#the price of flesh matt

[ligmaballsbaby]

{Angel:26 Asno:28 location: at her mansion in her kitchen}

(I do not know much about Asno because he is such an underrated character and I never get any information on him it's like he was forgotten so this may not be Canon)

Asno:"but look at the bright side Angel,Sano actually loves you now, you got a big job at the company, you have at least a few good friends and family... And you have a boyfriend that actually loves you"

Angel listens to him as she takes a sip from a vodka bottle until her eyes widened and she dropped the bottle, the bottle shattering on to the white kitchen floor, glass and vodka all over the floor

Angel:"oh my gosh you're right... Even after everything... Even though I'm above ground I'm still not satisfied... Oh my god... I'm the problem"

Angel says her lip quivering before she starts crying and sobbing, her mascara running down her face due to her crying, Asno's eyes widen in Surprise, he hasn't seen her cry in YEARS

Asno:"whoa!, what the..."

Angel takes off her glasses and wipes her eyes, still crying

Angel:"why can't I be happy?... am I busted?..."

Angel said while sobbing

Asno:"...no... Angel, you're not-'

Angel:"I am!, I'm a pit!... I'm a pit that Good things fall into..."

Angel said still sobbing

Asno:"Angel, you are not a pit..."

Angel:"I'm a PIT!..."

Angel said while sobbing, her face in her hands,Asno sighs while rubbing the back of his head, Angel gasped

Angel:"...ugh... I can't believe I'm crying... This is so dumb.."

Angel said her voice horse while raising her head up and putting her glasses back on, mascara still running down her face due to her tears

Asno:"it's okay... Don't feel bad about feeling bad"

A BoJack horseman reference and boyfriend to death OC's in the same room, what is this?, a crossover episode?

[stinkykitty8]

Ok hear me out

They even have the same hair.

[ribz4livers]

Has Madeline met any of Derek’s family members?

*cough*specificallyhisbrothermatt*cough*

I think in the beginning Madeline will spend most of her time alone or exclusively around Derek.

Once she's no longer a flight risk then I image her having SOME free roaming--probably still has to stay close to Derek or Derek's room. During that point I am sure she'll run into plenty of his family whether she wants to or not. Or just Matt.

She can probably tell the difference between Matt and Derek's foot steps.

[theshypinkflower]

Question... Totally for scientific purposes... How do you think dating Matt Goffard would be like?, I would imagine it to be a somewhat normal healthy relationship (minus his psychopathic brother and dad)

Honestly out of all the Goffard members you could date, Matt would probably be the best one. Hes not a total asshole like Derek, and he has some semblance of being self aware unlike his younger siblings. It's a lot of him ranting though. Comes home and the first thing he does is rant about what Derek did or what his dad said. Hes not afraid to spoil you though. Although if you try and spoil him back prepare for him to try and one up you. You got him a watch? Well he just booked a cruise for you two.

Unless otherwise stated, I really dont see Matt being a bad boyfriend. He does fear having kids someday. He thinks they're annoying and loud, and I mean hes had to live through 9 younger siblings. So he has a point. Have fun trying to tell him hes overworking himself, you will NOT get through to him. He also gets pretty antsy when things arent perfect (hes such a huge perfectionist) so prepare for a tense Matt if to you show up late to date night.

[perinto]

When I saw the post introducing Matt, I thought it reminded me of something. And recently I remembered what.

[nakosunset]

Matt...

[danishpastri]

Life With The Goffards Chapter 4

A Derek Goffard x Male!Reader fic

BEWARE OF THE TAGS !!!

Link

Art and Characters by Gatobob

[ligmaballsbaby]

*Angel and Emily are sitting across from each other as they watch them fight, Emily turns to Angel (Angel is sitting next to Matt and Emily is sitting next to Derek)*

Emily:"so Angel I haven't seen you in a while"

Angel:"yep and I haven't seen you in a while"

Emily:"okay I'm going to cut it how the fuck did you get with Matt?"

Angel:"met him at the club... How the hell did you end up with Derek of all people, girl you deserve so much better"

Emily:"well...*basically tells her the Derek took you home route*... And that's how (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)"

Angel:"what the fuck?..."

(I love this art so much (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠))

Derek Gofford's younger brother. Too bad Matt wasn't added to the game tpof

[thedevotionaltour]

the insane tension between me and the three dd #9 listings i keep looking at.

[ligmaballsbaby]

I did it again 😈😈😈

Angel slowly pulls away one of her eyebrows raised, and she tilted her head slightly confused

Angel:"is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?"

Matt:"take it how you want"

They just stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, he could tell the gears were turning in her head

Angel:"you know what I'm not going to think about it...fuck you if it's a-"

Matt:"I will in a minute"

Angel:"-insult... And thanks if it's a compliment"

She said before they start making out again

.... He came four times at night... She came seven... She's easy... Have fun at work tomorrow you two lovebirds (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

[stinkykitty8]

My name is Mathew Goffard yo.

[karlachismylife]

Sick Boy

#PriceGhostWeek

Day Two: Heart/Alpha (@gomzdrawfr)

I took a lot if inspiration from Ren's videos (and music) about his health jorney, but I didn't even try to be medically accurate with it. This is about feelings and a bit of wordplay, not facts.

