#brailled fit of the week

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

false god - m. murdock

a/n: sorry if this is bad i did my best because i have been thinking about him a lot warnings: cursing, smut, cunninglus (reader recieving), exhibition (kind of?) matt has an oral fixation, praise, premarital activites, reader is deaf and uses hearing aids but it's only mentioned once, if i missed any let me know! word count: 1.8k summary: the night before your wedding, you and matt are starving. you want to order room service, matt wants to eat out. pairing: matt x fem!reader now playing: false god - taylor swift "but we might just get away with it/religion's in your lips/even if it's a false god/we'd still worship/we might just get away with it/the altar is my hips"

When the devil finally proposed to you, he did it amongst flames and darkness.

…

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as dramatic as that.

Matt had proposed to you in the empty office of Nelson, Murdock & Page where you had met, with the lights turned down and candles lighting up the air around you. It was romantic, just as the two of you deserved.

Planning took a long time, too, with flowers, dresses and food taking over your every thought.

But now, all of that was done. There was nothing to be worried about anymore, as you and Matt specifically requested that if anything were to go wrong, Foggy and Karen would take care of it the best they could and not alarm the two of you unless someone was either dying or threatening to kill you.

So, in less than twenty-four hours, you would be Mrs. Matt Murdock, doomed to a life of lawyer jargon and patching up wounds, with no way out. The thought made you giddy.

The ceremony was going to be held at the church, but the pair of you had moved in with each other a long time ago, so it felt weird to try and avoid each other the night before the wedding and the morning in your own apartment. So, you and your future husband, as well as your small wedding party, had booked a few rooms in a hotel near the church.

You both had your respective ‘last hurrah’ a few weeks prior, so there was really nothing to do after the rehearsal dinner other than head to your room and relax, waiting for your alarm to go off to start getting ready.

You had decided to take it easy, enjoying a glass of wine after what you deemed to be an ‘everything’ shower, taking all the necessary precautions to feel like your best self on your wedding day. You had even bought yourself a nice silk pajama set, white, just like your rehearsal dress, and just like your wedding dress.

Your wedding dress hung freshly steamed in the closet of the hotel room, your shoes placed neatly beneath it. Your jewelry and accessories were laid out neatly on the dresser across from the bed. Your wedding ring sat in a box, inscribed with your husband’s name on it. He sat next to it, your name in braille on the inside of the ring.

In the morning, your mom, your sister, Karen, Marci and the woman who had been doing your hair and makeup for every major life event would be there, coffee in Karen’s hands, as your soon to be husband and his best friend got ready together, reminiscing on how they had landed themselves here.

Everything was perfectly set in place. Your job now was to just get married, and really, how hard could that be?

So, with your wine, you tuck yourself into bed with full intentions of getting a good night’s rest in your silky bridal pajamas.

Except, your job was almost done. There were no more seating arrangements to make, no one else to chase after for an RSVP, no more fittings, and no more menus to create to adhere to you and your soon to be husband’s particular tastes.

So, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t stressed at all.. Which left you with one conclusion:

You missed Matt.

You had seen him a few hours ago for the rehearsal dinner, but you were suddenly left with the conclusion that you were aching for the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

Before you realized what you were doing, you were calling him.

On the second ring, he answered.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Hi. Everything’s great.”

A pause.

“Okay, do you want to talk about anything..?”

“There’s nothing else to do, Matty!” You’re out of bed and pacing now. “I’m stress free, and I can’t even be with you!”

You hear his laugh from the other side of the line, and it makes your heart flutter.

“We have the rest of our lives to spend the night together, baby.” He must have had a drink or two like you, because ‘baby’ is his tipsy nickname for you.

“I know, but I miss you now. And I’m hungry.” You tell him.

“Do you want to come over, order room service, and make out?”  He grins. “You just have to leave before midnight, it’s bad luck to see the bride the day of the wedding.”

You’re putting on your slippers when you pause and consider this for a minute.

“Matt, You’re blind.”

“And you’re deaf, don’t forget your hearing aids, baby.”

“How drunk are you right now? How would I be talking to you if I didn’t have them in right now?” You question.

A pause.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” His voice is softer now, and before you know it, you’re out the door and walking down the hallway.

He opens the door before you can knock, because of all the men in New York, you’ve landed the one with heightened abilities.

“Hi.” You grin, but he doesn’t respond. He simply leans down and picks you up bridal style, much to your objection. He kicks the door behind him closed before he carries you to the bed. He lays you down on it, finding himself on top of you.

“Silk?” He asks gently, his hand on your side.

“Mhm. Bridal pajamas.” You giggle. He just grins and leans in to kiss you. He pulls away from the kiss only to move to your jaw, and then down your neck. “Matthew, I want to order room service, I’m starved!”

His hands find their way underneath your top, his fingers beginning to creep up your skin.

“Me too. Been planning so much, I’ve hardly had the chance to be with you.. To touch you like this.”

You hum softly, but then your stomach rumbles loudly. So, when He lands on his knees in front of you and pulls you forward so that his head is between your thighs, he takes a second to lean over, searching for the room service menu before handing it to you, as well as the phone.

“What looks good, baby?” He asks, leaning his cheek against your thigh. Your pajama bottoms are shorts, so his warm cheek is a sharp contrast to your skin.

“What are you up to, Murdock?” You ask suspiciously, sitting up to look at the menu.

“Nothing, what kind of desserts do they have on there?”

What a weird, secretive man your future husband is.

“Uh, they have a crème brulee, apple pie, angel cake with chocolate ganache frosting—”

“Oo, can you order me one of those?” he asks, starting to kiss your thighs. Your face flushes.

“Sure, But I’m also gonna order the chocolate covered strawberries and the brownie al a mode—”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He hums, “You just have to order it for me.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, but you go to dial the number for room service.

The woman on the other end of the phone is very nice.

As she begins to talk, Matt listens in, but mainly focuses on pulling down your shorts and panties, kissing along your thighs.

Your free hand goes to his hair to try and keep him from eating you out while you order room service, but he is a persistent man.

His lips meet your clit first, and he listens as you gasp, trying to finish the order that he had so kindly requested you to make. His tongue meets your folds, finally satiating the hunger he had for weeks leading up to this.

Your fingers grip his hair, only making him quicken his pace.

“Can I also get uhm—” You can barely think straight. “The uh, Fuck—” Matt’s nose rubs against your clit, his tongue moving at a devastating pace.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” The woman on the other line asks.

“Yeah, Sorry, stubbed my toe on the dresser,” You explain. Matt grins from his place between your thighs. His tongue drags up and down, as if he’s licking every inch of you, like maybe he’ll never be able to taste you again. “The angel cake, can we get two slices of that?” You ask, your fiancé’s pace increasing.

“Yeah, of course. Anything else?”

Matt takes only a moment to stop his assault on your pussy, to add, “The strawberries, baby,” before continuing to lap his tongue against your wet heat.

“The chocolate covered strawberries, and that’s it,” You finish.

“Alright, we have the brownie, the strawberries, and the cake..” She finishes. “What room?”

“Two twenty six,” You tell her. You roll your hips up to try and get more from Matt, but one hand leaves his grip on your thigh to hold your hips down. He knows you’re close, he always knows.

“Oh, are you the bride for tomorrow?” She asks.

This god damn wedding.

“Mhm,” You manage out, biting your lip to try and stop yourself from moaning.

“Congratulations!” She chirps, “Consider the room service complimentary, then,” She gifts.

“Thank you, very much.” You hum.

Matt stops his assault again.

“Ask her how long,” and then he’s back to tasting you, relentlessly.

“How long?” You ask, breathlessly.

“Should only be about ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, thank you,” You say again, your grip on Matt’s hair tightening as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“Of course! Have a very happy wedding day!” And with that, she hangs up, and you toss the phone in the general direction of the machine.

“I’m gonna kill you,” You tell Matt, who stops quickly.

“Do you want to kill me, or do you want me to make you cum?” He asks. He looks really pretty between your thighs.

“Please, Matty..” You give in, and he smirks.

“That’s my good girl.” And he continues to suck your clit, edging you closer and closer. His pace quickens, somehow even more. You let out a soft moan that sounds like absolute heaven to Matt’s ears.

Your thighs are starting to shake because you’re so damn close. Matt keeps his licks consistent, waiting for your release. Your fingers tug on his hair, as you moan, finally hitting your release. He lets you ride out your high, licking all your cum up, making sure to suck up every last drop.

“So sweet and so good for me..” he hums, planting a soft kiss to your clit before pulling away, licking his lips.

“You’re such a dick..” You giggle.

He laughs, kissing your thigh.

“Did so well for me, Sweetheart..” He hums, leaning up to give you a soft kiss. When he pulls away, he slips your shorts back on, and looks like he has a new idea. “Ten to fifteen minutes, huh?”

“Mhm..” You’re just looking at him with such adoration.

“We could probably put that pretty mouth to good use while we wait, right?”

[voidpacifist]

I have a new brainworm about steve harrington that I need (NEED!!) to share

imagine this for me: it's 1983. nothing eventful happens, at least in the supernatural sense. steve and nancy still date, he still drops his terrible friends when he realizes they're not gonna support him if it doesn't fit their agenda, he still accidentally becomes close to a bunch of seventh graders when nance asks him if he can babysit--

(not that he'd ever say no to her, but it's not what he envisioned the summer of '84 to be like, okay?)

--and overall, things are relatively normal for him. his parents continue to be absent, but they still get excited for him when they learn he has a girlfriend or won a new award at the end of the school year for something sporty or what have you. they're not bad people, they just don't know how to be good parents. and they're always, always away.

but the thing about 1983, is that his final interaction with tommy before he "broke up" their friendship by dating someone kind and sweet and "perfect" like nancy, was him getting absolutely wailed on. enough that he went to the hospital with a severe concussion and some damage to his optic nerve. the doctors told him he already has something going on with his vision to begin with, probably a genetic disease passed down from one of his folks, that increase his chances of going blind earlier in life. meaning, if push came to shove, his vision could go entirely if he got into any more scruples with ex-friends or people who just generally disliked him.

and then lucas sinclair asks him for dating advice, because he likes max mayfield, the new girl in his class, and ultimately it lands steve being the chauffeur for their first date just days after halloween in 1984. by now, he and nancy have broken up — they weren't emotionally available in the ways they needed to be with one another, and steve knows his dream of the future is different from her own. this time, there's no speech about bullshit or faking it. they simply both know that their expiration is upon them and call it quits.

