#thank you so much for the prompt karen!

[alchemistc]

Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

[pastafossa]

"Waking Nightmare" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic)🌧️

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 7. Took an extra day to work on it cause this is a very angsty one, since our prompt was 'Nightmare' and I went with the classic, 'he accidently swings at you while asleep' trope (many thanks to @sunflowersandsapphires and @shouldbestudying41 for helping me with our chats on this one!). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

Warnings for this chapter: BIG angst warning on this one, along with a warning for being hit (not intentional), nightmares, guilt, blood, Matt's convinced he committed DV so that is discussed.

It began, like so many disasters did, with a series of small fractures. 

What started as a horrible week turned out to be the harbinger of a truly terrible month for Matt. Despite near-constant, frantic late nights of casework at Nelson and Murdock, the firm lost two important cases in short order. Both cases had been a long shot when it came to success, but that had done little to soften the blow to Foggy, Karen, and Matt—especially Matt, who’d made promises to client families that he’d been unable to keep.

Matt’s work as Daredevil hadn’t gone much better. A new gang had moved into the Kitchen and set up shop, staking out a territory drenched in blood, ash, and terror. Matt had thrown himself into that fight with the same determination that he always did, and while he’d made serious progress breaking down their operation, there had still been losses. As far as he was concerned, the lives lost in the past month—the three targeted victims in the burning apartment complex he’d been unable to reach in time, and the two store clerks shot and killed in their shops before he could make it to them—were caused by his own personal failings. Despite your best attempts to convince him otherwise, the perceived blood on his hands had only driven him to devote himself even more ferociously to his work at night and during the day.

That devotion snowballed rapidly into a lack of sleep, often the first casualty in Matt’s life when things got stressful or busy. The exhaustion only sent him spiraling further into bouts of anger and a retreat behind his emotional walls. He snapped at you whenever you tried to talk to him about it, shying away from the kind touches he felt he didn’t deserve. While a quiet apology almost always came later in the night, soft and full of regret, it didn’t change the fact that you could see him beginning to splinter and crumble beneath the pressure he’d placed on himself, your Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. You’d gone through this with him before, the periods in which it all seemed to go wrong and he refused to strap on the lifevests you stubbornly threw to him over and over again. As best you could tell, when these storms came there was no other option but to simply plant your roots deep and ride it out with him, ensure he knew he wasn’t alone. And when he finally fell to pieces, giving beneath the weight, you’d make sure he had a loving hand to help him glue his bloody, broken pieces back together. 

You’d thought that fracturing would come from something on the streets. Another death, maybe, or sheer exhaustion. 

You’d never expected it to happen here.

Not at home. 

“You’re going out?” You watched him dig through his father’s trunk for his suit, his back to you. He’d only just returned from another late night at the office. The only reason you were seeing him at all was because you’d woken up thirsty, heading out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The distance between you both abruptly felt so much farther than a meager ten feet, so much harder to cross. Still, you tried. “It’s almost two. Some rest might—” “Don’t,” he said tightly, yanking his mask out and tossing it back onto the couch. He pulled out the rest of his suit next along with his billy clubs. His movements were unnaturally stiff, almost robotic. “I need to…” He sucked in an uneven breath, reaching up to run an exhausted hand through his dark hair.  After a moment, he dropped his hand, going back to what he’d been doing. If anything, your implication had only made him more determined, his voice now resolute and closed off. “Our appeals aren’t going well. The city’s quiet for the first time in a month, but that might not last. I need to go out. Just for an hour or two. Go back to bed.”

You gnawed on your lower lip in thought as he stalked over to the couch. Without his shirt, it was so much easier to see the lines of stress and tension cutting their way through him like winding roads, his muscles drawn up tight and hard. The bruising along the canvas of his back and ribs stood out with every neon flash of the billboard beyond the windows, adding a layer of blood red to the spiraling waves of deep blue and sullen indigo painted on his skin. That he’d been hurt even with the protection of the suit told you just how bad it had gotten out there. He needed rest, desperately. You both knew it. But you couldn’t bear the thought of trying to keep him here, forcing him to listen to the sounds of the city without being able to do anything about it. It was a promise you’d made to yourself, once, and you intended to keep it.

“Ok, D.” You kept your tone gentle. He’d hear you even across the room. “Ok. Come back safe.”

Some of his tension eased at your agreement, and he slowed where he’d been opening up his suit, preparing to step into it. Had he really thought you’d fight him? 

“I…” He shook his head after a moment. He turned until you could see him in profile, that same red light now highlighting the dark, bruised shadows beneath his eyes. But for just a moment, there was the barest softening in his expression, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. You knew this look, this hand stretched out through the bars of the darkened prison cell he’d found himself trapped within. “I love you,” he said softly. “So much. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sorry.” 

“I know. Don’t worry about me for now. We’ll work it out. Just be careful tonight.” You tilted your head as he took a few tentative steps towards you. You took your own small step, cautious like you were approaching a stray who might run if you moved too quickly. He lifted his hand once you were within reach, the back of his fingers stroking lightly, tenderly against your cheek. You turned and brushed your lips fondly against his fingers, your eyes fluttering shut as you soaked in the warmth of his skin. It was the most intentional touch you’d gotten from him in a week, outside those moments in his sleep when he held you close, and god, were you grateful for it, something in you easing at the return of his affection. It meant he was coming out of this, swimming back up to the light and out of the void he’d been lost in. Sometimes you wondered if him denying himself your touch wasn’t just another way he punished himself when his darker thoughts seized hold of him. “I love you, too.”

“Go back to bed, sweetheart.” He tipped your chin up so he could place a tired kiss on your forehead before he let you go and returned to his suit. His motions, at least, seemed more settled now. “I’ll be back in an hour if it’s quiet, I promise. I’ll find a way to make it up to you this weekend.”

You left him there in the living area, more content than you’d felt in weeks. Sure, the past month had been shit for you both, but you were coming out of it now just like always. You fell asleep comfortably with that knowledge, cradling it inside you against your heart as you drifted off. 

You weren’t sure what it was that woke you later. Not at first, anyway. The bedroom was dark and quiet, save for the usual sounds of the city at night that leaked in through the closed windows. Matt’s arms weren’t around you, but it was possible he hadn’t gotten back yet. Without any other signs of danger, you gave a soft huff of irritation. Figures. Waking up over nothing. You shifted your head around on the pillow until you found a nice cold spot, closed your eyes, and began to drift back off. 

Then you heard it again behind you.  

Your brow furrowed, eyes blinking back open.

Right, now you knew it wasn’t just a dream. 

The sound you’d heard wasn’t quite a moan. It wasn’t a word, either. Hell, you didn’t know what to call it, exactly, but it definitely wasn’t a happy noise, that much you knew. This sounded… almost pained, hitched and edged with something like panic. You blearily rolled over to get a better look, still half-asleep.

Apparently Matt had gotten back while you were asleep, the shadowy outline of him curled up on the opposite side of the bed. He was also facing away from you, which was… odd. Most nights, he slept with you in his arms—or him in yours on particularly bad nights. That he’d either consciously or unconsciously placed this much distance between you would have stirred the smoldering embers of worry if you’d been more awake. It wasn’t right that he was over ther, curled in on himself, small and isolated, a lonely island in the sea of silk sheets. As you watched, he twitched restlessly, before making that same small, pained noise you’d heard before. Or was it scared? 

Nightmare, you thought sleepily. That explained the distance. He’d probably just rolled away in his sleep. You yawned, untangling yourself enough from your cocoon of blankets that you start crawling over towards him. Clearly this was one of those nights when he was the one that needed to be held. You weren’t entirely sure why your presence helped to soothe his nightmares, but for whatever reason, your arms around him and your breathing against his back, your heartbeat pressed against his back, was often all he needed. Even if he woke up when you got over to him, he’d have an easier time falling back asleep with you holding him. He always did. Especially after such a terrible month. 

You yawned again when you finally settled down behind him, throwing one arm over his waist and spooning affectionately up against his back. He stirred slightly at that, his body going tense and hard, his chest resonating with a soft growl. But he quickly quieted, soothed at the sound of your voice.

“It’s ok, Matt,” you said sleepily, breathing slowly, intentionally against the hard line of his back. “You’re ok, sweetheart. Just a bad dream.” You tucked your legs up behind his, nuzzling over onto his pillow, hunting for him even as your eyes fell shut again. You’d kick yourself later, for what you did next. 

Without thinking, you leaned in… and brushed a firm kiss against the back of his neck. 

Just like that, the peace, the calm was shattered. 

A wild snarl filled the air, followed by a sudden, blinding explosion of pain across your face that lit up the black behind your eyes like a skyline of fireworks. Before you could even cry out, you’d been thrown clear of the bed. You only just avoiding cracking your temple on the corner of Matt’s nightstand. But what your head missed, the rest of your body didn’t. As you slid across the nightstand and came crashing to the ground, you brought down every last object on the nightstand with you, glass and metal shattering somewhere far away from where you were, the whole of the world gone thick and quiet. 

Things got fuzzy then, a sickening carnival maze of light spinning in your vision every time you blinked. Your dazed thoughts were thick, slow to come together. But, still, you tried, because something was very, very wrong. 

Matt. 

Yes. You needed to find Matt. He was probably out on the streets still. It was the only way someone could have broken in just to hit you like an asshole. You weren’t sure where you were crawling too exactly, but away from the threat felt like a good start. As you moved, something hot and wet began to pour down your face in steady streams, irritating and coppery whenever it made it into your mouth. Fortunately, that was a distant problem. You could worry about whatever was on your face later. Your only concern at the moment was holding your attacker off until Matt could get here and kick some fucking ass. 

A pair of feet slammed against the floor, someone calling out, panicked and frantic. The sound was far too garbled for you to understand it immediately, but what it did tell you was that your attacker was still close by. There wasn’t anything around you that you could easily use to defend yourself, or at least, there wasn’t until your hand bumped into something long and metallic. You snatched it up, ignoring the sudden appearance of pain in your palm as you did so. You dragged it with you, metal squealing across the floorboards as you scrambled on your hands and knees. In seconds, you’d made it out of the bedroom and into the living area. 

Good. When Matt came through the rooftop door, he’d have less distance to cross to get to you. You’d also be able to see your attacker better in the flash of the billboard lights, though the flashing sea of red light made your eyes water and burn. But you could also feel your vision clearing, which was great. You’d need it. 

A shaking, trembling hand brushed against your shoulder. 

You rose up swiftly on your knees, metal rod clutched tight in both hands. “Get away from me!” you snarled, putting every last ounce of strength you had into your motion as you twisted and swung. 

And Matt—

What?

—snapped his hand up, catching the lamp rod just before it could hit him in the face. 

“...Matt?” you asked shakily, unable to hide your confusion. “It was you?”

“This can’t be happening, no, no no no,” he choked out tearfully, his breath coming panicked and wild. His tone was so ragged you almost didn’t recognize the voice as his. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re bleeding, I-I’m sorry, I’m so—”

The lamp rod fell from your paired grips. Hands shaking, he brought them up tentatively towards your face. He stopped just before he could touch you, hovering them a breath away from your skin. The first of his tears began to trail down his cheeks, his expression twisting in what you alarmingly recognized as grief. You’d seen him cry before, but never like this. “God, I-I didn’t know it was you, I’m sorry, I thought you were…”

He was… apologizing. But that didn’t make sense, no matter how much you tried to force the idea to settle into your dazed mind. It couldn’t have been Matt. You weren’t afraid of Matt. Matt didn’t hurt you. He didn’t hit you. Those were facts, as irrefutable as gravity, as reliable as the rise and the fall of the sun. You didn’t understand, just like you didn’t understand why he wasn’t holding you. He always did when you were hurt. “You… you hit me?”

The low, agonized noise he made was inhuman. It was the sound of a wounded animal, of someone who’d just been carved open. His hands drew back from your face, dropping down towards your hands where they’d settled on your thighs, though he seemed just as hesitant to touch you there. Tears dripped down from his face, joining the droplets of thick, deep red now scattered across the floor. Had you left all fo that there? You really… were bleeding, weren’t you?

“I-I… I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t,” he whispered brokenly, his breath hitching with what was almost a whimper. He grabbed one of the blankets off the chair next to him, the one you loved to curl up under with him. He slid it as gently as he could around one of your hands—oh, you were bleeding there, too, just a little, goddamn cheap lamp—though he avoided allowing his skin to brush against yours. “I was… having a nightmare, and I thought-I thought you were someone else, they had you and I was trying to-to get to you but someone grabbed me and I—God, you have a concussion, your nose is-is bleeding. I have to call Claire, get away from you b-before I… I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—”

Finally, the idea settled into your mind, the world abruptly righting itself. 

The nightmare.

Well, that made sense.

You still weren’t quite thinking right, thoughts thick and fuzzy like wisps of cotton, a massive, throbbing ache in your head and face that only got worse every time the billboard lit up. But you you’d been right. Matt didn’t hit you. He hadn’t hit you, because he hadn’t known it was you. Hell, he’d even apparently been trying to save you, at least in his nightmare. It seemed simple enough to you, an obvious accident. But it didn’t seem quite so simple to Matt. You reached for his cheek. “Matt,” you soothed, your words only a tiny bit slurred as he sniffled and wrapped the blanket tighter around your hand, applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding. “It’s ok, Matt. You didn’t mean it.”

But the second your fingertips brushed against his skin, he threw himself backwards and out of your reach, his dark eyes wild. “Don’t!” he spat.  You faltered just a little, suddenly unsure. But you quickly shook it off, shakily climbing to your feet to follow after him. Your own injuries felt secondary in that moment, because this… this was the wound, the disaster that might do you both in if you didn’t find some way to stop it. Your bloody nose and hand could wait. “You didn’t mean it, Matt. It was an accident.” 

For every step you took forward, he took one back, the two of you performing some twisted, heartbreaking sort of dance across the floor. Eventually you cornered him against the wall, hemming him in. He was almost shaking as you stepped in close. Your hand rose and this time around, you successfully managed to cup his jaw, trying to press your affection, your calm into his skin. “Easy, Devil-Man. I’m ok,” you murmured. You swiped one thumb over the trail of tears sliding down his cheek, a new one appearing each time you’d cleared away the last, an endless stream of them falling from his grief-stricken eyes as they darted sightlessly around you. “This wasn’t your fault. Help me get cleaned up and then we’ll talk about it, ok?” 

He hitched a soft, quiet breath when you tugged his head down, his forehead pressed to yours like he’d done for you so many times before. You breathed with him for a moment, trying to ease him down.  He swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering closed as you stroked your thumb against his cheek, and for a moment, you almost thought you’d managed to fix it. 

A breath. 

His jaw clenched, and your heart sank.

This time when his eyes opened, all traces of warmth in them were gone. Whatever door you’d once pried open was now shut, slammed resoundingly in your face. “No. It’s not ok.” He brushed your hand away, sliding out from between you and the wall without so much as a pause. He reached up to wipe away his tears, the motion sharp and edged with tension. “Where are you going?” “I need to call Claire to come look you over,” he said flatly, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll use my burner. Mine was on the… the nightstand.” The brief crack in his voice, a brittle chip in the armor he’d just tried to throw up around himself, only confirmed what you’d hoped you could avoid.

“Matt,” you said softly. “Don’t lock me out like this.”

He may have been aiming for calm but he couldn’t hide what he was feeling, not entirely anyway. Not when his hands were still trembling as he felt around on the kitchen counter, acting like he hadn’t heard you. “I’ll call Foggy, too. Once they’re here, I’ll go.” 

“What?” You watched in disbelief as he kept hunting along the counter. With every second that passed and he failed to find it, he grew more frustrated, more angry. He quickly turned his back to you, body stiff like he was expecting a sudden blow. “You’re you’re leaving me?” “I hit you,” he spat viciously, another seething wave of emotion bubbling up through the cracks of his voice like acid, bitter and toxic and just as liable to burn. Here it was, here it was: the self-loathing, the disgust, the burning hatred. He drew in a sharp breath, shivering as he did. And on the exhale, he seemed to have regained control. His voice rapidly returned to that same cold, emotionless monotone, though he kept his face out of your view. Whatever expression he had would give him away, you were certain of it. “I almost broke your nose. You have a concussion. You cut yourself trying to get away from me. I’ve put men in the hospital for a lot less. You’re not safe with me—”

“That’s horseshit,” you huffed, starting towards him on wobbly legs. You had to stop and grab one of the chairs just to keep your balance and halt you from pitching over onto the floor. Not that it was a concern; no matter how upset Matt was, he’d catch you. But still, you falling would only make things worse. You forced yourself to breathe through the roiling in your stomach, unsure if it was the concussion that was making you nauseous or simply the knowledge that he was trying to leave you. But you wouldn’t let those fucking voices in his mind—ones that probably sounded like Stick—drive him away from you. Not without a fight. At least your nose seemed to have stopped bleeding. That was a good sign. “It was an accident. We both know it. This just—it happens something with nightmares, including non-vigilantes, Matt. I’ve woken up scared and smacked you in the face more than once, and you know it.” 

“You didn’t throw me across a nightstand or give me a concussion.” He barked out a bitter laugh. The hateful sound filled you with dread, as did the heartbreaking resolve beneath it. He’d already made up his mind, convinced himself of what he’d done. “I always knew. That’s what they all said. That I was cursed. That I had the Devil inside me. That all I wanted was to hit someone. This is who I am. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but deep down, I knew. And now I hurt you. I can’t let that happen again, even if it means I have to leave to keep you safe.” 

“Matt,” you said desperately, managing to make it to the couch, bracing yourself against the arm of it. If you could just get to him, you could fix this. You knew that. “That’s not true. Let’s just talk about this.”

Matt ignored you again, snatching up his keys and starting towards the hall. “I can’t find my burner,” he said. That tone, flat and empty of all feeling, was so much worse than anger. You’d take anger any day—you’d take grief, or hurt. Emotion meant you had a way in, that he’d opened himself to you, baring all the parts of him left vulnerable and raw. This tone, though…You couldn’t help but feel like you were banging your bloodied fists against a door abruptly chained shut. “Keep pressure on your hand. I’m going next door to ask for their phone so I can call Claire. I’ll only be gone for a minute, then I’ll be back. I’ll find somewhere else to stay once she’s here to take care of you.”

No. 

No, he couldn’t leave you over an accident. Your heart rate shot up, rattling against the lump in your throat. You almost felt like you couldn’t breathe, panic crushing your lungs in their grip, something that made him him stiffen. And you-you couldn’t let him leave, not like this, not when he might not come back. There had to be something, some way to reach him and keep him from destroying, burning down the best thing in both of your lives. And there was only one method that might work in a moment like this.  

Holding up a mirror.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. 

And Matt… froze in the hall, a mere three steps from the front door. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, more firmly now. You didn’t bother to hide the waver in your voice. You drew in a slow breath, exhaling just as slowly. It wasn’t blood running down your face, now, and he’d know it. “I’m sorry for scaring you. For touching your neck in your sleep. I know how vulnerable it is, and how you feel about it being touched by anyone other than me. I didn’t think about what touching that might feel like during a nightmare.” 

