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of-a-chaotic-mind · 1 month

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I Can't Say Part 3 (Finale)

Summary: Everyone is waiting for Reader to wake up after surgery. Eddie finds out what has been causing her behavior and as soon as she wakes up he apologizes for doubting her. She knows she'll never lose him again after what he does next.

TW/CW: Eddie Diaz x Reader, Make Up, Injured Reader, Hospital Setting

Requested?: No

Word Count: 3,194

A/N: Our grand total of words for this trilogy is 11,325… I’m ngl was kinda stuck on how I’d get from break up to make up but then I was rewatching season 2 the other night and well… Earthquake it is. Anyways, hope you enjoy the read! Love to all! Requests are Open!

Part 1

Part 2

--- Third Person POV ---

Hours later, the team has been given the go ahead to go home but every one of them is heading to the hospital in hopes of seeing (Y/N). Hen cleared it with Bobby first but decided it was best if she stayed with Eddie who has been pacing the waiting room the entire time since they sent (Y/N) back. She had sent messages to everyone she could think of, letting them know which hospital they’re at and keeping them updated. Unfortunately, the phones have only just now been able to start working again. Her phone begins exploding with notifications. Carla is bringing Chris as well as a change of clothes for Eddie. Athena says she and the kids are on the way but stopping for coffee and snacks. Karen confirms she’s getting Denny and Mara in the car now with a change of clothes for Hen. Maddie and Jee are on their way too. Every single person that Hen texted, responds except for the 118 members, Talia, and Tommy who all changed out of their gear as soon as they got to the station and piled into Bobby’s truck and Buck’s Jeep.

Those who responded all trickle in with Athena, May, and Harry bringing up the rear as they drop several bags of snacks and a couple gallons of cold brew on the coffee table that everyone has gathered around. Carla and Chris have convinced Eddie, who is now nursing a cup of cold brew, to sit down and are posted on either side of him, Carla rubbing his back and Chris holding his hand tightly. Karen and Hen are playing patty cake with Jee while Maddie begs the nursing staff for an update. Harry, Denny, and Mara are quietly discussing some video game while they snack. Athena and May share a look before they make their way over to Maddie and gently tug her back to the group. It seems everyone lets out a breath they had been holding when the group of firefighters step through the glass doors. The waiting room is brought to life as everyone greets each other. Eddie on the other hand is rooted to his seat and staring at the floor.

Just as Bobby is about to place his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the doctor enters the waiting room. Everyone waits with bated breath as he approaches them, Talia and Eddie both rushing to meet him. He looks around at the rather large group before chuckling, “You’re all here for (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” Several in the group nod so he continues, “Good. She’s out of surgery. It was a little touch and go but she’s stable. The anesthesia will wear off soon but, due to the amount of blood she lost, it may take her some time to wake up. Once we get her settled into a room, I’ll let you all know.” Everyone nods in understanding and releases the breath they were holding. A few of them thank the doctor as he walks away. Eddie drops back into a chair, laying his head back against the wall, and grabs hold of Christopher’s hand again. Talia is pulls Tommy away from the group to ask him what’s going on between (Y/N) and Eddie, soon finding herself in tears upon hearing the news. Tommy pulls her into a tight hug, hating that he had to break it to her. The others strike up conversations to pass the time.

A short while later, the doctor returns to the group, “She’s in a room. Anesthesia should be worn off but as I explained earlier, she’s not awake yet. That being said, you can see her now but you’ll have to take turns. I don’t want more than two or three in there at a time. You can find her in room A204.” As he departs, Eddie kisses the top of Christopher’s head and heads to her room.

Everyone else has their eyes on Talia who hasn’t moved a muscle. Tommy places his hand on her shoulder, “Go.” She looks up at him and around the group with uncertainty but with a nod from Bobby she’s off toward the room as well.

When Talia enters the room, Eddie is sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from the door. He is holding (Y/N)’s hand tightly, tears streaming down his face, and mumbling under his breath, “(Y/N) please, you gotta wake up for me.” She takes a seat on the other side of the bed and the room falls silent aside from the steady beep of the heart monitor.

A few moments pass before he clears his throat, “If it weren’t for you, she- she wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Fresh tears paint her cheeks as she looks down at her lap, “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

He looks at her, head titled, “What do you mean?”

“If it weren’t for me, the love of her life wouldn’t have broken up with her, she wouldn’t have been in that therapy office, and she wouldn’t have been run through with rebar,” she admits, struggling to get the words out through her tears. He is immensely confused at first but she clarifies before he can ask, “A few weeks ago I called her because I needed someone to keep me from hurting myself. She came no questions asked. She’s been stopping by to check on me a lot. She always answers the phone when I need her. Selfishly, I made her promise not to tell anyone because I didn’t want my team finding out.” Eddie’s heart breaks as he realizes but she continues, “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be in this mess.”