(it still hurts, but he told lucas to shoot his shot, because if there's anything he's learned by dating nancy wheeler, it's that projecting his heartbreak and hurt onto others is a gateway to toxicity in the water; and by god he is not sabotaging this kids emotional maturity, okay? okay)

so he takes the kids to bennys burgers, because lucas insists it's "cool enough" for this girl, and he doesn't want to overdo it by going somewhere too fancy. but when steve returns to pick them up, there's a hiccup in the plan.

billy, maxs step-brother and steve's most recent bother at school, is there, gearing up to try and scare lucas off, or do something worse. steve, anointed babysitter and generally protective friend, steps in without hesitation. the fight that results makes the local news. steve lands in the hospital again.

his vision doesn't go completely, but it goes enough. enough that he can't drive, enough that he'll have to find large print books or simply relearn to read altogether in braille. enough that he's advised to get a cane or a guide dog. enough that, when all is said and done, his old life has been completely upended.

jonathan--

(the same jonathan who has now swept nancy off her feet the way steve used to)

--surprisingly, is the one who ends up getting close to steve after this. he tells steve about what it was like when will was found after being missing for a week, about how he knows it isn't the same, but that he relates to the feeling of oh god, everythings different and nothing I used to have is coming back. he doesn't divulge on the details, but steve knows he's serious about understanding the feeling.

even more surprising is nancy, who commands him every day that god dammit steve, your life is not coming back unless you take it back yourself and then reassures him in the same breath that he's not weak for needing help doing so.

and then the kids join in too. and steve harrington isnt a king anymore of anything, but he's the king of his own life, he's the king of himself. he starts going back to school even when he feels embarrassed to be there, like he's an imposter or ill equipped. he starts going to public places just to meet poorly concealed whispers with something friendly and witty in return. he starts taking his power back in a way that never needs to hurt anyone, that never needs to hurt himself.

he also discovers he loves bright colors — neons and pinks and reds especially. he takes a trip with nancy and barb one day to indy on some sort of girls trip (they've long since made up since the first house party, and barb latches onto steve as a best friend shockingly fast in the wake of his and tommy's split), and it's there that he meets someone punk for the first time. he develops a fixation on the colored hair, the leather and spikes and denim with safety pins in it. he badgers the girls about teaching him how to wear eyeliner.

it's his gateway into punk style, which is then a further path into the subculture itself, into colored laces and battle vests and the politics and social aspects. steve takes to it like a fish to water.

the name steve harrington used to mean something entirely different. even though he calls his parents every day since the incident, even though they've been back to see him multiple times, even though they've tried to be present in their strange, semi-absent way, they still haven't seen him since his transformation from local jock to local punk.

needless to say, he spends a lot more time educating them about his "waywardness" and a lot less time actually excitedly telling them about the next color of his hair. but the harringtons aren't unaware — they can see how while this may be a creative way for steve to begin expressing and discovering himself, it's also an armor. no one really wants to fuck with someone who will trip you with his cane if you're being an asshole, someone who wears a lot of spikes and other sharp objects on their body for fun.

so they let it be. and they stay a little longer, this time.

this shift doesn't go unnoticed by the local gossips, but it also doesn't go unnoticed by the "freaks and geeks" at school. he develops, quite by accident, a reputation that rivals that of the king of freaks at hawkins. eddie munson wears the title proudly, clings to it with every antic and every quip that feeds into the rumors about him. but he respects what it took for steve to get here.

so he invites him along to a hellfire session. which turns into two. which turns into steve becoming a party member, which turns into him excitedly telling the kids he babysits that he gets it now, that yes, they can absolutely host their games at his house as long as they have rides back home.

but as he and eddie get closer as friends, eddie notices that as well as steve has done accepting himself as he is, he still misses the things he used to do without thinking much about needing sight to do it. contact sports and movies and other very visually inclined things. and listen, eddie's happy that steve has renounced the toxic social scene of jockdom, he really is, but he also recognizes a guy who misses pieces of his old life.

(he finds himself missing his old life, the life before wayne, all the time, just for the parts that didn't hurt him)

so eddie, much to steves surprise, suggests he try joining the swim team for the final quarter of his senior year. and hey, fuck it, what can it hurt? he's already a nerd now as well as a punk as well as disabled — he can go for one more oddball, not-quite-jock occupation. the coach has several stipulations, all of which steve takes in stride.

he's granted a tryout. he doesn't make it on.

eddie, in his wildest nightmares, doesn't touch sports. he's already athletic in other regards, naturally good at sprinting and lifting heavy things from taking equipment to and from band practice. he doesn't think he actually needs sports, but he's willing to go with steve to lake jordan to keep practicing. he's seen how stubborn harrington is, and he's not about to stop it.

eventually, they do these laps across the lake and back (it's a pretty small lake) just to get high once they're done. and fuck, if steve can swim the length of the lake, he can get a job at the new starcourt mall. and he does. he's there at scoops ahoy the bare minimum of hours they're required to give him to technically say he's employed, but at least he has work. his friends visit him there after their own jobs are done for the day, and eddie consistently shows up just to bug him.

robin, his coworker, is impressed and startled by this version of steve. she'd say she doesn't trust it, but there's nothing to trust really, about the shock of bright green hair or the way his eyes aren't actually that focused looking, or about the way he casually tells stories about getting high and swimming the length of lake jordan. not to mention, the chemistry he can't physically or metaphorically see between him and eddie is laughable to her, and entirely too obvious.

she ends up with one bad trip from the wrong dealer, and steve stays with her through the comedown, and she realizes she would probably die for him, because he sits there and listens to her buzzed ramble about tammy thompson and his bagel crumbs and other dumb shit from when he was still in high school. he's the first person she's ever come out to, and she's the first person he's ever thought could be a soulmate, the kind he'd never give his body but would marry in a heartbeat if she asked him.

he tells her about billy. she tells him about her mother. they tell each other a lot of secrets, more than he's ever told jonathan and nancy, or barb, or even eddie.

and then their workplace gets set on fire from a gas leak after hours. they pack up and go to family video, because they're a package deal. it's barb being on the crew that convinces keith to let steve take the job, and he has a new shtick joking about being a blind guy who likes movies.

then eddie probably takes him to one or two or maybe five. then they maybe make out after one of their swims. then steve starts going to eddies shows at the hideout, starts going with him damn near everywhere, and this was the kind of companionship he needed from the get go but didn't have. the kind where they support each other's interests without changing themselves for it, the kind where there is love born from fierce and unwavering friendship, the kind where loyalty is unquestionable but agreeing all the time is optional. and god.

steve harrington has been blind for a year. and he wears metal in his face and color in his hair. and he and his friends gather for movies just for the enjoyment of it. and he swims the lakes of hawkins with his boyfriend. and he plays dungeons and dragons with the kids who haven't let go of him just yet. and his parents aren't who he needs them to be yet, but they're trying. everyones trying. and eveyrone is enough.

and he's enough, at the end of the day.

[farfromstrange]

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other. 

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio. 

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you. 

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar. 

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned. 

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you. 

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown. 

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context. 

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again. 

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth. 

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off. 

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior. 

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him. 

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable. 

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to. 

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says. 

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more. 

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last. 

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur. 

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing. 

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore. 

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention. 

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours. 

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.” 

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile. 

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?” 

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him. 

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone. 

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high. 

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

[giverobinagfbrigade]

What if Steve took up pottery after everything.

He’s spent 4 years destroying things, tearing things apart with his hands and once it’s all over he wants to turn those same hands to something positive. To turn them to making something instead of pulling it apart. He cycles through hobbies, sketching making his hand cramp and the constant re-drawing tearing holes in the paper, the permanence of paint on canvas to terrifying and embroidery causing an ache in his eyes with it’s miniature stitches. All until he reaches pottery, it never make his hands cramp or his eyes ache and he could work the clay and re make the pots over and over, shaping and reshaping until it was just right.

So it sticks. At first he used the wheel in the studio at the school but with gentle encouragement from the party and Joyce he buys a second hand potters wheel and a small kiln from a house clearance. He sets them up in a corner of the garage furtherest from the house and late at night or rather, early in the morning he sits and works the cool clay over with his hands, the hands responsible for so much destruction, until it’s pliable. He takes it and forms it into whatever shape he can feel it trying to be. Over the weeks he creates many items, pots, jugs, mugs, cups, plates, bowls, dishes, stands and occasionally, when the spin of the wheel isn’t what he needs he sculpts tiny creatures and people with his fingers.

The first of these creations are plain and rough to the touch, unable to be washed as they were left unglazed. When Steve realised that you can’t use an unglazed mug for actual mug things, he purchased glazed, at first just clear and 5 colours, black, white, red, yellow and blue, but slowly he expands his collection, amassing all manner of different colours and finishes.

After the first couple of months practice, when the cups are even and the lids fit their pots, Steve begins to make things to give to the people he holds dear.

The first gift he makes is for Robin. It’s a little bird on a ships wheel, painted onto a mug, it’s slightly wonky and the paint is a little wobbly but it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She cries when it’s first handed to her and she treats it like the smallest breeze will break it. But she still drinks her coffee from it every morning and cleans it the moment she’s done, lest the drink stain the glaze.

The second is for Dustin. This is a little jar, with a tiny cats head sculpted onto the lid. Painted with little scribbles of equations and formula, planks constant painted slightly thicker than the rest. Dustin hugs Steve so hard it makes his bones creak when it’s handed to him and he holds it in his palms like it might disappear in smoke if he lets it go.

Third is for El, he throws her a plate and spends hours painstakingly glazing the sunset from hopper’s cabin onto it. It’s a little thicker than it probably should be but it might not shatter so sharply if it ever breaks that way. She hugs it to her chest like a teddy and kisses Steve’s cheek. She tells him she loves it, and he knows she isn’t lying.

Number four is given to Erica. Unlike the others this one wasn’t thrown it was sculpted by hand, smoothed and stretched until the clay formed a tiny horse. He paints it the colours of the rainbow and places the fires piece into a tiny box. Erica sniffles when she opens it but she still calls him dickweed when she thanks him. He knows she adores it when he sees her wearing it on a chain like a necklace three days later.

Five is for max. This one the result of hours of research. Steve first throws a mug, then with the help of Robin and 2 books on braille he adds tiny lumps of clay to write two phases on the mug accompanied by their English written counterparts. First is “Max’s mug touch at your own risk “ the second is “ handle “ followed by an arrow in the opposite direction of the handle. Even through her heavy glasses he can see her tear up, but before he can reach out to hug her she reads the handle sign and cracks up, laughing so hard the tears track down her face anyway when she realises the arrow is misleading. The thick black lines of the writing a stark enough contrast against the white mug that she can see there’s writing rather than just feel it.

It’s a little while between the faith and sixth pieces but it makes it even better when it’s finally handed over after the end of season game. The sixth piece is for Lucas. It’s a little person holding a ball aloft like the Statue of Liberty, standing atop a goblet style cup that Steve took an age to throw quite right. Lucas tackles him to the floor and says it’s the best trophy he’s ever won. He sheds a couple tears when he reads the inscription on the bottom plaque.

Number seven is gifted to will, technically it’s two pieces. Created after hearing him talk of the perils of painting and drinking after hellfire one night. Two cups, different in size and shape as well as design, both painted a beautiful gradient, one of purple to green and the other blue to gold, with the purple and green with “paint water”written in curling letters across it and the blue and gold with “drinking water” in the same letters. Will thanks him sincerely and hugs him for far longer than normal. A week later he hands Steve an envelope containing a painting of a knight that looks suspiciously like him wielding a familiar bat like club. Steve is the one crying this time.

The eighth piece is given to Johnathan. It’s another piece shaped without the help of the wheel. This time a pipe, glazed in shining oxides and bright colours, painted over in tiny white stars. Few words are exchanged when it’s handed to him but even when struck speechless Johnathan finds a way to communicate his gratitude, holding open his arms to Steve. When he gets his words back, Jon invites him to christen the pipe, Steve politely declines. He’s sure the pipe receives much use.

Nine is handed gingerly to Hopper, a near perfect plate with “best dad I’ve ever had” painted i swirling letters across it, coloured a beautiful red. Hop clears his throat, tells him it’s beautiful then hugs him with almost too much force, cracking a joint in Steve’s back which sends them both chuckling. It’s on display in the cabin the next morning.

The tenth is presented to Mike. A small box which seems to confuse the boy until he opens it to find a version of his character laying inside. He stares down at it for a few moments, mouth open like he’s not sure what to say. Then very tentatively he wraps his arms around Steve in the first hug he’s ever given him. He speaks, a little muffled my Steve’s shirt “ You really are amazing Steve. “ . Steve pats the kids hair and beams.

Piece eleven is given to Joyce. It’s the biggest piece he’s made yet. A large round thrown plant pot, made in lovely terracotta clay he found specifically for this. Made after Joyce confessed she’d been trying out gardening. She kisses him on both temples and both cheeks and tells him she wouldn’t mind a third son. Steve cries again this time.

The twelfth is given to Nancy. It’s another hand sculpted piece, this time a beautiful pen holder, painted a soft pink and decorated with gold filigree work. He wrapped it in pink tissue and places it gently in her hand, Nancy is so quiet Steve starts to panic but as he opens his mouth she drags him into a rib creaking hug. “Oh Steve it’s beautiful.” He just smiles and tells her this way she’ll always know where she put it when inspiration strikes. She squeezes him a little tighter.