Click-clack of the round dispenser. Echoey pop of a child protection lid on a rattling pill bottle. Crinkles of aluminum foil breached like a chest of a parasite victim in an Alien movie. A big see-through red one shaped like a rugby ball. Two tiny flat circles, pale pink. Three elongated whites: two pills with a word pressed into them, one gelatine capsule with magic dust inside.

Filtered water, one swallow, two hollowed cheeks, three blinks, infinity of scars.

Simon holds back the usual wave of bile, hungry stomach disturbed by the chemical cocktail foaming in the acid and breaching thin walls of his vascular system. His reflection in the mirror blurs, sunken eyes disappearing in dark sockets of a pale skull for a split second, and then everything comes back to normal – insomnia painting his face better than any skeletal makeup could.

His jaw bone feels foreign, an ill fit, accidentally swapped with the one he dug himself out with.

Humming of an aquarium filter. Plastic cracking of a single use white cup. Gurgles of an abused water cooler boiling with fat bubbles in its blueish head. Psychiatrist’s lobby smells of coffee and cleaning products poorly masked with a chemical lemon air freshener.

Simon swallows another retching urge and stands up thirty seconds before a door with a fake wooden pattern swings open to let him into a cabinet with no straight angles.

“Is this all making sense, Simon?”

It isn’t. It isn’t making any sense why being a good boy and swallowing pills hasn’t fixed him still, hasn’t made him suitable for medical tests she won’t write off no matter what Simon tells her. Brain damage, she says with a matte lipstick smile, C-PTSD. He’s stuck in a sympathetic response, she says, and Simon feels maggots crawl on the underside of his jaw – he’s not stuck, he’s choosing it.

Being always alert is a necessity once you learn what happens if you get sloppy.

“Simon? Oi, Simon! Bloody hell, boy, snap out of it.”

Price’s figure enters the bathroom of a cold safe house, already crowded with Simon alone inside, and flicks the switch on before closing the door. Grey light washes off the skull blur off the mirror, leaving Simon to stare into his own eyes. There are some eyelashes missing from the already sparse lines.

“M fine. Jus’ mornin’ sickness. Gonna approve my maternal leave, sir?”

Simon’s broad shoulders slump, muscles rippling and bulging underneath an ugly cross-stitching of scars across his back, he pushes himself off the sink and plops down heavily on the toilet lid, reaching into his sweats’ pocket for a tangled knot of wires.

“What’s tha��� for?” Simon’s eyes flick over to his cross-armed Captain, leaning on the locked door with his unshaven chin tucked into his chest – unmoving, studying, attentive. Curious.

“Humane shock therapy,” he swallows a curse as his aching fingers struggle to untangle the mess and nearly drop the whole device on flesh pink tiles. Finally managing to find loose ends, Simon clips both of them to his earlobes and takes a breath. “Hits my brain wi’ electricity t’ force it into “alpha state”. Means I’m relaxed. Apparently can’t do it on my own, need a bloody remote control t’ fix me.”

His thumb hurts from pressing on the upper arrow too hard. The dizziness creeps up too fast, another attempt to make him barf, and reluctantly pulls back with the single digit dialed down.

Four minutes into his half-hour brain frying session little device clutched in a fist with scarred knuckles dies.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Plastic case cracks in Simon’s palm. His jaw doesn’t fit, teeth grinding remains of six pills into white foam on a mangled scowl. Wide open eyes go blind with maggots swarming panicked pupils.

Price grips his wrist before he can smash a pricey stimulation device into pieces, steady and warm hold on his sweaty skin. John pries it out of his hand, carefully unclipping the clamps from his ears, rough fingertips rubbing cold flesh unconsciously to get blood running again.

“Shh, easy. Easy. Oughtta make ya relaxed, innit? Don’t need a machine for that. Ya have it in ya, Simon, I know.”

One hand leaves him to put useless device away, but the second one stays, sliding further behind and cupping the back of Simon’s head. With no hesitation, Price pulls him against his chest, forcing his face into a shockwave of warmth – there’s too much at once, slightly coarse chest hair rubbing against skin he’s suddenly extremely aware of instead of reserving all his senses for the bones underneath; rich scent of a recently awakened man flooding Simon’s nose and wiping pills’ bitterness from the roof of his mouth.

Simon swallows the urge to stick his tongue out and drag a filthy lick between his Captain’s tits and gets rewarded with a squeeze on his nape lighting up his brain in all those little spots they stuck electrodes for a scan in an 80-s sci-fi looking cap.

“Yer heart’s barely beatin’, sir. Need me t-”

“My heart’s perfectly normal. Yours is jus’ going at it like a bloody jackhammer.”

He knows now – finally feeling his blood flow where previously only worms slithered over naked bones, Simon tries counting beats and loses track too fast. It’s pricking in his forehead, pressed into a fine chest, pulsing in his fingertips suddenly squeezed in a desperate fist grip on Price’s hips.

“Tha’s it, good lad, breathe. How long ya sit with those clips usually?”