He reaches his hand across the bed for Talia’s who hesitantly takes it. He looks her dead in the eyes, “You cannot blame yourself for any of this. You did the best thing you could which was ask for help when you needed it. You don’t know where she would’ve been if not in that office with you. It could- it could’ve been much worse.” He pauses for a moment, looking back at (Y/N), “I wish I would’ve just believed and trusted her when she said she had a good reason.”

Talia wipes her tears away; she still feels terrible about everything but knows (Y/N) would’ve told her the same exact thing that Eddie did. She squeezes his hand gently, “I know I’m not around you and the rest of her new family that much but I’ve heard a lot about everyone.” He looks up at her and she continues, “I’ve heard more about you and Chris than anyone else. She always has a blindingly bright smile on her face when she tells me about you two and I know without a shadow of a doubt that she loves you more than life itself.” Eddie nods as Talia squeezes his hand once more before dropping it and standing up to leave. Before she opens the door, she stops and looks back at him, “She still does. She wouldn’t hesitate for a second to take you back. Hell, I don’t even think she even let you go.”

Eddie kisses (Y/N) knuckles as Talia leaves, “I don’t deserve it but I hope to god you can forgive me for being so stupid...”

It’s not long before the door opens again, this time by Buck and Tommy. Eddie does his best to slap on a smile when he sees Chris right behind them. He watches his son take the seat Talia had been in previously and grab hold of (Y/N)’s hand, “Is she gonna be okay?” he asks hopefully looking up at his father.

Eddie nods reassuringly, “Yeah, she’s just sleeping so her body can recover.”

Chris nods and looks down at where his hand meets hers, “Where’s her bracelet?”

“They had to take it off so it wouldn’t get messed up during the surgery and recovery,” Eddie responds. In his peripheral, he sees Buck and Tommy patiently waiting their turn.

Chris seems deep in thought for a few seconds before stating, “She’s gonna kick their asses when she finds out. I gotta fix it.” With this, he gets up and exits the room on a mission. Buck goes after him, motioning for Eddie to stay put.

It’s quiet again as Eddie and Tommy listen to the steady beep of her heart. Finally, Tommy takes a seat. Eddie makes eye contact with him, “I’m sorry. Talia told me everything. I know I fucked up and I know she means the world to you.”

Tommy looks over at (Y/N) face and reaches up to brush her hair out of her eyes as he thinks. Taking a deep breath, he responds, “Just promise me that the next time you think about doing something stupid, we hit the mat first so I can knock some sense into you.”

Eddie chuckles, nodding, “I will.” It’s quiet again while Eddie debates with himself before finally pulling something out of his pocket and handing it to Tommy, “Does this count as something stupid?”

Tommy looks down at the ring box in his hand as his smile grows. After opening it, he answers, “Never in a million years.” He closes the box and hands it back to Eddie, “But you should know that Buck was looking forward to helping you pick it out. He’s gonna be heart broken.”

Eddie puts the box back in his pocket, “Technically, he did help me pick it out. Whether he remembers that or not is a different story.”

Tommy knits his brows together in confusion, “What?”

Eddie smiles, “I went with him when he bought you that bracelet a while back. He was looking through the cases while we waited on them to bag it up. I was zoned out thinking about (Y/N) when he slapped me on the shoulder and very excitedly pointed at a specific ring saying, ‘(Y/N) would love this one!’”

Tommy shakes his head chuckling, “So, you bought it?”

Eddie shrugs, “Not right then but after a few days of constantly thinking about it, I had to.” Tommy laughs but Eddie’s face drops. At the tilt of Tommy’s head, Eddie adds, “I held onto it, trying to find the right time to ask her but then she started acting weird and...”

Tommy sighs, “You still have it though. You didn’t let her go.”

Eddie shakes his head, “I couldn’t. I broke up with her because I was scared of getting hurt but it hurt so much more to do so. I thought maybe if I just distanced myself from her for a while that it would stop but if anything, it got worse.” He takes a deep breath, “I just hope she’ll forgive me because I don’t know how much longer I can take this ring burning a hole in my pocket.”

Tommy nods, “She will. She’ll do it in a heartbeat but then you gotta nut up and give her that ring.”

Eddie smiles, “Would it be too much to ask her to forgive me and marry me in the same conversation?”

Tommy shakes his head violently, “Absolutely not.”

Eddie laughs, “Good.”

Over the next few hours, people come and go. Everyone gets their own turn of checking on her and reassuring Eddie that she’ll be okay. Finally, with only Eddie in the room, she stirs. She squints up at the ceiling as she tries to process where she is. The sound of her moving her head to look around alerts Eddie who jerks up from where he lays on her arm, “Hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

She nods, trying to speak but her mouth is dry. Eddie hands her the bottle of water, Carla had brought him earlier, from the side table that and helps her take a few sips. When she pulls away, he sets the bottle back down on the table and brushes her hair from her face, “How are you feeling?”