The penultimate piece is given to Wayne Munson. With everything that’s happened, and the slowly growing relationship between Steve and his nephew, Wayne is almost his second adoptive father. Steve takes a little while deliberating on what to give Wayne, a mug for certain but he wasn’t sure what to decorate it with. But after being startled awake for the third night in a row the idea finally seemed to materialise. When Steve handed him the finished mug a week later he clapped him on the shoulder, placed the mug on the table and wrapped him in a hug. He called Steve son and this time they both shed some tears. The next time Steve entered the house the “ best uncle in law “ mug was proudly displayed with the rest

The final piece, well pieces, were given to Eddie. It was a slowly growing collection, crafted over the course of several months. The first of these was a simple cup, painted a marbled red and metallic black courtesy of Steve experimenting with oxides. The second a mug proudly displaying the words “fuck Mordor” in beautiful curling script across one side and a painted mountain the other, created just after he and Eddie began reading the series together, taking it in turns to read a character aloud. The third and final piece was far more sentimental a small replica of a human heart, created after much study of library references, painted to look like a sunrise. This he placed into a little box with a note reading “ to my sunshine, you’ll always carry my heart with you .“. Steve placed these three together in a bag, each wrapped in tissue. He took them with him on a quiet Tuesday night on a visit to Eddie. And with shaking hands he held the bag out towards him. Eddie took it, looking perplexed until he opened the first wrapper, revealing the mug. Eddie had watched all the others slowly be gifted pieces of Steve’s pottery, even his uncle, and wondered if and what he would receive. He held the mug reverently in cupped hands, “ Oh Stevie, it’s beautiful-“. Steve only smiled, biting his lip and gesturing back to the bag. Carefully Eddie removed the second gift, the cup. Holding it just as carefully as the first, stroking over the surface with his thumbs, before placing them both and the bag down onto the table and holding Steve’s face in his hands. “ There’s one more. “ Steve smiled at him “ I need to kiss you till you can’t see straight first.” Steve only laughed and leaned in, meeting Eddie halfway. It was a soft kiss, full of unspoken affection, and when the two separated he gestured back at the bag. Eddie smiled and shook his head before taking the last piece out of the bag. Slowly he began to unwrap the tissue, then he opened the box. He went dead still, exhaling a shaking breath “ Oh sunshine -“ he reached out to cup Steve’s cheek with one hand, cradling the tiny ceramic heart with the other, “ that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve beamed “ It’s a human heart baby, it’s not exactly cute.” Eddie shook his head “Oh it’s plenty cute, you made it it’s gotta be.” He paused “ I love it. Nearly, nearly as much as I love you. “. “Yeah?” Steve bit his lower lip, smiling. “ Oh definitely honey, I love you so much.” And if that same heart had a permanent home in a picture frame above eddies bed next to the note it came with, then no one mentioned it.

//AN : Okay if you made it this far holy shit thank you, I apologise for the gifts being cheesey as fuck or kinda shitty but I tried. This was born after watching the great pottery throw down with my parents.

[olivescales3]

Would you say you do any worldbuiling / add anything completely new lore wise (eg. make new tribe or whatnot)

Is there any scene you are particularly looking forward to writing?

have a nice week! with tea, -s

Thank you mutual for the ask!

Most of the changes I would do on LOC are going to appear in TFLOC, therefore I'm going to keep a few bullet points short, but I'll talk about quite a bit of stuff!

To be fair, I wouldn't add anything new to LOC as a whole, since it has a lot of lore that was underdeveloped. I think it's better to use what Chima had to offer.

I'm going to expand the worldbuilding of Chi. I studied a bit of chemistry, physics, and other subjects to give Chi more in-world depth and realism.

Underwritten tribes (eg. Ravens, Rhinos, Bears, Crawlers, and others) are going to be developed or rewritten. For example, the Rhino Tribe is not going to be dumb like it was in the original show, and instead I'm going to take the opportunity to include representation of blind people and their culture; the Rhinos are going to communicate with each other through textures in rocks, similar to how Braille works.

There are going to be new vehicles for most tribes, and I'll build them using actual lego, to ensure that they not only fit in the tribe's ecological/cultural niche, but also their aesthetic.

A bunch of LOCO (Lego Legends of Chima Online) characters are going to come up in TFLOC, such as Ehboni, who appeared in the first episode.

I would change small details that do heavy retconning to Chima's lore. I don't remember most of them, but the first thing I would do is scrap the entirety of season 4. Not only season 4 would retcon Chi's existence, but it would also take away the importance of the Phoenix Tribe being the only supernatural beings in Chima, and is going to take away the attention from Chima itself and place it on another faraway tribe that has no reason existing outside of retcons.

As for the second question, I have a lot of scenes I want to write. Seriously! I might sound crazy, but I'm eager to write all of TFLOC, because all of its scenes are intriguing for me. I'm hyped about my own work lol

Thank you very much for the ask! It makes me happy to receive asks about my work. Have a nice day :D

[upismediacenter]

OPINION: “UP Budget Pababa, Pababa nang Pababa”

Photo credit: Rachelle Baldelomar

Get, get, aw!

The University of the Philippines is faced with another budget cut for the Fiscal Year of 2023. The budget the University originally proposed was 44.1 billion pesos, however the budget that the Department of Budget and Management (DBM) proposed for FY 2023 is 21.8 billion pesos (Castillo-Llaneta, 2022). This shows a 2.5 billion-peso cut from last year’s budget of 25.6 billion (Domingo, 2022; Lalu, 2022), which, in itself, is already very low. What does this mean? The most noticeable effect the general public outside the university will face is a lower budget for the Philippine General Hospital, as it may spell lower quality services and facilities. Its budget has decreased from 6.305 billion pesos in 2022 to just 5.412 billion pesos in 2023. This means that around 893 million pesos has been cut from the budget of the hospital (Lalu, 2022; Diaz, 2022). Considering that PGH was the premiere COVID-19 referral hospital throughout the pandemic (Castillo-Llaneta, 2020), this is a slap in the face to the frontliners who have sacrificed their lives at the brink of the pandemic.

Another matter complicated by the budget cut is UP’s proposal to begin full face-to-face classes for all undergraduate courses by the 2nd Semester of AY 2022-2023 (UP Media and Public Relations Office, 2022). This decision requires careful planning, and a budget set aside for retrofitting of physical facilities and buildings. In the context of UPIS, the UPIS 7-12 building has been unusable this past semester, as the braille walls of the school are at risk of detaching from the building. This is already somewhat a concern even in this current setup of blended learning, as students are not able to use the appropriate facilities for activities that require other special or larger classrooms such as laboratories. Such a scarcity prevents the school from holding a higher number of face to face classes a week, as the 3-6 building can only accommodate a small number of students per day in accordance with health and safety protocols. Sure, UP only proposes full face-to-face for undergraduate courses, but UPIS will have to follow suit sooner or later. In order for UPIS to keep up with the entire university, a higher budget is required to be able to execute the necessary repairs for the 7-12 Building, as well as to provide better and safer educational experiences for students.

Such consequences beg the question - where are these budget cuts reallocated to? Why are they being put into place? According to the DBM, the on-going reconstruction projects in PGH do not need re-purchasing of one-time use capitals like machines and equipment. Hence, they deem it proper to remove the budget previously allotted for these needs. However, for years, PGH has been vying for a larger budget to broaden its projects dedicated to servicing the indigent members of the country. Thus, what the PGH needs is reallocation, not budget cuts. The DBM has also failed to consider the cost of retrofitting and preparing campuses of the state university for the gradual return of face-to-face classes. As cited in the previous paragraph, the UPIS 7-12 building has yet to undergo repairs in order for the entire building to be fit for face-to-face classes. We have not yet taken into account other projects, restorations, and repairs other campuses may propose. Moreover, the basic health protocols demanded by local government units are expected to require significant costs that may put pressure to the already slashed allocation. In the end, the budget cut not only threatens the quality of education, but it also threatens the lives of the students.

If education and healthcare is truly valued, we urge the administration to give proper funding for the institutions that serve and cater to it. This may serve as a warning for what’s to come for our education system. Let us not forget that the pandemic is not over, and transparency and accountability is paramount in times like this in order for us to be able to fully recover from our situation. //by Apollo Tumaliuan

Sources:

Castillo-Llaneta, C. (2022, August 31). UP faces a P22.295B budget cut for FY 2023. University of the Philippines. https://up.edu.ph/up-faces-a-p22-295b-budget-cut-for-fy-2023/

Domingo, K. (2022, August 31). DBM explains budget for UP, PGH in 2023 spending plan. https://news.abs-cbn.com/news/08/31/22/dbm-explains-dip-in-budget-for-up-in-2023

Lalu, G. (2022, August 22). UP system faces P2.5-B cut in proposed 2023 budget; P893-M slashed from PGH. Inquirer.net. https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/1651156/up-system-gets-p2-5-b-cut-in-proposed-2023-budget-p893-m-slashed-from-pgh

Diaz, C. (2022, August 26). Restore P3.4-B UP, PGH budget cut. Manila Times. https://www.manilatimes.net/2022/08/26/news/regions/restore-p34-b-up-pgh-budget-cut/1856003

Castillo-Llaneta, C. (2020, April 1). UP-PGH begins operating as COVID-19 referral center. University of the Philippines. https://up.edu.ph/up-pgh-begins-operating-as-covid-19-referral-center/

UP Media and Public Relations Office. UP to allow 100% face-to-face classes in undergraduate courses in the second semester. University of the Philippines. https://up.edu.ph/up-to-allow-100-face-to-face-classes-in-undergraduate-courses-in-the-second-semester/

[legallyblindlovettlore]

Nobody asked but-

I have a tight knit family there at the day school; an Uncle Rowley and Aunt M, my friends N, J, and R. J and O, my braille teachers are friends too. Part of me wants to begin my MSW, the larger part hopes – desperately that I earn the poetry fellowship. Attended an artist social justice conference where I made a lot of connections. And also won a grant to do a large-scale exhibition with a group of people. Also excited about how much my network expanded. Still go to church on Sundays, bar bingo after, and then to dinner with the lot of them on Tuesday nights. Volunteer at events, I really love the platform it gives me to help my community. Oh, I also sometimes go to a breakfast diner with D on Friday mornings before he goes to choir. Do cross-fit 1x a week and it makes me very happy ☀️

[adoctorx]

Amrix dosage (cyclobenzaprine hydrochloride) is a prescription oral capsule that’s used to treat muscle spasms. It’s usually taken once per day for up to 3 weeks. Amrix is used in adults to treat certain types of muscle spasms. If you need short-term relief from a muscle spasm caused by a musculoskeletal condition such as a muscle strain, your doctor may prescribe Amrix. It’s used along with rest and physical therapy. The active ingredient in Amrix is cyclobenzaprine hydrochloride. (An active ingredient is what makes a drug work.) Amrix belongs to a group of drugs called muscle relaxants. This article describes the dosages of Amrix, as well as its strengths and how to take it. To learn more about Amrix, see this in-depth article. Note: Amrix is not prescribed for muscle spasms related to diseases of the brain and spinal cord, such as cerebral palsy. What is Amrix’s dosage? The table below highlights the typical dosage of Amrix. The dosage is given in milligrams (mg). UseTypical dosageShort-term relief of muscle spasm in adults15 mg once per day for up to 3 weeks Keep reading for more details about Amrix’s dosage. What is Amrix’s form? Amrix is available as an extended-release capsule that you take by mouth. “Extended-release” means the drug is slowly released into your body over a period of time. What strengths does Amrix come in? Amrix comes in two strengths: 15 mg and 30 mg. What are the usual dosages of Amrix? The information below describes dosages that are commonly used or recommended. But be sure to take the dosage your doctor prescribes for you. They’ll determine the best dosage to fit your needs. Dosage for muscle spasms The typical Amrix dosage for adults with muscle spasms from musculoskeletal conditions is 15 mg once per day. But some people may need a dosage of 30 mg once per day to control their spasms. This dosage may be prescribed using two 15-mg capsules or a single 30-mg capsule. Amrix is usually prescribed in combination with rest and physical therapy. Is Amrix used long term? No, Amrix is not used long term. It should only be used for up to 2 or 3 weeks. What factors can affect my dosage? The dosage of Amrix you’re prescribed may depend on several factors. These include: the type and severity of the condition you’re using the drug to treat other conditions you may have or other medications you may be taking How is Amrix taken? Amrix is available as an oral capsule. Here are a few tips for taking Amrix capsules: It’s best to take your Amrix dose at around the same time of day every day. This helps keep a consistent amount of the drug in your body. If you have trouble swallowing capsules, you can: Open the Amrix capsule and sprinkle the contents onto a tablespoonful of applesauce.* Without chewing, swallow the applesauce and Amrix medication. Then rinse your mouth with water to make sure you’ve swallowed any drug particles that may still be in your mouth. See this article for other tips on how to swallow capsules. For information on the expiration, storage, and disposal of Amrix, talk with your doctor or pharmacist. * Don’t use another food instead of applesauce. The drug manufacturer did not test other foods for this use. Accessible drug containers and labels Some pharmacies provide medication labels that: have large print use braille feature a code you can scan with a smartphone to change the text to audio Your doctor or pharmacist may be able to recommend pharmacies that offer these accessibility features if your current pharmacy doesn’t. Let your pharmacist know if you have trouble opening medication bottles. They may have tips to help, or they may be able to supply Amrix in an easy-open container. What if I miss a dose? If you miss a dose of Amrix, take it as soon as you remember. But if it’s almost time for your next dose, skip the missed dose and take your next dose at its usual time.

