapped in the Mirror Dimension by Dr. Strange for forced bonding time. They can only escape by working together.

it's cold out here in the trees by @deniigi. Matt gets asked to be interviewed about his dad for a documentary. A wonderful angst-filled introspection of Matt's relationship with his father.

Cousins AU by @sammyheroes. Fun little AU of Matt and Peter being cousins, and how that relationship influences some of Spidey's development in the MCU.

JJ and DD walking into a knitting shop by @orangechickenpillow. Matt and Jessica Jones end up bonding while knitting. Based off the behind the scenes photo of the two character's actors knitting while on set.

Blind Catholic Ninja Orphan by @loving-jack-kelly. Matt becomes a meme on the Internet when someone makes a tweet reminiscing about smol blind Catholic orphan Matt Murdock dealing out crazy ninja moves. It spirals from there.

The Devil You Know by Beguile. Matt gets taken, and the Defenders are the ones that have to rescue him.

Murdocks Never Quit by Lluvia_Heroes (Lluvia185) and Pikkulef. Instead of dying outright, Jack Murdock was in a coma for 20 years. He ends up waking up, much to Matt's delight, but now they have to come to terms with many things.

Cross-Examination by @ceterisparibus116. You've probably heard about the author from their post-No Way Home fic where Peter is helped by Matt, Hope (which you should also read). But I loveeeee their one-shot of Matt being a lawyer. It's short but amazing, and if you're someone that wants a glimpse into the more legal side of Matt's character, go read this fic. Ceteris is also a lawyer, so that's why this fic is so phenomenal.

[schrodingers-romy]

You Don’t Gotta Hold Me Down, Baby (I Know How to Sink) [Shidou Ryusei x Reader]

Pairing: Shidou Ryusei x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1800 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: Ryusei is used to feeling empty at the end of the day; at least, until he has you.

Warnings: crying, some light depression i think from shidou, kisses, reader and ryusei are both lonely and weird idk what to tell you, no gendered pronouns/terms used for reader, gratuitous petnames, some innuendo but nothing sexual/heated happens

Notes: I read in the character book line where he 'cries at the end of the day when he becomes nothing' and I haven't stopped thinking about it. I sincerely hope it's in character but idk. I love him anyways tho and I had fun writing this <3 Title is a lyric from RELAX AFTER WORK WITH A DRINK by Lilyisthatyou.

At the end of the day, Shidou Ryusei becomes nothing.

During the day, lit by the radiance of the sun, he was something. He was in control of his own destiny, a daredevil chasing the high of the next explosion. Whether that explosion came from kicking a soccer ball or kicking some slime’s face in was irrelevant; it was the rush of endorphins it gave him that was important. He was in peak form, the predator at the top of the food chain, devouring the opportunities the world had gifted him, glutting himself on whatever adrenaline high presented itself. But it never lasted; the explosive energy he had faded to nothing at the end of the day, pleasure slipping through his fingers like smoke in the wind, escaping him with the escaping daylight. After sunset, he was left empty, void of any sort of vitality; like a combustion engine with no fuel to light, he was left stiff, and cold, and useless. Forgotten.

He didn't even bother trying to stay up much past sunset, most days. Even with the sun’s lingering warmth rising from the earth during the night, it was always too cold for him, without the light shining on him. He was a photosynthetic organism, relying on sunlight to create his own sustenance in the form of his explosions.

Ryusei liked to think that the faster he went to sleep, the faster he would see the sun again.

It even worked, sometimes.

But sometimes it didn't. Sometimes he lay there for hours, too tired to do anything, and too tired to sleep. It was a bone-deep exhaustion, one that made his joints ache dully, and his eyes stay stuck open, as tears dripped freely down from them onto the thin and faded material of his pillowcase. Those nights, he desperately waited for the sun to return, so he could come back to life. So he could go back to seeking some way to make himself feel. And maybe he would be lucky enough to somehow make his mark on the world, so he would no longer fade from it every night like a mirage.

But he hadn’t made a mark on the world yet. He had yet to make something of himself.

So, at night, Shidou Ryusei would cry as he became nothing.

-

You were both a particular brand of lonely.

Something in the both of you had noticed each other; like calling to like. You were too close for people who had known each other for such a short period of time; it would be concerning, if either of you cared. But you didn’t, so you spent your days attached at the hip. Gorging yourselves on the attention of the other, desperate creatures starved for the acknowledgement and understanding that you had only ever found in each other.

It wasn’t an understanding borne of explicit conversation; the two of you had discussed almost everything under the sun and moon, but you both excelled at skirting the razor’s edge of baring your issues fully. Whether it was because neither of you understood your own mind yourself, or because some sort of animal instinct in you just understood each other without having to spill the gore of your worst feelings, it was unclear. It didn’t really matter, anyways. You were two sides of the same corroded coin, two pieces of a defective puzzle that could only ever fit together.

-

It was past midnight, and you were exhausted. The noise from the television was nothing more than the canned background hum to Ryusei's presence. The true focus of the scene was his flickering gaze and the hot press of his thighs against yours. You were sitting so close you could nearly count every single one of his numerous blond lashes. The shadows they cast on his cheeks were hypnotizing to you, and you found yourself leaning into him, with a combination of your own sleepiness and the dizzy, floaty sensation you always felt when you were this close to him casting you off balance. You could not help yourself from leaning further in, until you were falling into him. Your cheek landed pressed onto the warmth of his exposed collarbone, where his oversized shirt collar had slipped down to reveal tanned skin. You let out a heavy sigh, nuzzling into him, as he wrapped his arms around you to pull you ever closer to his heated body.

“Tired, babes?” he asked, the uncharacteristic deep, slow tone to his voice betraying his own sleepiness.  

“Mhmm hmm,” you mumbled. “Too tired to go home. I’m staying here tonight.”

With anyone else, you wouldn’t have been so bold as to invite yourself to stay the night for the first time. But everything was different with Ryusei. You could be as bold as you wanted, take what you wanted, without fear of ridicule or rejection or anger. He would just give you a particular feral grin, when you asserted yourself, that made you feel confident and on top of the world.

It’s only because you’re so close that you felt the slight hitch in his breath. He covered it nearly seamlessly with his usual attitude. “Of course! I’d love to have you spend the night with me, sexy~”

You nipped lightly at his collar bone, chastising. “Just sleeping, Ryu, no innuendo intended.”

“Aww, how can you say that, after putting your teeth on me,” he whined, teasing. “You know that gets me going, sugar…”

“I want you to get going. To sleep,” you retorted. “I’m tiredddd.” You let your voice trail into a childish whine.

“Can’t have that, can we?” Ryusei shifted, sliding one arm underneath your thighs and one behind your back to lift you up into a bridal carry. “Do I have Your Highness’s permission to take you to bed? I promise not to have my wicked way with you there. Knight’s honor.”

“Ah, why would I not trust my most loyal knight? Take me away, good sir.”

Ryusei grinned wide enough to show gums, before carrying you out of the living room with surprising gentleness.

(Though it wasn’t entirely surprising, to you.)

-

The room was dark, aside from the weak, silvered light of the moon and stars that leaked from Ryusei’s uncovered window. It was just bright enough for you to see the faintest details of his face.