She stares at him for a few seconds before whispering, “I’m just glad you’re here.”

He kisses her knuckles, “Of course I am, baby. I love you so much and I’m so sorry I doubted you.” The confusion on her face prompts him to add, “Talia told me what happened. I can’t believe I ever thought you’d do something like that. I should’ve known you had a good reason.” She smiles softly but he still feels the need to ask, “Will you forgive me?”

She nods immediately, “Of course.” Out of habit she reaches to fidget with her bracelet but finds it missing, “I’m gonna kick someone’s ass.”

Eddie laughs heartily, “Chris said you would.”

She reaches up to cup his cheek, “I love you.”

He leans into her touch, “I love you too.”

The moment is interrupted when the door opens again but both are immediately delighted to see Carla opening the door for Chris who is overjoyed to see (Y/N) awake. He takes a seat as Carla waves with a smile before closing the door to give the small family a moment. With one hand, Chris reaches over and takes (Y/N)’s left wrist and wraps her bracelet back where it belongs with the other. She smiles brightly but Eddie is suspicious, “Chris, did you pester the nursing staff for that.”

He grins proudly, “Yup, I told them my step mom would kick their butts if they didn’t give it to me.”

Eddie and (Y/N) share an amused look before she ruffles Christopher’s hair, “Thanks, buddy.” He grins and reaches up to take her hand in his.

Eddie’s eyes flick between the two before he stands and joins Chris on the other side of the bed. (Y/N) is slightly confused when he places his hands on Christopher’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Chris listens intently before nodding incessantly, “Yes! Do it. Do it now.”

Eddie grins and ruffles his son’s hair, “Alright, alright calm down. I will.” He places himself between Chris and (Y/N). She is utterly bumfuzzled but Chris is dancing in his seat excitedly. Eddie removes something from his pocket and drops to one knee causing her to slap her hand over her mouth. The man smiles up at her, “I know this isn’t at all the ideal time or place to ask you this but,” he looks around the room and then back at her, “I was very recently reminded that we aren’t promised tomorrow, especially in our line of work.” He opens the ring box and holds it up to her, “(Y/N), will you marry me?”

Chris cheers happily upon hearing her answer, “Yes!” Tears of joy fill both Eddie and (Y/N)’s eyes as he slips the ring on her finger, stands, and kisses her with every ounce of love that he can.

The couple parts when the door opens again as Buck and Tommy poke their heads in. Tommy grins, immediately noticing the ring on her finger. Slightly confused having missed the small but important detail, Buck stutters, “Sorry, Carla told us she’s awake. Are-are we interrupting something? We can come back later.”

Tommy pushes past his boyfriend and makes his way to (Y/N)’s right side, making eye contact with Eddie, “I told you she would. Does your leg feel better without that hole burning in your pocket?”

Eddie nods, laughing as identical looks of confusion settle on (Y/N) and Buck’s faces as Buck paces over to Tommy’s side. Eddie looks down at her, “I showed it to him earlier.”

Understanding replaces her confusion but Buck is still lost, “What hole? Showed who what? I’m so confused.” (Y/N) holds her hand up to Buck showing off her ring. He gasps for words as excitement floods his entire body and he takes her hand in his to inspect it. None of them notice as the doctor stops in the open doorway, observes what is happening, and then immediately makes his way to the waiting room. After a minute or so, Buck’s face drops to disappointment as he looks up at Eddie and Tommy, letting go of her hand, “I kinda wanted to help pick it out...” Tommy pats his head before wrapping his arm around his waist.

Eddie shakes his head chuckling, “Do you not recognize it? You were so damn sure she’d like it that you bruised my arm to get my attention.”

It takes a few seconds but realization finally smacks across his face as he gasps, “This is that ring?”

Eddie nods as (Y/N) who is admiring the ring confirms, “He wasn’t wrong. I love it.” Everyone smiles as Eddie kisses the top of her head. Before anyone can say anything else, the door opens and their friends and family flood in. Everyone gushes over the ring, offers the couple their congratulations, and states how glad they are that (Y/N) is okay.

Talia takes a seat on the edge of the bed to (Y/N)’s right, “The doctor had to step out of the way of the stampede after he told us you had a ring on that you weren’t admitted with.” (Y/N) laughs, barely able to spot the doctor in the doorway through the crowd of friends and family. She gives him a thumbs up and he nods with a smile as he returns to his rounds.

She looks to Talia and takes her hand in her own but before she can say it, Talia assures, “I know what you’re gonna say. Eddie already did.” (Y/N) looks to Eddie who is locked in a tight hug from Bobby with a smile on his face that is bigger than she’s ever seen. Talia leans over to whisper in her ear, “You weren’t kidding when you said Tommy is wrapped around Buck’s finger.” As (Y/N) turns back to look at Talia, she spots Tommy who is wrapped around Buck from behind. Both are smiling brightly as Buck and Maddie are already discussing bachelor party plans.