“Stop apologizing,” he growled, his shoulders drawing up tight. “They’re not the same thing, and you know it.”

But despite his objections, he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t left yet. Hell, maybe he’d found he couldn’t. Not when you were injured. You’d take it if it meant you had a chance.

“Aren’t they the same?” You reached up with your good hand, sniffling a little as you wiped some of the blood off your face. “According to you, they are. It doesn’t matter what I meant to do, right? Just that I did something that led to me hurting you. And this is hurting you. I can tell.” You choked out a wobbly laugh when he flinched. You used that break in his armor to edge closer, praying you didn’t stumble and fall, losing the ground you’d just gained. “Do you remember when I slipped and dropped that bowl last month and it shattered and cut your feet?” 

“That’s not—”

“I had to pick shards of porcelain out of your poor bare feet. I felt horrible.” Another step. Then another. “Remember when I smacked you in the face during my nightmare last January? Split your lip and everything.” You caught one hand against the shelving unit by the hall, taking a split second to breathe, more tired than you wanted to admit. “You told me those weren’t my fault. You even fucking laughed about your lip. But if this accident is your fault, then all those times are my fault, and so is this one, if you think about it. So I’m sorry, Matt.”  

“I hit you,” came his voice, trembling and uneven. You had a feeling those three small words were your target, spiraling on loop in his mind, their sharp edges tearing into him over and over again. His head slowly dropped, his body curling in on itself as you stopped a few feet away. He shuddered then, and without being able to see his face, you couldn’t tell if it was shame or just… hurt. “Don’t apologize when I hit you. I threw you across the room. I-I hurt you.” 

“Oh, Matt,” you whispered. You took another step, at last coming within touching distance where you might be able to reach him. “It was an accident, sweetheart. You didn’t mean it. You didn’t know it was me. But… but if you want to talk about hurting me, let’s talk about this here.” He stilled when he felt the first gentle touch of your hand against his back. Warm, unafraid, tender. 

“If you’re worried about hurting me, this is how you’d do it,” you said softly, trailing your fingers down the line of his spine with all the love you had in you. “By leaving, Matt. By leaving me here without you when I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world. Don’t do that to me. Please.” This time the sound he made was a broken sob, one hand rising up to fist in his hair. He sank slowly to the ground. You sank with him, winding your arms tight around him as he finally broke, shattering beneath the weight of his guilt. When he didn’t reject your touch, you quickly shifted around him, climbing into his lap. His arms found their way home around your waist, clinging to you tight as you rocked him in your arms, his face buried against your neck, tears flowing hot to join the blood still clinging to your skin. “I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with sorrow, each breath one he had to fight for.  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry—” “Listen to me. This was not your fault. I promise, baby,” you whispered, lifting his head to press your forehead to his like you had before. His eyes were shut, but they fluttered open just for you, as he finally, finally let you back in. You could almost see the torment swirling in them, the guilt, but that was alright. If you could see those shadows, you could fight them. “You were asleep, Matt. You were dreaming. You can’t control what your brain does then. If it thinks there’s a threat, it’s going to react without your input. Do you know how I can be so sure you won’t hurt me? How this all just proved I’m safe with you?” His blank gaze shifted around you, one shaking hand coming up to trace your smile in open disbelief. 

“Because the second you woke up, you were horrified.” You leaned into him, running the fingers of your good hand through his hair as he let out another shaky, breathless sob. “The second you woke up and realized it was me, it just broke you. You would never choose to hurt me, Matt. You're not a violent person, even if you've been taught to use it out there. A bad man doesn’t react like you did. A good man does. You are a good man, do you hear me? And if you leave?” You found his hand with your good one to lace your fingers together and squeeze, his eyes fluttering closed, as did yours. “I swear to God I’ll go stand in an alley in my pajamas and scream that until you have to come protect me from every mugger in the Kitchen. Which will only prove my point that you’d never let anything or anyone hurt me.”  He choked out a quiet, watery laugh, letting you bring his head back down to your throat. His tearful groan at the affection just made you cling to you tighter. “I love you,” he hitched out. “I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry. God forgive me, I’m so, so sorry.” 

“I love you, too, Matt,” you whispered, burying your face in his hair. “It’s not your fault. Don’t let your nightmare knock us out this easily. Get back up. Stay, and fight for me, for us. Can you do that for me?”

You felt his eyes fall closed, and for the first time since he’d woken up, you heard a different kind of resolve in his voice: one that was far more familiar, far more welcome, solid and warm and steadfast, a strength you’d happily build your life upon, as he let your love seep in through the cracks to at last chase away some of the dark.

His breath eased out against your skin, soft and familiar. “I… ok. I can do that.”

“Good.”

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER TWELVE: PICTURE PERFECT

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SUMMARY ↳ You think you understand why people say "Happy Holidays." You are happy. A busy household during Christmas is something you’re familiar with. You distinctly remember waking up in the tower on Christmas morning to find Thor standing above you with a big stupid grin, not even having changed from his asgardian armor. This time, however, it’s Jon floating above you, a silly Santa hat on his head. “Merry Christmas.” You roll over, pulling your pillow over your head. “Nothing merry about waking me up so damn early.” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none, none at all wc: 4.3k

sorry for the late-ish post! totally forgot it was upload day woopsie

The next day, you're awakened by the sound of Alfred entering the room with a tray of food. You sit up, feeling much better already, and gratefully accept the meal. "Thank you, Alfred," you say with a smile.

"You're quite welcome," he replies, his tone warm. "Master Bruce and the others will be here shortly. They have a few more questions for you."

You nod, taking a bite of the food and feeling your energy start to return. True to Alfred's word, Bruce, Damian, and Jon enter the room a few minutes later.

Bruce starts. "We've been discussing your situation. We’d like to better understand your abilities. You've explained your origins, but we need to see what you can do."

You nod, setting the tray aside and standing up. "Fair enough. What do you need to see?"

"We'll start with a simple demonstration of your web abilities," Bruce says. "Show us what you can do with and without the bracelets."

“Not inside the room. Go downstairs,” Alfred cuts in firmly. You all nod and scurry downstairs. Bruce shows you how to access the Batcave via the clock. You pretend to pay attention, as if you didn’t already know. Once inside, he takes you all aside into a quaint little training room, where all the other batkids are waiting. The mat feels like home under your feet. He prompts you to show them what you can do.

You nod and raise your wrist, shooting a web towards a nearby wall. The organic webbing shoots out with precision, sticking to the wall firmly. It’s a simple web, straight and true. Equipping the bracelets, you decide to send out a web-net. The size of it covers a great deal of the wall.

“My organic webs are really only good for swinging and grabbing stuff,” you explain.

“[Name] has 576 possible web-shooter combinations,” Karen pipes up helpfully from the computer. Bruce’s slight frown suggests he’s not used to her yet, and probably won’t be for a while. “Much more versatile than their organic webs, of course.”

Tim looks impressed as he glances at Bruce. "576 combinations? That's... a lot."

You grin and nod. "Yeah, my dad loves over-engineering things. The web-net is just one of the many tricks up my sleeve."

Damian steps forward, eyes narrowed in thought. "What about your strength and agility? We need to see how you compare to us."

You nod, understanding the need to prove yourself. "Sure thing. What do you want me to do?"

Bruce gestures to a nearby set of weights. "Lift that."

You walk over to the weights, easily lifting a barbell that looks like it should be far too heavy for your frame. You then set it down and leap onto a nearby platform with a single bound, showcasing your agility.

"Not bad," Damian admits, though his tone is still cautious. "But can you fight?"

You smirk. "Why don't we find out?"

Damian raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the challenge. He steps onto the mat, and you both take your stances. The others  watch closely as you and Damian circle each other.

Damian strikes first, his movements quick and precise. You dodge and counter, your enhanced reflexes allowing you to keep up with his speed. The two of you exchange blows, each testing the other's limits. Damian's skill is evident, but your enhanced strength and agility give you an edge.

He’s got all the tells of a trained assassin. His eyes dart around your figure, looking for openings and weaknesses. He adapts seamlessly, each of his movements controlled and calculated. He aims to control the flow with every jab, kick and punch. Unfortunately for him, you’ve been trained by one of the deadliest assassin of your world, Natasha Romanoff.

You decide it’s time to up the ante. You feint to the left, then quickly spin and sweep his legs out from under him. Damian lands on the mat but rolls back up to his feet instantly, eyes blazing with determination. He’s not used to being bested so easily, but he respects the challenge.

“You’re good,” Damian admits grudgingly, adjusting his stance. “But let’s see how you handle this.”

He lunges at you with a series of rapid strikes, forcing you to focus entirely on defense. You block and parry, your reflexes barely keeping up with his speed. You notice an opening and take it, landing a solid punch that sends him skidding back.

Before he can recover, you shoot a web at his feet, sticking him to the mat. He struggles for a moment before smirking and cutting himself free with a small blade.

“Me! Me next!” exclaims Stephanie, waving her hand around in the air. You take turns sparring everyone—save for Jon, who has just been watching a bit stiffly—, winning every time (not to brag or anything). You get a few hearty laughs when you manage to lift Jason with one hand and gently slam him to the mat. 

Then your final opponent steps up, Cassandra Cain. You gulp slightly. She’s written off as one of the best fighters in the Batfamily, and probably the DCverse. You’re supposed to be holding your strength back to show your skill, so it’s a matter of being smart, not strong.

You start cautiously, circling each other as you assess her fighting style. Cassandra doesn't waste any movements, each strike calculated to test your defenses. You rely on your agility and strength to keep up, blocking and countering her attacks with equal precision.

As the spar intensifies, you find yourself impressed by Cassandra's skill and adaptability. She adjusts her tactics based on your responses, probing for weaknesses in your defense. You're forced to rely on more than just brute strength, using strategy and technique to gain an advantage. Damn, she’s really good. It’s a blessing you’ve been trained by the goddam Avengers.

Your fighting styles are similar, fluid and dance-like. You’re impressed but not surprised by her ability to read your movements and react almost instantaneously. Natasha’s words replay in your mind.

“Predict every possible movement of theirs.”

You huff, arms hanging by your side, tired. “What, like Garou?”

Natasha raises a perfect eyebrow, her expression a mix of curiosity and slight amusement. You wave your hands in dismissal. “Forget it.”

Natasha steps forward, her movements fluid and controlled. “It’s not just about predicting every move, it’s about understanding your opponent’s rhythm and intent. You need to see the fight a couple of steps ahead. Every slight movement can give away their intentions."

She demonstrates, moving with a fluid grace that you've come to admire. "You have the strength and agility. Now you need precision and awareness to make them truly effective."

In front of Cassandra now, you truly do feel like Garou. Your mind paints images of every way she could go, every move she could make. You feint to the right, then shift your weight and spin to the left, aiming a kick at her midsection. Cassandra blocks it effortlessly, but you expected that. Using the momentum from your spin, you drop low and sweep her legs.

Cassandra jumps, avoiding your sweep with an almost inhuman agility. But you're ready. As she comes back down, you grab her wrist and twist, using her own momentum against her to flip her onto the mat. She lands softly, rolling to her feet with a small smile.

"You're very good," Cassandra says quietly, her tone filled with genuine admiration.

"You're incredible," you reply, equally impressed.

Dick claps to be dramatic, initiating a round of applause from everyone else (except Damian, the stinker). You grin and bow dramatically. “Kicked our asses,” mumbled Jason, rubbing his jaw.

After the applause dies down, Bruce steps forward, a thoughtful look on his face. "You've shown us your abilities, and it's clear you have the skill and strength to be a valuable asset. Now we need to focus on integrating you into our ways."

Alfred clears his throat politely. "Perhaps, Master Bruce, our guest would benefit from a proper rest before diving into further training and mission planning."

Bruce nods. "Of course. We'll take a break for now. You've done well today."

As the group disperses, Jon approaches you with a friendly smile. "Hey, that was awesome. I can't wait to see what else you can do."

“Well thank you… Superboy,” you grin as he rolls his eyes playfully. Hooking your arm in his, you begin to walk out the cave. “Seriously thought, I bet if I was a normal person I still could’ve figured you out.” He raises a brow in challenge. “I mean, the Ferris wheel thing? Seriously?”

He groans. “I was trying to get you to safety!”

“My hero,” you smirk.

He drops you off at your room, exiting from your window with a wave. Nari is happily cuddling with Alfred on your bed, the sight making you coo. You gently sit by them and run your hand down Nari’s back.

Your door opens without as much as a knock or warning. Damian pauses when he sees you on the bed.

“Now, what would you have done if I was naked?” you ask sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

“Tt,” he scoffs, eyes looking away. “I was merely looking for Alfred.”

“Might have to get in line somewhere, Nari’s holding her hostage,” you hum, looking down at the pair. The sounds of purring cats fills you with calm. You see him still standing in the doorway. “Well? Come on, come sit.”

He hesitates to move, before stepping forward and shutting your door. He sits on the other side of the cat pile. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You shrug nonchalantly. “I just mean you’ve been weird since I revealed my totally awesome alter ego.”

“I have not.”

You roll your eyes. "Oh please, Damian. You practically scowled through our entire spar. You mad ‘cause I kicked your ass or something?”

He crosses his arms defensively. "I am not upset."

"Right," you say skeptically. "Then what is it?"

Damian looks away, his expression unreadable for a moment. "It's nothing."

You raise an eyebrow. "You don't usually act like this. Come on, out with it."

“You…” he grumbles, clearly annoyed at being pushed, “...everytime I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.” He leans back, lying down on your mattress. “I don’t know anyone like you. And now, to find out you have been parading around as the new vigilante we’ve been so preoccupied with…”

You lean back as well, listening as Damian tries to articulate his thoughts. His demeanor shifts from guarded to contemplative, and you sense a rare vulnerability in his words.

“Not to mention you’ve known who we were since then…” he muttered, eyes on the ceiling. “

You listen attentively, sensing Damian's struggle with his thoughts. His words reveal a complexity you hadn't fully anticipated. "It must be strange," you offer quietly, "to have someone come into your world who knows so much and yet is still a mystery to you." 

“Are you mad because I kept it a secret from you…? Technically, you kept Robin a secret from me,” you offer.

Damian shifts slightly, his gaze flickering to meet yours briefly before returning to the ceiling. "It's not just that," he admits quietly. "You're skilled, strong, and you fit into our world seamlessly. It's..."

He shifts closer, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding a mix of curiosity and something deeper. "I want to understand you better," he says, his voice low.

You reach out, cupping his face with your hand. His eyes bore into yours, earnest. "I want you to understand me better too, Damian," you say softly, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "I know I've come into your life in a pretty unconventional way, but I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere."

Then, you add shyly, “if you’d have me.”

Damian's lips quirk in a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You've certainly managed to keep me on my toes."

You chuckle softly. "Likewise. But hey, that's part of the fun, right?"

He nods, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as his eyes grow half lidded. "Fun... yes, I suppose it is."

Your heart slows in its beats, relaxing. You take in the mattress against your cheek, taking in the calm and gentle atmosphere. You feel a rush of warmth as Damian's hand finds yours, his touch surprisingly tender. The air around you feels charged with a mix of uncertainty and possibility. You squeeze his hand gently, a silent reassurance that you're here, you're present, and you want this.

"I didn't expect this," Damian admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turn your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. "Neither did I, to be honest. But sometimes unexpected things turn out to be the best."

He nods slowly, his expression softening as he looks at you. "You're not like anyone I've ever known."

"And you're not like anyone I've ever known either," you reply with a small smile. "But I think that's a good thing."

Damian leans closer, his face now just inches from yours. "Perhaps..."

Before either of you can say anything more, the door creaks open slightly. You both turn to see Bruce standing there, a faint hint of concern in his eyes.

"Ahem," Bruce clears his throat. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Damian sits up abruptly, his demeanor shifting to a more guarded stance. "Father, what is it?"

Bruce steps into the room, his eyes briefly scanning the scene before focusing on Damian. "I need to speak with you about something. Come down to the cave."

Damian nods, the serious look returning to his face. "Understood. I'll be there shortly."

Bruce glances at you, his expression softening slightly. "Thank you for your cooperation today. Your skills are impressive, and we look forward to working with you." Ever the most formal guy in the room.

You nod, feeling a mixture of pride and nervousness. "Thank you.”

Bruce gives a curt nod and leaves, the door closing softly behind him. Damian turns to you, his expression thoughtful.

"I should go," he says, his tone reluctant.

You nod, understanding the demands of their work. "Of course. Duty calls."

As Damian stands, he hesitates for a moment before grabbing your hand and pressing a light kiss on your pulse. "We'll talk more later," he promises. You can say anything, so you nod.

Damian leaves the room, and you find yourself alone with your thoughts. Nari, sensing the shift in mood, nuzzles closer to you, offering silent comfort. You stroke his fur absently, your mind replaying the events of the day.

A busy household during Christmas is something you’re familiar with. You distinctly remember waking up in the tower on Christmas morning to find Thor standing above you with a big stupid grin, not even having changed from his Asgardian armor.

This time, however, it’s Jon floating above you, a silly Santa hat on his head. “Merry Christmas.”

You roll over, pulling your pillow over your head. “Nothing merry about waking me up so damn early.”

Jon chuckles, his laughter light and carefree. "Come on, Scrooge. Get up and go downstairs." When you don’t move, he pounces on you. His fingers wiggle across your stomach as you shriek and fight to get free.

“Okay, okay! Jeez,” you concede. He rolls off of you, not without placing a hard kiss on your head. 

Damian pokes his head into your room with an annoyed expression. "What’s all this nonsense?"

Jon turns to him with a bright smile, "Just spreading some holiday cheer. Get in the spirit, Dami!"

You stretch and sit up, rubbing your eyes. "Yeah, Dami. It’s Christmas. Let’s be cheerful and merry."

He scowls slightly but steps into the room. "Tt. Christmas is just another day."

You and Jon share a knowing look before you hop out of bed and tackle Damian in a hug. "Oh, come on. Even you can't be grumpy on Christmas!" Damian sighs but doesn't push you away. 

The three of you head downstairs to the living room where the rest of the Batfamily is already gathered. The faint scent of Alfred's cooking wafts through the air, and you can hear laughter and chatter echoing through the halls. The tree is beautifully decorated, and presents are piled high underneath it. Bruce is sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, looking surprisingly relaxed.

Alfred hands you a steaming mug of hot cocoa as you join the group. "Merry Christmas," he says with a warm smile.

"Merry Christmas, Alfred," you reply, taking a sip of the rich, delicious drink. You glance around the room, your gaze landing on Damian, who is sitting quietly by the tree, watching the proceedings with a thoughtful expression.

You join the rest of the Batfamily in the living room, enjoying the festive atmosphere. Jon is already diving into his presents, enthusiastically tearing off the wrapping paper. Dick and Barbara are sitting together, exchanging gifts and laughing. Tim is deep in conversation with Stephanie, who is trying to guess what he got her. Even Jason seems to be in good spirits, joking around with Duke and Cass.

You decide to approach Damian, holding your mug of hot cocoa. You sit down beside him, the warm and festive atmosphere contrasting with his contemplative demeanor.

