#fan fic
Text
Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)
This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.
Cat Man Do
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader
Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle
Word Count: 9600
Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats.
Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex)
General Masterlist
Matt Murdock Masterlist
Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @bellaxgiornata, @flynnethenerd
Also posted on AO3
Part 1
Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.
Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.
Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .
The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.
Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.
He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.
But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.
Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.
It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.
It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.
This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.
Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .
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You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.
You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.
Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.
You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.
You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.
You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.
You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.
Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.
Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .
‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .
You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.
A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.
You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.
Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.
But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.
You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.
As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .
Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.
“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”
As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.
By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.
You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.
The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.
“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”
The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.
This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.
“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”
Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.
Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”
Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.
But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.
You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.
Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.
“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.
Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.
You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.
“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.
It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.
How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.
Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.
You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.
“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”
The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”
He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.
“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.
The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.
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Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.
Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.
But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.
He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.
Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.
A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?
No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.
He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.
The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.
His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .
It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.
But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.
Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.
Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.
He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.
You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .
Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.
“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”
Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
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Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.
You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.
You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.
After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.
“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.
You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.
“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.
And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.
Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.
“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”
The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.
After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.
You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.
You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him
He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.
Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.
Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.
You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.
Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.
You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.
You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.
You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.
You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.
You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .
‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’
You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .
.
“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?
A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .
Just a few minutes . . .
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Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.
Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .
He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .
‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’
But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.
You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.
Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.
This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.
He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.
At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.
If he was unlucky . . .
And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .
Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’
That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.
‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
You let out a frustrated whine.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”
Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.
“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”
You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.
“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”
He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .
“Or even just my fingers.”
Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .
“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”
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You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.
Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .
But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.
Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .
Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.
“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.
“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”
“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”
“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”
You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”
“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” you said.
“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”
And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.
And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .
Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.
“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”
“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”
You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.
“Matt hasn’t called you back?”
“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”
Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.
Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.
“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.
“Bye.”
You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?
You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.
“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.
Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.
Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.
“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”
You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.
Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.
You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .
“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.
He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.
Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.
On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.
You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.
“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”
Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.
You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.
You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.
First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .
Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.
“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.
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Matt might actually be in hell.
He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.
But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.
It was torture. Pure torture.
He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?
Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?
He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .
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You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.
Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.
Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.
“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”
The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’
TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2
NOTES
The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.
Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.
Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.
Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appealed by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.
Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.
#fan fiction#fan fic#daredevil#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x you#part 1 of 2#cat man do#a03 link
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Here's a little something for my mutual @fabuloussisterofsin. Happy Reading!
Cycle of Care
Plot: After another long day in the OBGYN unit of Chelsea General Hospital (he's a gynecologist in this fic), Harding arrives home expecting his usual greeting from his beloved girlfriend and the smell of dinner welcoming him in. However, tonight, he receives neither usual welcoming gestures. Confused, he goes upstairs to investigate to find his dear love sick and weak in their bathroom. So he takes it upon himself to take care of her and make her feel better after her own long day of battling the first bout of her period.
⚠️ This is an 18+ fic with mild NSFW content. Minors do not engage. 🔞 Thank you. 🙂
Taglist: @goodoldcharley , @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @braindead94, @curbitkirby, @freddiefredfive, @writingkitten, @iobsessoverfictionalmen
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“Honey, I'm home,” the older man called from the front corridor as he put his briefcase to the side and hung his coats on the rack nearby.
He waited for your normal response, but to his surprise, it was silent.
He scratched his head in confusion, realizing that you were nowhere in sight.
Swiftly after, he noted that the lights were off in the kitchen and the living room.
That was even more peculiar.
You were always in one of those two rooms when he got home. And you always greeted him after work, especially on long nights like this.
And it was a very, long night.
He made you aware of that, as well as his growing annoyance with all of his fellow OBGYN's at Chelsea General Hospital at the time.
It worried you.
But you did your best to calm him down via text.
You kept sending him videos of apex predators being strong and steadfast in the wild. That, in turn, gave him the confidence and energy he needed to get through the rest of his hellish shift.
So he expected you to welcome him with big, open arms and a nice dinner as soon as he made it back home.
But nothing.
Still, he made his way upstairs to see if you were there. It didn't seem like the house was disturbed in any way and your car was parked outside.
So you had to be upstairs, right?
His inquiry was soon answered as he took his last step up to the top floor. In an instant, he heard you loudly throwing up in your shared master bathroom before the toilet loudly flushed after.
Harding was puzzled. He wondered if you were sick or if it was your monthly gift.
It made more sense that you were just sick, since you never threw up during your cycles.
But then again, you had started a new birth control he prescribed for you, so maybe that was the culprit.
Calmly, he walked into your shared room and then pried the bathroom door open to find you curled over the toilet still hurling into the bowl.
You had been in that same position for longer than 5 minutes and although you felt like you threw up all the remnants of your stomach lining, you still felt the urge to vomit more. So you didn't leave that spot.