“They’re next, I’m calling it now,” (Y/N) tells Talia who laughs loudly. Their hands stay locked together as (Y/N) looks back to Eddie who now has an arm around Christopher’s shoulders as they chat excitedly with Carla. Carla notices her looking and nods in her direction as she shoves the two toward her. Eddie takes the hand she offers him and Chris climbs up to sit beside her. An hour or so passes before a nurse squeezes through the crowded hospital room. She smiles at (Y/N) before proceeding to check her vitals and give her fresh bandages. Only when (Y/N) is nodding off and very obviously struggling to stay awake does everyone wish her well, promise they’ll visit again later, and head home. Soon, the only ones left are her boys. She kisses the top of Christopher’s head as she notices he has fallen asleep carefully tucked into her side. She pats the right side of the bed for Eddie to join her. The three of them have to scoot in real close to fit on the hospital bed but after the week she’s had, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

More 911

Main Masterlist

#911 #911 show #911 imagine #911 imagines #eddie diaz #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz imagines #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz x y/n #y/n #make up #injury #injured reader #hospital setting #hospital

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year

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Welcome to the world of Fake Karens, an emerging subgenre of content that is taking the internet by storm. The Karen is a reliable stock character in viral videos, whose smugness, entitlement, and outrage-inducing behavior is likely to garner hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of views. Large accounts like KarenClips, which has more than 393,000 followers on X (formerly Twitter), and Super Krazy Karens on TikTok, take a curatorial approach to such content, posting videos with captions such as “Karen at Starbucks Strikes Again!” and “Karen taking Ls!” In so doing, they capitalize on the current cultural appetite both for righteous outrage and, in some cases, for retribution, with many commenters working diligently to try to identify the Karens in the videos for public shaming purposes. (The fact that they’re big meme accounts that do not credit the source material also accomplishes the goal of obfuscating their origins.) One would assume that, in the real world, there is no shortage of entitled white women with bad haircuts behaving badly in public. Yet seemingly, within the viral ecosystem, the demand for genuine Karen videos outweighs the supply, as there’s increasingly been a number of viral Karen videos that were clearly produced under professional (or, at least, semi-professional) circumstances.

#tiktok #social media #karens #cursed

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 24 days

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𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Eight

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You're sitting at your desk, hunched over your computer, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you once again. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum, casting an eerie glow over the sea of cubicles that stretch out before you. It's another monotonous day at the office, and you can't help but feel a sense of restlessness creeping in.

Just as you're about to give up and head to the break room for a much-needed coffee break, Karen pops by your desk. "Hey," she says brightly, "I need some prints done for a presentation later today. Can you help me out?"

You force a smile and nod, grateful for the distraction. "Of course," you reply, standing up and stretching your legs. "Lead the way."

Karen leads you to the printer room, which is tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the office. The air is thick with the smell of toner and paper, and there are stacks of printouts piled haphazardly everywhere. You can hear the low hum of printers churning out pages as you make your way through the maze of machines.

"I need these printed double-sided on 11x17 paper," Karen explains as she hands you a USB drive filled with the necessary files. And as she speaks, her eyes seem to sparkle with excitement—a stark contrast to your own weary gaze.

You take the USB drive from her and insert it into one of the nearby printers. As it begins to churn out pages, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction—a small victory amidst an otherwise mundane day. You haven’t fallen asleep yet. You watch as each page emerges from the printer, crisp and clean, ready to be assembled into Karen's presentation.

As you stack up the finished prints, Karen comes back into the room, leans against one of the nearby machines and crosses her arms over her chest. "So," she says casually as she watches you work, "how are things going? I haven't seen much of you lately."

You pause for a moment before answering—unsure of what answer Karen is looking for. Lucky for you, she doesn't wait for an answer, just goes into a rant about someone not following office policy. You glance up at Karen, surprised by her sudden change of topic. "Oh, you know," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant as you finish stacking the prints. "Just busy with work and stuff."

Karen doesn't seem particularity interested in listening to your response. Instead she mutters about needing to run to the accounting department to pick up some files before leaving you alone in the copy room.

You're in the middle of stacking the printed pages when a sudden wave of drowsiness washes over you. Your eyelids flutter, and you struggle to keep them open. It's as if an invisible force is pulling you down, dragging you into a deep, dark abyss.

You try to shake off the sensation, but it's no use. Your legs buckle beneath you, and you stumble backward, your head striking the corner of a nearby printer with a sharp crack.

The world spins, and then suddenly, you're not in the copy room anymore. The smell of toner and paper is replaced by the scent of ancient tomes and a cool, otherworldly breeze. You're sprawled on the marble floor of a vast library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with books that seem to whisper secrets.

Matthew, Morpheus' raven, flutters down from one of the shelves, his beady eyes widening in surprise. "Whoa! Where did you come from?" he caws, hopping closer to you.