He glances at you as you settle beside him, his expression softening slightly at your presence. "Enjoying yourself?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

You take a sip of your cocoa, letting the warmth spread through you before answering. "Yeah, it's nice. Reminds me of home," you admit softly, thinking back to the holidays you spent with your family and the Avengers. Damian watches you quietly, seeming to consider your words.

"Your family must be... different," he finally remarks, his tone almost curious.

You nod, a faint smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, definitely different. But they're good people. Just like yours." You gesture subtly towards the rest of the Batfamily, who are now engaged in lively conversation and laughter.

Damian follows your gesture with a small nod, his gaze lingering on his family for a moment. "They're... unique," he admits quietly, a hint of something warmer in his voice.

Finally you sigh, “Well.” You dig into your pocket and pull out a box, handing it to him.

“Merry Christmas.”

He takes the box, opening it gingerly. Inside lies a sleek looking ring. Damian raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting from surprise to intrigue as he takes the ring in his hand.

"What is it?" he asks, turning the ring over to examine it.

“A ring,” you smile. He rolls his eyes so you elaborate. “It’s something I made. Karen is built into it, so she can help you personally.” You tap it twice, pulling up a hologram. “Here’s all the stuff she can do.”

The hologram reflects in Damian’s eyes as they flutter left to right, reading. “Happy to help, Damian,” Karen says.

“It also works as a communicator, so if you’re ever in need of me to save you from getting your ass-kicked, she’ll let me know,” you grin.

Damian ignores your little comment in favor of sliding the ring over his finger. He examines the way it shines under the light, nodding. “It’s adequate.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re welcome.

He gets up abruptly then. “Stay there,” he commands, walking off into another room. He’s gone before you can blink, so you clasp your hands together awkwardly and observe the room. Jon has gone and went to his parents (which, oh my god, Superman and Lois Lane are here, holy shit. You wonder if Bruce told them about you.) and is talking animatedly to them. In his hands is a small canvas in his hands, you can barely make out the portrait of Jon on there. Must be Damian’s gift to him.

Speaking of, you hear his footsteps come back. You turn to see Damian returning with a small, elegantly wrapped box in his hand. He sits back down beside you, his expression more relaxed than before. He holds out the box towards you.

"Here," he says simply, his voice quieter than usual.

You take the box, carefully unwrapping it to reveal a.. camera! It’s a nice one, definitely expensive. It fits perfectly in your hands, just the right size for travel.

"You said you like photography," Damian explains quietly, his gaze flickering to meet yours. "You also said you’d like a memory. Now, you can capture them.”

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest as you realize the significance of the gift. "You remembered.” It comes out as a whisper. “Thank you, Damian," you say softly, touched by his gesture. You attach the strap of the camera and hook it around your neck.

He nods, seeming satisfied with your reaction. "It suits you," he remarks, his tone almost approving.

You smile, reaching out to gently touch the lens. "I love it."

“[Name]!” Jon exclaims, crossing the room to get to you. His hands grasp yours and pull you off the couch. “Come meet my parents.

Oh dear. You send a look to Damian for help but the bastard just smirks at you. You chuckle softly at Damian's smirk before allowing Jon to lead you over to where Clark Kent and Lois Lane are standing. They both turn to you with warm smiles, Clark's eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Hello, [Name]," Clark greets you warmly, extending a hand. "It's good to finally meet you. Jon has told us a lot about you."

Lois nods in agreement, her expression friendly yet keen. "Yes, Jon's been quite excited to introduce you to us."

You shake Clark's hand with a smile, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement at meeting such iconic figures. Shit, you thought you would’ve had the fan behavior under control by now. "It's a pleasure to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Kent. Jon has been wonderful to be around.”

Jon beams proudly, standing beside you. "They're really nice, right?"

Clark chuckles warmly, his gaze flickering briefly towards Jon before returning to you. "He speaks very highly of you, [Name].” He pointedly looks at Jon as he says this.

Lois’ eyes flick down to your camera. “Interested in photography?”

You nod eagerly, feeling a little more at ease with their friendly demeanor. "Oh, yeah. I like capturing moments. It’s a small passion of mine.”

“Well if you ever get tired of superheroing call me. I’m sure we could use an excellent photojournalist,” she winks.

“Mom,” Jon complains. Lois shrugs innocently.

You laugh warmly, feeling more comfortable with Lois' playful banter. "I'll keep that in mind, Miss. Thank you." In another universe, maybe.

Jon tugs at your hand. "Come on, I want to show you something." He drags you towards the Christmas tree where a beautifully wrapped gift waits for you. You hear the chuckles of his parents as you’re pulled away.

You smile at Jon's enthusiasm, kneeling down to unwrap the present. Inside a bracelet. The beads make up a beautiful image of green and blue. There’s a spider charm hanging from it. Jon beams up at you, clearly proud of the gift he chose.

“I saw a video online about making bracelets for each other's eyes,” he mutters shyly. “I made one for you out of me and Damian’s eyes.”

The bracelet feels like gold in your hands. "It's perfect, Jon," you say genuinely, feeling touched by his thoughtfulness.

Clark and Lois watch the exchange with warm smiles, clearly pleased by Jon's happiness and your appreciation.

You thank Jon again with a hug, feeling a surge of warmth at the bond you've formed with him and his family, hearing his heartbeat speed up before his arms wrap around you. “Oh, before I forget.”

You pull out another box, handing it to Jon. “I know you were listening to me and Dames earlier, stinker.” It’s cute to see how his face turns red after being caught. “It’s the same thing I got him. Connects to this–” you tap the nano-earpiece where Karen speaks to you. “–and his. Our own little channel.” Jon's eyes widen with excitement as he takes the box from you, eager to see what's inside. He opens it carefully, revealing a similar looking ring. His grin widens as he realizes what it is.

He slips the ring onto his finger, marveling at how it fits perfectly. "This is so cool. I can't wait to try it out!"

The rest of the Batfamily gathers around, curious about the new gadgets and gifts being exchanged. Dick claps Jon on the back. "Nice one, Jon! Now you can bug them anytime."

Jason chuckles. "Or maybe they'll bug you."

Duke eyes the camera around your neck. “Ooh, family photo time?”

Groans echo the room as your hands come up to grip the camera. With everyone gathered around the Christmas tree, you snap a few photos, capturing moments of laughter and camaraderie. Jon is grinning widely, Damian is trying to look nonchalant but can't hide a small smile, and even Bruce cracks a rare smile at the camera. The rest of the Batfamily, along with Clark and Lois, join in the festive spirit, making silly faces or posing dramatically.

“Now you,” Cass says, waving you over. You huff good-naturedly and set the camera up, scurrying to squeeze between Damian and Jon. You hold up your hands in the ‘spidey’ pose, grinning. Jon squeezes you and Damian to him, cheeks mushing with each others.

The pictures turn out perfect.

notes: jon watching reader and damian spar: am i into this

yeah damian felt a little thrown finding out he doesn’t know you as well as he thought. i figured he’s the type to not like knowing things, and well, reader being spinnerette? and knowing he was robin before he could ever think to tell them? yeesh. its okay now though :)

[fandom-imagines-stories]

You Can Talk to Me

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 5730

Summary: A night of drinks becomes something else when the reader reveals what’s been bothering her the past week. Matt tries to not be blinded by his feelings for his best friend as he comforts her, but this heartbreak may be just what she needs to see what’s right in front of her. 

Notes: Yet another Matt comfort imagine, surprise surprise. I guess the thing about heartbreak, is it gives you plenty to write about. I don’t really have much else for this one, other than I’m just writing whatever I need right now. And fuck it, if that means combining smut with a comfort imagine, so be it. This is a lot, but I loved every minute of writing it. 

Warnings: Angst, 18+ SMUT (choking, oral, unprotected, the works)

More Matt Imagines Here

-

Karen checked her watch again, head peeking over the growing crowd at Josie’s to try and spot the fourth member of their get-together. 

“She’s never late,” Karen said, frowning. She turned to the two men waiting with her. “Maybe I should call again.”

Matt listened. Old rock hits played over the speakers and a group of men bickered by the pool table, but past the buzz of the neon and slight muffling through the window pane, he heard it. Quick, shallow breaths and a hurried heartbeat paired with the sharpness of salt in the air. 

Matt stiffened. 

You were crying. 

He heard as you took a few deep breaths and hastily wiped your cheeks. 

You pushed open the door to the bar with a strained smile and searching eyes. 

“She’s here,” Matt said, his tone turned solemn.

What happened? 

Foggy beamed, spotting you by the entrance. “How does he do that?”

Matt’s head tilted, analyzing your movements as you made your way through the crowd. Karen and Foggy were still looking for a table, but he could practically feel the effort it took to keep up your sunny demeanor. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, finally reaching them. “I got an unexpected call from work.” 

Your heart skipped. 

Matt’s worry deepened. 

You’d never lied to them before. 

Karen waved it off. “Well, you’re here now.”

“Let the party commence!” Foggy cheered. 

Matt gave you a small smile. You did your best to return it. The other two left to get more drinks. 

“Work, huh?” Matt prompted. 

Your heart skipped again. “Yeah, they just needed to run something by me. No big deal.” 

“Right.”

You noticed the twitch in his smile, the gentleness in his tone. You should have known he’d be able to tell something was wrong. He always did. It didn’t help that you’d been avoiding your friends these past two weeks. Especially Matt- because you knew this would happen. Somehow, he just saw you. 

“How are the cases coming?” You asked, hoping to get the attention off of you. “You guys just won the worker’s comp case you’d been working so hard on right?”

Matt’s smile returned. “Yeah, we did.” He motioned in the direction of his partner. “Foggy’s closing statement really sealed it for us. You would have loved it.”

“Well, I unfortunately had a civil case across the hall.” You flexed your hands. “God, they talked so much I thought my fingers would fall off.”

The two of you chuckled.

“You should take some of that vacation time you talked about.” He cleared his throat, shifting almost uncomfortably. “Maybe go somewhere with Sam.” 

You stiffened and glanced down at the table. “Yeah, Matt, about that-”

“Your elixir of drunkenness, milady.” Foggy set your bourbon down with a flourish. 

You laughed, grateful for the interruption. “Why thank you, sir.”

Matt sighed lightly and sipped his beer, gripping the bottle a little tighter. 

What the hell did Sam do?

You took a long, slow drink and let the burn wash away any other feeling. It worked… if only a little bit.

Karen led you all to a booth she’d picked out towards the back of the bar. 

“So,” she said, taking the seat beside Foggy, sticking you beside the human lie detector. “What have you been up to? It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve actually seen you.”

You gulped and slid into the booth, Matt following after you. You almost stammered when his knee bumped against yours.

“Um, it’s been okay.”

Matt raised a brow at your hesitation, nudging you again. It wasn’t like you to hide things. Not from him. 

You took a deep breath and ripped off the bandaid. “Sam and I broke up.”

Foggy’s eyes widened, Karen’s softened, and Matt took another drink. 

“I’m okay though,” you quickly followed up. 

Lie.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy said. He paused, then perked up. “Do you want another drink?”

“Foggy,” Karen scolded.

“What? Break-ups are the perfect reason to get wasted!”

You snickered and downed the rest of your whiskey. “I wouldn’t say no to another round.” 

Foggy turned to the others. 

Matt shrugged, still listening intently to your uneven breathing. “I’ll have what she’s having.” 

Karen leaned, reaching a comforting hand toward yours. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“No, I couldn’t,” you shook your head. “We’re celebrating you guys tonight.” You took the drink Foggy handed you and raised your glass. “To Nelson and Murdock.” 

Matt clinked his whiskey to yours. “And to being there for friends,” he added pointedly. 

“Here here,” Karen cheered before you could shoot him a glare.

The next hour was filled with drinks and laughter. It helped you feel a little more like yourself- something you’d been trying to do for weeks. Every time Foggy made a joke or Matt “accidentally” brushed against your arm, the hole in your chest felt a little smaller. 

And then you saw him.

Matt heard his voice first. His tense shoulders were why you looked up. 

Sam had his arm around a pretty girl with dark hair. You’d seen her at his office before. His head turned, eyes meeting yours. 

It was like you weren’t there. 

Sam waved at Foggy and went to the other side of the bar, as far away from you as possible. 

“That’s just cold,” Foggy said, shaking his head. 

You finished your third drink. If you had anymore here you’d start crying and you were not going to let that happen. Not in front of all of them. Not til you were home. If Sam could not care, so could you. 

“Do you want to leave?” Matt asked softly. 

You swallowed back the panic attack rising in your throat. “No. We should finish our drinks.”

“Do you want another?” Karen offered. 

“I’ll just get water to end the night, thanks.” 

Matt knew what that meant. You’d finish the night at home, by yourself, drinking until you fell asleep numb. A coping mechanism you had only ever confided in him about. It was easier for you to face everything alone, or at least you convinced yourself it was. He could relate to that.

You couldn’t stop your gaze from shifting toward the couple across the bar, no matter how hard you tried. You watched Sam’s eyes glisten every time he looked at her. He laughed loud enough for the sound to reach over the crowd. 

God, you felt so stupid. 

Matt couldn’t do it anymore. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense the way just sitting there was eating at you, the idea of you hurting was enough to break him. 

“Hey, I’ve got some leftover enchiladas from the Galindo case,” he said, leaving closer to you so his breath was against your ear. “Want to help me get through them?” Before you could make an excuse, he finished with. “They’ll go bad if you don’t. You know how often I forget dinner.” He playful bumped his shoulder into yours. 

You rolled your eyes. “And I keep telling you that one of these days you’ll keel over and I won’t run to help you.” 

“Yes you would,” he teased. “You like me too much.”

“Maybe,” you laughed. 

He could always do that. And the idea of going home alone…

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” You held up a finger, “but only if I can go through your record collection.”

Matt grinned. “Deal.”

Karen saw your gaze flit back to where it was before and leaned to whisper to you. 

“I know this isn’t much help now,” she said, “but you’re better off without him.” 

“Yeah, I never liked the smug sonofabitch anyway,” Foggy added a little too loudly.

“Shhhh,” you and Karen both hissed. 

You thought you saw Sam glance over and ducked to hide your face in Matt’s shoulder. 

Karen looked between the two of you, but kept her comments to herself, though her smile grew. 

Matt chuckled and took your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb in a way that said ‘it’s gonna be okay.’

-

Foggy and Karen got a cab but both you and Matt felt okay enough to walk back to his apartment in the warm New York spring air. There was still a bite in the breeze, lingering from winter. Only wearing a nice tee, you shivered. 

“Are you cold?” Matt asked, already taking off his suit jacket. He put it around your shoulders without you even having to ask. 

Karen shot you a smirk. 

You mouthed ‘Seriously?’

She snickered and closed the cab door. 

You quickly turned to Matt, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks- not knowing he could sense it, of course. “Ready?”

Matt smiled and held out his arm. “Lead the way.” 

His easy demeanor helped to calm you a little and when his arm hooked through yours, it felt like he was the one guiding you. Maybe he was, in a way.

“It’s really nice tonight,” you said, trying- and failing- not to sound awkward. 

“Are you talking to me about the weather?” Matt teased. 

Your face reddened even more. “Leave me alone, I’m-” you searched for a word, flustered. “Fragile.” 

He snickered. “Fragile, huh?”

“Yes,” you nudged his side with your elbow. “Fragile. Which means you have to be nice to me.” 

“I’m being very nice,” he said in mock offense. “I’m feeding you Seniora Galindo’s enchiladas and letting you rummage through my records. I’d say I am your knight in shining red glass this evening.” He poked you right back.

“You have certainly been chivalrous,” you smiled and fell into silence, the weight on your chest sucking the energy out of you. 

This was how it had been. One moment, you were okay, and the next…

It was like you only had two true modes of being. 

Angry.

Or empty.

There was much in between. It was getting harder and harder to remember that any of it had been good to begin with. 

The way his eyes just slide past you at the bar. 

The way he practically ignored you in the conversations at work.

The way he wouldn’t even talk to you about what happened. 

Like you weren’t there.

Like you were nothing. 

The word hit you. It struck you in the chest like someone had put their hands around your ribs and pushed. 

But you kept walking.

Matt sensed the shift- the hitch in your breath and the hesitation in your step. He wanted to stop you right there and pull you into his secure embrace to block out the thoughts that plagued you. The hurt. He wished he could stop it. 

But he waited. 

You were grateful for the jacket wrapped tightly around you because the night had turned colder by the time the two of you reached Matt’s apartment building. Still pushing down that dark empty ache, you climbed the stairs with your eyes trained on the ground. 

Matt opened the door, ushering you in with a gentle hand on the small of your back. 

The touch made you flinch, not because it was uncomfortable, but because the gesture brought out more feeling than you were prepared for. Every nerve was set on edge. 

“Sorry,” you murmured, seeing Matt pull away. 

He shook his head, still giving you that small smile. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He let you go first into the living room, where you took a seat close to the window. Staring out at the bright, shifting lights of the billboard, you breathed out for what felt like the first time since you saw Sam in the bar.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” you mused. You felt Matt take a seat, the cushions shifting beside you. His arm grazed your back as he draped it over the back of the couch. 

“Y/N,” he started softly.

You blinked back tears, a pleading in your voice. “Matt…” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He put a finger under your chin and gently turned your face toward him. “I know you’re holding something back. Why?” There was a desperation in his voice, a need to do something- anything to make it better. 

“I can’t.” You still tried to fight against the emotions trying to choke you. 

Maybe Sam had the right idea when he stopped speaking to you altogether. And you still didn’t know why. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Matt whispered, moving closer to you. “You can talk to me.” 

Those five words were all it took. Two weeks of being blamed and ignored and confused and devastated hit you all at once.

Matt felt the break before the first tear fell. He felt your lips tremble, still trying to hold back the words that were tearing you apart. It shattered him. Matt wrapped his arms around you and this time you didn’t flinch away. 

You crashed against him like the waves inside your chest. 

“Tell me what’s been going on, sweetheart,” Matt urged, his tone as sweet as the endearment he called you. “Just talk to me.”

“He won't-” You sucked back a sob. “He won’t talk to me. I thought, when he broke up with me, that things were okay between us. That we could be friends like we were before. But now, he won’t even look at me.”

Matt thought about Sam’s quickly shuffling feet, his spiked heartbeat when he saw them there. Like he couldn’t get away fast enough. But why? The last time Matt had been around the two of you, Sam seemed fine. Matt didn’t particularly like the guy but he made you happy. Or he used to, anyway.

“It’s not like I thought Sam was ‘the one’ or anything,” you said, calming yourself down. “But I thought these past two months at least meant something. He’s acting like they didn’t even happen.” You wrapped your arms around your legs, tucking yourself into the corner of the couch. “And I feel like an idiot because we weren’t together for long but… I guess he’d become one of my best friends and now it’s like I’m not… anything, anymore.” 

Your last statement struck Matt, but he didn’t push it. Not yet. 

“And he hasn’t told you why? He just-” Matt sighed. “Disappeared on you?”

More like he made you disappear. 

You curled up more. 