If you’re not sure whether you should take a missed dose, talk with your doctor or pharmacist. If you need help remembering to take your dose of Amrix on time, try using a medication reminder. This can include setting an alarm or downloading a reminder app on your phone. What should be done in case of overdose? Do not take more Amrix than your doctor prescribes, as this can lead to harmful effects. Effects of overdose Effects of an overdose of Amrix can include: sleepiness fast heart rate blood pressure that’s either too high or too low changes in your heart’s rhythm chest pain seizures confusion dizziness nausea or vomiting hallucinations cardiac arrest coma death What to do in case you take too much Amrix Call your doctor right away if you think you’ve taken too much Amrix. You can also call 800-222-1222 to reach America’s Poison Centers or use its online resource. But if you have severe symptoms, immediately call 911 (or your local emergency number) or go to the nearest emergency room. Amrix and withdrawal and dependence It isn’t known if Amrix may cause withdrawal and dependence. But its chemical structure is similar to other drugs that may cause these problems. Because of this, Amrix should only be used for 2–3 weeks. When used short term in this way, Amrix is less likely to cause physical dependence. Physical dependence occurs when your body relies on a drug to function as usual. Taking Amrix for longer periods may lead to physical dependence. If you suddenly stop taking Amrix after taking it long term, you may experience withdrawal symptoms. These are side effects that can occur when you stop taking a drug that your body has become dependent on. Examples of withdrawal symptoms include: nausea headache generally not feeling well If you want to learn more about potential withdrawal symptoms after you stop taking Amrix, talk with your doctor. Frequently asked questions Below are answers to some commonly asked questions about Amrix’s dosage. How does the dosage of Amrix compare with the dosage of Flexeril? Amrix and Flexeril are muscle relaxants that contain the same active ingredient: cyclobenzaprine hydrochloride. And both drugs are recommended for short-term use (3 weeks or less). But the dosages of these drugs differ. Amrix comes as an extended-release capsule. “Extended-release” means the drug is slowly released into your body over a period of time. Because Amrix is an extended-release drug, it’s typically prescribed to be taken once per day. Flexeril, on the other hand, is an immediate-release tablet. It’s released into your body right after you take it. Because Flexeril is an immediate-release tablet, it’s typically prescribed to be taken 3 times per day. The dosages of each drug in milligrams also differ. For more information on how these drugs compare, talk with your doctor or pharmacist. Note: Flexeril is no longer available. Its manufacturer discontinued its production. However, the immediate-release generic cyclobenzaprine hydrochloride is available. Can Amrix be used for fibromyalgia? If so, what’s the dosage? Amrix is not approved by the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) to treat fibromyalgia. But in some cases, your doctor may prescribe it off-label for this use. (With off-label use, doctors prescribe a drug for a purpose other than what it’s approved for.) The active ingredient in Amrix is cyclobenzaprine hydrochloride. (An active ingredient is what makes a drug work.) Studies such as this one have shown that cyclobenzaprine may help improve certain symptoms of fibromyalgia, such as pain. Because Amrix isn’t approved for fibromyalgia, the manufacturer doesn’t provide recommended dosages for this use. If your doctor prescribes Amrix to treat fibromyalgia, they will determine the dosage that’s right for you. To learn more about your treatment options for fibromyalgia, including Amrix, talk with your doctor.

What should I ask my doctor? The sections above describe the usual dosages provided by Amrix’s manufacturer. If your doctor recommends this drug, they’ll prescribe the dosage that’s right for you. Remember, you should not change your dosage of Amrix without your doctor’s recommendation. Only take Amrix exactly as prescribed. Talk with your doctor if you have questions or concerns about your current dosage. Here are some examples of questions you may want to ask your doctor: If I need a dose of 30 mg/day to control my muscle spasms, can I take 15 mg twice daily? Does my Amrix dosage need to change based on other drugs I take? Do I need to take Amrix every day? To learn more about Amrix, see this article: Amrix (cyclobenzaprine hydrochloride).

[samxalberto]

Could not see.

Alicia was born with a rare condition that made her completely blind. Her parents were devastated when they found out, but they never let it show in front of her. They made sure that she had everything she needed and treated her no differently than they would any other child. As Alicia grew older, she became more and more independent. She learned how to read Braille, how to navigate the world around her, and how to do things that most people take for granted, like cooking and cleaning.

Despite her blindness, Alicia was an outgoing and confident young woman. She had a lot of friends and loved to socialize. She had a great sense of humor and loved to make people laugh. She was also a talented musician and had a beautiful singing voice. She loved to perform at local events and always received a reward for best singer.

One day, Alicia was invited to audition for Starmagic. She was thrilled at the opportunity but was also nervous. She had never been to a studio like that before and didn't know if she would fit in. She arrived at the studio and was greeted by the managers and famous celebrities. The managers of Starmagic were impressed with Alicia's talent and offered her a spot at the school.

Alicia's first few weeks at the school were tough. She got lost a few times and struggled to make friends. But she never gave up. She kept practicing her music and working hard in her workshops. Eventually, she started to make friends and felt like she belonged.

Years later, Alicia went on to showbiz. She went on to have a successful career as a singer and 

musician, inspiring people all over the world with her talent and determination. Despite being blind, Alicia had never let her disability hold her back. She has shown the world that anything is possible if you believe in yourself and work hard.

[topbottomg]

join the #dressgay movement

[pedrito-friskito]

HAPPY SLEEPOVER!! If you’ve still got a marvel slot available, may I request some fluffiness for Matt Murdock with the prompt: “Do you want me to carry you?”

ohohohohohohhhhhhoooooo kay is in a fluffy mood let’s GO thank you bby 💕

🔥friday night fever!🔥

Matt Murdock is a lullaby all his own. It didn’t take you long to figure out that the best place to fall asleep isn’t your own bed anymore, but his arms, no matter where you are. Tucked under his shoulder on the subway, sprawled on your bed with your head on his chest, curled up on his couch. The steady beat of his heart is the sound of dreamland now, the gentle thump-thump the only thing that can lull you to sleep with ease.

Couple that with the scent of him, warm and musky, invading your senses. It comes stronger when he adjusts himself beneath you, slotting a leg between your knees or pulling you higher up his body so your head can fit into the crook of his neck. The scent lingers on your clothes even when you’re not with him, and you’re sure to steal a t-shirt or sweater from his apartment each time you leave, returning them only after you’ve slept in them multiple nights and the smell has faded almost completely. He notices — of course he does — and it’s a rare occasion that he doesn’t show up at your apartment on the weekend without a few extra layers, ‘forgetting’ one or two when he leaves the next morning.

Then there’s the feel of him. And not just the ridges of muscle and the softness in those strong hands. His body is a marvel all it’s own, and you’ve dozed off tracing his scars more than once, thumb caught in the dip along his hip or side or chest. No, it’s more than that. It’s the…aura he carries with him, that all-encompassing feeling of being safe, of knowing that no matter what happens, he’ll protect you.

Even before you know what he does in the dark, it feels like that. The first time you fall asleep in front of him is your second date, and you blame it on that feeling, the security and comfort you feel around Matt Murdock. He laughs and brushes off your mumbled apologies. “You held onto me pretty tight. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

He kissed your cheek when he heard the rush of blood to your face, the flush that heated your skin.

But nothing compares to Matt’s voice.

The first time you met, you already knew it was your favourite sound. That occasionally low rasp, the way it climbed with passion when he wanted to prove a point, the soft whispers when he roused you in the morning. The way it felt growled against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He’s articulate without being condescending, and you could listen to him talk forever.

In the early days of your relationship, you spend hours on the phone with him, talking about anything and everything, refusing to be the one who hangs up first, just so you can hear his soft goodnight, sweetheart one more time. You beg him to send you voice notes throughout the day, saving the best ones to listen to before bed when you can’t have him at your side.

Tonight, you’re tired. Bone-tired, the weight of the week behind you too much to bear. It’s Friday, you know you should be out at the bar, cavorting the night away before work starts again Monday, but you can’t find it in you, opting for a bottle of wine and a good book for each of you, cuddled up on Matt’s couch, the leather warm beneath you, your legs covered by a soft blanket. Matt’s braille copy of Stardust is balanced on the arm as he moves his fingers over the pages.

Your glass of wine is long empty, and you lie on your side, your head in his lap, his free hand carding through your hair as he reads aloud. “The silver chain was now nothing but smoke and vapour. For a heartbeat it hung on the air, then a sharp gust of wind and rain blew it out into nothing at all.”

He keeps reading, you’re sure, but your eyes have been closed a while now, there’s the gentle drag of his nails against your scalp, combined with the sound of his voice, the headiness lingering from the wine, and the warmth of his body. You’re a goner. 

“Mmm,” you groan happily, interrupting his reading and you can hear the smile in his voice as he continues. Your brain shuts off, no longer interested in the story, much more intrigued by the idea of sleep and Matt and cuddles and warmth.

“Sweetheart?” he calls, his voice a little too loud. Some time has passed, you know, because when you open your eyes, the sky outside the living room window is pitch-black (save for the too-bright billboard of course) and the candle you’d been burning has been reduced to nothing, the wick giving off smoke instead of flame. “Honey, let’s go to bed.”

“Nuh-huh,” you groan, trying to burrow deeper into his lap, turning onto your side so your face is pressed to his stomach. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” he asks, and you make a questioning noise, starting to move, but before you can, he’s pulling you gently upright and into his lap. You wrap yourself around him, pushing your face into his neck as he stands, both hands under your ass and holding you aloft in his arms. Your legs automatically wind around his waist, ankles locking together, and he kisses your temple as he starts to walk through the apartment towards the bedroom. Forehead against his throat, you lift your jaw, returning his kiss, pressing yours against his pulse.

He sets you gently on the bed, your eyes slipping completely shut once more as he pulls the sheets back and tucks you under them. You feel him slide in beside you, and you gravitate towards him automatically, your head finding it’s rightful place on his chest, one leg hooked around his knee.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he hums, mouth against the crown of your head.

If he says anything else, you don’t hear it, falling deeply into dreamland, lulled to sleep by the lullaby that is Matt Murdock.

—————

I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕

matt murdock tags: @saintmurd0ck @lazyxsquirrel @moonlarking @mindidjarin @freshabogados @steadyasthe-flowers @whosfrankie @ancientbeing10 @plutoneu @grounderprincesslookspissed @hoewkeyesblue @simple_lovebot @glowstick-lesbian @itwasthereaminuteago @Williamjzanders @e-dubbc11 @lunarpenumbra @minxsblog @bluestuesday @eatommo @a-zterisk @randomwords3000 @i-simp-much @kirsteng42 @loonymagizoologist @pariahsparadise @greeneyedblondie44 @sparklysandstorm @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @alyona-romanova @dropsofprecipitation @peterman-spideyparker @hellskitchenswhore @inthehouse0fflies @shadowzena43 @arson-tm @apageinthecastle @december16-1991 @urmomdotcom5678 @pastafossa @dropsofprecipitation @m00nkn1ghts @andrewlovebot @trickstersp8 @a-hopeless-fan @dracosluvbot @billyhargrovesprincess @detectivecarisi-1 @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @murnsondock @valkyrieswife67 @tsismymother @mytlrh @scarlet-kazuha @Grotzu

[farfromstrange]

Hi Lisa, can I make a Matt Murdock x reader request?

Reader is learning braille and reading a smut book. Matt is a little annoyed that you don't put this book down when he gets home and smells you getting wet reading it. One day he is home earlier than you and he starts reading this book and masturbates while doing so and at that moment Reader comes home.