You groan, your head throbbing from where it struck the printer. Slowly, you sit up, rubbing your temple and wincing at the pain. "Great," you mutter under your breath. "Just what I needed."

Footsteps echo through the library as Morpheus himself appears, his presence commanding yet ethereal. His dark eyes narrow as he takes in your disheveled appearance. "You have arrived most unexpectedly," he remarks, his voice like velvet.

"Yeah," you reply, your voice strained from the headache. "Narcolepsy struck again."

Morpheus kneels beside you, his expression softening just a fraction. He reaches out a hand but hesitates before touching you. "Are you well?" he asks, concern threading through his words.

You nod slowly but can't suppress a grimace. "Just a massive headache," you admit. "I hit my head pretty hard."

Morpheus' eyes darken with something akin to guilt or worry. He gestures to Matthew with a flick of his wrist. "Fetch Lucienne," he commands softly.

Matthew flaps his wings and takes off immediately, leaving you alone with Morpheus in the cavernous library.

"You should not have to endure this pain," Morpheus murmurs as he sits beside you. He reaches out again and this time allows his fingers to lightly brush against your forehead. A cool sensation spreads from his touch, easing some of the throbbing ache.

You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the relief. When you open them again, you find Morpheus studying you intently.

"I'm sorry for startling everyone," you say with a weak smile.

"There is no need for apologies," Morpheus replies gently. "Your condition is beyond your control."

Lucienne arrives swiftly, carrying a small vial of something that glows faintly in the dim light of the library. She kneels beside you and hands it to Morpheus without a word.

He uncorks it and offers it to you. "Drink this," he instructs softly. "It will help with the pain."

You take the vial gratefully and swallow its contents. A soothing warmth spreads through your body, dulling the sharp edges of your headache.

"Thank you," you murmur as the pain begins to ebb away.

Morpheus gives a small nod before helping you to your feet with gentleness. He has a frown upon his lips and his face is etched with worry. "You say you hit your head? That is cause for concern."

You nod, feeling the residual throbbing. "Yeah, it wasn't the best landing."

Morpheus' eyes flicker with a mixture of concern and determination. "We should ensure no lasting harm," he says, his voice firm. "Lucienne, prepare a place for them to rest."

Lucienne nods briskly and heads off without another word, leaving you alone with Morpheus once more. He gently guides you to a nearby chair, the cool marble beneath your feet sending shivers up your spine.

As you sit down, Matthew flutters back into the room, landing on the armrest beside you. "How're you holding up?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.

You manage a small smile. "Better now, thanks to Morpheus and Lucienne. I think I really cracked by head open, haven't had a headache this bad in ages. I'm usually good at landing softly…"

Morpheus stands by your side, his presence both comforting and worrying. He had better things to do than fuss over you. "You should rest," he insists softly. "The Dreaming will keep you safe while your mortal body is tended to."

You take a deep breath and nod again, feeling the warmth from the vial still coursing through you. "Alright," you agree reluctantly.

Lucienne returns with a plush blanket and pillow, setting them on a nearby chaise lounge. "Here," she says gently. "This should be comfortable."

With their help, you make your way over to the chaise lounge and settle down, pulling the blanket around yourself. The softness of the pillow cradles your head as you close your eyes, exhaustion finally taking its toll.

"Thank you," you murmur again, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

Morpheus lingers for a moment longer before stepping back, allowing Lucienne to take over. She watches over you like a guardian as sleep begins to claim you.

Matthew perches on a nearby shelf, keeping a watchful eye as well. "Rest easy," he says softly. As your eyelids grow heavy and your breathing steadies, the sounds of the library fade into a soothing background hum. The pain in your head recedes further into memory, replaced by an overwhelming sense of tranquility.

And with that final thought, sleep takes you fully into its embrace.

"It's been days," Morpheus' voice cuts through the silence like a knife, laden with an emotion he rarely shows. Worry.

Matthew's feathers rustle as he shifts uncomfortably on his perch. "Yeah, it's not like them to be away this long. You think something happened?"

Lucienne's measured tone follows. "We can't rule out the possibility. They have never stayed away for this duration without informing us."

Morpheus paces back and forth, his footsteps barely audible on the marble floor. His eyes are dark pools of concern, fixed on some distant point. "They did mention their episodes have become more frequent," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That means they should be here more often. With me."

Matthew flaps his wings and lands closer to Morpheus. "Boss, we gotta find out what's going on. What if they're in trouble?"

Lucienne nods in agreement. "We should reach out, my lord. Their absence is unusual and worrying."

Morpheus stops pacing and turns to face them both, his expression resolute yet shadowed by concern. "You are right," he concedes. "We must ascertain their well-being."

Lucienne steps forward, her eyes meeting Morpheus'. "Shall I send a messenger? Perhaps someone could visit their mortal realm?"

Matthew's feathers ruffle as he hops closer to Morpheus, determination in his beady eyes. "Boss, let me go. I can search for them in the waking world."