He looked softer, hair down, kohl washed away, venomous pink eyes half-lidded; a sort of physical representation of how he bared himself to you. You were compelled to pull him closer to you, until you could bury your face into his product-free hair. You let out a contented hum at feeling the abnormal silkiness of it.

You were so comfortable; you felt like you were melting into the mattress. It had been forever since you had gone to sleep feeling so relaxed (and safe, and not alone); you couldn’t be blamed for nearly drifting off the second you laid down with Ryusei in your arms.

You were almost gone, slipping into dreamland by the pull of the gentle hands of Morpheus, when you felt Ryusei begin to tremble in your arms.

It was like a switch had been flipped, removing sleep from the edges of your mind like the swipe of an eraser on a chalkboard. You were immediately focused on him.

“Ryusei? Are you okay?” you whispered, a sliver of panic slipping into your voice.

You could feel him shaking slightly in your hold, arms wrapped in a vice grip around you, face pressed tightly into your neck, hiding his expression from you. You felt a drip of wetness fall onto your skin and slip down.

He was crying.

“Baby,” you murmured, hugging his lax body even closer to yours, like you could tuck him away into your ribcage, safe and sound. “Ryu, darling, what’s wrong?” You felt off-balance, perhaps for the first time since you had met. Your understanding did not extend to this, not when he had so carefully pirouetted around any true pain he felt when you talked.

He gripped you tighter for a moment, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, before he relaxed his hold. “Nothin’s wrong.” He lifted his head to look at you.

The tear trails on his face were lit up like liquid drips of mercury in the moonlight. But he didn’t look devastated, as you expected; instead, he had the smallest, softest smile you had ever seen him wear. Even in the half-light, his gaze was soaked in so much affection, he looked love-drunk. It rendered you speechless.

“Y’know,” he laughed wetly, “I usually cry, at night. When I become nothing.” He took a deep, shuddering breath.

You lifted one hand to his face, wiping away the fresh flow of tears that leaked from his glittering eyes. Your eyebrows were creased, a pang going through your heart at his words.

But he wasn’t done, pausing only to nuzzle his cheek further into your hand, like a housecat. “Still cryin’, tonight, but I’m not sad. Y’see babes? I’m not sad. I don’t feel like nothing, I feel happy. Happy tears, sweetheart, just cause tonight I’m with you.” He giggled, hiccupping slightly as his laughter caught on the tears still welling up.

You gaped at Ryusei for a moment, before you yanked him into a kiss. It wasn’t the best kiss ever, still wet with his tears, barely more than a firm press of mouths together before you release him.

He grinned at you for a moment, before dropping back down onto you, boneless. “I feel drunk. Like I’m high. Crossfaded. On you, babe!~” he blabbered, sing-song. “It’s not an explosion, it’s a bonfire inside of me! Shit, this might be better than playing. Or fighting. I might even be a little horny right now, I can’t tell.”

“God, you’re so weird, Ryu.” You punctuated your statement with a firm kiss to his forehead, making an exaggerated ‘mwah’ sound that drew a giggle from the man on top of you. “I love you. I’m gonna be with you forever. I’ll move in, and we’ll sleep together every night, you’ll never feel like nothing again.”

“Maybe I AM horny…horny off of love…emotionally horny?” he rambled. “Fuck, I don’t know, babe, but I love you too, and I’m never gonna let your pretty ass go now, y’hear?”

“Perfect. We’ll become one organism. Symbiosis. Like lichen,” you breathed.

Ryusei let out a lovesick sigh. “Love it when you talk sexy to me.”

You felt one of his hands drift down to squeeze one of your ass cheeks.

You let out an exasperated, but fond sigh. “Ryusei. Go to sleep.”

“Okay honey~” he said, letting out a little giggle into your collarbone.

(And for the first time in years, neither of you fell asleep feeling empty, or lonely; and you would wake up to find joy in the sunrise together.)

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

T1f1 bad traits (in my opinion. Not based on game lore.)

Starting strong with Captain John "I know what is best for you" Price

It has been talked about it in here a lot. This issue stems from John "knowing" everything and dictating people left and right. His partner is no exception.

Micromanagement king.

You gotta speak some serious boundaries with this man or he will guide you and correct you just as much as he will spoil you.

The captain is very perceptive and passionate. Sometimes this passion can turn into obsession. So be aware, if you lit a certain fire within him, he can accidentally burn you with it.

Simon Ghost Riley is our number two. Reboot version - creature of habit - his "own" habit. He will annoying you with his everyday routine and will take a long, long, long time to change it.

Not because he doesn't want to, but because it is hard for him to switch habits.

This includes "forgetting his partner exists", for like the first two weeks of your relationship.

He is loyal like a dog, but will literally your existence. May even tackle you to the ground, after you move in with him, because he though you are an intruder.

Will take your stuff, without asking, so he can have your scent and get used to you.

Also, very mean humor. If he likes you, he will make fun of you, with appropriate, only for him, jokes. (This is how he tests the waters)

Will move your relationship faster. Absolute cavemen behavior. (Blame it on efficiency)

Soap Mactavish. The Sergent, not the captain. ( for the captain, combine all you read about the sergent, minus the energy and passion. He has that tamed, since, well, he is a captain)

I am sorry, but he is a nuisance. Annoying boyfriend energy and clingy af. Loud, proud and always at your hip. On the plus side - he can do tricks on command.

Like a husky, he will whine and test your patience, and boundaries.

Has A LOT of energy. Basically Sanderson on steroids. Jumps and smacks you out of nowhere.

He does not know his own strength, sometimes you wondering he everything a human being, or how his bunkies are still alive?

He is just like an annoying younger sibling, with the exception that he is your boyfriend.

And but not least,

Gaz

Fire, fire, fire.

You see how he speaks in campaing?

Guess how bitchy in everyday life he is. And he gets easily pissed especially after a long deployment.

You can't win an argument against him, even if you strip naked.

He will still hit it, but.... will keep arguing while doing so.

Yes, you are not safe.

Gaz is sassy and feels things pretty deeply. So I would be careful if I was you. Do not piss that boy off.

Also, if he headbutts with Price, or Price offers his opinion on you (paw paw is also the king of unsolicited advice) and Gaz dislikes it, he will get snappy at you. So I would avoid him, if he is in a mood.

Konig is not in the task force, but idgaf so let's go.

Very straight forward, blunt and egotistical. Kind of like Price, minus the empathy.

Will refuse to help, after he told you something didn't work and you did it anyway.

Will cave in after he remembers you are not a soldier and are someone he loves. (Or when you get mad at him)

He will get to his emotional side, eventually and drop the ego act, but until then - you are stuck with him being an ass.

I wanna say narcissist, but not quite. Idk. (Will leave that undone here, not elaborate and fuck off to the next character)

Andre Nikto

Hehe

Lose screws. A lot of them scattered around on the floor.

He is psychotic, has voices in his head and takes his medication if they all feel like it.

Trusts no one.

Will make a move on you after he makes sure they (him plus the voices) won't accidentally or on purpose hurt, or kill you.

It is complicated.

Very forward. Takes decisions and acts fast. Some say, he is a daredevil, but nobody dares to dare him to say for sure. Hehe

Expect lots of jealousy, insecurity and macho energy for him. Traditional man.

Likes when you talk to him and ask how all of them are, and group discuss (yes, you have group discussions) about whatever you want. Soooo, that's a plus. And, you have more opinions on something, so you see more sides.