Big hand carefully covers one of Simon’s grasps and eases it into an open palm, still allowing it to stay on Price’s back, fingertips throbbing with suddenly warm blood pressing into the soft flesh needily.

“Thirty minutes, sir.”

He relaxes his second palm on his own, fingers splaying over the small of John’s back. Jittering knees bracketing Price slow down and stop, leaning slightly inward to let Simon’s thigh brush against his Captain’s leg.

“Your brain generates different signals every day, which means required settings of the stimulator will vary too. The easiest way to determine the level needed today is to raise it until you feel dizzy and then lower it by one. Is this all making sense, Simon?”

It is. It is making sense, he’s one step shy from dizzy, nausea finally dissolved deep down in his stomach. Eyes closed – not gouged out – and resting, he’s being a good lad and getting fixed. There’s a steady pressure on the back of his neck, thick fingertips massaging where maggots used to be.

Simon doesn’t notice how his jaw finds it way to fit perfectly into Price’s palm until John turns his head up and to the right, forcing Simon’s chipped ear against slightly quickened heartbeat and baring his face to the piercing gaze of two blue eyes.

There’s an astronomical map of freckles scattered on the universe of his boy – something no bone would be able to bear.

A thumb presses into the ugly cleft of his upper lip, sliding torn flesh further up – before Simon’s lashes can flutter open, Price shushes him, and Simon obeys. He keeps his eyes closed while his Captain measures his pulse through the wet thin skin of his scarred lips.

His mind doesn’t alert him, when John leans down and presses his own mouth down.

That same palm that fixed his jaw slides up his face reverently to cover Simon’s eyes, determined to keep them closed for the required thirty minutes, and Price deepens the kiss, licking into the pills-tasting mouth. Simon feels him, initial novelty and excitement of a hot tongue rolling over his teeth and soft facial hair brushing against his skin quickly get drowned out by a calm call of weighted peace pouring over him like caramel.

There must be something wrong with him for having no reaction to a sudden kiss from his Captain, but his psychiatrist would be proud of the steadiness of his alpha brainwaves today.

“What happens if ya keep it longer than thirty, eh?”

Price’s voice sounds hoarse right above his ear, big hands still holding his head close and blind. Simon doesn’t know what happens – maybe more brain damage, maybe an anxiety attack.

Maybe he becomes sloppy again and forgets how to be constantly alert.

“Runnin’ late to a briefing, sir.”

Simon’s hand slides lower, skims down the chiseled hip and tries wrapping around Price’s thick thigh, little finger pressing into the vulnerable hinge of his knee until John gives in and allows to pull himself into his Lieutenant’s lap.

“Good thing there’s no briefing today then. Ya feeling relaxed yet?”

Price feels thin blonde eyebrows move under his blinder palm into a momentarily pleading position and needs no other answer. You can’t expect same result as when using a proper device.

It’s making perfect sense.

[theshypinkflower]

I have a question!!!... Again!

How would Matt react if he found out the MC was pregnant, by him!, and they were freaking panicking (like Millie in the new episode), I feel like he would panic too or he would immediately try to hide it from his father because his father might force him to have the child (especially if the MC is from a famous family)

Panic. Panic is all Matt can think of hearing the news. The both of you are panicking. Neither of you want this baby, ESPECIALLY Matt. Surely you two were careful, no? Matt just has so many thoughts, mostly about getting rid of the baby. I know I said Matt is relatively a good boyfriend, but this is the one shitty thing he does. If you want this baby, I’m sorry but you’re getting pushed down a flight of stairs. He’s not letting a single child of his be born when he explicitly doesn’t want kids. He’s def hiding the news from his dad if his girlfriend is someone famous or affluent. He’s fucking rushing to the bathroom you took the pregnancy test in and burying the pregnancy stick deeper into the trash, throwing said trash out, and burying it underneath more trash. He literally takes out all the trash in the house to hide the test. He knows Sal would force him to have this baby if he found out. It takes him like 15 minutes before he’s calmed down and finally take a breath. Coming up with a plan on how to get rid of it without being noticed (cause cmon, a lot of people know him and/or you). Getting a personal doctor to help you terminate your pregnancy and paying EXTRA so said doctor stays quiet. Ain’t no way he havin kids.

[courtforshort15]

My Own Worst Enemy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 5,400

Summary: There are some things that are just too shameful to talk about, each mark on your skin a testament to a sense of pain and desperation that you’re unsure how to talk about.

Trigger warning: This is a bit of a heavy one, so read with caution. Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and mentions of suicide (reader does not commit suicide, but it is brought up briefly.)

Masterlist

You were a hypocrite. A dirty rotten hypocrite. To the highest extreme. For all you spoke about Matt needing to talk to someone, to develop healthy coping mechanisms for all the pain and trauma he had endured, you've struggled to do the same.

Struggled, and often failed.

The first time you slipped since you’d started dating him, it was easy enough to pass off as an accident. The man was a human lie detector, sure, but you had learned by now that if you spoke enough of the truth, he couldn't always pick up on the part you kept hidden from him. You hated to admit it, but you sometimes took advantage of it, telling yourself that it would hurt him to know the truth, that he was better off not knowing where your thoughts sometimes strayed into a depression so encompassing that you struggled to breathe.