Nonnie, thank you so much for your request! I was planning for this to be a short one, but I got carried away...

Sweeter Than Fiction | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: You get a new book to learn Braille and Matt is curious about what you're ready (because why is this book getting more attention than he does?)

Word Count: 4.2k (how???)

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, this is Matt we're talking about, slight voyeurism (?), slight Dom!Matt, not proofread

A/n: I have no words. My inner whore took over.

You’ve always admired how Matt navigates the world even with one of the most crucial senses missing. After he told you about the accident and how his other senses were heightened beyond average capacity, you thought he meant it in a way that made up for his loss of sight, but you soon realized you were wrong. 

Matt had to learn how to blindly navigate his way in the world just like any other blind person. He goes out at night to fight criminals, sure, and he has an impeccable way of knowing your body’s every quirk due to his enhanced hearing and sense of smell, but beneath all of that, he is still blind and he needs his world more accessible than you do. 

When you moved in together, you made sure not to disturb his system. He labels the jars in the kitchen and the food containers in the fridge. You got used to it, and now even add labels to your leftovers so he knows what you had–to be fair, that is something he can use his other senses for, but it makes it easier for him when he’s too tired to focus.

But it doesn’t stop there. 

You make sure everything always goes back to where it was, even when it comes to clothes. You told him where you keep your things and developed a system that fits you both best, and you made your world more accessible for him as your universes merged, and now you’re living together in perfect harmony. 

You would point out things to him whenever you go out, and he would listen to your detailed descriptions. Your voice has always been the most beautiful sound on earth to him, and he hears a lot of things every day. A lot of cruel things, too. You’re not like that. You’re not harsh or annoying, you’re calm and just perfect.

He gets lost in you, not just the sound of your voice. Even sweeter than your voice though is the way your body responds to him, and he makes sure to use every last trick up his sleeves to satisfy all four of his working senses, and all five of yours. 

Sex with Matt is phenomenal. He pays close attention to detail and he knows what buttons to push to drive you crazy, and he shamelessly uses his heightened senses to his advantage every time you’re together. That also means your love life never gets boring. You can be sweet and gentle, but sometimes you indulge in the most primal needs that drive you, and you lose yourselves in each other. 

A few weeks ago, you told Matt that you wanted to learn Braille. He was taken aback at first; Braille itself is complex to learn, but you are always eager to broaden your horizons, and when you told him that you desperately want to understand some of the things he reads with his fingers, he caved. You want to do this for him, and the love you show him is almost too much for his scarred little heart. 

You have been busy for days now, your mind reeling with the alphabet and the different sensations under your fingers as you navigate the Braille book you bought to learn the letters. After that, you started experimenting with his Braille typewriter, and once you felt comfortable enough to read something a lot more… challenging, you decided to put your newfound knowledge to the test. 

Braille may be complicated, but you feel so much better about yourself now that you can keep up with Matt. You’re not as fast and you still mess up some words, but even he told you that you’re getting there, and he showered you in kisses and ‘I love you’ for your effort. But you want to do it. You want to learn, and you want to do it for him because you have never loved a man more than him. 

The book you found is a little unconventional, to say the least. You’re not sure how long it’s going to take Matt to find out, but you found the ad online and you ordered it because it is the kind of book you like, even though you haven’t read one of these in Braille before. 

Matt is good in bed; you’re not lacking anything, and you know that if you’re desperate, all you have to do is spread your legs and he’s between them in seconds, even when he’s currently halfway across the city. He always comes when you need him, physically and emotionally, and that’s what makes your relationship so much fun. 

You didn’t buy this particular book because you’re lacking something in your sex life–you could have just watched porn if that was the case–you were simply interested in how it would be to read something a little more erotic than the teaching books Matt left you with, and so you bought it. 

Amazon delivered it on the first day after ordering it, and you opened it while Matt was in court, probably arguing his way through every case, charming every juror, and intimidating the prosecution–you can only imagine his demanding tone and the way he stands with his hands on his hips, showing that Matt Murdock does not live to mess around. He does everything with precision, and it makes you clench your thighs when you think about it again.

Surprisingly, the book is easy to read, and it is good. Your fingers trace the delicate dots on the paper, your eyes closed as you visualize the scenes. With every sentence, the need in your lower stomach grows. You’re lost in another world, and you’re oh-so-horny. 

Matt comes home triumphant with another win under his belt, but he’s tired from being on his feet for so long, and he barely had any chance to eat or had coffee today, so his body is in a weird state. He needs rest and sustenance, but most of all, he needs you. Not in a sexual sense, at least not yet, he just needs some kisses, a hug, and attention. 

After some time with you, you made it mandatory for him to ask for what he wants, and while he still struggles with that sometimes, he’s grown to love your affectionate nature, and he allows you to take care of him whenever he needs it. 

That’s where you seem to have heightened senses; when it comes to his well-being, you’re always the first to recognize the signs and act accordingly.

He’s so in love, he could burst, and it makes him the happiest he has ever been.

Stepping through the door, he listens for your heartbeat. It’s slightly elevated, but nothing serious. You’re sitting on the couch, your fingers gliding over the paper, and he figures you’re learning your daily dose of Braille again. 

He only notices the slight change in the atmosphere when he drops his bag and removes his jacket to feel the air in the apartment. He takes a deep breath. Usually, you smell of his body wash and soap and some kind of flower or vanilla, but today something else seems to dominate your naturally perfect scent. And it shoots straight to his cock.

You flinch a little when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. His head is buried in your neck. He wasn’t wrong; the air is thick with the sweet and metallic tang of your arousal, and he licks his lip to taste it. Whatever your fingers are gliding over, it isn’t one of his textbooks. 

Still, he doesn’t act, he just relishes your warmth. He waits. You sometimes forget he can smell you and hear the changes in your heartbeat and the distant pulse between your legs when you’re aroused. It makes things more fun, but today it doesn’t seem to be because of him that you’re horny, and it makes him frown a little.

He wants to have your attention, not that stupid book. 

You cradle his cheek, but your eyes remain glued on the pages before you, which is ironic because they’re just dots, he knows that better than anyone, and yet you’re very focused on that text. 

“Hi,” you murmur. “How was your day?”

“Alright,” Matt replies, snuggling closer. “Just very long.”

The dramatic sigh goes right over your head. “Maybe you should take a shower then,” you suggest. “There’s leftovers in the fridge that you can eat.”

His lips press to your cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You are still not putting the book down.

“Take a shower with me,” he’s pulling all the registers, but you still won’t budge.

“Already did,” you say. 

He interrupted you during the best scene in the book so far, and that’s what you want to get back to. 

Matt’s lips move to your neck. “Then take another,” he says.

“My hair will get greasy.”

“Tie it up.”

“No.”

He pouts. Since when has he become worth less than a book? One that gets you wet, no less.

He gets jealous easily, he would never deny that, but he thought he would be better than a book. He never thought he could be envious of one, either, or of the language he had to learn how to read because he lost his eyesight. He never thought he’d see the day he would become envious of a few pages with dots on them, but he is, and when you happily indulge back into your back while he gets ready to shower, passing you half-naked and still not eliciting a reaction, he gets frustrated.

He makes a plan.

The next day, you’re at work, and he has some time to spare. The paperwork is done and Foggy sent him home earlier while you texted him you had to work late, and that he could cook or order food and you would just warm it up after. 

He makes his way to your side of the bed and grabs the book you took with you last night. 

“Let’s see how good you really are,” he says to himself. 

Matt always thought you to be a person with impeccable taste, but he never thought it would extend to your choice of erotica books. He’s never read the ones you usually keep around–he can’t read them, obviously–but this one, he can read, and his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

He’s done the things you’re reading about, but it still sends a flush straight to his cheeks. The rest of his blood instantly travels between his legs.

It’s not the story itself or the words, it’s the faintest scent of your arousal still lingering on the paper, and suddenly you’re right next to him, whispering these sweet words into his ear, and his hand finds its way into his slacks he hasn’t yet taken off. 

The smell of your pussy gets him high. You taste as sweet as you smell, and if he could dive deeper every time he eats you out, he would. He has explored every inch of you he can, but it can’t ever be enough, not with you. 

His hand turns into yours as he traces his fingers over the pages wildly. He’s so painfully hard; all he had to do was think about you spread out on the bed like the lady in the book, your nails raking over his skin and your cunt hugging his cock as he pounds into you hard like the man in the book does, and he’s done for.

He can’t control himself. He knows it’s wrong because it’s not just the text, it’s you he’s jerking off to like a teenage boy, but you smell so good, the memory of your voice sounds so sweet, and he can’t help but imagine the feel of your body as he works himself higher and higher and higher with his own fist until his cock aches and his balls tense up with his impending orgasm–and then it is roughly taken from him as reality seeps back in.

And it is your fault. 

“So that’s why you were so needy last night,” you say. Your voice isn’t quivering. You’re not shocked.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom, and your eyes trail over your boyfriend’s disheveled frame. His cock is hard, weeping in his hand. There is pre-cum everywhere. His thighs are shaking, and the orgasm that had been building fades away. His fist doesn’t loosen, but his eyes point in your general direction as shock and embarrassment flood his cheeks. 

He looks beautiful with his cock in his hand. You’re desperate to reach out and help because he hasn’t done anything bad, has he? But then you look at the book–your book–he’s tracing his deliciously thick and calloused fingers over, and you click your tongue.

You should have known he wouldn’t let it slide that easily that you got off from a book while he was so obviously desperate the night before. 

Matt swallows. “You were so wet,” he says, his voice sounding more like a growl than a husky whisper. “You were so wet, I could smell you the second I got in the door.”

“And when you realized it wasn’t you who got me so wet?” you question. 

The mattress dips until your weight as you crawl toward him. 

He tosses the book aside. “I was jealous,” he admits. He meets you halfway in the middle of the bed, his face close to yours now. 

“Jealous?” you ask.

“Yeah, jealous.”

“Of a book?”

“Can you blame me?”

You bite your lip when he smirks at you like a devil – the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, that’s who he is, and he is yours. Always, forever, but especially right now.

He manages to look adorable yet irresistible every time; you can’t help but stare back at his cock. It’s still hard, just resting against his stomach, and he has no shame. He knows what he’s doing to you. But you’re also not having a much different effect on him, it seems, because when you reach for his face and press your lips together, he moans.

His nerves are on fire. Even the simple act of kissing manages to shoot straight to his throbbing cock, and your hands are magical as they work through his hair next, along his scalp, and down his neck where you only seem to pull him closer into you. 

He flips you over so you’re on your back underneath him. “Tell me,” he says between gentle nips to your neck, “What exactly turned you on so much about that book to get you so fucking wet without even touching yourself?” 

You want to snap at him that he was getting off on it too just as you came in, but then his hand slips into your pants and your underwear, and you moan instead. 

“And you’re wet again,” it’s a statement he makes as he smirks into your neck, his fingers parting your slick folds and testing the waters. You’re soaking, he can tell, but he already smelled it when he flipped you over. 

You arch your back into his touch, chasing more friction. He complies. His middle finger starts circling your clit. “Did watching me jerk off get you so desperate?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

“Oh, you’re dirty, aren’t you?” 

“Matt–“

He kisses you to shut you up, his middle finger speeding up. He paints the most colorful masterpieces over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Matt plays your body like a fiddle, and your moans are the melody. 

“What was your favorite part?”

“What?”

“The book,” he asks, “What was your favorite part?” His finger slips from your clit, between your folds, and right to your entrance. “Was it this–” 

Your eyes roll back when he inserts the first finger into your tight cunt. 

“Or when he did that–” Matt slides another finger in, curling them up at the same time to brush your G-spot. 

Your lips part in a lewd moan. “Fuck!” Your fist tightens around the silk sheets. “Matt, please…” 

He keeps fingering you at an agonizingly slow pace, just like the scene in the book, but he puts the cherry on top when he ghosts his thumb over your clit. 

“What was it?” he asks, head dipping to capture your lips. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me and I’ll show you something sweeter than fiction.”

His silver tongue will be the death of you one day in more ways than one. 

He thrusts his finger faster now, slowly reaching the pace you yearn for. With every thrust, he massages the spongy spot inside of you just right, and you’re moaning and whimpering beneath him as he works you closer and closer to the edge within minutes. 