“And there’s nothing I can do about it.” There was no hiding the defeat in your tone. You wiped a stray tear. “I just wanted something to work out for once.” How many times could your heart break again and again and again before it gave up?

Matt kept an arm around your shoulders. He moved closer so you could lay your head on his shoulder and blew out a breath. “I know.”

His soft touch set you off again. Your cries were quiet, your tears slow. You didn’t have the energy to sob. 

Matt tucked you in his arms, waiting. It wasn’t his place to push, not when everything was so raw. Not when part of him wished he could kiss your tears away. 

He’d always wondered if his dislike of Sam came out of jealousy. Matt felt he had waited too long and he lost his chance when Sam came along. 

He felt horrible, thinking about that now, but it lingered nonetheless. 

“Thank you,” you sniffed, sitting up again. “I really didn’t want to go home alone again.”

You’d counted every crack in your ceiling three times already.

“You can come over whenever you need to, okay?” Matt smiled. “You liven up the place.”

You snorted. 

“I’m serious,” he said. Matt leaned over and kissed your forehead. “You warm every room you’re in.”

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but when your lips brushed against his- just for a moment- Matt pulled away.

“Wait,” he said. The kiss barely lasted a second, but he sounded breathless. His smile almost seemed nervous. “You haven’t picked a record yet.” 

You swallowed hard. “O-okay.”

While you walked to his crate records, Matt tried to force his heartbeat to slow down. Just the brief touch had his head spinning. But you were vulnerable and hurting. He couldn’t bear the idea of taking advantage of that. To keep himself busy, he got up to go to the kitchen, getting you a glass of water.

You picked a soft 90s alt album and put the needle on. Quiet drums filled the space but did little to silence your mind. You went back to the couch but didn’t sit down. You took the water but didn’t drink. 

Neither of you said anything for a while. 

Finally, the guilty part of you took over.

“Sam’s going through a lot,” you reasoned. “Between his caseload and things going on with his family…” God, maybe you were being the selfish one here. 

Matt held onto the back of the couch, unfocused eyes trained on the carpet. “That doesn’t mean he gets to treat you like this.”

You turned away. “I know.”

Matt let go of the leather and walked to you. “You deserve better than this, Y/N.” 

“I know.” Your heart faltered again. Another lie. 

Despite the voice in his head telling him to stop, Matt put a hand on your arm, fingers squeezing gently to get you to face him. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

You found yourself leaning into his touch again. At least it made you feel something again. When you spoke, it was almost too quiet. If it hadn’t been Matt, he might not have heard you.

“I’ve never had someone make me feel like I was…” The words cracked inside you. “Like I’m nothing the way he has.”

Matt’s heart broke completely. 

How could anyone make you think that? How could anyone not see how incredible and important and- he couldn’t even think of enough words to capture the growing need in his chest. A need to not have you feel this way anymore. 

“Y/N, no,” he said, taking your face in his hands. “You aren’t nothing. You mean so much to so many people. To Foggy and Karen. To me-” he took a deep breath. “Y/N, you’re everything.”

Suddenly you weren’t thinking of Sam or the girl he was with. You weren’t thinking about your emptiness or your anger. All that mattered, all you felt… was him.

“Matt,” you breathed him in, shaking with your next request. “Please.”

Matt’s lips ghosted yours. He was standing so close you thought you could hear his heartbeat. 

“Are you sure?” If you said no, he would step back and you would never have to worry about him not speaking to you. He could never leave you like that, no matter how he felt. But if you said yes-

“I need you, Matt,” you whimpered. You didn’t know how true it was until you said it. 

Until he closed the space between you, capturing any other words with his lips. 

Matt wished his kiss alone could show you how much you meant. He tried to convey every feeling with the movement of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, his hand moving to cup the back of your head. 

A soft moan escaped your throat as his tongue explored your mouth. You tilted your head back, giving him better access. 

The sound ignited through Matt. He held you tighter, hands falling to grip your waist while his mouth moved to your ear. 

“You’re everything,” he repeated, breath on your skin. 

You moaned again, fingers gripping his button down, pulling him back toward the couch. 

Matt’s hold tightened, keeping you in place. He chuckled and shook his head. “If we’re doing this.” He lifted you up in his arms. 

You yelped. 

He wrapped your legs around his waist. “We’re going to do it right.”

He carried you steadily to his room and laid you down on silk sheets. Matt hovered over you for a moment, letting his senses take everything in. 

Impatient, you tugged on his hair.

Again, he just chuckled, using one hand to grab your wrists and hold them over your head.

You raised a brow. This was a side of the snarky lawyer you hadn’t entirely expected. Not that you were complaining. 

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, a smug smile spreading across his face. There was the Matt you knew. “I need you to be patient.” He kissed along the collar of your shirt. “And let me make you feel good.”

“That’s two things,” you teased. 

He nipped at your collarbone hard enough to make you gasp.

“O-okay, Matt.” 

“Good girl,” he said lowly. From how your body responded, he kept that in mind for later.

Matt pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.

You admired the curves of his torso, leading downward to the waistband of his pants and what lay beneath.

“Matt,” you said, a slight whine in your voice. 

He smirked. 

Bastard.

You pulled those smug lips back to yours, kissing him with just a smidge of defiance. 

Matt’s hand made its way to your throat, squeezing just enough to hold you down.

“Be. Patient.” He growled again with a deeper tone.

He removed your shirt and bra in two swift motions. Matt didn’t waste any time roaming his hands over your body, committing every touch to memory.

Your breathing hitched as his fingers each ran over your peaked nipples. Rough yet gentle hands massaged your breasts. Matt rubbed his thumbs over the sensitive buds again if only to hear that lovely little gasp again. 

He took a moment to remember how this all started. As one hand teased its way down your stomach, the other took hold of your chin. 

“You are not nothing,” Matt said firmly. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, undoing the button of your jeans. “I want you to say it.”

You bit your lip and tried to turn away, but his hold wouldn’t let you.

Matt kissed your lips then trailed his way to your chest, listening to your heart. 

“Please?” He kissed the skin in the valley of your breasts.

You breathed out a sigh. “I am not nothing.” 

“I know you can do better than that.” Matt trailed his kisses over the slope of your skin so that his lips hovered over your nipple. “Come on, sweetheart. I need you to believe it.”

“I am not nothing,” you said a little more confidently despite the hitch in your words when the tips of his fingers grazed your clit.

Matt nodded before taking your nipple into his mouth. Your jeans and panties were quick to join the rest of your clothes on the floor and his fingers pressed down on your bundle of nerves. 

You had to bite back another whine. Between his teeth tugging on your nipple and his fingertips beginning agonizingly slow circles, you were already coming apart at the seams. Each swirl of his tongue matched the motions against your clit. It ignited every one of your senses, enveloping you in him. 

Matt sucked a little harsher, eliciting the moan you were holding back. 

And he reveled in it. 

While Matt switched his attention to your other tit, he accelerated his circles on your clit. 

“God, Matt.” You finally moved your hands from where he’d placed them above your head and tangled them in his hair. 

He could hear your heartbeat quickening, hear the unevenness in your breathing as he wound you tighter and tighter with just the tips of his fingers. 

“That’s it,” he cooed, replacing his nipping and sucking with soft licks and kisses across your chest. You knew you’d have several marks in the morning, which excited you even more. Matt rubbed harder and faster. “That’s it, baby.”

Your climax crashed into you before you could prepare. Your hands pulled on his hair, loud whining gasp escaping your lips. Matt caught the sound in a kiss, letting it vibrate through him perfectly. He kept up his flicking, figure-eight motions to help you ride out the high. 

You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, draping your arms around his neck. Closer. You needed him closer.

And yet, he pulled away. Matt smiled at your whimper, laying one hand on your cheek and bringing the other to his lips, licking your glisten from his fingers. You turned your head, taking two of his fingers in your mouth, sucking sweetly. 

Matt felt something snap inside him. With a deep rumble from his chest, he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, yanking you down to the edge. 

You sat up, hands reaching for his belt. You needed him. 

Matt pushed you back on the bed quick enough that you bounced on the mattress.

“Not yet,” he smirked, laying an arm across you to hold you down. There was something different about his smile. Something devilish.

Then he knelt in front of you. 

Your head fell back against the silk sheets as he bit your inner thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue. He did this up and down your legs, all the while holding you to the bed to keep your hips from bucking and giving you more friction than he allowed. 

“Ma-ah-” You gasped as his tongue finally swept up the length of your core. 

Matt’s head swam with every detail his heightened senses were taking in. From the taste of you to the way his name fell from your lips fueled his movements. He closed his lips over your clit, spelling your name into the sensitive nerves with his tongue- then spelling his own. 

Your core pulsed around nothing, tightening the more wrecked you with his mouth. 

“Fuck, Matthew,” you moaned. 

Matt lapped at your center, completely taken by the overwhelming burning inside him that you stoked with your noises and your scent and your taste. 

You almost screamed with the coming of your second climax, even more intense than the first. The ache inside of you just got worse as you gushed, still empty and needy. 

Matt drank in everything you gave him, pushing you as far as you could go. 

As he crawled back up to you, your limbs trembling and your heart racing, he kissed you gently, letting you taste yourself on his lips. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, afraid he’d gotten carried away. 

“I need more,” you pleaded, gulping down breaths. “Please, Matty?”

He smiled that devilish smile again. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Matty.” You keened, hands trying to reach again for him, but he held you firmly. “I need you inside me.” You pouted your lips. “I need you to hold me.”

Matt kissed you again, this time softer, trailing down your neck as he backed away to take off the rest of his clothes. 

You got just a glimpse of him before he laid you on your side and it was enough to have you aching even more. 

He laid beside you, holding your back to his chest. 

“Okay, baby.” 

Matt pushed inside of you, arms locked around your middle. He bit down on your shoulder to contain his moan while your breathless cry rang through the room. 

“So good, sweetheart,” he murmured, bringing his hips back. “You feel so good.”

“Just for you, M-Matt.” You laid your head back in the crook of his neck. 

Matt snapped his hips back, plunging his cock deeper inside your pulsing walls. “Atta girl.” 

You rutted back against him, every movement inside of you bringing a whimper with each brush of his shaft against the blinding spot within. 

Matt held you as close to his body as possible, making it harder to tell where he ended and you began. He slipped a hand up to wrap around your throat, turning your face to kiss you. His tongue claimed your mouth while he continued to rock in and out of you. In and out. A perfect, steady rhythm that stayed deep inside your core while being just slow enough to keep you wanting more. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Matt whispered, saying your name like a sacred prayer. 

“God, Matty,” you said, feeling his hand around your throat. “Matt, I’m-” You were cut off by a loud moan when he hit that spot that made you see stars even harder than before. 

“I know,” Matt cooed. “I know you want to give me another one. I know, sweetheart.” He gripped your neck a little tighter. “But I need you to wait a little longer.” 

“But Matty…” The hot coil inside you constricted more and more. 

“I know, baby,” he smirked against your jaw. “Here, I’ll count with you, okay?”

You tried to think past the haze of him. “O-okay, Matt.”

“Alright.” His free hand returned to your clit, making it even harder for you to hold back. “Count with me and I’ll let you come. One.”

You took a shaking breath. “One.”

“Two.”

“T-two.” 

This continued his thrusts, getting faster, leaving you both panting by the final count. 

“Ten,” Matt growled, nipping the back of your neck, having been struggling to hold on himself. 

“Ten,” you exclaimed. “Ten ten ten. Matt please.”

He wicked a line up to your ear, biting the soft flesh there. 

“Come for me, Y/N.”

You reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair again as overwhelming shocks of pleasure burned through you like wildfire. As Matt spilled into you, his hips stuttering against your ass, you stopped feeling anything else. Everything was this moment. 

Neither of you even had a moment to say anything, completely overcome by pleasant exhaustion. 

Matt cradled you to him and you fell asleep tangled with his body. He breathed in your scent, smiling as he let sleep take over him as well. 

-

You woke up to a warm sun and an empty bed. A moment of confusion clouded your tired mind before memories of the night flooded your senses. 

Seeing Sam at the bar.

The emptiness in your chest. The nothingness. 

Then coming here with Matt…

Matt.

“Oh God.” You sat up, silk sheets slipping over your skin. 

You had sex with Matt. Your best friend. Amazing, mind-blowing sex, but at what cost? Was one night worth screwing up years of friendship? And where was he? Was he so disgusted by what you’d done he couldn't bear to be around you anymore? 

Those fears consumed you as you scrambled to gather your things and get dressed. You found the living room empty, making your stomach sink even more. The thought hit you like a punch to the gut.

You screwed up the most important relationship in your life… all because you saw your ex at a bar. 

How you felt about Matt- feelings you were realizing you had- didn’t matter. You’d fucked everything up. 

Matt was climbing the stairs with coffee in hand when he heard the racing, panicked heart in his apartment from a floor down. One thought leaped to the front of his mind.

You regretted everything. 

With every hurried step, Matt grew more furious with himself. What was he thinking? He’d let his feelings for you get in the way during a difficult time and now you hated him for it. 

He would apologize. He had to. He couldn’t risk the relationship you already had. Even if it meant ignoring how he really felt. 

He opened the door with sorry on his lips, but you beat him to it.

“Oh thank God, you’re back,” you sighed. From your tone and the lingering salt in the air, he knew you’d been crying. His fault.

“It is my apartment,” he teased. If he could just get things back to how they were-

“I know, but when I woke up you were gone and-” You took a deep breath. “I understand if this makes things too complicated and you don’t want to speak to me again. I promise I didn’t plan any of this and-”

“Y/N, wait.” Matt interrupted, finally understanding. 

It wasn’t regret. 

It was fear. Like his. Only, you had just gone through something similar with Sam, which made everything even worse. 

“I know you have a lot going on,” you said, trying to hold it together. “I won’t add to that. Not over a-” The words stung as you said them. “Over a pity fuck.”

And just like last night, Matt’s heart broke for you.

“Is that what you thought it was?” Matt asked quietly. 

“I don’t know.” You fell back onto the couch and stared at your lap, unable to look at him anymore. “First everything with Sam now I’m going to lo-” You couldn’t finish, sucking in a breath to keep from crying. 

Matt crossed the living room and sat beside you. Slowly, carefully, he took your hand in his. He laid it on his chest so you could feel the steadiness of his heart. 

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said. 

You focused on that heartbeat. 

Matt moved his hands to cup your face. 

“Last night wasn’t about Sam or the breakup or the bar.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb. “Last night was about us. You and me. And we can make it mean whatever we want it to or nothing at all. But Y/N,” he sighed, “you are not going to lose me.”

You let his words sink in and made yourself believe them, at least right now.

Matt pulled you closer, gently pressing his lips to your forehead.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you glanced at the table, finally taking in the scent of the coffee. 

“So that's where you disappeared to,” you laughed a little at yourself for panicking. 

Matt nodded, his hands falling to his lap. “Yeah, I was out and I know how you get without your caffeine.”

“Hey,” you snickered, poking his side.

“I knew I could get a smile.”

You blushed. “How do you even know?”

“Trust me,” he beamed. “I know.”

The two of you decided that you would figure it out at whatever pace you both needed. He was your best friend and you loved each other. And you would no matter what. Still, the prospect of being together, of taking your relationship a step further, excited both of you more than you admitted. 

There was, however, a promise Matthew had yet to keep…

So you had enchiladas for breakfast.

[berylcups]

Could I maybe request SDC +Dio with a s/o that gets their work hours cut in half, and maybe they go scare the manager or smthn? Idk I'm not creative with prompts lmao. Thought it would be funny, thank youuu!!

SDC + DIO x Reader with their hours cut

CW: Death mention, horny old people,

Notes: hey! Sorry it took so long! I really tried with this one. 😭 I hope you like it! I’m still fleshing out their personalities. I’m still getting used to writing new characters. Even if this sux I hope you and everyone else can find some sort of enjoyment from this! 💜 Beryl

*also for my non-murican’ readers Target is a like a smaller scale Walmart but pretends to be bougie 🥴

Joseph

-Platonic-

“Why ask for xtra hours when you can get an allowance from your greatest grandad ever???”

-Romantic-

“Who needs a job when you got a sugar daddy ??? 😘”

SEND THAT HORNY OLD BASTARD TO THE NURSING HOME 🏠

——————————————————

Richie McRichardson doesn’t realize that you need to build a good resume. 🙄 or the fact we live in the real world where we have to make our own money.

Well no friend of his is going to get their hours cut! He’s going to use hermit purple to fuck around with electronics section and manipulate the tvs to make them glitch out and act possessed.

“GiVe Y/n FuLl TiMe HoUrS aNd BeNeFiTs…. Or ElSe. GiVe ThEm A pAy RaIsE ToO…”

“AlSo… ClEaN uP oN IsLe 6…”

Jotaro

“Good grief. Do I really need to get involved in this? Fine. Let’s go.” He sighed as he cracked his knuckles.

Your boss might die today. 😬 tell him to hold back a bit kay? I don’t think the Speedwagon Foundation wants to bail him out for getting into a onesided fist fight with a Target supervisor.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to do much. All he has to do is stare your boss down menacingly.

“I heard you were cutting Y/Ns hours. How about you fix that?”

Your supervisor is literally pissing their pants. 😰 He doesn’t leave until you get all your hours. Then he’s gonna smoke INSIDE the damn store because he’s disrespectful. If anyone tells him there’s no smoking allowed in the store he’s going to tell them to go fuck themselves 😭

Kakyoin

He’s going to use his charm to get his way. He’s gonna get you your hours back. If his charisma SOMEHOW doesn’t work he’s going to use Hierophant Green to string himself out so the boss and other employees keep tripping over what looks like nothing. 😂

The boss is freaking out getting slapped in the face and his ass whipped and has no idea what’s going on.

“Was this store built on a fucking graveyard?!” Your boss panics.

“You should really watch where you’re going sir.” He says smugly.

The boss finally gives in to your demands after they get clotheslined by HGs tentacle limb 🥴

Avdol

“Hmm? You're not getting any hours? That’s not according to YOUR fortune habibi/habibti! 😉”

He got some tricks up his sleeve. He’s going to get you your fortune…as told by his fortune! 🔮😅

“I have seen your fortune! You’re in grave danger. According to the ___ card it means you are going to lose all your wealth, health, and happiness!”

Your boss somehow believes this. Who wouldn’t believe a charismatic self assured middle eastern man in ornate robes and jewelry??? That’s a person you won’t forget!

To add some extra razzle dazzle he catches your bosses hair on fire. 🔥

Now he really thinks he’s cursed.

“Tell me mysterious customer! How do I fix this?! 😭😭😭”

Return the slab— “Give Y/N their hours back! And give them all the benefits and pay raises they need to live comfortably!”

Your boss gives in and does everything Avdol says. You’re officially getting paid as much as your boss now in fear of getting “cursed” again. …and to prevent 3rd degree burns 🥵

Polnareff

Your boss is about ready to taste some metal and I’m not talking about guns.

“Hey—! What gives?! First you don’t give my amour their hours and now your toilets are filthy and broken as hell! They won’t flush! 😤”

He’s already a menace for clogging the toilet. 😬 he’s going to go Karen mode on your boss.