"What happened here?" he asked as he cradled your wrist gently in his hands. Your wrist wasn't bleeding, per se, but it was rubbed raw to the point where it was red and patches of skin were missing. It was sore and agitated, washed with a bar of soap that had left it stinging even more, the flesh angry in the face of your failure to seek help instead of hurting yourself.

"Oh," you said, eyeing the mark as casually as possible, voice wavering just the tiniest amount, "I just scratched myself. No big deal." He pressed a kiss to the skin next to it tenderly, before sliding his fingers through yours and focusing back on the notes his computer was reading back to him through the ear buds that were squished into his ears.

No further questions on his end, and you sighed in relief, masking it as a yawn and leaning back into the couch, energy zapped out by a seemingly simple question and a feigned simple response.

You'd scratched yourself, yes, so that part wasn't a lie. But he didn't know it had been done on purpose.

He didn't know that the pain had soothed you at the time. Matt was a bit of a masochist himself, ending most of his nights bleeding and bruised, not because he necessarily enjoyed it, but because he believed it was a small price to pay for keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. He may not enjoy the pain, but he enjoyed the release of anger, the letting go of every frustration experienced by the law not being enough to help innocent people, enjoyed the opportunity to use his abilities and not be forced into the lie of being an ordinary blind man.

If Matt knew that you purposefully hurting yourself, for nothing other than taking your mind off the ache in your heart, there might be a part of him that understood, but it would not stop the overwhelming sense of horror.

When he noticed the second time, it was during a night out at Josie's, celebrating the end of a grueling work week with Foggy and Karen, both of whom were sharing a bottle of the worst tasting liquor you had ever had the displeasure of drinking. Sometimes you weren’t sure if it was because they actually enjoyed it, or if they were still trying to drink frugally despite the recent success and profit of Nelson, Murdock & Page. You joined halfway through the night, stumbling up to their table in desperate need of a drink after a meeting that had lasted far too long into the evening hours. 

By the time you got there, they were all halfway on their way to drunk, Matt included, his lips tilted into a relaxed smile that was far too charming. He stood up with a loud exclamation of your name, reaching forward to pull you into him and laying an enthusiastic kiss on your mouth as you laughed. When he stepped back, his hand drifted down your arm to pull you by the wrist in an effort to bring you to the empty chair by his, but you hissed as his fingers inadvertently trailed down the large scratch that had been carved into your forearm.

Matt seemed to have noticed it at the same time you tried to pull away, frowning as he pushed your sleeve up. His head tilted curiously as it always when he found a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

"What happened here?" His words were slightly slurred, and you were grateful that while his attention was on you, it definitely wasn’t the typical extreme laser-focus you were used to, likely due to the liquor coursing through his veins. 

You gave the same excuse.

"Nothing, just scratched myself." A pause, a nod, and the subject was easily forgotten. Matt, normally so astute and observant, smiled when he was assured that you were ok, and pulled you back in for another kiss. Foggy and Karen took turns greeting you, Josie handed you your normal drink order, and the night passed on without incident. 

It wasn't like you liked doing it, enjoyed hiding things from him, enjoyed hurting yourself. He didn't make it easy to keep things from him, at any rate, usually so perceptive and in tune with your every word and reaction. And it wasn't like it happened all the time; it was spaced out enough that it didn't seem like a pattern. The marks were definitely not bad enough to warrant much attention, unlike the cuts and bruises and fractured ribs he came home with. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you knew. Something you did, something you felt like you’d always done, even while telling Matt that he had his own unhealthy coping mechanisms he needed to watch out for.

This was just something that had followed you for years, decades even. Medication. Therapy. A brief stint in a psychiatric hospital. You'd done it all. And it wasn't like your depression was something you were afraid to talk about. It was just something that never came up, and you didn't know how to work it into a conversation.

How did you bring it up to Foggy, who had literally walked in on his best friend bleeding to death on his apartment floor?

How did you bring it up to Karen, a woman with a past drug addiction that had been partly to blame for the death of her brother; a woman who had been forced to kill a man just so that she could keep herself and her friends safe?

How did you bring it up to Matt, beautiful, adoring Matt, who treated you like you were the most precious thing in his life? How did you bring it up to a man whose father had been shot in an alley not too far from his home, a man who had held his ex-girlfriend in his arms while she died, not once, but twice?

They...they had real things they were dealing with, had already dealt with. And you...you were just someone with a brain whose hormone imbalance was off, which sometimes led to days where you couldn't get out of bed because you were so depressed.

Compared to them, what did you have to be depressed about?

And yet...it was this shadow that was always hanging over you. A monster hiding within it, behind your back, waiting for the right moment to sink its claws into you. You liked to think that you were able to fight it off 90 percent of the time.

But sometimes you failed.

Being with Matt was the easiest thing in the world. It was like breathing, like the puzzle pieces of you were always meant to find the puzzle pieces that made up him. Where he moved, you moved. Where he went, you followed. You were a well-oiled machine together, something that would run to the very end if it was given the right care and attention. 

He made it easy to forget the way the depression sank in occasionally. He was good at unintentionally, unknowingly chasing it away, though he had no idea of the monster he was inadvertently fighting on your behalf. But sometimes even he wasn't enough, just like you weren't always enough to pull him out of his head. It was just the reality of how things were, you supposed. 