He knows your body inside and out, and you fall victim to his games every time. He wants to hear the cacophony of your moans; he thrives off of hearing the effect he has on you, and yet it’s never enough. He wants more. He’s greedy. He wants to listen to you moan and scream for him until your voice is hoarse, the sheets are soaked and your pussy is stuffed to the brim with his cum. He’s only satisfied then, but it doesn’t last long because as soon as he smells you again, he will worship at your feet all over again until you’re a cockdrunk mess and can’t walk straight for a week. 

Your eyes fall on the book that’s now on the floor, his lips ruthlessly attacking your neck, his fingers moving faster and faster and faster–your orgasm is about to crash in, but you manage to cry out, “Page fifty-eight!”

Matt stops, pulling away slightly to feel your eyes on him. His hazel eyes turn black. “Is that so?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Alright…” He pulls his fingers out of you. 

You scramble to get out of your clothes while he does the same, but he’s impatient, and soon enough your shirt is a ripped mess on the floor, and he’s towering over you again.

Your hands trail over his chiseled torso and the many scars that never fail to fill you with wonder for the man he is, the wars he fought, and the battles he survives, and you take a moment to feel each other up. It’s always like this; no matter how intense it gets between you in bed, the first few seconds are spent with you touching each other, feeling the goosebumps you cause on each other’s skin, and only when you’re fully satisfied in that regard do you focus on what other needs you find brewing within you.

He kisses you hard, his hand wrapping around your neck possessively, and he pulls you closer. You moan. His tongue slides into your mouth. You surrender to his control. 

His large hand keeps your thighs spread wide open as he thrusts his cock into you. He doesn’t wait; like on page fifty-eight, he thrusts into you, and he throws your leg over his shoulder without a warning or a moment to adjust.

You wrap the other leg around his waist. The pace he keeps is brutal, and your breath gets stuck in your throat as you let out a lustful cry, followed by a string of curses because damn him for knowing exactly what to do. 

This is better than anything you could possibly read. The angle is perfection, and with every hard thrust, he buries his cock to the hilt inside of you. He fills you up to the brim, and every time he pulls out, he makes sure to drive back in just as fast. 

Tears are streaming down your cheeks, but you don’t want him to stop. He keeps stroking the fire inside your belly. Your head is void of any thoughts. His moans reach your ears, and you clench around him; he always sounds so sweet when he’s being vocal for you, showing you he’s enjoying this as much as you are, and it encourages you to let every last sound tumble from your lips. 

Skin slaps against skin in the dimly light bedroom. The silk of the sheets sticks to your sweaty body. Matt hoists you up suddenly as he gets on his knees, and that wasn’t in the book, but he still pulls you forward to meet his cock ruthlessly. Your back arches so far, you feel like you’re floating. Luckily, he thinks about putting a pillow underneath to make it more comfortable for you. Though it’s not the ache in your muscle you can focus on. 

Your walls contract, hugging him even tighter, and the way he throbs sends shivers down your spine at the same time his moans cause your body to shiver even more. 

The coil in your stomach is so tight, and with every thrust, it keeps growing bigger and bigger and bigger until the glass is threatening to overflow. He doesn’t look like he intends on stopping, and when you open your eyes, the sight is enough to make you convulse underneath him. 

His head is thrown back. You’re half-resting on his muscular thighs. With every thrust of his cock into your tight cunt, his abs tense up. The light falls upon his body, and he’s glowing brightly in the colorful serenade of the billboard outside. He thrusts harder and harder, and his muscles do the lord’s work in stimulating you. He’s absolutely divine, and you could stare at him forever without getting sick of him. Especially sweaty, with his eyebrows furrowed and lost so deep in pleasure as the noise of the world fades into the background, he looks ephemeral. You want to stay like this with him forever. 

His hand splays across your stomach, pushing down where his cock seems to be, and the added pressure makes you clench down on him so tight, you’re sure you might burst any second now. Feeling his cock bulge your belly is too much. 

His thumb rubs rapid circles over your clit, and his pace falters. He falls back over you, hugging your thigh around his waist as he turns to deeper strokes, and you try to lean into his touch as much as you can, meeting his thrusts. 

Your jaw slacks, moaning into his ear. He kisses you in return, his hand coming back to rest around your neck, and your vision blurs with the pressure in every part of your body. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he grunts, “I know you want to. C’mon, come for me.”

You tangle your hand in the pillow above your head, the other digging into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood, but it’s all you can do when the full power of the held-back orgasm crashes into you, and all lights go out. 

Your body convulses, your walls flutter uncontrollably around him, and you are sure that your scream echoes in the room and reaches your neighbor’s apartment, but it feels too good not the let the world know the name of the man who is making you feel like heaven and hell at the same time, driving you over the edge like a man on a mission–because that is precisely what he is. 

His fingers dig into your thighs, leaving their marks, as do his lips on your neck. He grunts as your orgasm washes over you. He fucks you through it, the tightness engulfing his cock just right, and with one last hard thrust to your G-spot, his legs shake and he comes too, his hot seed spilling into your needy cunt as you take all he can humanly give you, sounds, liquids and all. 

You find his lips, swallowing his moan of your name. The kiss is more a clashing of teeth and tongue instead of anything else, but the closeness is exactly what you both need. 

Matt fucks his cum deep into you as he always does, making sure not a single drop is spent, and only when you’re about to squirm away from the overstimulation, he stops stroking your clit and stops thrusting, and he drops on you. 

Your lungs open to grasp a deep breath. “Holy shit!” you choke out. 

He takes a moment to return to his body. The world spins until it doesn’t, and he can finally move his limbs again. Your heartbeat coaxes him back to consciousness, allowing him to lift his head and relish in the way your hands cup his sweaty face. 

He’s never himself after sex, it takes a few minutes, and you’re more than ready to be the one to coax him through the aftershocks. You always do. 

“You okay?” you ask him softly.

He nods. “Fuck,” is all he can say. 

“Yeah.”

You cradle his head in the crook of your neck. Silence settles back in between you. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

You smile, pressing a kiss on his scalp. “And I love you,” you answer. 

Another beat of silence passes. “Oh,” he says, and you can feel him smile against your collarbone this time when he tells you, “Next time you read porn, make sure to tell me exactly what you’re reading so we can do that again.”

A chuckle passes your lips. “Oh, Matty,” you stroke his hair, “That can be arranged.”

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky

[aloeverified]

elumax headcanons pLease <3

elumax my beloved

el has a hard time understanding a lot of movies because of all the references to thing she doesn't understand, so when the three have movie night, they turn it into a lesson where they basically explain different parts of life she hasn't been able to experience yet.

this has caused them to make a bucket list with things to do with el; such as go to theme parks or take her to a museum.

after getting a bit of a better understanding of movies, the group usually settles for horror. max likes them the most, whereas lucas hates them but pretends he likes them to seem cool, and el enjoys them because they're easy to understand.

max often talks about how she misses california, and lucas once made her a promise that he'd take them on a roadtrip there once he gets his license. he loves traveling and seeing new places, and el is excited to see more than just hawkins.

after el comes back to hawkins, she tells max that california wasn't nearly as fun without her there. max tells her that they'll just have to replace her bad memories with better ones and lucas subtlety chimes in that he has his license.

max spends a couple of months in a wheelchair as her arms and legs heal. el and lucas worry that she feels left out and do their absolute best to make sure she's still having fun. lucas thought fun meant going on walks with her in parks where she can smell all the flowers and hear what's going on around her — el though fun meant riding down the largest hill in the park. max liked the second idea, lucas did not.

joyce taught el how to sew while they lived in california, and she actually became very good at it. so when max mentioned that she hated how boring her wheelchair must look, el offered to sew some designs into it. it eventually lead to a group family project, with erica and will coming up with designs that fit max, lucas getting all the sewing supplies, and jonathan helping el with the actual sewing. by the end of it, max has a couple rainbows on the sides below her armrests, mad max spelled out on the back in her favorite colors, and jonathan even made some little skulls in construction class that they were able to attach to the middle of her wheels.

with max being blind, lucas and el decide to come up with alternative date night ideas so that she doesn't feel leftout when they watch movies. they eventually agree on reading to max before bed during their sleepovers. el reads while lucas helps to correct her on words she doesn't understand, all while max enjoys listening to the two before falling asleep.

with joyce's expertise from finding jobs, she's able to find a braille reading class. she signs el and max up for it, and lucas' parents cover his classes. already having experience with learning things like morse code, lucas catches on pretty easily, along with max who has always been a fast learner. el struggles a bit, but tries her best in order to support her girlfriend.

joyce and max's mom actually become good friends, as joyce knows what it's like to struggle with money and lost. the two family's eventually start having dinner together once a week, and joyce always allows max over.

hopper off-handly mentions how much he prefers max and lucas to mike, making both el and will blush for separate reasons.

still, hopper is sure to give lucas a stern talking to about how to treat girls, and erica doesn't hold back when threatening max and el to never hurt her brother.

when max is able to start walking again, el and lucas are always there to help her. she finds it a bit overwhelming at first, and the three are able to establish boundaries about what she does or doesn't want help with.

lucas helps her find the best walking cane, and is even able to add a device that beeps when in contact with certain materials so she can navigate easier when alone.

when max decides she's finally ready to start relearning how to skate, the three of them go down to an abandoned parking lot so she doesn't have to worry about being judged. el even brings her rollerskates and borrows a pair from will so lucas can try too. max struggles through a lot of it, but el is there to catch her and lucas helps in reminding her that they have all the time in the world to practice.

when max was still recovering, she listened to lucas' games on the radio and talked back and forth with dustin on the walkie talkies to see how it was going.

once when el was away and especially homesick, she used her powers to watch lucas during his game. she worried she was breaking their boundaries, however, and didn't do it again despite how badly she wanted to watch his games.

knowing that max is more lenient about her using her powers, el would check on her in the hospital and at night sometimes just to make sure she was okay.

el is always cold at night, whereas max and lucas get too hot with a blanket on, so el just sleeps between them for body heat. occasionally she'll use a weighted blanket and have the others sleep onto of it next to her.

[salazarslytherin]

sex on fire (s.b x y/n)

summary: an encounter with sirius in the kitchen

🃛 masterlist

cw/tw: smut, pussy slapping, fingering, dumbification, praise kink, like exhibitionism if you squint, age difference (reader is of age!)

word count: 2.14k

a/n: Inspired. SO HEAVILY by @thotbutpurple’s dilf!marauders headcanons, specifically this post for this imagine. also heavily inspired by @acosmis-t's fic peanut. honestly this is just, self-indulgent. might do a dilf!series, I'm not sure reblog to boost please xxx

tag list at the bottom ☯︎ join tag list here

Some people would think that it’s weird to like someone almost twenty years your senior. And if we’re being honest, you thought the same too.

That was until Sirius fucking Black walked into your life.

One of your dad’s best friends from high school, Sirius appeared in your life when you were sixteen, riding back into town on a Bugatti motorcycle and a battered leather jacket. A photographer who’d travelled the world, he came back to your small town to spend time with his younger brother and his old friends from high school.

That spelt weekend barbecues at your house, watching the absolute hunk of a man walk around your house shirtless, or in the thinnest fucking white tank you’ve ever seen in your life. Whether Sirius owned clothes that weren’t band tees, white tanks, and ripped jeans, you didn’t know.

But secretly, you hoped he didn’t.

⚔︎.

Now it’s been three years since Sirius had returned, and yet another one of your dad’s friends’ barbecues was being held at your house. The men were out back barbecuing – they called themselves the Marauders, the name never not making you laugh. Unfortunately, this week you were unable to join them, holed up in your room to study for your finals.

With the weather heating up as it neared the beginning of the summer, you could feel each individual bead of sweat run down your spine. Unable to focus on anything with the immense heat and the overwhelming stress you were feeling, you took out your earphones and got up off your chair, deciding to go downstairs to get something cold to drink.

Opening your bedroom door, you could hear the music playing from the backyard, the booming laughter of the various men standing around the barbecue grill. Walking down the stairs, you recited the formulas you were revising earlier, not at all paying attention to anything around you. Stepping into the kitchen, you kept staring at the flashcards you held, opening the fridge door to grab the carton of juice you knew was in there.