Also, some voices side with you all the time, so, yeah, you got it.

He isn't THAT disfigured, but he is disfigured. He has a face, but some parts may be missing.

And he is VERY sensitive about the issues. Proceed with caution.

Gabriel T. Rorke

He is the man and will not stop showing it. Chavilerity (can't spell that), handyman behavior....mansplaining who?

He means well, just doesn't realize how annoying he is being.

At least you house is fixed.

Also, lots of trauma. He has night terrors, which he says he doesn't have (loves being tough) and will use you as his therapist.

Sorry girl, but if you get him talking, he is Sharing...sharing.

Protective and will tell men to back off of you, when needed ( it is not needed, he is just jealous and wants the pricks away from you)

[cas-kingdom]

“Do you want me to wear a wig?”

A/N: Remember when I said '5 line fanfics'? Yeah.

(Please be kind lol, this is my first fic in a whiiiile).

“Do you want me to wear a wig?”

“No, I don’t want you to wear a wig.”

“What about heels?”

“You don’t wear heels.”

“But Karen does!”

Matt sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “Y/N, you’re not Karen,” he said, his voice sounding exactly how he felt: exhausted. This had been the first evening in longer than he could remember that he wasn’t catapulting himself across Hell’s Kitchen, and yet somehow, his aches and bruises were more prominent now than they had been when he was. He’d taken the day off—not that there was a workplace to take it from—and spent it in his pyjamas, trying not to aggravate his battered body more.

And so, it had not been his idea to stand in his living room at 2 am, feeling like the world had swallowed him and spat him right back out again. Neither had it been his idea to submit to a drama performance orchestrated by his sister. And yet, here he was.

This drama performance was entitled: Practicing Telling Karen That I’m Daredevil. In reality, Matt hadn’t given that much thought past the fact that it needed to happen. It was time. He had told Foggy, and he refused to leave Karen out any longer. But his ideas didn’t quite reach how, or when, or where. He’d figured that in any way, anytime, and anywhere, the result would be the same. There would be disbelief, and there would be accusatory remarks of betrayal and lying, and then quite possibly he would be on the receiving end of a slap. But he was okay with that, because at least it would be done.

You, ever the protector, had not been okay with that. “You have to be prepared,” you'd told him, “nothing ever goes right for us. If you don’t figure this stuff out then she’ll probably find out you’re Daredevil when you’re sitting on the toil—”

Well, he didn’t want that. So, he’d agreed. Partly because you weren't exactly wrong… mostly because he knew his sister, and he knew that every hour spent awake with him was one more you could hold onto. This was more for your benefit than it was Karen's.

“For all intents and purposes, yes,” you said, “yes, I am. I am Karen. Come on, into position.”

There was never any winning with you. Let it not be known that Matthew Murdock, fierce attorney at law, alias Daredevil, crime-fighting vigilante, could beat and punch and kick his way out of any situation except ones you had pulled him into.

Practically hearing the call of his bed, Matt picked up the bag with his mask inside. You had suggested he swing in through the window of Murdock and Nelson dressed in the suit.

Never gonna happen.

He turned his face towards you, stood across from him in your dressing gown, wet hair tied back. With a resigned sigh, he took the mask from the bag, and, the words feeling stupid on his lips, as though he was in some sort of cheesy superhero movie: “I’m Daredevil.”

There was silence. A sniff. You narrowed your eyes. Then, you snorted a laugh.

“Ha, ha. That’s hilarious.”

Matt tilted his head. “Is it?”

“Dude—no, wait, Karen wouldn’t say dude—Matt, you’re an awesome lawyer, seriously, but—you?" Incredulity dripped from your tone. "Scaling buildings and backflipping from roof to roof? That’s like… imagining Foggy in a bikini.”

“I’m trying really hard not to be insulted right now.”

“Did you forget you’re blind?”

Matt frowned, his muscles tensing a little. “I am blind. But I’m also Daredevil.”

You rolled your eyes, and Matt couldn’t help but think he should have enrolled you in acting school when you were younger.

“And did I tell you I’m Jesus Christ incarnated?”

Momentarily forgetting the feeling of his silk sheets and a cold pillow beneath his aching head, Matt drew his brows together and his jaw fell slightly open. “Are you making fun of me?”

“If you’re Daredevil, why don’t you prove it?”

“I’m not doing a backflip in the living room.”

You scrunched your nose up. “You’re so boring.”

“Okay. Then where do you think I got his mask from?”

You took a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion, tongue running across your teeth as you thought. You walked towards him and took the mask from his hands. Matt listened while you moved it about, turning it upside down, hands passing over the horns as you scrutinised every detail.

You stood on your tiptoes to peer at something. Matt was patient. When you were satisfied, you made a disgruntled nose and threw the mask onto the couch. Arms crossed once again you stared determinedly up at him, saying simply: “Stolen."

Your brother rose a brow and mirrored your position, clear he was no longer dealing with Karen Page. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll bite. Why do you reckon that?”

“Too small to fit on your fat head.”

There were about two seconds between Matt tossing his head back and laughing, and grabbing you to toss onto the couch. Quicker than you had time to register it, he was over you, one knee beside you, his hands shooting down to tickle you.

You positively screamed, your brother’s full and legal name exiting your mouth in one shrill shriek.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Matt expertly dodged the kick aimed at his chest, wincing as his body reminded him of the stunts he’d pulled over the last few nights. He flopped in the seat beside you, his mask falling to the floor, and grabbed your hand as it aimed for his nose, holding it far enough away from the both of you that you couldn’t touch him.

“Noho! Stop!”

“No, you don’t know that? Damn, I’ve been slacking in my duties as big brother, haven't I?"

“You would—” You squeezed your eyes shut, one foot planted firmly against Matt's thigh, your free hand desperately trying to shove his away—“YOU WOULDN’T DOHO THIS TO KAHAREN!”

Matt scoffed a laugh, then, with an evil chuckle, leaned over you, hands still at work—“Karen knows how not to get on my last nerve,” he growled lowly—and blew a raspberry right under your ear.

He finally backed off at the noise that produced, partly due to sympathy, mostly because you had new neighbours who probably wouldn’t appreciate a 2 am wake-up call. Settling back in his seat with a self-satisfied smirk across his lips, he let you lurch forward and attack him, playfully shoving and kicking at him, until your foot caught a particularly sensitive spot and he recoiled. Instinctively a hand went to his side and the other closed around your ankle, his head dipped a little at the pain that coursed through him.

You recovered quickly. “Sorry!” you said, your breath still coming in short bursts. “Sorry, Matty, I—are you okay?”

Matt nodded slowly. “I’m okay,” he said, then breathed a laugh through his nose. “Not sure why I ever believed I’d get an evening off being beaten up tonight.”

You giggled and lightly smacked his shoulder, managing to wrench your foot free from his hold before he could take advantage of it being in his grasp. You crossed your legs beneath you and leaned back against the pillows as you tapped your phone to check the time.

“You can go to bed now,” you said quietly.

“Huh? Thought all this practicing stuff was necessary.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours and you smiled slightly, picking at a loose thread in the sofa. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happens is gonna happen no matter how you do it, right?”

“I did kinda say that.”

“You can kinda shut up.”

A comforting sort of silence enveloped the room then, one that you were happy to sit with. The bustle of Hell’s Kitchen was still loud outside, but in this apartment, in this room, it was just the two of you. That was how it was supposed to be. That was what you missed.