He was a busy man, though he never made you feel like anything less of a priority. But sometimes life happened, and his attention was forced elsewhere, or you had deadlines you had to make, and things just got lost in the shuffle. You couldn't be around each other all of the time. And even if you could, these feelings would still find a way to sink in, like they always did.

You could feel an episode coming on. You'd felt it for the past few days. Sometimes the depressive episodes snuck up gradually, as if they were giving you a warning, and other times you ran head first into one. You weren't sure what was worse: being given time to prepare, with the sinking feeling of what was coming, or living life like normal, only to be smacked so hard in the face with it without warning. 

You found yourself instinctively drawing in on yourself. It was relatively easy to do this time. Matt was in the middle of a large case, and you'd made the decision to give him space to focus on the trial. You knew how much you meant to him, even while you could see that he was grateful for the extra quiet time at home to prepare. 

Foggy was in the same situation as Matt, and Karen was off visiting Frank in some undisclosed town in the Midwest. Three of your major support systems were currently wrapped up in other important things that absolutely deserved their undivided attention, and it was just a perfect time for the depression to sneak up, ensnare you in its clutches, and yank you back into its hold, this time without anyone to hold your hand and protect you against something they didn’t even know about.

You could feel it clawing up your throat, the tears and panic, and you knew it was going to be one of those nights. A night where you'd struggle to breathe, struggle to think, struggle to ground yourself in a reality where you knew you mattered and had people who loved you unconditionally.

Sometimes, all the support systems you had thoughtfully and carefully selected and put into place were knocked down by the force of a tornado that ran through your brain. Utterly paralyzed by the panic and sadness that was roaring through you, its force stronger than you'd felt it in a while, you found yourself needing to...scratch. 

So you did, and the pain grounded you, as it always did, pulling off layer and layer of skin with nothing but a fingernail and desperation to carve deeper into flesh. And when you were done, the relief was equally matched by the failure and shame.

"Sweetheart?"

A gasp tore its way out of your throat as you turned sharply around, reaching out to grab the kitchen counter as your balance wobbled. You’d gotten up to wipe the mark down with alcohol wipes, wary of an infection setting in. He was standing in all black, no doubt in the middle of his route through Hell's Kitchen, given the time of night.

"Hey, Matt," you said weakly, moving in front of the alcohol wipes still on the counter, as if placing your body between them and him would actually hide them from his senses. "Are you...did you finish for the night?"

He didn't say anything as he slowly removed his mask. Once it was in his hand and no longer over his face, you winced as his head tilted, his unfocused eyes landing on your hip, just a few inches above the line you had just carved into your thigh, skin bare except for the thin pajama shorts you were wearing. 

"I..uh. I was making my way through the city when I heard you crying," he told you softly, his focus still on the patch of skin that was on display and blood he could no doubt smell. "What is that?"

"Nothing, I just--"

"Don't tell me you just scratched yourself on something," he said, heat slowly seeping into his voice. "That's what you've been telling me, hasn't it?"

"I--"

"I thought maybe I was imagining things." Matt's voice was gradually getting louder and you couldn’t help but wince again, eyes shifting away from the downturn of his mouth. "But I wasn't, was I? You did this to yourself on purpose."

"Matt," you managed to choke out as your fist tightened around the alcohol wipe you’d briefly used to clean the scratch to prevent infection. "Please don't--"

"Please don't what?" he asked incredulously, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the tone, eyes lowering again so that you couldn’t see the look on his face. "Please don't get upset? You hurt yourself. You made yourself bleed, and you want me to...what? Not talk to you about it? Pretend it's not what it is?"

"Please don't yell at me," you whimpered, burrowing your head in your hands, unable to stop the tears from coming in full force, shame lighting up your skin like a failed firework that does nothing but burst into flame. "Please don't be mad at me."

"Mad at you?” he asked with a gasp, the words still somehow sharp. “I'm not mad....I'm horrified." You jerked back so hard your knee almost gave out, hurriedly opening the distance between the two of you blindly, your hip bumping painfully into the counter behind you. "I'm horrified that this has been happening for months and I...I didn't pick up on it."

Matt sounded so broken that you dropped your hands from your face, eyes trailing over his form through your tears. His head was bowed, and his hands were shaking. It only made you cry harder.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice every bit as broken. "I'm so sorry."

"No, sweetheart," he whispered as he tilted his head back in your direction. Something in the way you whimpered caused him to finally take a few steps toward you. "Don't be sorry. I just...I just don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything," you told him quietly with a sniffle. "This is my thing to deal with, I'll be ok."

"Bullshit, that's bullshit," he said adamantly in a tone that displayed a tiny amount of frustration. It made your heart speed up for just a moment, the fear of his impending judgment too much for you. "You're not okay. And this isn't just something that you have to deal with, not anymore. It's mine, too. I have to deal with it now, too."

You flinched, the words somehow indicating that he was now burdened with something that should be just your problem and was angry about it. You could see the look of horror that crossed his face as he realized how it had sounded.