“That focused, are we?”

The deep voice scared you, making the flashcards from your grasp fall all over the tiled flooring. You whipped around to see Sirius leaning against the kitchen sink, smirking as he watched you. You watched him in return, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he downed a gulp from his beer bottle.

Shaking yourself off, you turned back to the fridge and grabbed the carton, before placing it on the counter and closing the door. You bent over to pick up the flashcards that you had dropped earlier, only to hear a splutter of a cough behind you.

You turned around as you placed the cards next to the carton, seeing Sirius cough into his forearm, his abs flexing beneath the thin tank top he wore.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay, Sirius?”

The man waved his hand at you, placing the beer bottle between his lips as his eyes scanned up and down your body, smirking around the bottle.

“S’nothing, Y/N.”

Your eyes followed Sirius’s gaze, looking down to realise just exactly why he had his little impromptu coughing fit. Given the heat, you’d forgotten you were only wearing a thin tank top and booty shorts that day, meaning that when you bent over, you’d given Sirius quite the show. You felt yourself turn red as you realised, spinning around promptly to grab a glass from the upper cabinets.

Unfortunately for you, but quite a fortunate happenstance for Sirius, all the glasses on the bottom shelf had been taken outside for “public consumption”, and only those on the top shelf remained.

Conscious of your every move in front of the hottest man you had ever known in your damned life, you stood up onto your tippy toes, reaching for the glasses on the top shelf. You could feel your shorts riding up as you reached up as high as you possibly could, honestly just contemplating climbing on top of the counters to reach the glasses.

All you wanted was some damned juice.

As you struggled, you heard a chuckle sound behind you, then footsteps. Warmth emanating from behind you, and then a hard body pressed up against you. Your body tensed up as you felt Sirius’s body behind you, swallowing audibly. You saw a hand reach up above yours, the large appendage wrapping around the blue glass before receding as the warmth moved away from you.

“Here you go, pumpkin.”

The nickname made your mouth run dry as you turned around to take the glass from the man, smiling slightly at him. You felt a shiver run down your spine as your fingertips grazed his, having to grip the glass unreasonably tight as you felt your hands weaken at his warmth.

“Thanks.”

Your voice croaked at the word, Sirius’s smirk growing on his face yet again. You took the carton and poured yourself a glass, sipping on it as you leaned against the counter, mirroring Sirius who was back to sipping at his beer bottle.

You could feel your exam stress building up again as your hand reached for the flashcards again, flipping through them as you mouthed the different formulas and definitions written on them.

“Stressed, Y/N?”

You hummed in agreement as you focused on the cards in your hands, the glass having been returned to the counter as you sunk back into revision mode, barely registering the clink of the beer bottle being placed in the kitchen sink as the man made his way towards you.

“Want some help, destressing, hmm?”

You looked up at the man only to find him right in front of you, your body straightening up as you watched his teasing expression, lips curled and eyebrows raised.

You knew Sirius knew the way you felt about him. The way you sucked in a breath the first time you’d seen him, the way you licked your lips subconsciously at the sight of him, the way you thought about him when you touched yourself…

He wasn’t exactly subtle with hiding the innuendos.

You shook yourself free of those thoughts as Sirius watched you, almost as if he knew what you were thinking.

“More juice, maybe?”

The smirk only grew bigger as the man shook the carton slightly, uncapping it and tilting his head backwards, drinking straight from the carton itself. You watched with your mouth hanging open slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing entrancingly with every gulp.

“Oops, I might've finished it all. Though, I think there’s still a little more in here…”

Sirius watched you almost mockingly, mouth dropping open to show the bare minimum of juice left in his mouth.

The man knew you wanted him, and felt the exact same way towards you. He couldn’t help it.

The moment you stepped into the kitchen, he was a goner. The tank top clinging to your breasts, showing just the right amount of cleavage, the shortest fucking shorts he’d ever seen you in barely covering your ass, the man was holding himself together by a thread at this point.

“Hmm? You want it?”

Sirius’s eyes scanned your every move, eyebrows raising as you pushed off the counter slowly.

“Come get it.”

⚔︎.

You didn’t know who moved towards who in that split second, only that a moment later your world was turned upside down. Sirius’s lips were soft and sweet – the entrancing taste of Sirius overwhelming you, beer and orange juice mixing together in the kiss. As promised, Sirius’s tongue pushed a dribble of juice into your mouth, making you moan into his lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, flashcards scattering across the tiled flooring yet again, his hands coming up to grip your waist. The man’s calloused hands fingered the hem of your top, pushing the edges up, his thumb drawing circles on your hip bone.

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers on your skin, feeling Sirius chuckle against your lips at your surprise. Your own hands moved from his neck to his shoulders, sliding down to his arms. You could feel Sirius’s arms tensing at the feeling, the veins on his muscled forearms like braille under your fingertips.

Grunting into your lips, the man stepped forward, pushing you up against the counter, the edge right against the small of your back.

“Can I?”

Sirius asked breathlessly, lips bright red from what felt like minutes, but also hours, of yours against his. He ghosted the elastic of your shorts, eyes flicking between yours as he awaited your approval or disapproval.

You nodded, unable to speak as you held your breath.

Was this actually happening, or were you having some sort of heat stroke-induced delusion?

“Turn around and bend over for me then, doll.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you nodded again, rendered dumb by your disbelief at the situation. You bent over the counter, leaning on your forearms as you looked over your shoulder, watching Sirius crouched down, hooking his fingers into your shorts, pulling your panties down as well in one move.

The man sucked in a breath at the sight of you bottomless, making your face turn red.

“Such a pretty pussy…”

The blush spread throughout your body as you noticed how close Sirius was to you, his breath ghosting your clit as he did nothing. Simply staring at your cunt. His hands moved up from your ankles, where he’d brought your shorts down to, and spread you open, fingers dipping inside you unintentionally, but it was likely to have been intentional. You squeaked at the feeling, walls clenching around thin air.

This is so fucking embarrassing. But your body seemed to disagree, feeling yourself become wetter at the feeling of Sirius’s eyes on you.

Moving in to take a closer look, the older man sent you one of his signature panty-dropping smiles.

Literally, in this case.

“I’m going to fucking ruin it.”

You threw your head forward as Sirius ran his forefinger up and down your slit, the brief contact with your clit making you let out a loud moan of surprise. Your eyes squeezed shut as you hid your head in your forearms, Sirius’s finger stretching you out as you moaned into your arms.

“Don’t be so loud, doll. Do you want everyone to hear you?”

You shook your head, biting your lip as Sirius moved his finger in and out of you, growing wetter at the thought of anyone catching you here. In the kitchen.

With your dad’s best friend.

All coherent thought was interrupted as Sirius’s other hand landed on your clit, rolling the nub between his thumb and forefinger. The movement made your brain short-circuit, letting out a loud gasping moan as he pushed a second finger inside you as well.

“S-Sirius. Fuck.”

The man tutted from behind you but didn’t even falter in his movements, seemingly spurred by your pleasure to pump his fingers in and out of you even faster. You were so immersed in the pleasure that your eyes shot open in surprise as a sharp slap landed on your clit.

“What the fuck?”

Your head whipped back to look at the older man, who merely lifted a brow at your outburst, his fingers still thrusting into you, the sinful sounds echoing around the kitchen.

“Told you to shut up, doll. Or are you too dumb to understand simple instruction, hmm?”

As he said that, Sirius curled his fingers inside of you, making you choke on your breath as he hit something inside of you.

“S-Sirius. I-”

Another slap landed on your cunt, but the pain mixed in with the insane amounts of pleasure you were feeling, your eyes squeezing shut once more to see nothing but stars in the midst of your pleasure.

“I told you to be silent, didn’t I? How’ve I fucked you dumb already.”

You whined silently, wiggling your hips slightly as your walls clenched around him, feeling your pleasure mount inside you, climbing towards its precipice.

“Your pussy’s so tight around my fingers. You wanna cum, love?”

You bit down on your forearm, moaning out into it as you nodded, your orgasm threatening to erupt on his fingers.

Sirius curled his fingers inside you, the movement pushing you over the edge as you nearly screamed, thanking the heavens that someone, probably Sirius, had come up with the idea of blasting AC/DC in the backyard. Convulsing around the older man’s fingers, your chest fell onto the countertop, your fluids running down your thigh as Sirius pulled his fingers out of you slowly. The feeling of being empty made you whine, hand searching blindly behind you to find Sirius.

“Want more.”

A chuckle sounded behind you, Sirius’s hand finding its way to your hair, threading his long fingers through it.

“You didn’t think I was done, did you, pumpkin?”

taglist: @marvelslut16, @siriusbarnesslut, @marimorena06, @weasleysbitch2, @reg-arcturus-black, @themoonwithprophets, @moonys-gf, @quindolyn, @lilypad-55449, @kermiemoon, @jamespotterslover, @remoony1, @siriusblackwifeeey, @iamnibbsi, @azura-mist, @accio-remus-lupin, @tomriddle_whore, @greenlyblue, @lillsthoughts, @jeannelupinblack, @i-love-scott-mccall, @justadreamyhufflepuff, @shit-thats-true, @dorcasmeadowesx, @sunflowersandpansies, @elenapatricia99, @90sgoldentrio, @itsmentalillness, @sprucewoodlover, @kiaslily

if you're crossed out please check your tagging settings!

[i-cant-sing]

Promise: Yandere Godfather Hawks x Todoroki reader

This is a side story takes place in the YRHR series, after part 1, when the reader returns home, blind.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Y/n... Come on, wake up. Its 9 already." You heard him say, feeling the bed dip as he sat on it, gently touching the back of your shoulder. "Aren't you hungry? Mom's making your favourite."

When you gave no response, Shotou pulled the covers away from your face, his brows furrowing at the bandages around your eyes that had loosened up. You had did that, clawing at the meticulously tight knot Natsuo had done; you didn't like how it settled on your eyes.

"You're awake, right?" The only answer he got was you turning your cheek further away from him when he tried to caress it. Shotou didn't like your silence and he missed it when you used to ramble about almost anything to him. He missed when you were happy.

The door bell rang.

Shotou looked at his watch confused. Wasn't Natsuo supposed to come around at 11? He could hear Enji walking to the main door, and after a few seconds of silence, he heard footsteps coming towards your room. But then he heard some scuffling, and people talking- he recognised Enji's and Dabi's voices, his brother's getting louder by the second.

"I'll check who's there. Stay."

Stay? You would've rolled your eyes if, you know, you still had them.

A few more minutes passed and you could hear Dabi arguing with someone, and you think that Shotou is trying to calm him down. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, you got up from the bed. For the past whole month, Shotou would come to wake you up everyday, carrying you in his arms to the bathroom, never letting you walk on your own, claiming "you'll get hurt".

Idiot.

Taking one small step at a time, you stretched your arms out trying to reach the wall. Once you felt the cold, smooth surface, you used it to guide you towards the door.

No matter what you did, or how many times you told them to back off, that you can do this on your own, they wouldn't let you. Hell, you were pretty sure that if they could, they would breathe for you too. As if trying to instil in your mind that you're helpless without them, incapable of making your own decisions.

I'll show them how fucking capable I am.

After stubbing your toe only once, you finally reached the door, your hand gripping the metal knob. You placed your ear on the door, trying to figure out who and where everyone is standing. The corridor seemed empty and you think everyone is downstairs.

Opening the door, you used another wall to guide you towards the stairs. You hoped Shotou doesn't see you; he'd throw a hissy fit at you attempting to walk down the stairs.

As you took one careful step at a time, you heard the commotion grow louder. You could hear Dabi yelling profanities at the other person, certainly not Enji because Rei or Fuyumi would've stepped in by now to stop him. You used to stop him too, but ever since what happened, you don't really care anymore.

"Why the fuck are you even here?! She doesn't fucking want to see you!"

"Dabi-!"

"And who is gonna stop me? You? I'd be happy to knock you down on your ass- its about goddamn time!"

"Hawks!"

Hawks?

Hawks.

Hawks!

You almost stumbled down the last few steps, but you needed to know- was he, was he really here?

"K-Keigo?"

You heard his wings flap before you felt him, the wind gushed at your body strongly, making you lose your balance. But muscular arms wrapped around you before you could fall, and the winged hero lifted you up and spun you around, making you burst into laughter.