A gentle snore broke the quietude, and you turned your head to see your brother utterly knocked out. His entire body had fallen limp against the couch and for the first time in so long, he looked almost peaceful.

You stared at him. Subconsciously, your mind counted every visible injury, every patch of discoloured skin, everywhere that could have been the one that killed him.

You reached down to pick up his mask. It felt cold against your skin, a reminder that it had the terrifying ability to upturn your entire life. This one thing.

Your eyes lingered a bit before you tossed the mask across the floor and grasped the throw on the back of the couch. Gently leaning against your brother, careful not to wake or hurt him, you draped it across the both of you and closed your eyes. His slow breathing soothed you and in no time you were lost in your own dreams.

Daredevil Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

[daredevils-stuffed]

A Girl Can Dream

Authors Note: Guess I’m back… totally not because I’ve been rewatching daredevil like it’s a comfort show.

Characters: Matt Murdock x Reader

Overview: You meet Matt in a club, and discover when it’s too late that he’s your brother’s best friend. Foggy would not approve. But can Matt resist temptation.

Warnings: no warnings as of now. Maybe a few in the future.

Also available to read on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63147244/chapters/161719609

Part 1

College was the chance for you to try new things, experience all that life had to offer. Going out to clubs was relatively new to you, but you accepted every invite that was offered because being at Columbia meant more than just studying. So, it’s Friday night, and you want to let your hair down after a long and stressful week. You and your friends have been chasing to find the right vibes from bar to bar. The place you’re currently in has loud upbeat music, the type you can’t resist dancing too. 

 

You stand off on the sidelines of the dance floor cradling your drink, taking a breather. Your friends love being the centre of attention and are dance battling each other. You laugh aloud as they spin themselves around to create more room. 

 

“They seem to be having fun, why aren’t you out there with them.” You peer up to see a handsome man with thick, choppy hair, and tinted glasses perched on his nose. It takes you a minute to realise he is talking to you, sipping at your drink you glance back at them. 

 

“I’m not really one to draw attention to myself. Plus, I haven’t got anyone to dance with”. You chuckle, and he snorts. The alcohol is making you tingly and brave, so you take a good look at the man next to you. His clothes  aren’t too fancy, just casual jeans and a shirt that fitted perfectly around sculpted arms. He’s leaning his elbow on a white stick and that’s when it clicks. He’s blind. 

 

“I couldn’t agree more. But I would like to dance at least once tonight with someone.” He fiddles with the bottle in his hand, not really looking in your direction. 

 

You can tell he is either nervous or uncomfortable, his cheeks are flushed red under the strobe lights. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you lean into his ear. Lips lightly brushing it as you speak. “Well, I definitely would like your company”. You had already been to three bars previously, so your tipsy state gives you the confidence to gently grab his hand and guide him towards the centre of the dance floor. 

 

Standing there taking in his features you realise that he is quite good looking. A soft smile encapsulates his face as you take his hand and place it on your waist, slowly swaying in time with the music. Your arms finding a way around his neck, your bodies in sync. You’re pulled closer to him, close enough to smell his heavenly cologne. 

 

His hands start to travel around your body, down towards your ass. He plays with the hem of your dress, and you let him, knowing he can’t tell what you’re wearing. You knew it was kinda short when you put it on, but now you’re glad you did as his fingertips slowly trail over your thigh causing goosebumps to rise and shivers to go through you. You’re sure that your breathing has deepened and your eyes close as you try to focus on the feeling, hands playing with the hair at his nape. 

 

You’ve moved closer again now. At some point your spun around so your back is against him. Too lost in the music and the feeling of him against you to care what was going on around you. You can feel him hard against your ass, and you grind down a little to get a better feel. You are just as turned on, letting out a little hum of approval. His hands spread over your stomach, enclosing you into him. His lips finding that perfect place on your neck and all air is sucked out of you. This is perfect, this moment feels cosmic, something that could go on forever. 

 

But it doesn’t. 

 

Your friends interrupt you to say that they were leaving for the next bar. You look up at your dance partner as he drops his hands from your hips, taking a step back. “No wait.” You hurriedly shout, grabbing his wrist. You spin around to look back at your friends. “Sorry guys, I think I’m going to stay here. I’m enjoying myself.” A little smirk on your face tells your friends all that they need to know. They grin back at you and eye up the man behind you. His jaw ticks with amusement but he says nothing. You hug them goodbye and promise to text when you’re home safe, but you know that you can’t promise that would be tonight. 

 

You grin up at your company for the evening. “Shall we go get another drink before we carry on.” You grab his hand and lead the way to the bar and order yourself and him a drink. He stays close to you, playing once again with the hem of your dress, drawing shapes into your inner thigh. You lean into him after taking a sip of your new drink. “We should go back to yours after this,” you whisper, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

 

“Mmm. We definitely should. I have some ideas as to what we can get up to sweetheart.” His hand goes further in between your thighs, you clamp his hand before he can get any deeper and see how wet you are. Your eyes look up in shock and he just chuckles. “I just need to wait for my friend to arrive so I can tell him I’m leaving with you. I might also want him to see you, just so he knows you are real”. You shake your head and lean your forehead against his shoulder. 

 

“Sweetheart? Hmm okay.” He nudges your hair with his nose, taking in your coconut scent shampoo. His teeth nip at your neck, encouraging your breaths to come out as sighs. “I should probably know your name if I’m going to be coming home with you”

 

“I’m Matt.” He says and you look up at him in shock. Pushing away from him, his fingers dig into your hips, eyebrows knitted together out of confusion

 

“Oh my god, you’re that Matt” you breathe just as you hear Foggy’s voice. 

 

“Hey! I see you two have met. Saves me introducing you both.” You groan internally turning to face him. In a college campus this large, the one hot boy that is attracted to you happens to be your brother’s best friend. Matts hands instantly drop from you, any remnants of his touch completely vanishing. 

 

“Foggy.” You and Matt say, his with a little more surprise and a lot less anger than yours. he leans in to kiss you on the cheek and taps Matt on the back before ordering himself a beer. He starts talking about his day, and how he wasn’t even sure if he was going to make it tonight. You note that Matts lips turn down, and you think of your lost future where you could be experiencing Matts body in all its glory, feeling his touch in all the right places. 

 

“Just so we are clear Matt, no you cannot touch my sister’s face okay. She is off limits.” Matt clears his throat and sits up straighter. You could almost stroke the awkwardness between you now, the sexual tension still ripe and all that more unbearable. 

 

“He’s being doing a little more than that” you murmur as you turn to grab your drink, hating yourself for ditching your friends for Foggy’s best friend. Why did it you use your logic, why didn’t you see that the blind man in your college campus bar might be the same person who also lives in your brother’s dormitory. 

 

Matt coughs and pinches your side. Your eyes land on his face in shock, but his is neutral. There is no way he heard you say that. “Come on man, you know I wouldn’t do that to your sister. We were just talking about what me and you are getting up to tonight.”

 

“You are more than welcome to join us sis!” Foggy says. Disappointment etches your features, as well as Matts. You feel as if a massive bucket of icy water has just been tipped all over you. Yet the burning heat between your legs is still there. 

 

“You know what, I think I will.” You did not really have much of a choice. Realising if you leave them now, your night will have to end there. 