Morpheus stops pacing and regards his raven with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "You would do this?"

Matthew nods vigorously. "Yeah, I know the way. Plus, I'm quick and can cover a lot of ground. They’re our friend and your— we can’t just sit around here."

Lucienne steps forward, her face softened by concern. "It's a sound plan, my lord. Matthew has spent the most time with them in the Waking. If anyone can find them swiftly, it’s him."

Morpheus nods slowly, a flicker of hope igniting in his dark eyes. "Very well," he says, turning to Matthew. "Go swiftly and return with news of their well-being."

Matthew spreads his wings wide, casting a shadow on the marble floor. "I'll be back before you know it," he promises before taking off in a flurry of feathers.

You wake up to the sensation of cool grass beneath you and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. Opening your eyes, you find yourself staring at a landscape that's achingly familiar—Fiddler's Green, with its rolling hills and vibrant foliage. But something feels off. Everything looks much larger than it should, as if you've shrunk.

You try to sit up but instead feel a strange weight shift in your body. Looking down, you see sleek black feathers where your hands should be. Panic grips you as you realize you're no longer in your human form. Instead, you've become a raven.

"What...?" you croak, startled by the guttural sound that escapes your beak.

Fiddler's Green himself appears before you, his kind eyes filled with sorrow and understanding. "Ah, you've awakened," he says gently, kneeling down to your level. "I feared this might happen."

You try to speak, but the words come out as unintelligible squawks and caws. Frustration wells up inside you until Fiddler's Green places a comforting hand on your head.

"Calm yourself," he soothes. "You can still communicate. Focus on your thoughts; You will find your tongue."

Taking a deep breath—or at least the raven equivalent—you concentrate on forming coherent sentences. it takes you a few tries, but you finally manage to get the hang of your new tongue. "Why am I like this? What's happened to me?"

Fiddler's Green sighs deeply, his expression one of deep regret. "It seems that while you slept in the Dreaming, your mortal body succumbed to its injuries."

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had always said that your narcolepsy would kill you one day. "I'm... dead?"

"Yes," Fiddler's Green confirms softly. "Your spirit now inhabits the form of a raven."

You shake your head—or rather, tilt it from side to side—struggling to process the information. "But why a raven? How is this possible?"

"Those who pass in their sleep belong to the Dreaming, taking on the form of a raven. The same happened to Matthew." Fiddler's Green tells you. "If I remember correctly, you have been missing for nearly ten days. Lord Morpheus is besides himself."

10 days? What was your body doing in those ten days? Lying in the copy room? Don't be silly, you tell yourself. Karen would have found your body… the question is what happened after you had been found.

"Matthew has been desperately searching for you in the Waking," Fiddler's green continues as your mind spins.

Your heart—or whatever beats within a raven's chest—pounds as you take in Fiddler's Green's words. The realization of your death, of Matthew's frantic search, Morpheus being beside himself, sends you reeling. Without another word, you spread your wings and take off into the sky, your new form carrying you effortlessly through the air.

You navigate the familiar paths of the Dreaming with an instinct you never knew you had. Every beat of your wings feels both foreign and strangely right, as if you'd been born to fly all along. You find yourself heading toward the library where Lucienne would be found. She'd know what to do.

As you swoop through the grand entrance, Lucienne glances up from her book, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the sight of you perched on a nearby shelf. "Another raven?" she murmurs, half to herself. "I don't recall summoning any more."

You gather your thoughts, focusing on forming coherent words with your new avian voice. "Hi Luce," you croak, the sound rough and unfamiliar to your ears.

Her eyes widen in shock, the book slipping from her hands and thudding softly against the floor. "Y/N? Is that really you?" Her voice trembles with disbelief and a touch of hope.

"Yeah,” you manage, flapping your wings slightly to steady yourself. "It's me."

Lucienne's expression crumples into one of heartbreak as she steps closer, her hand reaching out as if to touch you but stopping short. "Oh, Y/N... what happened? How did this come to be?"

You recount Fiddler's Green's explanation, each word feeling like a jagged stone in your throat. Lucienne listens intently, her face a mask of sorrow and understanding.

"You must go to Morpheus," she insists once you've finished. Her voice is firm but laden with grief. "He needs to know what's happened He has— He is not taking your absence well."

You shake your head vehemently, feathers ruffling in agitation. "No, I can't. Not like this."

Lucienne's eyes soften with empathy but also resolve. "He has been searching for you tirelessly, Y/N. He needs to know. Your absence, it wears on him."

"I can't," you repeat, your voice breaking slightly. The thought of facing Morpheus in this form—of seeing the pain in his eyes—is too much to bear.

Without waiting for further argument, you spread your wings and launch yourself into the air, leaving Lucienne standing there with tears glistening in her eyes.

As you fly through the corridors of the Dreaming, the wind ruffles your feathers and carries away the echoes of Lucienne's pleas.