“What the hell kind of economy do you think we live in pal?! I demand you give my baby all their hours! What do you expect them to live off of? Ramen noodles?! Not on my watch buddy!” He’s loud af and poking him in the chest.

If he back sasses the mighty Polnareff he’s going to have to sword fight Silver Chariot with a pool noodle from the outdoors section. 😅

He uses his craftsman’s swordship to slice the bosses belt and pubically pantses him 😂

He has no idea how he was able to air sword fight and cut his belt but he did and that’s why you have all your hours and why Polnareff is banned from every single Target ever in existence. Like that’s gonna stop him 🥴

Dio

“Why work such a meager job when you can work for me and kill the joestars instead ~?”

Because we don’t want to get our asses hospitalized and we live in the real world asshole. 🙄

Very well~. Dio is a generous partner, he will gladly solve your employment problem. 😈

But first—shopping spree~ 💅 he’s gonna fill up on some hair gel, green lipstick, sunscreen, and other unnecessary Knick Knacks. Yes he has a Live Laugh Love poster decoration in the basket. 🤢

“So I heard from my lovely Y/N that you aren’t giving them enough hours. How about a compromise? I’m in a good mood today so I’ll let you live if you give them all their hours back plus a raise.”

Your boss can’t believe you had the audacity to bring in a metrosexual bi vampire to scare him into getting what you want! He’s not gonna take you crazies seriously and tell you to take a hike!

“Oh ho~…” he has a mischievous glint in his eyes. Well you can’t stop him now!

“The World!!!” He summons his stand and takes his shopping cart.

“Road roller at target!!!” He laughs like a mad man as he runs over your boss.

…I think he’s dead ☠️

Dio somehow uses his charm to make you the new boss of Target. You still do the same job you usually do— you just get the pay and title now while everyone else does the hard work…. Honestly I don’t think you even need to go to work anymore. You’re just getting paid just to be paid!

[sesamestreep]

13 (Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions) for Matt/Foggy

(from this list of prompts)

Matt wakes up with a violent start, feeling hazy and slow and just wrong somehow. He knows instantly that he’s not in his apartment, because the bed feels different—it smells different, clean in a dull, itchy, cloying way that he doesn’t associate with his usual detergent—and there’s a bunch of sounds that he can’t identify, but they’re not the city sounds he’s accustomed to or the shuffling, mundane sounds of his neighbors going about their lives. There’s people about, certainly, but a lot of them, he thinks, and they sound urgent, even though when they speak, it’s at a whisper and when they move, it’s never at a run. But if he tries to sense much more than that, he just…can’t. It’s like there’s a wall inside his brain and it’s made out of cotton balls. It’s almost nice.

“Did you just say ‘balls…nice…’ to yourself?” Foggy asks, groggily, from his left. Matt realizes belatedly that the heartbeat he’d heard up close was Foggy’s and he’s just so used to it that his mind unconsciously filtered it out as background noise. God help him if Foggy ever goes rogue and tries to smother him (or just comes to his senses and tries it finally), he’ll have an exceptionally easy time getting past Matt’s defenses.

“Cotton balls,” Matt replies, even though that doesn’t really explain anything. Trying to string words together is exceptionally hard at the moment; it’s like the right ones are floating above his head but reaching for them only knocks them further out of his grasp.

Foggy yawns. “Oh, sure,” he says. “You’re in the hospital, by the way. And on massive amounts of painkillers, in case that wasn’t immediately obvious already.”

That explained a lot, including why the world felt so small to him suddenly. Any medication stronger than aspirin dulled the edges of the world for him significantly. His senses just didn’t reach as far and his reflexes were much slower. This is why he avoided painkillers normally. He didn’t enjoy this feeling.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to sit up. His body doesn’t feel terribly sore—thanks to the medication, probably—but it does feel stiff and misused. He’s got a bandage on his forehead and a few on his torso that he can feel and when he shifts—yep, that pulling sensation is stitches. Great.

“I don’t know,” Foggy answers, sharply. “I was really hoping you might be able to shed some light on the matter for me, considering you were there.”

“There was a…trade being made. Down at the docks, a warehouse by the river,” Matt explains, even as the details seem hesitant to rise to the surface. “It was that weapons dealer I’ve been following. Maya tipped me off—Oh, God! Maya!”

“Maya’s fine,” Foggy interrupts. “She’s the one who brought you to me.”

“What? Did she say—?”

“My ASL is trash, Matthew, I don’t know! She texted me from your phone, I came and got you, she disappeared into the night. And looked much cooler doing it than you ever did, can I just say?”

“Is this your way of telling me to get a motorcycle?” Matt quips, holding his ribs.

“God, just what I need!” Foggy grumbles. Even with his dulled senses, Matt can hear the crunch of the bones in Foggy’s neck when he attempts to stretch and wonders how long Foggy’s been sitting there waiting for him to wake up. He feels suddenly very sorry, on top of everything else he’s currently feeling.

“What time is it?” Matt asks, sheepishly.

“Just past four. In the morning, that is.”

It’s not as bad as Matt was expecting, but it’s still not great. “You should go home, Foggy.”

Foggy snorts sarcastically. “Yeah, sure, that’s what I’ll do, buddy. You read my mind.”

“Well, what exactly is the point of you sitting here and watching me sleep? You’ve got—We’ve got clients coming in to—today and you haven’t slept at all, I imagine, and—”

“Karen will handle things at the office,” Foggy cuts in, “and the point of watching you sleep is watching you sleep.”

“That doesn’t…make any sense.”

Foggy doesn’t immediately try to explain himself. Instead, he sits in silence for a long moment, before he laughs. “Do you know, if I had to pick a superpower—any superpower in the world—I’d want to be able to put people to sleep. Instantly.”

“That’s pretty specific,” Matt says, carefully. “And a little silly.”

“Not really,” Foggy says. “I’d knock you out cold every single night. Hell, I’d put you down for afternoon naps here and there too, just to make up for the years you’ve neglected your sleep cycle. And then you wouldn’t be able to go out fighting bad guys every night and cracking your ribs and bruising that pretty face of yours. And I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“But I wouldn’t help anyone anymore, either.”

“Is that how you see it?” Foggy asks, pained. “Is what you do all day with me and Karen that meaningless to you? You think we don’t help anybody?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I think I’d do the world twice as much good knocking you out every night as you’ve ever done as Daredevil,” Foggy spits, as his heart hammers away in his chest.

Matt winces, feeling his shoulders tighten and his blood rush in his ears. It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t hurt Foggy, not for the world. Not physically that is. And he’s not exactly in the right shape to even try it right now, anyway. Still, he doesn’t like that anyone in the world has the cheat codes to make him this angry this quickly. It’s too dangerous.

“Foggy,” he says, breathing through his nose to calm himself down, “I’m the one on drugs right now. I’m the one who’s supposed to be saying shit I can’t take back. Not you.”

“Sorry, Matt, but you wouldn’t even be here, getting proper medical attention, if you had it your way. If you hadn’t been fucking unconscious, you’d have dragged yourself home and treated your fractured ribs and busted skull with baby aspirin! So don’t talk to me about—!”

“Hey, how are we doing in here?” a soothing voice cuts in. A nurse, Matt imagines, based on the unfazed energy and the sound her shoes make on the ground as she crosses to his bed. Foggy’s voice must have started to carry. “Good to see you awake, Mr. Murdock.”

“Thank you,” he replies, mostly to cover Foggy’s scoff.

The nurse proceeds to ask him a bunch of questions about his pain level (which he lies about as naturally as breathing), his symptoms (looking for a concussion that Matt can tell from experience he doesn’t have), and whether there’s anything he needs (to leave right now, but he knows he hasn’t engendered enough goodwill to broach that topic yet). She then looks at his chart and fiddles with his I.V. before urging him to sleep again if he can, which Matt suspects won’t be up to him at all if she, as he imagines, increased his drip.

“Can I speak to you in the hallway for a moment?” she asks, sweetly but with a hidden edge. Matt’s baffled by this for a second before he realizes she’s speaking to Foggy and not him.

Foggy clearly hesitates over whether to indulge her, given what he knows of Matt’s hearing, but clears his throat and eventually responds, “Of course.”

The hallways offers them no privacy from Matt, but it clearly affords the nurse some confidence, because she says, the moment they step out, in an urgent tone: “You know, I should kick you out of here for all that!”

Foggy sighs. “I’m sorry. I know. You made an exception…”

“And I’m regretting it now,” the nurse mutters. “That’s how you talk to your partner after he’s been mugged?!”

“He—this happens a lot more than you’d think…”

“I don’t care if it happens every night! He could have died!”

“I know,” Foggy replies, solemnly, and his tone clearly catches the nurse as unaware as it catches Matt.

“Is there something going on?” she asks, sincerely concerned now. “Are you…hurting him somehow? Do you need help for…something? Anything?”

“No. Nothing like that, I promise. But thank you.”

“Is he hurting himself?” the nurse asks, after a long pause. “Because we can find help for that too.”

“Not…exactly,” Foggy says, and Matt can hear him shifting uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “He’s just not as careful as he should be. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more and put your mind at ease, really, but I can’t.”

The nurse pauses, clearly making sure the coast is clear, because her voice is lower and more conspiratorial when she speaks again. It’s also shaking, for that matter. “Are you in danger?”

Foggy laughs, and then evidently regrets it. “Maybe, but I’ve got���a guardian angel of sorts.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Not to you, no,” Foggy says, and Matt feels himself flush. “I appreciate the concern, but if you make Matt rest for a few more hours and resist his charms when he asks to be allowed to leave, you’ll be helping me more than you can ever imagine.”

“Okay, then. We can make a deal there,” she replies. “You know, I usually have a good sense when it comes to people and I was going to be really mad if I misread you when you came in.”

“How did you read me?”

“Really good boyfriend,” she says, and Matt doesn’t detect the slightest hint of flirtation in her voice, which…doesn’t make any sense, given her words.

“Thank you,” Foggy replies, sincerely. “I’ll keep it down, I promise. I’m sorry for the outburst.”

“You’re worried. It happens.”

“Thanks.”

They part ways, then, with the nurse going off down the hallway and Foggy turning back to linger in the doorway. Matt flops his head back onto the pillows and waits. Foggy comes back in after a moment’s hesitation.

“What was that about?”

“Your dumb ass got me in trouble with the teacher.”

“Typical me,” Matt says, with a weak smile. “Always leading you away from the bright future you deserve.”

Foggy comes to stand by the bed, his fingers tracing anxiously over the starchy hospital sheets. “Matt…”

“You were such a nice boy before I came along.”

“I’m still a nice boy,” Foggy says, sadly.

Matt takes his hand because it’s slid close enough to capture and he can blame the drugs for it later if he needs to. Foggy squeezes his hand in reassurance before Matt can think twice about it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“But…?”

“What does being sorry mean if nothing ever changes?”

“The law was never going to touch the guys I went after tonight, Foggy. You know that as well as I do.”

Foggy sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“There’s got to be some recourse for where the law leaves off, I’m just—”

“How are you having this argument with me when you’re on a truckload of painkillers? I saw the nurse give you more…”

“Years of practice,” Matt says, even though it is getting difficult to keep his eyes open. “You and that nurse are in cahoots against me.”

“I need all the help I can get,” Foggy replies, and Matt feels the mattress dip beneath him as Foggy sits down on the edge of it. “She wasn’t supposed to let me stay. No overnight visitation, normally.”

“But she let you anyway, because she thinks you’re cute…”

“What? No, I don’t think—”

“She called you a good boyfriend just now.”

Foggy laughs so hard and so suddenly that it makes him cough. “She meant I’m a good boyfriend to you, Matt,” he says, when he’s caught his breath. “You fucking moron.”

“Why would she think you’re my boyfriend?”

“Emergency contact. Different connotations of the word ‘partner,’ which I have shamelessly exploited before and I have no doubt I will again. The look of blatant horror on my face when I brought you in. Take your pick.”

“Huh.”

“If that bothers you,” Foggy begins hesitantly, like he’s about to apologize, “too fucking bad.”

Matt smiles, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh. I did something to my ribs, I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, Murdock.”

“Yeah, I assume that’s the only reason you’ve stuck around this long.”

Matt doesn’t hear what Foggy says to that, but whatever it is, he drifts off to sleep to the sound of his familiar voice, still holding onto his familiar hand.

[bucktommyscones]

Family Meeting

@bucktommypositivityweek Day 3-Meeting the friends and family. I kind of twisted it a bit, but I still hope you guys like it. It's another addition to the girl dad's Buck and Tommy and their daughter Alex universe.

bucktommy - Words: 1,055 - Rating: General - Complete

Tommy stares down at the little person in his arms, runs a light finger down her cheek, and marvels at this little person they made with the help of their surrogate.

Evan comes into the room with a bottle and stops, blinking slowly.

“Hey,” Tommy prompts. “You okay?”

Evan shakes his head. “Yeah, I just…you two are so gorgeous,” he says softly. “I had a husband, which wow, okay? And now I have this daughter that I get to raise with said husband. It’s a little…”

“Crazy?” Tommy supplies with a grin and Evan smiles back.

“A little bit,” Evan admits. “But in a good way. If you told 26 year old me that I’d be 35, married and a parent, I would have you committed.”

Tommy laughs just as there’s a knock on the door.

“Oh, they’re here,” Evan says. He hands the bottle to Tommy. “It’s too bad she wouldn’t eat earlier. No one will be able to hold her until she’s finished.”

“It’s okay.” Tommy looks down at her little face sucking on the nipple of the bottle. “They’ll be happy to wait.”

Evan’s grin is soft as he watches them and there’s another knock on the door.

“Right! I’ll go let everyone in,” Evan says. He leans down and kisses Tommy gently, then Alex’s forehead.

They’d decided to wait until they got home with her before introducing her to everyone. The only people who have met her so far are Maddie and Eddie and though they’d felt bad making everyone else wait, they’d wanted to make sure their surrogate, Ashley, was comfortable and Alex was out of the hospital before introducing her to the rest of the 118 family, as well as Lucy Donato, who has been a fixture in helping Tommy feel better about the prospect of raising a girl when his nerves got to be too much.

The first one in the living room is Maddie, who holds her hands to her chest and coos. “Hi little niece,” she says and Tommy grins as she bends down to give the baby a kiss on the cheek. “It’s auntie Maddie. You’re just as gorgeous as you were a few days ago.”

“Isn’t she?” Evan says, trailing behind the rest of the group as they make their way into the living room. Like he always does when the whole group is together, Tommy is glad they bought a bigger house before they got married, if only to fit everyone inside it.

“She’s really beautiful,” Lucy says, coming and wrapping her arm around Tommy’s shoulders, squeezing him in a gentle side hug.

“My goodness,” Bobby says, holding Athena’s hand. “You guys are very lucky. I’m proud of you.”

Tommy looks at Evan, who looks like he might cry.

“Thank you, Bobby,” Evan says and glances at the bottle Alex is still working on. “She’s almost done eating. Does anyone want to burp her?”

“I will!” Hen and Karen both say at the same time. Everyone laughs and Hen and Karen do a quick round of rock, paper, scissors, with Hen winning.

“Yes!” she cheers and Karen nudges her with an elbow good-naturedly.

“Have you guys gotten much sleep?” Chimney asks knowingly and Tommy snorts.

“What do you think?”

Chimney grins. “Sounds right for a Buckley-Kinard baby.”

“I know right?” Evan says. They’d done a mix of both of their sperm for the surrogacy so they don’t know for sure who the biological father is, not that either of them cares. That was the whole point anyway, though Tommy can’t help but think he sees Evan in her, around the eyes. He wonders if Evan thinks the same.

Alex finishes her bottle and Tommy kisses her head and passes her off to Hen, giving her a little burp cloth to put over her shoulder.

“Oh hello, sweet girl,” Hen coos as she begins burping her. Karen runs her fingers over the sparse hair on Alex’s head and smiles when she lets out a little burp.

“Ah, burping should not be so cute,” she says with a laugh.

“Everything about her is cute,” Evan says dreamily.

“Even two am diaper changes?” Eddie asks, amused.

“Yes, even those,” Evan insists and Tommy grins at him. As Alex finishes her burping, she’s gently passed around their family, and Evan settles next to Tommy on the couch, a hand on Tommy’s thigh. They listen to everyone coo over her and Tommy looks at his husband, marvels at this man he’s still building a life with over and over again.

Evan notices him staring and looks at him, eyes glinting with amusement and affection. “What?”

“I just really love you, Evan Kinard. Thank you for doing this with me,” he answers. He cups his face and kisses him softly and no one notices the PDA because everyone is still enamored with Alex, as they should be honestly.

“I love you too,” Evan says. “Thank you. I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Me neither,” Tommy admits. “Want to spend the rest of our lives staring at how real it is in the face?”

Evan’s grin is incandescent. “Oh yeah. Everything with you, you know that."

Tommy does know that. He's about to kiss his husband again when a familiar cry rings out and Evan gets up to take her from Lucy.

"I didn't do it!" Lucy says, a little panicked, and Tommy can't help but laugh at his normally calm, capable friend being afraid of a tiny baby.

"She's a newborn," Maddie says knowingly. "It happens."

Tommy watches Evan cradle their little girl in his arms, swaying back and forth and cooing at her.

Eddie plops down beside him on the couch. "Your face looks ridiculous right now."

Tommy snorts. "I'm sure it does. Can you blame me?"

"Not at all." Eddie looks toward Evan and Alex, the latter having calmed down to gentle baby noises.

"All right, Buck," Eddie says, standing up again. "My turn. Hand her over."

Evan does, and then he turns to the group. "Hey, Tommy and I want to thank you for everything. You guys have kept us sane during this whole process and we really appreciate it."

"Of course, Buck," Bobby says. "We're all here when you need us."

Evan smiles, walks over, and takes the hand Tommy's holding out for him. "We know."

[ninjatrashpanda]

Kisses so Sweet (And Spicy)

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2 (Todays prompt is "Scenes from a fire truck")

Read on AO3 here!

Buck dropped the sponge into his bucket with a cheerful, little hum. He’d usually be annoyed at getting assigned the grunt work, but he really didn’t care right now. With Gerrard finally gone and Bobby finally back as the 118’s one and only captain, even having to wash the ladder truck couldn’t crush his happiness. His hum turning into an upbeat whistle, Buck fished the sponge back out and began cleaning away.

Life was good, he decided. The 118 was finally complete again, Mara was back home with Hen and Karen where she belonged (and good riddance to the Wicked Witch Ortiz and her spot on the city council) and Chris had finally agreed to talk to Eddie over FaceTime. (Buck was convinced that Chris would be home by New Year’s, if not earlier!)

And then of course there was Tommy. Back when Buck had asked Tommy to meet for coffee, he hadn’t been sure what exactly he had been ready for. He had only just figured out his own bisexuality and had actively ruined his first date with a man by violently shoving said man back into the closet with him.

It had been embarrassing. It had been a slap to face. It had been a wake up call.