Rei was the first one to cry.

You laughed.

Not a bitter, sarcastic one.

A genuinely happy laugh.

And she missed her baby's laugh so much.

Dabi's eyes widened slightly. His heart clenching up a bit as he realised how he missed that beaming look on your face. He realised how fucking naive you were, how you were his little sister that he needed to protect.

Shotou felt envy. Why- why didn't you laugh like that with him? Why didn't you laugh for him? Was he... not a good brother?

Fuyumi actually rushed out of the kitchen when she heard you, her hands coming up to her mouth to suppress the sob that was building up. Too long. It had been too long since you were happy.

Natsuo smiled. He smiled as he saw you chortle when the hero's feathers tickled your cheek. He wished you would smile more often.

Enji's breath hitched as he saw you chuckle into Hawk's shoulder. It was so natural, so lively, so radiant. He had been dying to hear that sweet sound again.

Your heart was beating fast and your stomach was doing somersaults as you felt the air rushing through your hair and cooling on to your neck, the soft feathers brushing across your skin.

He really was here.

But so were they.

And you could feel their eyes on you.

Keigo frowned when he saw you curl yourself into him, as if trying to bury yourself into his chest. When he looked around, he saw them glaring and that's when he puffed out his wings before curling them around you; shielding you.

"I'll be spending time with my goddaughter. Do not disturb us." And with that, Hawks flew you up to your room, locking the door before they could sat anything. He could hear Dabi arguing, but he trusted Enji to handle him.

He set you on your bed, chuckling as you didn't let go of his collar.

"Its okay, dove. I'm here, now- ow!" You cut him off by punching his arm.

"Where were you?!"

"In your heart- ow! Stop hitting me!" He caught your wrists.

"You said you were gonna visit me at home! Its been a whole month-"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry but believe me, I really was busy!" Sighing, he continued. "The hero commission sent me to Europe for a mission and things got a bit messy, so I got caught up."

Yanking your hands out of his grip, you scowled. "Would it have killed you to call?"

"I mean I wouldn't say kill, but I probably could've lost a limb or two-" He started laughing when when you began getting up to walk to the door.

Keigo wrapped his arms around you, smiling cheekily"Y/n- I'm sorry, I'm just kidding. Come back-"

"No, let go! I don't have time for your bullshit" He continued laughing, easily picking you up and dropping you back on your bed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Come on, now. Stop being mad." You heard him shuffling. "Besides, I've got something for you!"

He dropped something in your lap. You picked an item, your hands feeling around it, trying to figure out what the rectangular shaped box was.

"Whats this?"

"Oh, here. Let me help you." He lifted the lid of the box and you were immediately hit by a familiar smell.

"Chocolate?"

He hummed in confirmation"Your favourite ones too! They were always sold out! Luckily, I was able to use my charm on the owner."

"Charm? Oh, you mean where you pull that ugly smirk and do that half lidded look with your eyes, and you think that you look hot but you actually just look creepy?"

"Yeah- hey!"

And then the next 3 hours were spent like that, Hawks telling you about Europe and the bad guys he caught, you telling him about the way your family had been treating you.

"They don't let me do anything, they don't give me any privacy! Its like- its like they want me to be a doll!" You gave an exasperated sigh. "They- they act like they are being so generous. Like it was somehow my fault that my eyes got fried!"

"Oh come on. They can't be that bad-"

"They are! So much worse than before. Look, I'm a grown up- I need my space too! You know what Shotou said when I asked him to get me a walking stick? He said I don't need one since he can carry me everywhere. Do you know how embarrassing it is to get carried to the toilet every single day? Do you?!"

"Well, no-"

"And then Fuyumi cuts up my food and spoon feeds me herself! I know I'm blind but its not like I'm gonna stuff the food up my nose or something!"

The hero snickered at that.

"And then Enji reads me these novels or the newspaper and he skips over the parts he thinks I'm too "young" or "immature" to understand! They even monitor what I listen to! Fuyumi or Shotou would be quick to change the channel if something above pg 10 comes on!" You ran a hand through your hair frustratedly. "I asked Enji to get me a Braille and the first few time he pretended like he didn't hear me, before finally saying that I don't need one!"

"Don't worry, I'll sneak in a Braille for dummies the next time I visit."

"Hey-! Wait... what do you mean "next time"?"

"Oh come on! I promise I'll come earlier next time. Maybe in like 2 weeks-"

"No."

"What-"

"No. I want to leave this place today. You promised."

"Y/n-"Keigo reached to place a hand on your shoulder but you pushed him off.

"You. Promised. You said you'll get me out of here when I leave the hospital" You inhaled deeply. "Well, guess what, Hawks? Its been a whole month."

"I know but you're not well enough-"

"I AM! If anything, staying here is harming me more!" Your tone was getting angrier. "You said- you said you would take me away from them."

"I can't do it right now. The hero commission needs me-"

"I need you! Or am I just not worth your time?"

"Please, dove- try to understand. How will I take care of you if I'm out at the agency?"He tried to pet your head but you smacked his hand away, snarling at him.

"You're a liar. A big fucking liar! Was this the plan all along? To give me hope that you'll save me, only to fucking crush it?!" The hero managed to dodge the box of chocolates you threw at him. "I don't need fucking chocolate or your stupid presents. I need to get out of this goddamn house!"

The hero began walking towards the door. "You're not thinking rationally- I'll- I'll leave." But before the hero could manage to take another step, you were leaping towards him, but since you couldn't see, you only managed to fall near his feet. When he grabbed your shoulders to help you up, you were quick to latch onto him, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly.

"No- no! Don't go. Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Please, don't be mad. I swear I'll behave, just don't leave me here!" Your hold onto him was becoming painfully tight.

Keigo felt like someone was breaking his heart piece by piece as he looked at you. The way your body shook from your pitiful sobs, the way you held onto his jacket as if your life depended on it- he was forced to remember how vulnerable you looked the night he brought you back to the this house. The same night when you begged and begged him to fly you away, that you'll do anything as long as he didn't dropped you back at the Todoroki estate.

"Y/n- darling, love, listen to me. I promised you that I'll keep you save, didn't I? I promise I'll come back soon-"

"YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE! CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT SHE'S DONE TO ME! SHE BURNED MY FUCKING EYES HAWKS! I'M FUCKING BLIND! DO I NEED TO LOSE A LIMB FOR YOU TO GET ME OUT OF HERE?! DO I HAVE TO SUFFER FROM ANOTHER "ACCIDENT"?!"

Hawks knew that bitch Rei did this on purpose, he knew and it killed him that he couldn't save you from her. He wanted to tell you that he believed you, and he was preparing a place for you. But the hero knows your siblings were eavesdropping, right on the other side of the door.

He had to be careful and play the fool if he wanted to get you out of this hell hole.

"Y/n please-"

You shook your head repeatedly, pulling him closer to you as you shrieked at him. "No. NO! I wont let you go! I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE WITHOUT ME! Keigo, I'm begging you! Take me with you, please! I'll die! I'll die! I'LL FUCKING DIE, KEIGO! PLEASE!"

Your loud screams had your siblings bursting through the door, obviously using a spare key. "Y/n, whats wrong-" You jumped away when they touched your shoulder, giving Hawks chance to slip away.

You instantly reached out for him, flailing your arms around to get a hold of him again. But the hero was already out the door and your siblings quickly pulled you back into their arms, shushing you, trying to calm you down.

But you were inconsolable. Thrashing around in Shotou's arms, you kept begging for Hawks to come back. "HAWKS COME BACK! LET ME GO! HAWKS, PLEASE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE!" It pained them to see you like this, so hysterical; Shotou and Fuyumi whispered sweet nothings but you payed them no mind. Natsuo knew you were going to hyperventilate soon, but he was more worried about you bursting a vessel in your head.

Thinking fast, he quickly brought up a tranquilliser- and the moment the sharp smell of the alcohol swab hit your nose, you were wrestling harder to get out Shotou's and Fuyumi's arms.

"Y/n, please calm down-"

"FUCK YOU! LET ME GO! KEIGO! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! COME BACK- STOP! STOP TOUCHING ME! STOP!" You screamed louder than before when you felt her cold hands gripping your arm, holding it still so that your brother could administer the dose.

As the drug began taking effect, your thrashing slowed down before you finally slumped into Shotou's arms. The tranquilliser numbed the headache that was forming, and you felt Fuyumi use a tissue to wipe the snot and the spit off your face.

"I'll die... I'll die... And you won't be there. And I'll die..."

Hawks was in a trance like state as he watched Shotou tuck you under the covers. He wanted to use his sharp feathers to slice off that cold bitch's hand that brushed the hair out of your face, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your daunting screams rang through his ears; his chest felt like some was shoving a knife through it slowly as he played back the image of you trying to wring yourself free from their arms, one hand still reaching out for him. It took everything in him not to grab it and pull you away from those monsters, but he had to remind himself of the bigger picture.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the pyromaniac standing next to him until he spoke.

"This is all your fault."

Hawks looked at Dabi. His fault?

"You shouldn't have come here."

"She's my goddaughter-"

"Shut the fuck up." Dabi narrowed his eyes at the hero. "She's like this because you gave her false hope. Hope, that one day she'll get away from us. You and I both know that's not gonna happen." He sighed before continuing. "You call yourself a hero, but in reality, you're no better than us."

As Hawks turned to leave, not willing to let the villian get on his nerves, Dabi spoke again.

"Dont bother coming back. She won't forgive you. She'll never forget this betrayal."

Hurtful as they were, he knew the words he said were true.

Hawks was almost out the gates when he saw Enji sitting in the garden, looking at the koi pond. He should've left, should've flown away but there was something in Enji's eyes that had the winged hero walking towards him. He recognised the emotion as soon as he got close.

Sorrow.

Or was it guilt?

Perhaps a mixture of both.

"Endeavour, are you... alright?"

The number 1 hero looked away from the fish and blinked at him.

"Hawks? What are you still doing here?"

The blonde chuckled nervously. "I was just on my way out." He gazed at him. "Are you okay? You seem to be in deep thought."

Enji only stared at him. Taking his silence as the answer, Hawks turned to leave.

"Why did you come here today, Keigo?"

Keigo.

He suppressed the urge to shudder the way his name rolled off his tongue.

"She's my goddaughter too. Why? Do you think it was a bad decision to come?"

"No." Enji sighed. "I just- she hadn't laughed like that in a long time."

Hawks stood beside him. "She's still traumatised from the kitchen accident. Its understable-"

"No. She hadn't laughed like that for a long time, even before this happened." Enji's eyes moved towards the night sky. The stars were twinkling extra bright tonight. How he wished you could see it. "Before she lost her sight, she used to look out the window, her eyes searching sky." He gulped. "She was looking for you, Keigo. You- you made her happy, you make her laugh. I don't."

Hawks placed his hand on Enji's shoulder. "That's not true, Enji. You do make her happy. She loves you. She feels safe with you. She sees you as her protector."

"She does?"

He nodded. "Of course. If you want things to return to normal, you need to treat her normally too. Just- just talk to her. Sort out the issues and wash away whatever fears she has." Hawks wanted Enji to listen to you, to really listen to you and protect you from Rei. He could only hope that Enji understood what he meant.

Hawks was right, Enji realised. Whatever delusions you have of Rei wanting to hurt you on purpose, of being the "bad person", they can all be cleared up if he just talked to you. Ever since the incident, the family avoided talking to you about Rei or the events that had occurred that day.

If he just talked to you, things will return to normal. You'll become happy again.

"Thank you, Keigo."

Hawks only smiled in return. "I'll be leaving now."

"Okay. When will you visit again?"

"I'll be gone for longer now. The hero commission is sending me on another mission again."

"Oh. Safe travels, then."

As Hawks flew away, he began thinking about the house.

The house where he was going to take you to soon. He just needs to add a few finishing touches before he sets his plan in motion. The plan to rescue you, and eventually Enji, from those sadist that call themselves your family.

He will not let his dove get hurt again.

He'll save you this time.

He promises.

Thoughts?

Idk how this turned out, angst wasn't the plan initially. Guess I'll write godfather Hawks fluff for another day.

Anyways, now that this is done, I'll start working on RE 8 fic now.

[angry-geese]

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.