Date Published: 8/28/24

Last Edit: 8/28/24

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#morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #the sandman #dream the endless #sandman x reader #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless x reader

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raelynnteam · 1 year

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Update: please see the pinned post. We don't need to reblog this post right now

Jaina Raelynn (doc #409738) has been falsely accused of misconduct and forcibly removed from the other trans prisoners and allies who support her and keep her safe.

She is on hunger strike until she is returned to her unit where she is safe. The prison claims they moved her for her safety, but they are putting her at risk. She is currently on day four of her hunger strike, and it as risk of severe medical complications.

Call Stafford Creek Correctional Facility on Wednesday 6/14 and ask them to move Jaina back to her original unit now.

Call (360) 537-1800

Superintendent Jason Bennett: dial option 3 then 6

Associate superintendent Karen Arnold dial option 3 then 5 then 1

The voicemail messages have the wrong name, but you are dialing the correct people.

Use this script on your call:

"Hello, my name is [name] and I am a community member who is concerned for the health and safety of Jaina Raelynn, doc # 409738. I am aware that she is on a hunger strike and won't eat again until she knows she is moved to where she feels safe. She needs to be moved to the same pod, with access to the same dayroom, as Ashley Raelynn (896177) and Pharaoh Grayson (807868). I do not believe she will be safe anywhere else."

Please see the pinned post for more details.

Use the hastag #helpjaina to share when you call!

If you're seeing this on Thursday, please still do call! If it's after that, check the pinned post for updates first.

#helpjaina #signal boost #prison abolition #call zap #trans #mtf #trans woman

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yams-here · 2 months

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#TheBirdAndTheBeeStrikeAgain

part 2

Part 1

#art #digital art #original art #comic art #dcshg 2019 #dcshg #dc super hero girls #dc superhero girls #carter x karen #carter hall x karen beecher #bumblebee x hawkman #hawkwaspshipping #hey if you see a misspelling #no you didn't #The bird and the bee strike again

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captainx-camino · 9 days

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I'm about to be the Internet's most hated person again but, uhhhh...I'm a chronic over analyzer, so, deal with it.

So, Jeremy - and here me out on this - wasn't the cold-blooded murder kid the movie wants you to believe he is.

*insert shocked and horrified reaction here*

Yeah, that one will do....

Anyway...

Okay, so first of all: Jeremy's parents are AWFUL.

His father is clearly an abusive drunk and his mother is clearly a traumatized beaten wife who makes excuses for her husband's abuse.

Jeremy wasn't lying about what his parents were - we can see that through their behavior when they're shown and by small clues in the background of the shot.

His father probably became abusive due to feeling he could no longer fulfill his role in the household and succumbed to drinking to patch his depression.

His mother probably took the brunt of this, causing her to fall into fawning and do the only thing she could do to keep the household together. A very common response to domestic violence is to dote on the child in an aggressively overbearing way - which we see her do.

Additionally, the only person we learn of the incident from is the 'Karen' of the town - who states the boy was bad news. But was he really? Or was he a troubled child dealing with severe abuse at home and escaping into himself?

Was he a 'bad kid'? Or was he just different?

(There are some other points but I have like 10 min to write this so you get what you get.)

Personally, one of the things that really drove home for me that Jeremy wasn't the monster he was made out to be is how he died:

You want to tell me that this "cold-blooded killer" went to his treehouse to hide from the cops after committing his awful crimes? That doesn't sound like some crazed murderer to me - that sounds like a scared child running away to the one place he felt secure.

Which he still does, by the way. As a fucking ghost who has now been trapped in his living nightmare with the two people who probably abused him for 20-some-odd years.

With the given evidence, I shall construct you a possible alternative series of events that makes far more sense than his simply killing his parents...

-Jeremy comes home from school, his dad is already in a mood.

-Mom is baking in the kitchen in an attempt to forget the throbbing in her right eye

-Someone, possibly Jeremy, makes an offhanded remark that unintentionally triggers his father.

-The situation escalates with Jeremy becoming the target of his father's aggression this time.

-the father, already several sheets to the wind, goes after Jeremy in a fit of rage.

-the altercation continues, eventually ending up with Jeremy and his father tussling in the garage.

-Jeremy grabs at his father's abandoned tools in an attempt to protect himself and lands a hit, killing his father.

-Jeremy's mother, a victim of abuse herself, is too traumatized to react appropriately to the situation.

-Because her coping mechanism is to fawn, she reacts negatively towards Jeremy.

-Her first reaction is to scream and panic, asking Jeremy what he has done and believing that he has ruined their family that she has worked so hard to keep intact.

-Her defensiveness causes her to lash out at Jeremy and attack him.

-Jeremy is once again forced to defend himself, knowing no other way of fending her off.

-this altercation also ends in a defensive strike towards his assailant with another convenient item within the room the attack took place.