"No, that's not what I meant by that. Fuck." His hands were suddenly cupping your face before you could think. You tried to pull away, but he stepped forward when you stepped back, latching on to you, though his hands remained as gentle as they always were when he touched you. "I meant that this isn't something you should have to do alone. This is my thing now, too. Anything that's yours is mine. This is something we will work on together. Ok?"

"You don't even know what it is, Matt," you said weakly. You put your hands over his and tried to pull them off and break contact, but he refused to be moved. 

"I thought…I know enough about depression to recognize it," Matt told you softly, blank eyes landing on your cheek. "I should have...I could feel it. I could feel something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I let things distract me from asking the right questions, and now you've..." he finally moved his hands so that he could gesture vaguely at your thigh. 

"It's not your fault, Matt." You moved to take a step back now that his hands were off, but upon recognizing your intentions, they were back on you, holding your waist this time. 

"I still should have--"

"No," you interrupted him as you shook your head quickly, rejecting his idea that he was somehow to blame. "I should have. This...I should have said something. We've been together for what, a year? Plenty of opportunities for me to say something, and I chose not to. You take responsibility for things out of control all the time, Matt. Don't take this on, too."

He took a shaky breath, one that rattled his entire frame. "Can I ask how long you've been..."

"A while."

"Did it start while we were together?" You shook your head and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, the look on his face suggesting that he was somewhat relieved that the habit hadn’t started since he came into your life, the idea that maybe he was what led you to start hurting yourself for the first time. "Before we met?" He flinched when you nodded, somehow realizing that this was a long-term habit. "How long, sweetheart?"

"Pretty much since high school," you admitted quietly as your eyes trailed a face that was far too pale. He shuddered, as if in pain, and you knew the admission hurt him. You felt incredibly guilty, and it reminded you of the day your mother found out what you’d been doing, her tears and anguish still haunting you years into your adult life. 

"Okay," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. He let go of you and took a small step back. "Okay. Is it alright if I hold you? I don't...I don't want to touch you anymore if you need the space right now." 

Your eyes welled with tears again. "Please do." You were in his arms before you even finished speaking. He was warm, and despite the heat inside your apartment, you found you needed the warmth of him pushed up against you. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other around your shoulders, where it reached up to cradle the back of your skull. His fingers wrapped themselves in your hair, something you knew he loved doing, something you knew he did when he was trying to remind himself you were next to him and safe. 

"Do your parents know?" he asked quietly as he held you to him, the side of your face pressed against his shoulder. Your arms were snug around his waist, your hands gripping the back of his sweat-soaked black shirt. You didn't know how much you'd needed him to hold you until this moment. 

"About what part?" Your voice was equally as soft.

"Any of it."

You sighed and you felt him tighten his arms around you. "They know about pretty much everything besides the...recent scratching. I spoke with my mom earlier today and she knows I've been slipping a bit."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me I could come to visit for a few days if I needed to," you responded. "I told her I couldn't, but she refused to hang up until I promised I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I have a virtual appointment on Thursday." He nodded and you felt more than heard his sigh of relief. 

"Good. That's good, sweetheart." You felt him place a kiss to the top of your head. By the way his chest expanded to take a deep breath, you knew a big question was about to come out, something that had probably been weighing on his mind since the moment he noticed the mark on your thigh. You had a pretty good idea what it was going to be before even he asked it. "Have you done more than...these scratches in the past?"

You winced, having guessed the question correctly. "I have." 

He tensed. "How much worse?"

You gulped, not wanting to give him the answer. He could feel your reluctance, but pushed on. "Please tell me. I'm not…I'm not going to judge you. I just want to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know."

Taking a deep breath, you forced it out, eyes squeezing shut as you revealed something you haven’t shared in years. "I was once...hospitalized. I was placed on suicide watch." 

You felt Matt shake against you, body trembling as he took in your answer, and grimaced when his arms tightened around to the point of pain. He apologized immediately, loosening his grip just a tad, but the shaking didn't stop. "Matt, I'm okay. I promise. I haven't felt that way in a long time."

"How long ago was that?" he asked you, seeming desperate to wrap his mind around it. "Last year? A few years ago? How recent?"

"It was ten years ago," you whispered as you clutched the back of his shirt in hands that weren’t steady, either. "I got a lot of help. I went through a shit ton of therapy. Put on some medication, some of which I'm still on. I'm okay."

"You have to promise me you won't do something like that." He was still shaking and it was making you tear up again. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he cradled your head there, hand still buried in your hair. "You have to promise me that if things get that bad again, you'll say something. You'll tell me."

You swallowed loudly, before slowly nodding your head

"I promise, Matt." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when you pulled back slightly to look up at him, it tore at you to see the tears that were making their way down his face, stark against a bruise that bloomed on his jaw. Gently, you tilted your chin up so that you could kiss his cheeks. First one, then the other, pressing all the love you felt for him into the simple connection of lips to skin. He pulled back to place a kiss of his own on your forehead, and took a deep breath.

"I think you should come stay with me for a bit."

You pressed your face back into his shoulder, your strength seeping out of you slowly, feeling safe and secure for the first time in days, the depression sliding back just enough so that the red flare of the devil could warm your skin. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I need you close. I need you to be with me where I can keep an eye on you."