 

“Great, that way I can keep an eye on you.” Foggy nudges you to get between you and Matt. It was then you realised that nothing could ever happen between you and Matt. Even if you wanted his hands and lips all over you, there was no way Matt would break Foggy’s trust. 

 

“Yeah” Matt agreed. “We don’t want you going off with any strange men, you don’t know who could be out there.” You glare at him and polish off your drink. It’s going to be a long night for you. 

 

“Shots?” Because that is the only thing that is going to get you through this, and you really don’t want this night to be memorable. 

 

The night goes on. You’ve really passed the point of tipsy. You’ve had no further interaction with Matt, but you’ve also had no other interaction with men in general. They seem to stay away from you when there are two men leering behind you as you dance. 

 

“Hey Matt! Did I ever tell you about the time I found my sister in a pile of oranges” Foggy shouts over the music. You’ve been dancing for the best part of an hour, your back turned so you don’t have to keep up with any of the conversations. You’ve heard Foggy tell this story over and over. You lived it, you were there. Sticky and uncomfortable and 5 years old. Matt glances over at you and chuckles as Foggy continues the story. You cringe slightly, cheeks flushing as you try to drown of the embarrassment. “And that’s how she got the nickname Clementine”

 

“Clementine? Really?” Matt smirks. Foggy, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a conversation, becomes distracted trying to hit on the girl next to him. Matt, using your shoulder to steady himself, takes this opportunity to press his lips to your ear. “I think I prefer sweetheart myself.”  You roll your eyes, elbowing Matt in the stomach. “I think you like it when I call you sweetheart.” 

 

If your heart rate was anything to go by or the fact that your stomach is doing summersaults, then yes maybe you did like Matts pet name for you. Matt’s fingers brush along your next, down towards your collarbone and sweeps back up again. Your breaths coming out in signs until it hitches. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and slowly moves away. 

 

“I think it is time for us to go home now.” You check the time on your phone, quarter to two in the morning. Definitely time for you to go home, nothing good can happen from here. You turn to Foggy to see if he agrees but he is tongue deep in a girl you’ve never seen before. He motions you away with his hand, not once breaking concentration. 

 

“I’ll walk you home” Matt says quietly. Gathering his stick and setting down his beer. 

 

“Oh no it’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” 

 

“I have no doubt about that. But just for my peace of mind, what kind of friend would I be if I let Foggy’s sister walk home on her own” his voice almost comes across teasing. 

 

You huff, unable to find a reason not to let him join you. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

 

You’ve run ahead of Matt, squealing at the frigid air hitting you. You watch as your breath floats away from you, you love how quiet everything is.  He chuckles and calls out for you to be careful before jogging up to meet you. You take Matt’s arm, walking the long quiet path back to your dormitory with slow unstable steps. The night air has hit you and made the alcohol take an effect. “I say what a splendid evening” a fancy British accent causes Matt to study you. Giggling to yourself with amusement, Matt seems to lose concentration and almost trips over his feet causing you to laugh harder. 

 

Keeping up with the accent Matt calls out “Oh Clementine darling you are going to wrong way” pulling you back with an outstretched arm when you go to round the wrong corner. He spins you around and pulls you in close. You share a hearty laugh, which warms your insides. 

 

“Oh, silly me! I need a strong man to carry me home” you shrill just as you jump on Matts back. With a humph Matt adjusts you on his back, stick still in hand, he continues the walk back home. You have no concept of time at this point and the world around you starts to spin, mostly because of how amazing Matt smells. You breathe in deep trying to inhale as much of it as you can, all while committing it to memory. 

 

“Thank you, good sir. I much appreciate your efforts in getting me home. I shall bid you a good night” you’re not really sure why you’ve kept up the accent, and it falls off towards the end. You just stand there staring up at Matt, his grip on your waist firm. You push his hair off his forehead and slowly graze your fingers along his cheekbone. 

 

“Let me see your eyes,” you whisper, you were curious what colour they were, and it bugged you not knowing what they looked like. You knew about Matts accident through Foggy, but you didn’t know much more about Matt than that. “Mmmh, you’re so pretty. Do you know that?”

 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, he stills under your touch, contemplating your words as his eyes sightlessly roam your face. “I don’t think you’re meant to call boys pretty but thank you”. Matt slowly reaches for your hand as if trying not to startle you. Bringing it to his mouth, he gently places a kiss on the inside of your wrist. Your entire body envelopes in flames, maybe the night will end well after all. 

 

He goes to take a step back, creating space between you as if his actions were an unspoken goodbye. But you’re not ready yet, and pull him in close by his shoulders, lips almost in reach. His head pulls back quickly, not expecting your moves. A gentle smile is followed by the words “we shouldn’t.”

 

Before you know what is happening Matt is stalking off down the path head low. 

 

You groan up to the sky, not quite sure where you stand with Matt. But one thing you’re certain about - Matt is a tease and will likely never touch you again

[httpvomitello]

Heyy can I request head cons about the babies in Donnie's like how donnie and the reader handled them and what's their names you know the things like that

Hello! Of course, i hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Naming four babies was a challenge for both of you

Donnie insisted on something scientific for at least one of them, but you wanted names with a personal touch

In the end, you compromised, choosing names that reflected both your tastes

The first baby boy is called Luca, named after Leonardo, but with a modern twist to avoid confusion

The first baby girl is called Aria, because you always wanted to have a daughter with that name

The second baby boy is called Eli, short for Elias, a name Donnie liked

The second baby girl is called Nova, the perfect balance between Donnie's love for science (a supernova) and your desire for something unique and radiant

Donnie’s approach to fatherhood is ✨meticulous and scientific✨

He has charts to track their feeding schedules, sleep cycles, and developmental milestones

He panics if anything seems off, whether it’s a sneeze or a missed nap

But you always manage to calm him down, reminding him that babies don’t follow exact formulas

It’s a team effort, and Donnie respects your instincts as much as he does his research

While he has all the gadgets and plans, you provide the warmth and flexibility when things don’t go according to schedule

Which is often...

Late-night feedings usually find Donnie pacing the room with one of the babies in his arms, as he tries to lull them to sleep

You can’t help but laugh, watching the genius in him handle diapers like they're delicate experiments

There’s chaos, especially in the early months, with four babies needing attention

But Donnie is always there to offer a quiet "I'll take care of it!" and swoop in with a plan

Donnie invents tons of baby gadgets, everything from a diaper-changing robot, to a self-rocking crib!

Which sometimes malfunctions, much to your horror 🐢

He’s a proud tech dad, always trying to improve the systems to make parenting easier

Sometimes he ends up getting a scolding from Splinter for wanting to use technology for almost everything

Despite the hectic schedule, Donnie is committed to spending quality time with each child

He reads scientific articles to them (which you tease him about), and you often find him in the nursery talking about constellations and the universe as if the babies understand

BONUS *⁠.⁠✧

Leo is totally out of his depth when it comes to holding a baby

When Luca is placed in his arms, he acts like he’s holding a rare artifact, trying his best to support the baby’s head while giving a serious, "I got this" look to his brother

He’s extremely cautious and constantly asking, “Is this normal? Is he supposed to move this much?”

Luca is fascinated by Leo’s swords and mask, trying to grab them every chance he gets

Leo’s always one step ahead, gently redirecting his nephew while muttering, “No, buddy, you’re too young for ninjutsu.”