That Tommy had agreed to the coffee date (Yes, it was a date, shut up, Chimney!) was nothing short of a miracle, albeit one that Buck was thankful for every single day. Tommy had a way to make him feel cherished, loved, and all around important, like nobody else he’d dated ever did. The usual Tommy-warmth that always started deep in his chest began spreading through Buck’s body just thinking about it all, and it made him feel indefinitely lighter, almost as if he was floating.

A wolf whistle coming from the station entrance ripped Buck from his thoughts. Startled, he dropped the sponge, which landed on the floor with a wet squish sound, while he leaned against the truck and clutched his chest.

“I hate you!”

“Well, shit, and here I thought dropping in for lunch with my boyfriend was gonna get me some brownie points!”

Buck looked up, hand still on over his heart but unable to suppress the wide grin that spread across his face. Tommy stood there, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips, wearing a very specific blue hoodie that Buck very much knew was his.

“You scared the life out of me!” he called out, still half-laughing, half-gasping for air. He pushed himself off the truck, grabbed the wet sponge from the floor, and tossed it back into the bucket before letting his eyes roam over Tommy’s frame. It looked a bit tight on him, deliciously stretching over his chest and arms. Buck found himself wishing the hoodie was just a bit tighter so it would maybe show a little stripe of midriff, but alas. “You look nice in my clothes, though, so I guess I can’t stay mad.”

Tommy’s smirk turned playful, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively as he strolled into the station and over to Buck. “Hmm, me wearing your clothes does it for you, huh?”

“Implying me wearing yours wouldn’t do it for you?”

Tommy chuckled, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. He reached up and ran his fingers lightly along the hem of the hoodie, pulling it just enough to show a hint of skin. “You know damn well it would,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You in my clothes, in anything really, or better yet, nothing at all… I’m not picky.”

Buck’s grin widened, and he felt the familiar flutter in his stomach that Tommy always seemed to ignite with just a look or a touch. He leaned in, his nose brushing against Tommy’s as he spoke. “Good to know we’re on the same page.”

Then, without a warning, Buck grabbed Tommy by the hips and did a fast turn to slam his boyfriend against the side of the truck. Tommy let out a surprised yelp, but Buck quickly swallowed it by crashing his lips onto Tommy’s, wasting no time in shoving his tongue into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy, upon recovering from Buck’s surprise assault, returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm.

A soft moan escaped Buck as Tommy’s arms engulfed him and pulled him closer, the heat between their bodies growing higher and higher with each passing second. One of Tommy’s hands began wildly roaming over Buck’s back in wide circles, each swish sending a shock of electricity through his body, while the other quickly traveled down to his ass instead. Every knead and squeeze of Tommy’s large, skilled fingers went directly to Buck’s groin, stealing his breath along the way in the process.

Buck’s own palm had made its way under that damn hoodie, his fingers brushing over the scar on Tommy’s firm stomach. The sound that came out of his boyfriend as Buck decided to run his nails over the healed tissue was something deep and primal, almost a snarl, and it made Buck almost lose all sense of self. He pushed himself even closer, practically melding into Tommy, their bodies flush as the temperature between them rose to nigh unbearable degrees. Buck’s mind was a haze of Tommy: the taste of him, the feel of him, the soft grunts and moans that escaped with every grind of their hips against each other. There was nothing else in that moment, just the two of them and the overwhelming, desperate sense of want-need-crave.

Tommy’s fingers tightened on Buck’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer, as if he was trying to absorb him altogether. Buck gasped into the kiss, the sensation sparking a jolt that ran from his toes to the top of his spine and into the tip of every little finger, making his knees buckle slightly. Tommy took advantage of the momentary lapse, flipping their positions so that it was Buck’s back pressed against the cool metal of the truck. The shift was so fast it left Buck breathless and laughing against Tommy’s lips.

“Oh, we’re playing like that now?” Buck murmured, breath ragged as Tommy’s lips trailed down his jawline, nipping and sucking, leaving a heated path in their wake.

Tommy hummed, the sound reverberating against Buck’s throat where his lips had settled, sending shivers racing down Buck’s body. “Just keeping things interesting,” Tommy whispered, his voice low and rough, the sound vibrating deliciously against Buck’s skin.

Buck’s hands roamed under the hoodie, tracing the muscles on Tommy’s back, feeling the way they flexed and moved under his touch. He tugged the hoodie up, needing more contact, needing to feel every inch of Tommy’s warm skin against his own.

Tommy’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that made Buck’s stomach flip. He didn’t even get a chance to admire the view before Tommy took advantage of the situation, pinning Buck’s wrists above his head against the truck, his grip firm but gentle. Buck’s heart raced at the sudden restraint, his breaths coming out in short, desperate bursts.

“You know, I used to steal the ladder truck to hook up in it when I was a probie,” he panted, the corners of his mouth rising into a dirty grin. The glimmer that flashed up in Tommy’s eyes told Buck that he understood what he was getting at, and Buck’s mind already ran away from him to try and figure out how to discreetly run to the locker room, where his overnight bag filled with lube and condoms was sitting in his locker.

And then, just like that, it was over. Really, Buck and Tommy probably should have anticipated that this thing they’d been doing just now was going to abruptly end one way or another. Though frankly, Buck had not expected the goddamn intercom to suddenly come to life.

“Firefighter Buckley,” Bobby’s voice droned out of the station speakers and echoed through the bay, “you will refrain from sleeping with your boyfriend in our ladder truck. I’ve praised you for outgrowing that phase, don’t make me retract that.”

Buck let out a startled yelp, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. Tommy burst into laughter, his forehead dropping against Buck’s shoulder as he shook with amusement. Buck’s heart, which had been racing for entirely different reasons just moments ago, now pounded in sheer embarrassment. He let his head thunk back against the truck, staring up at the ceiling as if it might somehow provide a portal to disappear through.

“Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,” Buck muttered and glanced up at the loft, where Bobby stood at the railing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a challenging look in his eyes. Tommy straightened up and quickly shot Bobby a smile and a wave before turning his eyes, still sparkling with mischief and no small amount of affection, back to Buck.

“I can’t believe he actually announced that over the intercom,” Tommy said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “You’re never living this down, you know.”

Buck groaned, dropping his face into his hands for a moment before running them through his hair. “Yeah, I know. I’m gonna be hearing about this one for a while,” he admitted, but there was a lightness to his tone. This was hardly the most embarrassing thing he’d done during his time with the 118, and he knew that each and any teasing that’d come his way was in good fun.

Tommy reached out, tugging on the hem of Buck’s shirt to pull him in for a softer, more subdued kiss, one that still held all the warmth and passion from earlier, but also carried the pure, unadulterated love that Buck knew had settled in his heart by this point. It grounded him back into reality, assured him that no matter how hard Chim and Hen would take the piss out of this moment, he had Tommy, who would always be there to remind him of his worth.

“Come on,” Buck said with a soft smile, grabbing Tommy’s hand and dragging him toward the stairs. “It’s time for lunch.”

[daddymus-mamatron]

Thank you MegOP week I can finally unleash all the brain rot about one thing from TFE that I wish they had kept.

day 5; scars

this one was a very easy pick between the two prompts and it's something I've been stewing over since the first season. so much so that I have references for it, made some art for it and I even got a fic.

this is the rant part

hey remember that.

I do.

I think about it a lot.

In this episode, the first time we see Megatron, he’s been arguing with Karen and OP about how dangerous Starscream is, and how capturing him is a priority. The next scene is MegOP by the hole where the seekers escaped. Just before he goes in, OP almost begged Megatron to: 'Just promise me you'll return him without excessive force.' 

When Megatron does find Starscream, they fall right back into their fighting pattern, triggering some PTDS on Starscream's side.

the receipts btw

I see this and go feral, I am staunchly in the camp; this is not an animation error, i will bite!!! The Decepticon brand is only there when the pov is from Starscream. *feral gremlin moment over*

This is also an important detail. 

Hashtags intervenes, trying to warn Megatron about the Dweller. 'Lol, nice troll' is basically his answer, dismissing her, juuuust a few seconds before he gets energon siphoned. 

Scars appear on his face, the Dweller is having a very nice energon caprisun over there. Megatron, now a good Autobot, probably uses the last of his energy to fire his fusion cannon. In a very bad ass way, really cool move. Noble move to protect the Terran, the next generation. 

But it’s not his sacrifice that saves Hashtag. It’s Starscream that jumps and gets dragged away by the Dweller, leaving behind a rather dumbfounded Megatron. Seeing Starscream scream ‘NO!’ and dash toward danger to save someone, has probably blown a fuse or two in his processor. 

At the end of the episode, when he proposes ‘somewhere safe’ for Starscream, I see this scene as Megatron realizing he’s not the only one who changed. Earth had an impact on both the ‘Cons and the ‘Bots. He should feel bad for attacking Starscream right away, especially with Hashtag right there who could have easily got hit in the crossfire. He let rage consumed him and went down the dark path. All it got him was scars and Hashtag distrusting him.

So when it’s time to get fixed, the scars are the first thing the medic worries about.

I'd like to propose that Megatron keeps them. I HC so hard that the scars stay on his faceplate as a reminder. Like the scar on his shoulder, those streaks are a reminder that he would lay down his life for the next generation and that letting his rage control him again has consequences that would hurt him. Rage and solitude versus love and family. 

I could go on and on about this, let the old man be battered lmao

[promptsbytaurie]

can you write some meet cute prompts? :D love your writing, keep it up !! ^^

of course!!! and thank you so much :]

31 meet-cute prompts

you're immortal and they're the mortal who keeps showing up??? hundreds of years apart???

you're a talk show host and they're the celebrity you're interviewing

you're a vet and they're the owner of the dumbest animal in existence

your uber didn't show so they offered to drive you

you both reach for the same library book at the same time

you're the waitress saving them from a bad date

they're drunk at a party but you're just there for the trail mix

you share the same fire escape/balcony

your lawnmower won't start and they get it going in one try

they're the photographer at a wedding you're attending

you're at a hair salon next to each other

their cat keeps sneaking through your window

you were accidentally given the same seat at the movies

they're your sibling's new roommate

you work for the same supervillain

you're both musicians and you're neighbors (you maybe kinda get into a musical battle) (the landlord hates you)

your pipes keep bursting and they're a plumber

you're both sitting next to the most obnoxious karen ever on a plane

they're your secret santa

you hugged the wrong person at the airport

you tutor their younger sibling

they're the stowaway on your ship (dude)

you're both camp counselors and all the kids think you should kiss

you're a comic book nerd and they're a stuffy traditional librarian

you're both at a family reunion to act as emotion support for your best friends (it was a plot to get you two to meet)

you're a dogwalker and they're your newest customer (their dog is a little shit)

you're the only two people in the compartment of a train that's been stopped for two hours

your little brother is sick, your parents are traveling, and your only hope is your recluse neighbor

you're the monster underneath their kid's bed (wait no come back and check under the bed again--)

you're a librarian and they're the demon you accidentally summoned

you work the midnight shift at Walmart and they come in at 2:33 AM every night to buy dino nuggies

[shiorimakibawrites]

Tease (Kinktober Day 11)

Personal Masterlist for Kinktober 2023

FlightlessAngelWing's Prompt List can be found here.

Day 11 - Seduction.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB! Fem! Reader

Warnings: Seduction, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, office sex, clothed sex, boss/employee relationship, spanking, referenced oral sex, referenced masturbation, swearing

Tagging: @flightlessangelwings

Tease

Between being a lawyer and Daredevil, Matt was often busy. But lately he had been especially busy. And it was starting to take its toll. He was visibly stressed and in need of a break. But convincing the man to do that was tricky.

You had already tried asking him to take a day off. Just one day – no lawyering, no Daredeviling. Stay home, sleep in, savor his meals, do something fun that he enjoyed. You expressed your concern for his level of stress and exhaustion. You even had back up in the form of Foggy and Karen who just as concerned as you were. But Matt, being Matt, waved off those concerns. He was fine. He could handle this.

He was not fine. He could not handle this. Not unless he allowed himself to take a break when he needed it.

Since asking him hadn’t worked, other plans had been suggested. Seducing him was Marci’s suggestion. Karen had seconded it. You had considered it and eventually agreed. Having sex wasn’t the day off any of you had been originally aiming for but if it worked . . . he had at least taken a break. And you will have gotten some orgasms. Win-win.

But given how stubborn Matt is, you would need to do something bold if you wanted to seduce him.

You had considered a couple of ideas. One suggestion had been a pheromone perfume but you were a little reluctant to use it. For one, you weren’t sure that messing with his senses like that was a good idea. What if he reacted badly? You had seen how bad his headaches got when something went awry with his senses. You’d hate to be the reason he was curled up in a tight ball, eyes screwed shut, soft pained whimpers escaping from behind clenched teeth. For another, Matt already seemed to find your natural pheromones hard to resist and upping that, especially without asking him first, didn’t feel quite right.

You bought a bottle of it because it was good to have a back up plan. And maybe one day, he’d be interested in experimenting. If not, you could always give to Marci or Karen.

The suggestion you had settled on was more subtle.

You were walking to the office dressed in a cashmere sweater and silk skirt that fell to just above your knees, both favorites of Matt’s that he loved touching. But your secret weapon was that you weren’t wearing any panties under that skirt. Not very professional but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Given that it was early autumn, it was also a little chilly. You hadn’t realized just how much heat those inches of fabric were providing. But you persevered.

Knowing that your plan might end causing unexpected chaos at the combined offices of Nelson & Murdock and Page Investigations, you decided to treat Foggy and Karen to coffee and their favorite bagels on the way. A decision that earned you a ‘My favorite bagels! Best. Employee. Ever.’ from Foggy. Karen’s thank you was less dramatic but equally sincere.

You had also brought enough for yourself and Matt. Where was he? You knew he heard you coming or Foggy’s enthusiastic reaction to getting bagels . . .

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

You looked up to see him emerge from his office. Matt was always unfairly pretty but it seemed especially unfair today. If you had been missing that much sleep and getting into fights every night, you would be mistaken for a zombie. Not Matt. He stood there in his crisp gray suit, a smile on his face, looking as good as ever.

You wanted your body to have more than its usual ‘heeellooo gorgeous’ reaction to seeing him. So instead of doing your usual quick skim, you allowed your eyes to roam and think dirty thoughts about you saw. You looked at his face and remembered gripping his hair tightly in your hands while those pink lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. Traced his broad shoulders tapering down to his trim waist and remembered holding onto those shoulders, your legs wrapped around that waist, while he fucked you. Remembered those hands cupping your breasts and kneading your ass. Those fingers inside you making you moan. Everything short of actually touching yourself to make your cunt good and wet for him.

You watched him notice your reaction, saw those nostrils flare and that pink tongue dart across his lips. His hand on his office door tightened it and his body stiffened. Like it was taking a significant amount of his willpower to stay where he was. You wondered if he could tell that you weren’t wearing any panties. Or if it was just smelling you aroused after two weeks without any sex . . .

“Matt! Your wonderful girlfriend got us bagels! And good coffee!” Foggy said, unwittingly breaking the spell between you.

“Of course, she did,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him for your usual morning hug. “She’s a very sweet girl.”

You felt your face flush. It took everything you had not to press your thighs together. He was using that deep, sultry voice he reserved for dirty talk. That voice did things to you. To the point that you were pretty sure that he could recite entries from the phone book and it would still turn you on. The addition of sweet girl, something he called you when making you a whiny, desperate mess, only added fuel to the fire between your legs.

His arm around your waist tightened and pulled you a little closer. The flush on your face only deepened when you felt the growing erection against your lower abdomen. Foggy seemed oblivious but Karen wasn’t. She took in your flushed face and Matt’s arm around your waist. You saw her realize that you had started Operation Seduce Matthew Michael Murdock and Phase I – Get Him Interested was complete.

She gave you a conspiratorial wink before beginning Phase II – Drive Him Crazy. She cleared her throat and loudly reminded him that his 9 o’clock appointment would be here soon. Better eat his bagel and did he want her to pull the file for him?

You had the feeling that Matt knew exactly what you and Karen were pulling but he went along with it.

The rest of the morning was rife with sexual tension. Neither of you did anything inappropriate in front of the clients. Was touching his arm while you handed him papers necessary? No but you did it anyway. Likewise, he didn’t have pressed against your back until you were both refilling your coffee. The little kitchenette area was narrow but it wasn’t that narrow.

There was no innuendo. Everything you said to each other was perfectly ordinary office conversation. But in that voice . . . at this rate, you were going to unable to hear things like ‘Can you make a copy of this for me?’ without getting turned on.

Foggy might have been too distracted by bagels to notice Phase I but it didn’t take him long to notice Phase II. He gave you both irritated looks but seemed to have accepted the inevitable. If the way he loudly announced that he was taking a long lunch today. Karen was just as subtle when noting her after lunch plans to check on some leads. Away from the office.

The knowledge that they both knew what you were about to be doing had your face hot enough to cook with. But you weren’t so embarrassed that you were willing to forego that upcoming sex. You were careful to lock the outer door after putting out the closed until 1 pm sign. You had the feeling that Matt wouldn’t appreciate any interruptions. Granted, neither would you.

You had been barely turned away from the door before you pushed up against it. A hand gripped your chin and Matt was kissing you. It was a hard, dominating kiss that left you panting when he finally broke it.

“You are a fucking tease,” he growled. He didn’t sound like Matt Murdock at all. He sounded like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He looked like it too with that dark, almost feral expression on his face. It might have scared someone else but you only found yourself getting wetter. A deep rumble and then you were hoisted up on his shoulder. He walked further into the office. It was hard to tell from this angle but you thought he was taking you to his office.

It was his office. He deposited you back on your feet in front of his desk, turned you around and pushed your torso down until you were bent over his desk. One hand slide up your back and gripped the back of your neck.

“Naughty girl, coming into our office without any panties,” he rumbled out as he used his other hand to hike up your skirt. You jolted, the moaned when that hand slapped your now completely bare ass.

“Walking around here all day” he continued, slapping your ass again. “Knowing that I can smell how wet you are for me. Knowing that I can taste in the air just how desperate this pussy is for my cock.”

Another blow to your ass, this one harder. “Did you touch yourself in the bathroom?”

You squirmed, your face burning. “N-no.”

“Lie,” he growled, delivering another hard smack to your ass. “Were you hoping that because I was listening to that deposition that I wouldn’t notice you being a naughty girl?”

You knew that he probably notice but he had been busy and you had been so desperate for some relief . . .

“Answer me,” he ordered, using his feet to push your feet and thus your legs further apart.

“Y-yes,” you managed to pant out.

“Well, sweetheart, I noticed,” he said. “How wet your pussy sounded. The moans you swallowed. The faint whine when your fingers weren’t quite enough. The soft whisper of my name when you came all over your fingers. The sweet perfume of your release. I noticed every detail.”

You heard a clink of metal followed by the whisper of fabric behind you. Then you felt the head of his cock against your entrance. You gasped as he slide into you, not stopping until he was fully sheathed inside you. A deep moan rumbling out of his chest.

“Wanted this all morning,” he said. “Couldn’t wait to feel this pretty pussy fluttering and twitching around my cock.”