"You don't--"

"Please," Matt whispered, the tone pleading and desperate. "Please...just don't argue with me. Not on this."

"I'm not arguing with you, Matt," you said gently, lifting a hand from his waist to run it through his hair. He caught the hand and brought it to his mouth instead. "It's just...you have a big case next week and--"

Matt jerked away, looking aghast, a sense of realization seeping into his pores, though you knew it was an incorrect one. But he took the idea and ran with it, once again trying to take the blame for something that was not his to bear "Is that--is that why you didn't say anything? Because of this case? Because you didn't want to distract me?"

You winced. "No, Matt. But it did make things...easier for me not to admit that things were bad. I didn't want to say anything in the first place, and I’m not sure if I would have said anything at all."

"Oh my god," he said, seemingly horrified. "You can't...you can't do that. You can't hide things like that."

"You understand the irony, right?" You mouth quirked up in the corner. His eyes widened drastically at the comment, lips parting in a mixture of alarm and frustration.

"That's not funny!" He exploded, tightening his grasp on you. Your mouth snapped shut. "You have to tell me these things. You can't use my job or my work at night or anything to hide this. Do you understand? Tell me you understand."

"I understand, Matt. I’m sorry."

"Promise me."

"I already--"

"Promise me again," he demanded, and your eyes widened at how frantic he sounded, your eyes sweeping over a face that housed haunted, red-lined eyes and drying tracks of tears. "Promise me a thousand times."

"I promise, Matt. I promise." You found yourself crushed back against his chest.

"You're my priority," he whispered adamantly into your ear. His hand was shaking again as it rested on your lower back. "You're the priority. Everything else...it doesn't matter, none of it matters if you're not here. I need you to understand that."

You hesitated, and he caught on to it. 

“Sweetheart,” he said with a quiet moan that sounded far too grief-stricken, his cheek pressing to yours, the scruff of his beard nothing but a familiar, welcomed feeling. It spoke to you of love and adoration, his beard often rasping against your skin while he kissed you, or even while he slid down your body to put his mouth on the most sensitive part of you. “I don't care if it's the biggest case of the century. I don't care if I'm one second away for finally catching the most important drug ring and tearing down their entire organization. If you need me, I'm there. No questions asked."

"But--"

"No." He pulled back to place his hands on your shoulders while his head tilted towards you, unfocused eyes landing around your mouth. "No buts. You call me. You tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. I'll be there as soon as humanly possible, everytime."

"Matt," you whimpered with a shake of your head, mouth tilting down in a frown. "You can't just--those things are important to people, I can't let you--"

"You're not letting me do anything. I choose you. Always."

You shuddered at the declaration, wondering what you had ever done to deserve this man, but unwilling to ever let him go. Eyes welling with a new batch of tears, you held on to him with everything you had, energy leaching out of you as you leaned against him. He took your weight easily without a word, no objection to being your sole source of strength and balance. 

Matt cleared his throat as held you, breath fanning out across your cheek. "Can I...will you let me check it?" he asked quietly, the question almost hesitant as if he expected to be rejected. "I can smell the antiseptic, but I just need to be sure."

You were absolutely helpless to deny him anything."Yeah…yeah, you can."

He took a step back and pulled you over to your kitchen table where he gently pushed you into a seat. Once you were settled with your leg outstretched and balanced on another chair, he grabbed another alcohol wipe and a large bandage from the first aid kit. Bending down so that he was kneeling next to you on the hardwood, Matt leaned forward and placed a kiss directly below the mark on your thigh, your skin turning into a field of goosebumps despite the fact that Matt had had his lips to every inch of your skin at this point in your relationship. There was something so gentle, something so reverent about the kiss that you mourned the loss of his lips the second he pulled away.

 You watched as Matt turned his attention to the long scratch on your thigh, frowning when you hissed at the alcohol wipe he ran gently down it. His finger traced the outline gently as his sightless eyes roamed over the room, and you knew he was testing the temperature of your skin as if he’d be able to trace the possibility of an infection. When he was satisfied, he took the large bandage and placed it over the scratch.

He placed the trash on the table with fingers that had steadied as he focused on making sure you were okay, the mission to help you overpowering the horror and concern he’d been feeling since he made his way into your apartment. Grasping your hands in his, he turned his face towards you, tilting up as he licked his lips in a tick you had long since noticed was often an indication of anxiety. He pulled your hands into his, the heat of his palms warm and soothing he held them. Within a gentle kiss placed on the back of each hand, Matt’s form finally seemed to relax as a small smile broke our across his face. 

Unable to help yourself, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

"Thank you," you whispered quietly as you slowly sat back up. He chased your lips for just a small second before he settled back on his haunches and let his eyes rest over your shoulder. "For always taking care of me."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "You don't have to thank me for this."

"I do," you affirmed gently. "And I'm sorry for...not saying anything."

He was silent for a moment as his thumbs traced over the back of your hands. "I understand what it's like. The depression. I've told you how bad it got, after Midland Circle. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. And part of that is thanks to you."

You opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off. "No, it's true. You make me want to be...better. Do better. And I know that I'd be struggling a lot more than I do if I didn't have you in my life. All the good that I do, all the good I try be, is partly thanks to you."

“Matt–”

He continued on gently even as you shook your head in denial, squeezing your hands tightly in his. "You do this for me every single day without even trying to, and I'll never be able to express how grateful I am for you, for how much you love me. So whatever you need, whatever you need from me, it's yours. Ask me for anything, ask me to do anything, and I'll give it to you."

A stray tear warmed your cheek as it fell. “You know I feel the same way, right? That I’d do the same for you.”

Matt’s smile was faint as he answered. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve told me.”

“And you–you believe me?”

“I do.” The sentence is small, a simple three letters and only two syllables, but it causes you to sigh in relief and sag against the chair as he finally stood up, your fingers entwined with his.

“Okay,” you whisper as you glance up at his face, taking in the tender look in his eyes and the smile that was equally gentle. “As long as you know the feeling is equal.”

Matt was quiet as let go of a hand to push back a few pieces of hair. "I know,” he said softly with a sigh, the flush of his skin finally bringing some color back to his face. “I think you should come stay with me for a bit, where I can look after you and make sure you're okay. We will make things work. No matter how busy I may be, this is the priority. Okay?"

"I….yeah, okay,” you answered with a nod of your head, eyes shifting to look out the window that he had left open, suddenly grateful that he’d been able to hear the tears that had left you feeling hollow for a few short moments. 

Only a single moment passed before he took your face in his hands and tilted it up so he could place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll help you pack your things."

When he pulled you out your front door, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and tshirt he had left at your place weeks ago, one hand in yours and the other holding the small duffle you’d thrown your things into, you somehow knew the move would be permanent. Your lease was nowhere close to being over, but the idea of swapping an empty apartment for one that was filled with silk sheets, record albums labeled in braille, and Matt’s smile was exactly what you needed.

Your bouts of depression would come and go, of this you were sure, but Matt would be unwavering and solid, standing in front of you in the face of whatever nightmare headed your way.

[danishpastri]

Life With the Goffards Ch.3

A Derek Goffard X Male!Reader Fic

Beware the Tags!!

Link

Art and Characters by Gatobob

[strnilolover]

Dilf!Matt x Younger!Reader (reader is 18)

Warnings: older guy with younger girl, slightly suggestive, loss of innocence?, a little dash of angst.

A/N: am I writing again? Yes. (Readers POV! Not my own POV.) But listen Dilf!Matt has my heart, would literally do ANYTHING for this man. Again bear with me cause something’s I haven’t written before, also didn’t know how to end it LOL 🙏🏻

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“Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. Take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older.”

Falling for someone older than me was never written in the script. My new bestfriends dad just so happened to catch my eye one summer. His tattooed arm, pricing blue eyes, and drop dead looks. He awakened things in me I didn’t know existed, like a box in a dusty corner being opened.

He was so welcoming, opening his home with open arms to me, a little too open. He listened to all my problems, like he was my father himself. But the way his hand touched my thigh or rubbed my lower back, set my brain into a spiral.

“Baby, am I your little secret? 18 I’m old enough to keep it. Yeah guys my age just aren’t the same, I’m young and that’s okay.”

He let me get closer. His touches becoming more heated, my own hands wandering over your body like I was never going to find another like it. Taking me to his room on nights his daughter wasn’t home, stripping me of my clothes - my innocences - and I let him.

I’ve never had a guy treat me like he does. His hands knowing all the right places to touch, lips knowing all the places to kiss - and all the right words to say - I knew I was young, but I didn’t care. I just wanted - needed him.

“Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. Take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older.”

I was obsessed with him. Every cell in my body felt like it was on fire because of him. I started going over more, not for my best friend - but for him. His hands gripping my flesh any chance he got, pulling me away to dark corners of his home just to have his way with me. And I loved it all.

“Darlin’ hold me while you wipe my tears. Fallin’ you say I’m wise beyond my years.”

He held me in all the times I needed him, wiping my face with his large hands as he told me, “you’re like no one I’ve met before, so much more mature - like you were made for me, yeah?”

Wiping my tears as he ravished my body, talking me through it all.

“Yeah guys my age just aren’t the same, I’m young and that’s okay. Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. Take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older.”

He pushed me away when the summer was coming to an end. Saying it was wrong, that he couldn’t continue anymore. The tears welled in my eyes, gripping his shirt, telling him it was okay, that I wanted this - I wanted him. He was on the line - the line of giving in to his desires, but to push me away for his daughter sake.

“I know I’m younger as your lover, but I’ve always wanted a man. For the summer, age is a number, my dear I know you’ll understand.”

I begged him, told him he was the only one I ever wanted, the only one I ever needed. “I know I’m young! But - but you’re the one I want, please stay..” And he gave in, knowing he couldn’t push his feeling aside. He didn’t care about what others would say, and neither did I. Only ever feeling at home in his arms.

“Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. Take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older.”

My parents didn’t like it much, neither did my best friend. But she grew to be okay with it, shaming her dad for even thinking about going after someone so much younger than him.

We were both happy, showing me the ropes of life and love as our lives went on. And to say he was a beast in bed - was a fucking understatement.

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