Aria is Raph’s little daredevil

The moment he holds her, she giggles when he lifts her up high and twirls her around gently

She loves the excitement, and Raph is more than happy to be the fun uncle who gets her to laugh the loudest

Raph’s all about making her tough, jokingly flexing in front of her and saying “You’re gonna be strong, just like your uncle.”

But in reality, he’s super soft around her, calling her his "little champ."

Eli and Nova instantly bond with Mikey

He’s the master at making them laugh, whether it's through his silly voices or doing exaggerated impressions of his brothers

Mikey is great at calming them down when they’re fussy. He’ll rock them gently and hum goofy songs, always finding ways to make even diaper changes into a game

He’s already planning fun future adventures for them, saying, “We’ll have art sessions, guys! And a lot of pizza parties!”

He’s the most laid-back uncle and the kids love him for it

[misscinnamonroll16]

Brozone headcanons

Clay and Floyd are the stunt men now that they're adults. Clay's always been a little bit of a daredevil, Floyd already died once, why not live a little.

Clay is nocturnal, like the rest of the Putt-putt trolls. His bros throw his sleep schedule off so when they're hanging out, it's not unusual for Clay to just be passed out somewhere or on someone. If they can, they get Clay to bed so he can properly sleep. If not, everyone's volume goes low.

Both Floyd and John Dory took bartending classes. And by took I mean, Floyd just so happened to be sleeping with a bartender who taught him some things. When making drinks, John's proper about it, Floyd is kind of messy. Floyd's over pouring and spilling.

Clay's handwriting is like a nice print. It's easy to read and looks good on paper.

John Dory is good at photography. He mostly uses this skill for taking nature shots but he's gotten good at candid shots of his brothers. He doesn't let them know about these pics bc they don't look the most photogenic but they look like themselves and that's what John loves to see.

JD has dimples

John Dory almost always has at least one weapon on him.

The brothers think JD has a death wish bc he's constantly going after animals that could literally kill him. "John! Don't touch that, it'll tear you to pieces!" "Psh, whatever. If we weren't supposed to pet it then why does look so fluffy?"

Floyd doesn't go into detail about his past. He'll tell snippets here and there but avoid questions. For one, because he's a bit embarrassed about it. He did a lot of things he isn't proud of, drugs, sleeping around, and drinking. For two, he knows that his older brothers still see him WAY younger than he actually is (like how they still see Branch as a baby) and it would just shatter that mentality. And he doesn't want to do that. For three, it's WAY more fun for him if they don't know and have to keep guessing. Floyd has heard them trying to figure out what he spent the last twenty years doing and starts fucking with them.

John Dory definitely has pictures from even when he was a baby and such. Even ones with their parents but he tries to keep those ones tucked away. Branch is going through them when he finds a picture that has been folded in one of the sleeves of the photo album. It's a picture of John and Bruce and their parents. JD quickly snatches the photo and shoves it his vest. Those people looked like strangers to Branch, that picture probably being the first time he's seen them

The brothers know they didn't have a good childhood but John did his best, despite being pretty much a child himself.

John Dory man spreads no matter who he is sitting next or if he's just sitting in a chair.

John Dory wears the one glove to hide an incredibly deep scar. He got into some trouble with some bounty hunters and needless to say, they drove a knife through his hand. He doesn't want his lil bros to know or worry about it so he hides it.

All the boys (like most trolls) are fuzzy. JD and Bruce have the most prominent facial hair and chest hair. They all have leg hair, arm hair, under arm hair, and a happy trail.

Clay and John have the Blond™️ gene (that's how I'm referring to it) where their hair goes through changes. That's why their hair is so much different from when they were kids. In the summer while spending a bunch of time outside, JD and Clay's hair gets lighter, Clay being a light yellow and John being a soft teal. The others convinced them to do one of those 'take a picture every day for a year' things and make it into a flip book to show how their hair changes color.

The boys really wanted a sister. John jokes that they kind of got one with Floyd

Floyd and John Dory are good gardeners. JD briefly grew his own food and Floyd just has a natural green thumb (not that John doesn't)

Floyd gets random nosebleeds

[yvesssssssss]

hi hello ms esteemed yves!! idk if ur taking requests rn bc I see ur writing a longer work currently so ty anyways on behalf of starving uzuki luvers everywhere orz however if you are, could you do like... sakamoto day guys w a total adrenaline junkie/thrill seeker s/o? not like she's an extrovert necessarily but my favs r kei shishiba and natsuki and they r all more lowk Yk that kinda contrast ... hope you have a luvly weekend <3

I hope you like it! Hopefully, this is what you were looking for—thank you so much for the idea, it was super fun to write!

Kei Uzuki

You were the kind of person who got a glint in your eyes when knives were flying. The tighter the hallway, the louder the gunfire, the faster your heart raced—and Uzuki? He noticed.

Fascinated by you at first. Most people tremble when the air gets thick with violence, but you smile, calm and sharp as a blade’s edge.

You’re not a loud daredevil, but he sees the way you walk into danger without hesitation. When a mission goes sideways, you lean into it, eyes glittering. It makes his heart stutter.

“You know this is insane, right?” he murmurs, brushing blood off your cheek after a fight you picked for fun.

“It was fun,” you say, chest still rising from the rush. He doesn't disagree.

He tries to read you like a weapon, figure out where the trigger is, what makes you tick. But you’re always two steps ahead—jumping rooftops, riding motorcycles through enemy lines, smirking over your shoulder like you dare him to keep up.

When it’s just the two of you, quiet in a motel room or hiding out, he’ll ask: “Do you ever get scared?”

And you’ll answer honestly: “Only when it’s boring.”

It terrifies him, and he likes it.

Shishiba

He’s chill. You’re not. At least not in the way that lets you sit still.

You’re the type to take an assignment and add extra risk. “There was a shortcut if we went through the collapsing construction site,” you say. Shishiba just stares at you.

“You know you could’ve just taken the stairs.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose like he aged ten years in one sentence.

Lowkey lives for how you always make things unpredictable. He complains, but he never stops you. Even when you suggest “testing” the Order’s security systems by sneaking in “just for kicks.”

Deadpan lectures you. “If you die doing something stupid, I’m not picking up your body.”

But he’s always there when things go wrong. Always.

One time, you jumped out of a second-story window just because the ledge “looked fun.” When he caught you midair, grumbling about it, you kissed his cheek mid-fall. He didn’t drop you, but he did go silent for five whole minutes.

You keep him from getting too jaded. He keeps you from getting killed. It works.

Natsuki Seba

He’s a genius with nerves of steel, but your chaos still makes him sweat a little.

“Wait, you want to do what?”

“Break into the JAA HQ from the roof. For practice.”

“That’s not practice. That’s pre-suicidal behavior.”

He genuinely doesn’t know whether to admire you or lock you in a room for your own safety.

He watches you race toward danger like it’s a sport and mutters to himself, “We’re not getting out of this alive, are we?”

But your energy is contagious. He starts planning around your thrill-seeking habits. “Okay, if you have to climb that tower, wear this tracker so I can hack their systems if things go wrong.”

Gets a little bit addicted to the way your eyes shine when the adrenaline hits. The way you laugh—short and breathless—after sliding under a closing gate or dodging bullets by instinct.