He began to move and there was nothing gentle about it. He fucked you hard, pumping rapidly in and out of your body. You could do nothing to control the pace, pinned down by the hand gripping the back of your neck, your feet were too far apart . . . All you could do was take it and moan.

“Yes, moan for me,” he grunted. “My naughty girl.”

You let out a loud cry when his hand, the one that had been gripping your waist, slide down an d under to start rubbing your clit. Like his thrusts, the pace of his finger was fast. Almost frantic. White flashes began to dance across your vision.

“Maa-tt . . I – I,” you started only to be cut off by a particularly hard thrust that almost made you scream. “C-close.”

“Want to cum, naughty girl?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said. Then whined as you felt his finger switch from firm circles to teasing, feather-light brushes. You could feel your orgasm beginning to recede.

“Then beg,” he ordered.

You whimpered but that wasn’t enough. He continued with the teasing brushes, just enough to stimulation to keep you near the edge but not enough to tip you over it.

“Please,” you begged. “Please let me cum. Please, please, please . . .”

This time you were cut off by the firm press of that finger against your clit. This time, you let out a choked scream. Close, you were close . . . “Yes, yes, yes . . .”

“Cum on my cock, sweet girl,” he said. “Cum for me.”

And you did, falling over that edge with a stuttering moan. As your cunt squeezed and fluttered around his cock, you felt his pace began to falter. One, two more hard thrusts, a low moan, and then you felt the warmth of his release filling you.

[brokebonewritings]

Dearest, You Said

Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: 18+, Language, Fluff, Getting Together

Summary: You and Matt have been friends since college. Besides Foggy, you would consider him your best friend and saying 'I love you' has always been apart of your vocabulary. When did the lines start to blur, and when did your best friend become so attractive?

Word Count: 2.3K

Navigation || Series Masterlist

A/N: Welcome to my first songfic series! Each one if going to be paired with a song and a lovers prompt! I really hope you enjoys these, and once it's all finished I'll start the next one. Pair this with Je t'aime by Velours Velours

You finished your third shot of the night and slammed it on the table. Both you and Foggy were in a challenge of who could handle the most alcohol. So far, he was winning.

“How are you already on your fifth shot, Fog?” You laid your head on the table in defeat. The coolness of the wood felt nice on your face.

“Just admit you’re too much of a lightweight and this can all end.” He quipped back

“In your dreams!” You say grabbing the bottle, and pouring yourself another shot.

Throwing your head back, the whiskey burns the back of your throat. As you recover you notice Matt walking in with Karen.

“Matty! Karen! Y’all made it!” You wrap your arm around Foggy’s shoulder. “Fog and I were just testing our endurance.”

Karen giggles as they approach the table, and you notice Matt giving one of his famous half smiles.

“Yeah right! More like I’m about to win $100!” Foggy says. You groan as you throw the freshly poured shot back. Holding back the sudden tears in your eyes, you pull out your wallet and hand it to Foggy. Triumphantly, he grabs it and opens it up. Only stopping when he realizes there’s nothing in it.

“What’s wrong, Fog?” Matt says with a smile plastered on his face. Foggy stares as he holds up a small paper that clearly states ‘IOU’.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” He groans. Laughter erupts from the rest of the table. 

You knew in the beginning that he would win the challenge. The prank wasn’t even your idea, it was Matt’s. Both of you planned it out as you sat on his kitchen counter watching him go over some paperwork the previous day.

“Okay okay, here is your payment sir.” You say as you pull a bill out of your pocket. He snatches it from your hand with a ‘thank you’ still shaking his head.

“So how was the interview today?” You turn to Karen with a smile.

“Oh you know, It would have been great if the woman talked to Matt and not me the entire time.” She sighed and looked over at Matt.

“Still?” You gasped “Next time you really should let me come, you know I’ll put them in their place!”

“As much as I love how protective you are,” Matt started “I think I had it under control.”

You flushed at his comment. Both of you had been friends since the first day of college. Well probably not the very first day, but it was sometime around then.

Being protective of Matt was something that came very natural to you. Oftentimes, people didn’t understand that being blind didn’t equal being deaf.  So naturally they would talk louder, or not speak directly to him.

“I’m sure you did.” You huffed looking at the empty shot glass. “Anybody need another drink?”

“Oh I certainly do after beating your ass!” Foggy piped up, prompting you to stick your tongue out at him. 

“Fine, Karen? Matt?” You look towards them.

“I’m good at the moment.” Matt states with a smile.

“I’ll actually join you!” Karen grabbed her purse before getting up.

You both make your way to the bar, before settling on two barstools. Josie comes to greet you both, and you order your drinks with a smile. Karen chats about her day at the office, and some recent cases they were allowed to talk about. You listen attentively and pay for all three drinks once Josie returns. 

Not that you meant to, but you absentmindedly kept looking towards Matt at the bar table. Zoning out everything around you including Karen.

“Hey!” She snaps her fingers in front of your face. “How long are you gonna keep staring at him?”

“Huh?” You shake your head, before turning towards her. “What did you say?”

“I said, You've been staring at Matt for like five minutes, what’s up with that?” She smirked.

“Oh,” You blush and put a few bills in the tip jar. “Nothing, just lost in thought.”

“Yeah I can tell.” She says grabbing her drink. “When are you gonna ask him out?”

Turning bright red, you shush her. Not that anyone around them was listening, but you know that someone potentially was. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grabbing yours and Foggy’s drink you both head back to the little table. Setting the drinks down, you take a seat next to Matt. He turns his head towards you, and you try your best to ignore him.

Foggy clears his throat which causes both you and Matt to turn your heads towards him.

“I really should be going after this drink. Got an early morning tomorrow.” He says and smiles.

“Oh Foggy, I knew it would get to you sooner or later.” You giggle. In return he throws the drink you had just bought him back, and gives you a wink. 

“Oh, y/n, I can go all night baby.”

“Yeah right! In your dreams!” Both you and Karen say, laughing. He shakes his head and grabs his coat.

“See you all tomorrow.” He says before leaving.

“Yeah I think I’m gonna head out too, gotta date with my bed.” Karen says innocently before getting up.

“Oh so you’re gonna leave me here with him?” You draw sarcastically. Matt pretends to be offended by this.

“Please don’t leave me with her. She’s crazy” He stage whispers that last part.

“Yeah…” She winks at you. “Have fun!” 

After Karen leaves, it’s just the both of you. The silence is deafening between the both of you. You look up towards him and begin to play with your glass as he takes a drink from his own. Feeling incredibly awkward and incredibly sober now, you muster up the courage to start a new conversation.

“So how’s Father Lantom?” You try to start a conversation. He smiles and sighs at your effort.

“You don’t want to talk about what Karen had said?” He questions.

You knew it! He was eavesdropping, and your gut feeling had been correct. Sure sometimes you had your doubts, but you could always count on Matt listening in on conversations he deemed interesting.

“You heard all that, did you?” 

“Of course, considering it’s something I'm quite good at.”

His lips pulled up into a smile, he really was an attractive man. There was nothing about him that seemed to be a red flag unless you counted the vigilante shit. Ever since you had met him though he was gentle, funny, and… well just himself.

“Common, let me walk you home.” He offers.

“Shouldn’t I be the one walking you home?”

He laughs at your response and shakes his head. You never noticed the crinkle of his smiling eyes until right this second. Feeling the heat rush to your face, you shake your head to get rid of the thought.

“y/n? You alright?”

“I’m fine, Matty! Let’s go!” You say, getting up out of your seat. 

Matt stands with you and grabs his cane. Once the both of you were suited up in your coats, he took hold of  your arm and you led him out of the bar. It was a very cold night, and you could feel the shiver that ran through his body once you both stepped outside.

Walking down the street you chatted about current life. How your family was doing, and your recent findings at work. Being an archivist, you were able to entertain him with your stories of artifacts, and your newest assistant.

You realize that you ranted long enough once you see your apartment building come into view. Matt had moved his arm so that you wrapped yours around his upper arm, like the true gentleman he was.

“So I guess this is me.” You say as he walks you into your lobby.

“I guess it is.” He stops to turn towards you

He stands there for a moment awkwardly. Goodbyes were always the weirdest for the both of you. Like you never knew when you would see each other again. He clears his throat before giving a brief goodbye.

“I love you, Matty. Get home safe!” You speak up. Watching him turn and pull his lips into a slight smile.

“I love you too, y/n”

With that, he leaves. You rush upstairs to watch him walk down the street from your window. You always hated seeing him go. It was like you never wanted him to leave.

That was the problem though. You wanted him constantly, all for yourself. The thought of him belonging to another hurt. When did it become like this though, you hadn’t really thought about how long you truly like him.

Pulling out your phone, you send him a text reminding him of the birthday present you had forgotten to give him. You always wrote texts like a letter. He had found it amusing once in college, and it just became your guy’s thing. 

You set your phone down on the counter, and began your nightly routine. It wasn’t until an hour later that you picked your phone up and saw a text from Matt. Wait… what?

Matt M. 12:43

So I’m Dearest now?

You 1:57

Dearest Matthew,

What could you ever be talking about?

With Love,

Y/n

Matt M. 1:59

You said  ‘My Dearest, Matthew’. Please don’t stop on my account, it was cute.

Had you really called him that? Maybe you didn’t mean to. 

Looking back at your first text you realize that you had definitely put a comma after the word Dearest. Flushing about the mistake you text him a quick message about heading to bed before heading to your room. It was easy for you to overthink things that should be honest mistakes.

He called you cute for crying out loud. How were you supposed to drift to sleep knowing he thought the situation was cute. Setting your phone on the nightstand, you climb into bed and try to make yourself comfortable. You don’t remember your last thought before drifting off to sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

You jump awake at the sound of knocks on your window. Looking around, you notice it’s still dark outside. Sighing you get up and head into the living room where you know the masked man was waiting at your window. You open up the window to your fire escape and watch as he climbs in.

“You know at this point I’m gonna just leave it unlocked.” You say as you rub your tired eyes.

“That would defeat the purpose of keeping bad people away.” 

“How do I know that you’re not bad, Matty?”

Turning to face him, you see that he has already shed his mask and set it on your side table. You gasp as you see the bruise forming on his cheekbone, and the blood coming off his swollen lip. He grimaces after hearing the noise you just made.

“Jesus, Matt… What happened.”

“Don’t know, some guy… was robbing a woman. He really got me bad, huh?” 

He turns his head up to face you. You never could stand it when he got hurt. So you took up some first aid classes after you had found out about his little hobby. Grabbing your first aid kit from under your sink and a pack of ice, you turn to aid your vigilante.

You slowly start to clean off his lip, and examine it to see if stitches were needed. Nothing too serious seemed to have happened so you gave him the ice for his face and guided him to sit on the couch.

Once you feel that he is taken care of, you head to the kitchen and pour him a glass of water. Too distracted by the task you don’t notice him get up and follow behind you.

“Can we please talk about the conversation you and Karen had earlier?”

You jump at the sound of his rough voice. He looked so seriously at you. It must have really been bothering him throughout the night.

“What is there to talk about?” 

“Don’t play coy, y/n, I know you like me.”

He stepped towards you, trapping you against the sink. You look up in shock to see his gaze was on you. Getting nervous, you feel your heart pounding in your chest. How can this man make you feel this way? You really didn’t understand.

“Sweetheart, I can hear your heart racing.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks at the sound of that pet name. Matt had never called you anything like that before. Yet you couldn’t help but dream of him calling you that more often. Clearing your throat, you finally decide to speak up.

“Okay! Yes, I like you! A lot, Matt.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know…” You quietly defeat. 

You feel his hand rest on your waist. Rubbing small circles with his thumbs. Looking up at him, you notice his cheeks are slowly starting to pinken.

“Do… you like me in the same way?” You ask. Not that you wanted to know the negative answer, but the closure would be nice.

“I do.” 

Watching him swallow hard on the confession, you slide your hands up his arms and rest them on his chest. Feeling his heartbeat was comforting. I guess you finally understand what that felt like.

“What do we do now?”

“Y/n…”

“Matt?”

Instead of responding right away, he leans in close and whispers softly against your lips.

“I love you.”

You smile before replying.

“I love you too.”

Closing the gap, goosebumps rise on your arms as he kisses you. Never in your adult years would you think Matt Murdock would be kissing you. His lips were soft, and the kiss felt like you were both reuniting after a long time apart. 

Time passed by slowly before you noticed him pull away. You open your eyes to see his were  still closed, and a shuddering sigh falling from his lips. This was bliss, and maybe it would stay yours for the rest of your life.

“Matty.”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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[margowritesthings]

The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise. 

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home. 

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment. 

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out. 

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here. 

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash. 

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…” 

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home. 

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget. 

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure. 

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long. 

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute. 

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you. 

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?” 

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again. 

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too. 

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…” 

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world. 

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either. 

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be. 

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click. 

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back. 

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night. 

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down. 

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare. 

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” 

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you. 

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked. 

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?” 

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering. 

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck. 

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves  twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is:  morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible. 

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown. 

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut. 

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.” 

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.” 

Oh wait, there it is. 

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves. 

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening). 

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me. 

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby. 

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared. 

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw. 

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!” 

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! Hope everyone is keeping safe and looking after themselves and each other in this here creative sandbox we're all playing in. I'm back again with another round of the fic I've been reading so far this month! You can find previous rec lists here.

16 August 2024

like i like my honey by @buick118 is a lovely one shot for some super sweet, romantic and caring domestic henren looking out for each other through the years! Hen's healing touch coming out in force to keep Karen looked after. This just made me feel so warm and happy, I love them and their love for each other so much! Plus the title is a Kehlani reference. YES.

when i see stars, that's all they are by @ithilien-writes was a gorgeous fill for the mixed media prompt of @summerofbuddie in which Eddie finds himself at a loose end and unwilling to go back to an empty home, so impulsively signs up to a community poetry class at the local library, makes some friends, and finds a way to channel his feelings. I really loved the slight fish out of water but giving it a go anyway vibe here, and how Eddie found putting his thoughts into words in poetic forms helped him to actualise his feelings.

an inch away from more than just friends by @littlespoonevan I absolutely adored and previously recommended part one which gave me all the romantic Eddie feels, and was eagerly anticipated part two and it did NOT disappoint!! In which Buck puts two and two together after Eddie shares a little of what he's been working through in therapy, and is determined to give Eddie the romancing he wants and deserves! The only problem is all the things Buck's doing to woo him it turns out he's kind of been doing all along. So so sweet, considerate and romantic. Beautifully written. I could just live here.

instructions on not giving up by @wildehacked this one's a hard hitter. Eddie's not coping and Buck is too worried to leave him alone, so invites him to join he and Tommy on their romantic hike getaway when disaster strikes. When the helicopter goes down after Tommy has a serious seizure, Buck and Eddie are grievously hurt and left to depend on each other to survive. Is rescue on the way? This packs an emotional punch but is well worth it for angst fans. Heed the trigger warnings! (Tommy is treated with respect but there is MCD, and suicidal ideation from Eddie.) Ow! My heart. It hurted so good?!

can't tell where you end (and i begin) by @absolutelybifurious Ravi invites the 118 out to a club, things escalate. Inspired by Ryan Guzman in Step Up (which I admit I've never seen but I HAVE seen behind the scenes rehearsal footage...hello), in which Eddie's got moves and Buck's got a problem about it. With a Lucy Donato cameo (yes thank you) and some very sultry dirty dancing. What more could you want?

the parts we play by @calinaannehart I have been absolutely loving following along with this actor!Buck au as a wip, and with just one more chapter to go now is the perfect time to start reading it! 'Buck isn’t a firefighter, he just plays one on TV, or at least that’s what he’s about to do. He’s offered the chance to shadow the 118 to learn what it’s like to be a firefighter. Eddie is fed up with these Hollywood types turning up and feigning interest in the job that he loves. Buck, however, is nothing like that and everyone can see the connection they have.' This feels really beautifully in character for an au and is expertly weaving in canon and reinterpreting it through the film star lens. So much fun to read.

PS - that's it for this week but as always, I'm on the lookout for henren centric fic, and early days Buck and Tommy (I like it best when it fits neatly into where we've left off in canon).

Feel free to self rec!

[devondespresso]

I Can Only Hope Now (STWG Daily Prompt: Claudia)

G | 1269 words | ao3 link | cw: absent father, brief references to Steve’s absent parents

Thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers! 💛

Claudia Edine Henderson never wanted to get married. Not really.

But she wanted kids, so that meant either getting married or seeing if the daycare was hiring.

Anthony Laurence Goldman wanted a family. She thought that meant the same thing, so they married.

And it was good. They had a beautiful baby boy, Dustin Clarence Goldman, healthy save for a defect with his bones. No collarbones, and the high chance he’d need a little extra medical attention down the line, but he’d still be living long and happy, and she couldn’t ask for more. 

Eventually, their baby's cries stopped waking both of them up in the middle of the night. It was just her, because mothers had a sixth sense for it. 

No sleep, no time, no awareness of what she let it do to her until her mother called, apologizing for the odd hour, and she realized she couldn’t tell the difference between four in the morning or six at night. After that, her mother stayed a while, helped with the baby when Anthony was at work.

Anthony helped when he could, but his real specialty was money. He knew how mortgages and insurance worked, knew how banks and credit card companies stayed in business, knew how to get the lowest bill from the hospital, so having to pay out of pocket for Dusty's somehow only ‘cosmetic surgeries’ wouldn't leave their wallets dry.

He knew how to juggle all that convoluted adult shit that scared the living daylights out of her. It was like it came so easy to him.

Maybe it didn't. She'd never really know.

It was his domain, and he preferred it that way, for years and years until it started looking like family was more like the backdrop for his dreams, instead of the subject of them.

She talked to him, lord knows she talked to him about it, but each new month of trying faded back into three of forgetting.

Dustin grew old enough to ask. Just enough words to get the question across. Where did Daddy go?

They separated a few months, hoping he’d miss his son enough to work with her on this. 

She gave him the ultimatum that turned into a divorce.

He agreed happily, saying that it would prove how much weight he was really pulling. That he didn’t need custody.

Claudia Edine Henderson and Dustin Clarence Henderson moved back in with her mother, and for three more years she figured the rest of it out. She found a job at a bank, learned the ins and outs of the business while balancing her own funds separate from both her ex-husband and her mother.

When Dusty was old enough to bike to and from school on his own, they finally moved out to a quiet small town, far away from Anthony. Dustin found friends so fast, faster than she ever could have hoped, and she was able to tell him everything.

She had no idea if she made the right choice for him. It was the right choice for her, and in a way that probably made her a better mother for him, but she could never be sure if that distance made any of it easier on him. Sometimes she wishes she did more to bring him into their family, offered to help with any of those things that scared her too much to do herself.

Sometimes she wondered if Dustin would ever resent her for it. If he didn’t already.

But then one night, Dustin was out way past curfew, without calling. Karen and Sue couldn’t find their boys either, so the three of them ran up to the station. Ms. Flo, the angel, called the chief himself immediately and gave them a spot in the waiting room.

An hour or so later, the chief showed up with all three boys in tow.