-After the incident, Jeremy, a child, quickly realizes that he is going to be in trouble.

-Jeremy's first instinct upon hearing the approaching police sirens is not to flee custody, but to hide in his childhood treehouse.

-When authorities inevitably find him and coax him down, he slips, breaking his neck instantly.

-This untimely demise causes him to be stuck in the world of the living with no other contact besides the people who neglected and abused him, causing him to become desperate for escape.

-That desperation was answered by the single person who was able to see him in 20+ years and Astrid just got caught in that crossfire.

I'm gonna say it now because I know how y'all are: This post is not to justify what he did to either of his parents or Astrid. It is simply what I have gathered ACTUALLY happened leading up to Jeremy's death and his possible true motivation to return to the world of the living outside of "ooooOOOOOOoooo so he can KILL AGAIN~" which is frankly just boring.

You don't have to believe it. I am not saying this interpretation is canon.

It's just what I picked up on watching the film.

Do with that what you do.

#jeremy frazier #Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

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diazsdimples · 5 months

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday

I'm getting to everyone's snippets tonight, I promise! I'm a few days behind cause lectures have just started up again 😬 tagged for Tuesday by @thewolvesof1998 and @elvensorceress thank you friends 🫶. Also I'm updating my taglist for the first time ever so please interact with this post if you want to be on it!

Figured I should probably get cracking on my 7x06 spec fic before the episode comes out so please enjoy a bit of Buck getting roasted by his best friend and boyfriend.

Eddie frowns, looking a little confused. “I thought you guys were all good?” “We are,” Buck replies, his eyes never leaving his parents as he watches them greet guests, both looking the brightest and bubbliest he’s seen them in years. From afar he’s sure they look like a regular, happy older couple enjoying their daughter’s wedding, but Buck can’t hide the way seeing them still makes his gut twist uncomfortably. Tommy snorts beside him, bringing him back to reality. “Except Evan decided it was a good idea not to mention me until today” Eddie does a little double take, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “Wait, you haven’t told them yet?” “I’m gonna go find Denny,” Christopher announces, bored of listening to the adults. “Is that okay, Dad?” “Yeah, of course bud. See you in a bit,” Eddie says, ruffling Christopher’s hair. The three of them watch as he shoots off, making his way towards Hen, Karen and Denny as fast as his legs can carry him. When he’s safely out of earshot, Eddie rounds on Buck again, fixing him with an incredulous look. “Seriously, Buck, in what world did you think springing this on them today was a good idea?” “That’s what I said!” Tommy says, flicking Buck a smirk as he squeezes his side. “Hey, you’re meant to be on my side!” Buck protests, elbowing Tommy in the ribs, but it’s all forgiven when Tommy brushes a light kiss against Buck’s temple. “And I didn’t want to tell them in person, I thought doing it like this would be… easier,” Buck finishes lamely, aware of how delusional he’s sounding. “Uh huh, cause telling your parents big, life changing things has always been easy in person hasn’t it,” Eddie deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrow at Buck in a way that screams you’re an idiot and you know it. “Listen, I wasn’t exactly thinking -” “Clearly,” Tommy and Eddie say in unison, turning to one another with shit-eating grins as Buck gives them both a flat look, before continuing. “- but, I didn’t want them to gripe at me and say they would have rather heard it face to face than from behind a phone.” “I think they probably would have had a go at you either way, honestly,” Eddie says with a sympathetic shrug, and he reaches over to squeeze Buck’s shoulder. Buck sighs and burrows closer into Tommy’s side, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Tommy runs his hand down Buck’s spine, rubbing at each spinous process as he encourages Buck to relax. Buck softens a little, biting back a whine as Tommy nuzzles his nose against Buck’s hairline. “You’re probably right,” he admits with a sigh. He’d really wanted nothing more than to heal his relationship with his parents but turns out it takes more than a little lightning strike and some shitty therapy sessions to mend years of trauma.

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @bidisasterevankinard @neverevan

@babybibuck @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @daffi-990

@jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @bibuckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon

@cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @nmcggg

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @weewootruck @rainbow-nerdss @kitteneddiediaz @epicbuddieficrecs

@smilingbuckley @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz @loserdiaz @thekristen999

@loveyouanyway (Remember to interact with this post if you want to be on my taglist and lmk if you want to be removed)

#james writes #7x06 spec fic #bucktommy wedding fic #bucktommy #bucktommy wip #tevan #kinkley #tuck #911 abc #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #911 buddie #911 fanfic #911

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shiorimakibawrites · 5 months

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Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @beezusvreeland , @indestructeible , @what-i-call-men , @reblog-reblog666 , @flynnethenerd , @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment , @yarrystyleeza , @bellaxgiornata Also posted on AO3

June 8: Attempting to fix the tags along with tagging those I missed after temporarily misplacing my tag list.

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appalled by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #part 1 of 2 #cat man do #a03 link

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