Sometimes he joins you, heart pounding, breath hitching, your hand in his.

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this?”

“Because you love it. And me.”

He grins, breathless. “...Damn it. You’re right.”

[devilfic]

Idk if you have seen daredevil but in the case you have can I request a head cannon of you making a playlist for him and him talking about songs that remind you of him?

Like I was listening to The Marias and I felt that their songs give this feeling of how it would be to date him.

❝making a playlist for matt murdock❞

pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader. cw: established relationship, brief mention of sex. words: 1k.

a/n: I actually have seen daredevil and I love him a lot, this will be fun. shoutout to this post that confirmed the "matt murdock loves jazz" vibe he gives off

I wanna start off by saying that as soon as I saw "daredevil" and "songs" in the same sentence, I got a VIVID image of matt in a jazz bar

I can't recall off the top of my head if matt mentions any specific artists or genres he listens to in the show, but I personally think matt likes jazz, funk, maybe some soul/neo-soul, or anything you'd hear in a nice understated bar downtown

the thing is I think that matt really likes instrumental-heavy music because he appreciates being able to pick apart the melodies

I also imagine he's a stickler for his favorite genres and won't really relent unless you introduce something new to him by force

so, a playlist

you push an mp3 player into his hand as you walk past him and he thumbs over the buttons, twists a finger through the cords of the earbuds, and smiles, "what's this?"

he hears you land on the couch and makes his way over to sit beside you as you take one of the earbuds to put in your ear, stretching your legs over his lap, "I made a playlist for you!"

"yeah?"

"yeah. I know you like your vinyls but this is smaller, more compact. easy to put in your pocket and hopefully not break when you're running around the city at night. I'm serious. don't break that."

"I'm honored," matt tilts his head in your direction, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, listening for the parting of your lips as they break into a smile, "nothing too shocking, I hope?"

"I tried to stick to things I thought you'd like, and I did include some of the songs you've recommended to me over the years since you can't lug your vinyls everywhere. it won't sound as nice but... it's something. it's pretty romantic, right?"

it is romantic

matt imagines you hunched over his computer, tediously searching up mp3s of his favorite songs and putting together a playlist for him, trying your best to ease him into unfamiliar territory

he can also hear the nervous thumping of your heart as you wait for his reply, so he splays a hand over your ankle and squeezes, "yeah, you're pretty damn romantic. any particular order I should play it in?

"just hit play, handsome."

when the first song starts playing, he's transported back to hearing it for the first time in the bar where he met you, sharing drinks at a table as you humored him on your theories of who the devil of hell's kitchen really was

you were a few drinks past tipsy and had come to chat him up at the behest of your friends who—and you learned this several days later—he'd heard call him sexy at least four times

but it was you whose voice had caught his attention, who had sworn that a "man like him" had to be waiting for a date, that there was no way he'd be here all alone

and had promptly eaten your words when he chimed in to let you know that he did not, in fact, have a date

he was fuzzy on the details as to how you'd gotten on the topic of his alter ego, but it tickled him nonetheless how you presented your theories more confidently than you flirted

he countered each one but in good faith, playing devil's advocate if only so that he could hear how your mind whirred with ideas

after a few pretty well-articulated counterarguments, you'd snorted and asked, "what are you, a lawyer?"

and when you learned that he was a lawyer? the matt murdock of nelson, murdock, & page? oh, he was sure you lit up like a christmas tree

even after walking you to your place, matt was humming the tune of the song he'd discovered you to, a feeling in his bones that more than just it would be sticking around

matt takes you to a jazz bar for your first date, feeding you details about the musicians over drinks as you ask him about his favorites

he likes a lot of the classics: things his dad enjoyed, stuff he's heard at the jazz bars he's roped foggy into visiting with him during law school

he tells you he likes some of the new stuff but nothing beats the classics, all of which he has vinyls of at home

and you ask him about the newer artists he likes and he tells you he'll put some on for you at his place if the night is still young

that night, he brings you back to his and plays this while you make love

most of the songs matt thinks of when he thinks of you are wordless, often more abstract representations of how you make him feel

the few songs with words are quite literal. whatever the lyrics say is how he feels about you

you've learned—if you're not already a fan of the same genres—to appreciate his taste

and you've also learned to love the way he lights up as you describe what the music sounds like to him, the way he slips in a word here and there when you come up short and it always just fits

it's kind of like his love language

you've got some of these songs on the playlist too

you see him get a little stiff when a song comes on that he doesn't know, and so you watch all the minute expressions in his face as it plays, wondering anxiously if he likes it or not

you know he does when he replays it

he'll tap out the rhythm on your ankle like he's picking apart every detail of the song piece by piece, placing them layer over layer in his mind until it becomes whole and he turns to tell you he really likes it

while he usually likes to keep his ears open for anything in the city while he's out and about, he'll pop in an earbud and start your playlist and think about you

now, if only you'd add a recording of you singing to yourself every morning, it'd be complete. that's gotta be his favorite

taglists: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

[pastafossa]

hi pasta ! i’ve been a long time fan of you and your work, your writing is by far my favorite so far for matt that you’ve reignited me to write fanfics again ! i think you’re incredibly talented and so smart in your way of designing a story so vividly it just sparked my desire to to create again after my 30th reread of TRT. it is totally okay if you choose not to answer these but i have a couple of questions for writers? i have written fanfics before but they never came out to my liking (i never published them😅) so i’m looking to improve it and better my understanding of creating content that i like and am proud of!

the questions !! :

what are some things and tricks to writing lively, real dialogue? i find when i write sometimes my characters seem dull and cardboard like. i want it to flow naturally god dammit !

how do you go about characterization and staying true to it as your character develop and evolve? and to riff off of this question what is some additional research you would do to get the nature of your chosen character (ex, matt) right?

what are ways to better your writing? for example highlighting a characters complex emotions, describing the scenery around, detailed fight scenes and car chases, etc, etc. and not just them but silly grammatical errors and simple vocab. (i’m trilingual so it get a bit fuzzy remember all the rules of every language 😭) your foreshadowing game is just chefs kiss cuz you would sit on something and brush past it but it’ll make its comeback 20 chaps later, HOW??

and lastly, what is your advice to planning a long story? what are some steps you take to je respect the timeline of a show or a movie and how do you fit your OC into it? as well as making the OC’s backstory fit in. speaking of backstory and lore, i find it so hard to fit in believable, human lore to my OC and not make it super childish. i think you did such an interesting job with project beagle, the antagonist, the body swapping, the symbolism, etc, that it just feel so canon to me.

well thats all i have to ask, i hope it’s not too much, you really are such an awesome artist and i admire your work as a writer so much! thank you for sharing your stories on here/ao3. ❤️

Oh my gosh, this is so sweet! I'm absolutely gd honored you love TRT this much, I'm so, so happy it could help make you want to write fic again! 😭😭😭 Seriously, one of the things that just makes me absolutely delighted is when something I've made could lead to more things being made in turn, cause I don't just love Matt and Daredevil and TRT, I love stories in general! The world needs more of them, so this is FUCKING AWESOME. And I'm happy to answer these questions as best I can!

I'm also going to put this behind a see-more tag cause it's long LOL.

Token Matt gif just for fun. LET'S GET STARTED.