They were all grounded, no question, but before she and Dusty started heading home, he begged her for five minutes to talk with his friend in the chief's car. She relented, and Dustin ran to the passenger seat of the car, where a teen boy was leaning on the door and resting his eyes.

Dusty opened the door and the boy nearly fell out of the car, followed by a very loud “Henderson!” that made her chuckle.

Hopper said it was the Harrington’s son, and his next stop would be taking the kid to Hawkins General Hospital for ‘a concussion and a half’.

They both had to get going, and despite his anger earlier, Harrington Jr. said goodbye with a smile and a ruffle of Dustin’s cap. And when Dusty hopped into the front seat with stars in his eyes and the energy of a successful campaign, he talked about Steve Harrington.

Steve was awesome. Steve was like the tank their party needed. Steve was a badass until he got his ass kicked, which apparently wasn’t even fair anyway, because Steve would have totally won if Bobby? Billy? Was playing fair. Steve was strong, Steve was cool, Steve told him how to do his hair, of all things, which was also apparently a secret. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.

She had to be wary, just a little, because that was her job. But even more than that, she wanted to be hopeful.

So the next day, when Dustin asked if he could bike to the hospital to check on Steve, even though he was grounded, she decided to make an exception, and they both took the car.

Hopper’s car was still camped out in the parking lot, but before she could look for the right cars around, Dustin dashed again to Steve’s room, almost slamming the door open.

Dustin jumped on the bed before Steve could get a word in, let alone sit up to greet them, but the wide, if a bit confused, smile said it all.

Hopper offered the chair next to him for her to take a seat, and he filled her in properly on everything that happened. Most of the story was a better rehash of Dustin’s accounts with those in-betweens better filled, but the one thing that stayed perfectly consistent was Steve.

A new girl’s step brother got too rough with Sue's boy, Steve stepped in and started a regular fight, then step-brother grabbed a dinner plate and ended it. Step brother apparently fled after Steve wouldn’t get up, and the kids looked after him until Hop could get there. All four of them were worried, but Dustin by far the most.

She looked back to her boy, trying to get his hat back from Steve who held it high above their heads. Dustin stood to grab it, and Steve clearly planned on throwing it before Dustin managed to snatch it and punch him in the arm with a victorious yell.

She couldn’t help but smile. Couldn’t help but let them stay until Steve was discharged with a stack of paper and a call home to make sure he wouldn’t be alone. Couldn’t help but leave an open invite to their home, though ideally after Dustin’s grounding was over.

After a few weeks, he joined them for dinner, and never asked why they had to hunt for a third chair to the table.

And another few weeks after that, Steve stopped by to drive Dusty to the Snowball, coming inside because Dustin can’t get his hair just right.

And a month later, when he joined them for Christmas, Claudia could be comfortable in her hope. She could think that, at least going forward, Dusty would have everything he needed.

[farfromstrange]

heyyy can you do Matt Murdock Smut where him and brat!reader are in a heated argument and the reader is short and small, is feisty and takes no shit.

During the argument he says

“watch who the fuck you’re speaking to, I am not one these idiots who take shit from you”

and the reader is like

“I’m not watching it, no prescription with it, even blind at this point…. what are you going to do about it?”

Matt responds

“im going to put you in your place”.

The reader responds

“you can put me in my place, might a fact since you think you’re supposed to scare me and intimidate somebody I have a solution for that”

So the reader drags a chair to hover over him. Both a face to face banter and Matt laughs at her.

During this smut he is teasing the reader saying

“why did you go quiet? Aint so talkative now hotshot?”

Matt degrades her and calls her little girl and is pounding into her until she admits she will stop being a brat and obey Matt.

Please and Thank You!

Hi! Thank you so much for your request (and I am terribly sorry for the long wait). I started this a few days ago but I couldn't find a proper end. I adapted pieces of the dialogue so they would fit, but I used what you told me to, so I hope you like it!

Feisty | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Matt get into an argument and he decides it's time to put you in your place again and remind you who you belong to.

Warning: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, PWP, established relationship, Dom!Matt, Brat!Reader, cussing, strong language, teasing, degrading, praise kink, vaginal fingering, mentions of oral (f!receiving), rough sex, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, choking, slight breeding kink (?), marking kink, use of "good girl", semi-public sex (office sex), orgasm denial, fluff in the end

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: This is some filthy shit. The other requests are coming, by the way. I'm just trying to find ways to continue them. My inbox is still open for your thoughts and requests, but keep in mind that it might take some time for me to finish them. I also always have an open ear for anything else you guys feel like sharing. Enjoy! (and thank you for the request, lovely!)

18+ under the cut!

Sometimes, Matt makes you livid. Like, beyond compare, makes-you-clench-your-fists-and-want-to-punch-a-wall livid. He can be the sweetest and most caring partner, but there often comes a time when you want to scratch his eyes out. Today is one of those days. 

You’re not sure what prompted this argument you find yourself in, but it was bound to escalate from the second you muttered a silent, “Fuck you!” Under your breath. 

Foggy and Karen are out, it’s late and you are both way too overworked. You thought you could get away with hiding your investigation into one of his high-profile cases from him after he explicitly told you to stay away from it, but after watching Karen, you got motivated and it wasn’t until the clock struck twelve today that he opened his files to evidence he surely hasn’t put there and he realized what you were up to. Needless to say that his worry has made him angry. He doesn’t understand how you can be so reckless and won’t take a simple ‘no’ for an answer, and it frustrates him to no end that you refuse to have a proper conversation about the danger you put yourself in and the position he now finds himself in. You’ve made your case pretty straightforward, but you refuse to listen, and that’s what drives him up the walls. 

So when you tell him, “Fuck you!” Under your breath, all self-control and tendency to try and be kind snaps in him. 

“Watch who the fuck you’re speaking to,” Matt says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the amount of pressure he puts behind delivering his words suffices just enough to get his point across, “I am not one of those idiots who take shit from you!”

Other couples fight too, there is no denying that, but there is something that happens almost every time you and Matt get in such a situation. Your words turn into ticking time bombs, and you are quick to explode. He thinks he’s in control, you refuse to bow down, and then the situation escalates to the point you wonder if the neighbors think you two are anything but healthy. And maybe your fights aren’t healthy, but you love each other and you always find common ground. Eventually. 

But not right now. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of doing what he says or admitting whatever mistake he thinks you made. You were just being yourself, really. 

“Watch it?” you repeat, the words rolling off of your tongue like sour candy. “I’m not watching it. In fact, I’m going to act blind just like you and not even remotely watch it.  What are you gonna do about it?”

He chuckles darkly. “I’m serious, you better watch it sweetheart or I’m gonna put you in your place,” he says. There is something about his silent anger that sends shivers down your spine. 

You’re not scared of him; Matt would never hurt you. The exact opposite of fear happens whenever he talks to you that way, and you want to know how far you can push it because this argument is silly and he’s going to realize that soon enough. But you are not one to back down without a fight, and if you want to get what you so desperately crave, he needs to fold first. But God, he is so hot, and he looks even more alluring with his sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed like that. 

He towers over you as if he owns you. You’re a good few inches shorter than him, but that has never stopped you before. He likes to make fun of it, you like to make him regret it. You complete each other and yet you tear each other apart just the same. 

You mimic his stance with your hands on your hips and your head slightly tilted and you know it drives him mad. “You can put me in my place. In fact, since you think you’re supposed to scare me, I have a solution to make it easier for you,” you say. Your voice still sounds like sour candy, but he can’t stomach it. He’s almost allergic to it. All he wants is to stuff your smart mouth with his tie, tie you up and fuck you until you can’t walk straight anymore. Perhaps then you will realize that you can’t do everything without facing the consequences. 

Your vision is red like the towel held before a bull in the ring. Reaching for his office at the dinner table, you drag it out and place it before him. You climb on it, making sure you are face-to-face now and you cross your arms. “There, done,” you say. 

Matt takes a moment to register what you’ve done, and you think you’ve finally won, but then he opens his mouth and laughs right at you. That bastard. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not seriously telling me what to do, are you, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe I am. It’s not my fault you’re being such a dick.”

Bad idea. 

Suddenly, his arms are around your waist. He picks you off the chair and throws you over his shoulder. It’s almost effortlessly how he carries you over to his desk and throws you on it, the wooden legs shaking under the weight. 

“I’m being a dick?” he growls, leaning over you and trapping you against the desk with his arms on either side of you. “I think you need a reality check.”

You try to wriggle out of his grasp as you snap back, “What are you gonna do, hm?”

He smirks. “What am I gonna do with you? You’re being a brat, don’t you think that’s gonna have consequences?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“No. Fuck you!” He swiftly pulls you off the desk and spins you around, arching your back far enough to press your chest flat to the wooden surface. “And I mean that quite literally,” he says. 

You gasp when he grabs the hem of your skirt and roughly bunches it up around your waist. The comeback you had planned out gets stuck in your throat when his hand collides with your bare ass cheek. He gives them both a firm squeeze and his grip is almost territorial, as is the growl that comes straight from his soul into your ear.  

“Why did you go quiet? Ain’t so talkative now, hotshot?” he says. 

He doesn’t waste time. Don’t get me wrong, Matt Murdock could spend centuries between your thighs and it would keep him alive long enough to draw orgasm after orgasm out of you as he devours your sweet little cunt like his last meal over and over again. He could stuff you with his fingers all day and then leave you empty just to be craving more. He could rub your clit as hard as possible, then go slow and gentle until your body quivers with the magnitude of an earth-shattering orgasm that has you screaming his name in ecstasy and makes his neighbors complain. He could do it and he loves to do it, but today, he is anything but a patient man. 

Your panties are soon a mess of ripped fabric on the floor of his office. The wetness seeping out of your pussy hits the cold air and you hiss, but all you get in return is a low chuckle. “What’s wrong?” Matt coos into your ear. “Did my pretty little slut forget how to speak?”

There are many buttons he can push to make you obey, even though you don’t often seem like it, but the way he talks to you is by far the easiest to shut you up. 

He slides his middle finger through your slick folds, gathering the wetness and spreading it over your clit. You jolt. He’s being rough already, and when he shoves his finger inside of you, you moan. He curls it up and hits your G-spot without a single struggle, but that’s all he does. He tells you without words that he knows what you want, but he won’t give it to you. Instead, you hear his belt buckle hit the floor, and then it's the tip of his cock that is rubbing through your arousal. 

Your walls clench around thin air. Your cunt barely lets him in, but he pushes inside of you anyway. The pain mixes with pleasure, your legs squeezed so tightly together, you can feel him bulge your stomach from where your torso is pressed against his desk. All air leaves your lungs. Left behind is a gurgled scream that makes him smirk into your shoulder blades as he licks a long stripe over the back of your shirt. 

You reach back to touch him, but he slaps your hand away. “Only good girls get to touch,” he says, “and you haven’t been a very good girl, have you?”

“No,” you sob. His cock is so deep inside of you now, brushing your cervix with every relentless stroke and you hate it. You hate him for pulling this card because he knows you can’t resist. 

Tears are streaming down your face. 

“Pathetic. Always talking back at me but when it’s my cock inside of you, you suddenly can’t speak.” Matt grabs a fistful of your hair at the same time he slaps your ass. “I shouldn’t even be fucking you right now because quite frankly, you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve my cock and you certainly don’t deserve to come, not like this.”

You clench around him as if to keep him so deep inside of you. “Please, don’t stop. I’m sorry!” your voice echoes through the office in a desperate cry. Your fists are locked up, trying hard not to touch him, but it’s torture. You want nothing more than to put your hands on him, maybe even push him away because God, he is so deep, you’re not sure you’re going to survive. 

Every inch of your body yearns for him. He hits all of the right spots over and over again, and he drives you higher up the precipice, ready to push you over, but you know he won’t let you. It’s the way he purposely avoids touching your clit that tells you that you have to work for that orgasm, but it’s almost impossible when you can’t speak. Every word turns into a moan when he hits the sweet spot inside of you, your eyes roll back and you let out a broken scream of his name. Surely, Foggy and Karen could hear you from home. 

He slaps your ass again, relishing the feeling of the flesh jiggling at the impact. Your skin is hot and sweaty, and there is a clear imprint of his fingers on your hips and your rear now, too. He feels your erratic heartbeat and tastes your arousal in the air. Your muscles clench wildly, and you try your best not to move. You’re moaning, you’re so loud, but no words are coming out of your mouth. It’s just you and him and his cock that manages to make you feel things no man has ever made you feel before. You’re in heaven but at the same time the bus to hell is about to leave, and he is not yet done punishing you. 

Matt grabs a hold of your throat and hauls you back into his chest. “What was that?” he asks, his voice now a desperate puff of air too. 

“I’m s- ugh!” You can’t help yourself; you reach for his hip as he delivers another hard thrust directly against your cervix. 

He slaps your hand away again. “Answer me!” 

“I’m sorry!” Instead, you place your hands on your chest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- to- fucking hell!”

His grip tightens around your jugular. “Thin ice, sweetheart,” he barks. 

“Please, Matty, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to! I thought I was… I was doing the right thing and I- ah!”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Uh-huh, what else? Come on, this isn’t an apology when I can tell your tight little cunt is just desperate to come all over my cock. That’s the only reason you’re apologizing and I am fed up with your fucking attitude.”

He wouldn’t let you come that easily, it becomes crystal clear to you.

Matt pulls out of you entirely, cupping your cunt with his large hand, and starts rubbing your clit. It’s a pace you have gotten used to, but the strength he puts behind the pressure he applies once again renders you speechless. 

He smirks, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Oh, you’re so wet for me. You’re dripping. I could smell you even from the other end of the city. You’re so desperate, it’s pathetic. You need to come so badly, don’t you? You love when I talk to you like the dirty little whore you are, hm?”

“F-” You bite your lip until you can taste copper on your tongue. “Matthew!” He delivers a hard blow to your clit and you jolt, every fiber of your being high with electricity.

The pain only adds to the arousal that is flooding out of you, or it feels that way because he simply won’t stop, even when you beg him to. You could utter your safeword, but as much as it hurts, his punishment feels so damn good, your body just wants to let go and come. He just has to let you come, and you hate him that he is playing games that make it even harder for you not to.

“That’s not an answer,” he says. 

“Yes,” you choke out, “I love it!”

“I can feel how close you are, baby. You’re squeezing me so tightly.”

“Please, just- I’ll do anything, just let me come!” He has you right where he wants you. 

“Is that so?” He makes you feel so stupid, but you love it. 

“Yes!”

“Then tell me what I want to hear and maybe I’ll put my cock back inside of you. If you don’t, well… I’ll make better use of that big mouth of yours since you love to tell me how much bigger you can be, see if you can swallow as much as you like to chew, but I doubt it.”

Matt’s the cruelest when he stops right before you can tumble over the edge. You grip the desk, your chest heaving with abandon as the orgasm dissipates. He turns you around and grabs your chin roughly between his fingers. “Talk,” he demands. 

You swallow, his brown eyes wild, but you could never be scared of him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and then, hoping you’re right with your assumptions, “I’ll stop being a brat and do as I’m told,” you say. “You were right, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just please! Please…”

The faintest hint of a smile shows on his face and finally, he leans down to kiss you. It’s a heated kiss, his tongue already halfway down your throat, but you take that as an invitation to touch him. 

Your ass hits the desk’s surface and he spreads your legs again. This time, he slides in a little slower, sensing the soreness of your muscles. Though as soon as his cock is sheathed deep within you, his hips start snapping in the same relentless rhythm from before again. 

You cling to him and the desk, pulling at his hair and just hoping he will have mercy on you this time. As his pelvis grinds against your clit, his tip brushing your G-spot followed by the relentless assault of your cervix, it doesn’t take long for you to fly to the top of the cliff, ready to fall off. 

He kisses you again. “Good girl,” Matt murmurs. 

The praise makes you clench. 

“Such a good little slut.”

He knows exactly how to use his words, the fine line between degradation and praise that blurs into pleasure. He doesn’t hurt you with malicious intent, he hurts you just right where pain and pleasure meet, and he does it because he loves you. He may not always seem like it, especially while you’re fucking, but this is what you both crave, this is what you both need, and he does it perfectly every single time. You can’t get enough of him, he is everywhere, and you couldn’t bare to lose him. 

This time, it is you who kisses him. He can feel the vulnerability in your touch, how your nails no longer dig into his skin but rather caress him. You’re close, clenching, and your moans seem so close to his ear, his cock starts to twitch. He can feel the pressure building alongside yours. 

He changes the angle of his thrusts a little, grabbing your thigh and pushing it up against his chest. “Tell me,” he pants, “Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, “You.”

“That’s right. And whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!”

“Yeah. You have such a fucking big mouth, it’s infuriating. But it’s my mouth. Everything about you is mine, do you understand? No one else gets to have you like this, touch you like this, or see you like this. You get that?”

“Yes!” you cry out as you throw your head back, and his hand is right back at your throat. 

Matt grunts. “Good girl. That’s a good-” he thrusts forward hard, “fucking-” he pulls out and thrusts back in, bottoming out fully, before repeating the same motion as he finishes with a loud, “girl. Now fucking come for me!”

Your body responds to his command before your brain can even register it. The orgasm crashes into you like the wave of a tsunami. Your thighs lock around his hips, you’re shaking, you’re falling, and your moan turns into a scream that is barely muffled by the hand that is still choking you, still holding on as the warmth of his cum fills your abused cunt.

He crashes your lips together, swallowing your noises. With every anguish thrust, he makes sure his cum stays seated deep within you, a reminder that you are no one’s but his, and he’s the only one who gets to mark you like that. Always. 

You wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The moment after is silent. Only your labored breathing fills the air. Matt buries his head in your neck and he holds you there. The roughness from before it’s gone. He is gentle now, seeking your comfort and maybe something else he can’t describe. You melt into his touch. He holds you close and you do the same for him, stroking your hand through his hair. You’re both breathless but you’re calm, and all the stress from before falls off of your shoulders. 

“You okay?” you ask once you find your words again. 

He nods, silently at first, but then he slowly lifts his head. “Did I hurt you?” he asks. 

You’re quick to wipe the guilt off his face. “I’m perfect.”

“Okay, good.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I was worried there for a second.”

“You could never hurt me.”

“That’s not entirely true”

“Matthew-”

“I could tell you you’re hot when you’re feisty, but that you’re wrong about 98% of the time.”

You feign a gasp. “Ouch!” you press a hand to your chest. “That was harsh.”

“See?” he smirks, and it tells you that he has found back to himself rather quickly. “Told you,” he says. 

With a chuckle, you pull him down to press a kiss to his swollen lips. “I love you,” you say. 

And Matt is quick to return the sentiment with an even gentler kiss, “I love you too.”

You know that the next time you two fight, you will act the same, you won’t shut your mouth and he will once again find himself agitated enough to fuck you against every surface he can find, but if he knows one thing it’s that he wouldn’t have it any other way, and he loves how feisty you are regardless of what you say or do. He’s head over heels in love with you, and you are a real keeper. 

At least with you, he will never have a dull moment again in his life. That counts for more than you could possibly know. And as he’s holding you close, his cock still buried deep inside of you, he thanks God for putting you on his path.