Natural, lively dialogue: Ooooh this is a fun question I haven't gotten asked before I don't think. I won't lie, part of it absolutely the immersion with all the shows, movies, and books I take in. But there's another element I was taught in creative writing classes - the idea that sometimes you should read as a writer. That is: read while asking yourself, 'how did they do that? Why? How did they foreshadow this?' Etc. You can do the same thing with characters speaking and with people. Listen to how these characters speak, how similar people speak, and try to get a feel for how they talk. I'll use contractions as an example. Most people use contractions, for example (at least in the US), in natural flowing dialogue. It's shorter, it's more casual, whereas they might speak more formally (less contractions) in a professional setting like a courtroom or when they're really angry and speaking somewhat threateningly. They also might not use contractions for other reasons - in TRT Ciro tends to use fewer contractions when speaking English, both because he's a classy guy and because English isn't his native language (he learned it more formally). I also try to treat each character as having their own natural accent (which can also show a bit of their personality). Matt rambles when he's nervous, but his dialogue gets sharp and choppy when he's furious (Devil wants to act, not talk). Foggy loves metaphors and has a lot of swings up and down in tone for emphasis (Grew up a theatre kid). When Jane in TRT is feeling particularly cold, she starts dropping unnecessary words from her sentences so they're shorter (more efficient + trained to give immediate answers without flourish). Sometimes it can also help to listen to the dialogue you write or have it go through a text-to-speech program so you can hear if it sounds stilted, but I've found the ability to detect stilted dialogue is just something you have to practice!

Keeping true to the character while letting them evolve: this is ALSO A FUN QUESTION. Especially because something I was taught is that, generally speaking (always exceptions): a stagnant character is a boring character. They need to struggle with who they are, and grow or devolve as a person. They need to learn. I knew I wanted that to happen in TRT, so yeah, a big question was how I could show characters growing while also keeping them the characters we know and love. And for me it was about figuring out what the basic building blocks of those characters were, and making sure they were always present, because an apple pie should always, in theory, come out of the oven an apple pie, even if it's been changed some by baking. Things like Matt's struggle with his faith, the way he's sorta incapable of finding a middle ground between Devil and Matt Murdock, his refusal to ignore injustice, his trauma and fear of abandonment, his love of the Kitchen, his anger issues and the ensuing impulsivity, these are all building blocks for him. These do not change. What changes is how they manifest, and what he does with them. Matt learns he can trust Jane with his trauma and fear of abandonment. She helps calm his anger. The building blocks are all still there. Some of them just get arranged a little differently as he grows. Same with Jane and how she has grown. She's always going to have Hound Mode floating around in the back of her head. Security will always be her biggest concern, her motivator. She's always going to be the one who prefers to think and plan. She'll always feel a little weird about personal identity, and be able to flip through lies and false faces with the best of them. But she'll handle all of that differently as she grows alongside Matt. The plot is baking them, changing those pies in the oven, but their base ingredients are something I'm super careful to keep consistent. That I think is one of my secrets since this has been going on 8 years now!

Additional research for characterization: I am always, always, always going to recommend good psychology research (I loved this shit in college, especially developmental psychology, and fortunately there's a TON that's easily accessible online and doesn't require any classes). For Matt, that would be psychological things like... what does repeated abandonment do to a person when they're a kid? How does abandonment and parental loss shape their attachment styles and relationships later in life (hint: it's not great)? We know he has untreated depression, so what's going on in his brain considering he's pushing all that down? What would the day-to-day struggle being exposed to all that crime and pain do (research into things like the mental health of paramedics and social workers, etc)? Dissect these characters like little bugs, put them on your table, and try to figure out why someone would do what they do. Be curious, basically!

How To Improve In General: I LOVE THAT YOU BROUGHT UP MY FORESHADOWING FIRST OFF, I'LL ANSWER THAT IN THE NEXT BIT FOR PLANNING BUT. For me this is a couple things. The biggest one is reading, reading, reading. Read professional stuff in addition to fanfic. Read in your chosen genre. Read writers you want to write like! Read writers who are writing what you want to learn! And when you do, ask yourself how they did what you want to do. I have one book series that's my absolute favorite, I've read it over and over and over again. And it's very likely that someone who's read that book series and TRT would be able to spot the influence that book series has had on Jane's character voice, how I write action scenes, morally grey characters, etc. So that's where some of it comes from! For things like detailed emotions and sensations, my favorite book is The Emotion Thesaurus! I've found I don't need it as much now because I've gotten the hang of it, but it's still good to have there as a refresher. And for things like grammar and simple vocab, not only will reading help, but I'd also open the door to any fandom friends who might beta read for you! I've been writing fic since I was... hrrgh, quite young. And I'm super grateful for the betas over the years that would go over my fic and leave notes - notes not just on what they had changed but why: why they changed this punctuation, why they broke up this sentence, why they capitalized this or lower-cased that. That helped a ton! But yeah, when in doubt, grab an author you love and open it up and go, '...Ok, so how did you do this???' Also holy hell, you're triilingual so you already get a TON of kudos here on learning how multiple languages work, YOU GOT THIS.

Planning a long story: now's the part where I make people groan but the biggest advice is to outline, I know a ton of us heard it in school and ignored it because pfft but THE OUTLINE REALLY IS IMPORTANT. This is how I was able to foreshadow things ages in advance - I knew what was coming in the future so I was able to leave breadcrumbs earlier on. This also meant I was able to figure out how certain dominoes would tip (like when TRT's original plotlines would change something in canon) or when there were gaps in Daredevil's timeline that I could neatly settle into. Knowing the entirety of the story and having it all laid out also meant it was easier to change things or work to make sure TRT fit into the Daredevil/Marvel Universe like a puzzle piece. That was one of the steps for me both when it came to respecting the timeline (not that you need to! That was a personal choice for me) and with making sure the lore all fit in. I love the Marvel universe, have since I was a kid, so I was able to tap some of their fun recurring tropes and themes (Evil scientists, secret government projects, Mutants/Enhanced characters in hiding) and instead of trying to make it new, I tried to do my own spin on it instead because I know this sort of thing already exists there, and threw in some of the other general genre tropes I enjoy (love me some symbolic otherworlds and psychic connections). I think for an OC like this, that's sort of the key. Their backstories will fit because they're built on power structures and building blocks that already exist. It's just about finding a little section that hasn't been told yet. That's where this type of OC flourishes: in these little gaps between walls and load-bearing pillars, a story and character you wouldn't find all that unusual if they popped up as a side character in canon, all to explore some part of the world that hasn't really been fleshed out yet. AND if desired, I think there's something to be said for matching just how grounded/fantastical your show/movie is. Daredevil is very, very grounded. People get hurt. They die. These aren't Avengers-level Gods who can take a lightning strike. So I respected that with Jane, who gets hurt... fairly often, tbh. I also leaned into, yet again, a story gap in that while a lot of the people running around with the Devil (Frank, Elektra, Stick, Jess and Luke, etc) are GOOD at fighting, Jane's specialty is NOT fighting, generally, even if she's pretty damn good with a gun and quick with her knife. Her specialty is getting away, so it gives us new things to explore in terms of threats and fight scenes!

I hope all of this helps! Everyone gets better with practice, so don't be afraid to put your stuff out there! God knows I've got old fanfic floating around the internet, and a lot of my early stuff wasn't anywhere near what TRT is. But I also couldn't have gotten to TRT without writing it, posting it, and learning from it. <3