However, your eyes did move over to your boyfriend. You felt horrible seeing how concerned he looked.
You could just tell his heart was aching from seeing you in such distress. It was clear as day in his dark eyes.
“Honey, are you okay?” he asked, before you threw up again.
“Hardy,” you started after you picked your head back up. “Babe, I'm fine. I promise. Just some menstrual sickness. I'll be okay.”
“You never have to vomit,” Harding swiftly replied. “This has to be a side effect of the new birth control I put you on.”
“Oh, right,” you responded. “Well, it'll pass. I trust your judgment. I like this birth control so far. If this is the only side effect, well that's fine with me.”
“Right,” he groaned. “How long have you been at the toilet like this?”
“About five minutes,” you admitted. “My period started this afternoon and you know how bad my cramps are. So I was resting, although this new birth control seems to make my cramps not as bad. Anyway, I guess I overslept and didn't have time to cook your dinner. I'm sorry, babe.”
“That's alright. I can warm some leftovers. That doesn't matter right now. What matters is you. Your dysmenorrhea is my main concern right now,” he clarified. “Is it just your normal cramps and this little side effect that's been bothering you today? Is that it?”
“Yes, I promise, Hardy. You don't need to worry about me. I'm okay.”
He wiped his brow in relief.
“Okay, good. I'm glad these new pills are helping your cramps a little, but I hope you won't be throwing up like this frequently. I guess we have to see throughout your cycle what happens,” he started. “But looks like you're done for now, so leftovers will have to wait. Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”
“We don't have to eat leftovers, Hardy,” you assured him. “That Thai street food place is still open til midnight. Just call it in. I'll get my usual.”
“Okay, but after we shower,” he specified.
“Aye, aye captain,” you teased.
He chuckled, before walking over to you and giving you his hand. You took it and he helped you back on your feet.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” he said back, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek. You blushed, before he bent down lower and gave you another kiss on your neck.
“Hardy,” you cooed. “What are you doing?”
“Just because I can't kiss your lips right now, doesn't mean I don't want to kiss you at all,” he explained, as his hands moved to your clothes.
Gingerly, he took your tank top off before swiping your shorts and panties off too.
And when he glanced at your bare body, he couldn't help but lick his lips.
Sure, he had seen you naked plenty of times, but your natural curves and soft skin always made him go mad.
You were just so beautiful to him. It made him go crazy every time.
“Damn. You take my breath away every time I see your bare skin.”
You giggled, before blushing.
“Oh, you,” you chirped. “Now it's my turn.”
He snickered, before you moved forward and removed his bowtie. Once discarded, you began to unbutton his crisp work shirt and quickly threw it to the side to expose his peak form you loved so much.
Oh his titties and little paunch looked so nice under the bathroom lighting. And his little tufts of chest hair really were a nice garnish to his natural look.
But you had to see him bare like you were.
It wasn't enough to just see his glorious chest.
You wanted to bask in him, even if you couldn't have sex like you wanted to right now.
“Still admiring me?” he asked, thick eyebrow cocked up.
“When am I not? You're so damn handsome.”
He blushed before asking in a cocky tone,
“Are you gonna take off my trousers and boxers? Or will I have to while you watch?”
“I'm capable of taking off the rest of your clothes and admiring you at the same time,” you huffed as you began to take his pants off.
He just laughed, but loved the look on your face when you saw his unclothed, resting cock.
Well, it was half mast, but still a sight to behold to you.
It still amazed you how nice his cock was and how much his girth made up for his average length.
He had a nice, thick penis and he knew how to use it. And you were ever so grateful, especially on nights like these where he wanted to fuck his stress away.
You were so tempted to at least touch it, just to give him some sexual satisfaction. But to your surprise, he smacked your hand away.
“Oww, what was that for?”
“I don't need you to do that for me. I'm fine. Now let's get in the shower. Tonight, I'm taking care of you. Sex can wait until your cycle is over…that means any and all sexual activity.”
“Yes, Hardy,” you groaned before you followed him into the shower after he started the water.
After manureving to stand in front of your big and tall boyfriend, you sighed in relief as the gentle caress of warm water coated your aching body.
Harding always knew the right setting to put the shower spray on and tonight was no different. It felt like the soft pour of rain deep within the Amazon, and it was heaven to you.
He took notice of your euphoria, smiling at the sight of your content.
Your smile and the way your face would turn red at the slightest compliment or touch always warmed his heart.
He never liked to see you down or hurt or sick, so seeing this change in demeanor really helped him calm his worry for the moment.
“Relaxed?” he softly asked.
You nodded, running your hand through your now damp hair.
He lightly chuckled, before suddenly asking,
“Are your breasts tender?”
“A little,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I forgot to earlier,” he clarified. “Allow me to help with that.”
You giggled, before the blush on your face exposed how excited you were for him to touch and massage your breasts.
Because you knew he wasn’t JUST gonna massage your breasts.
And you were proven right, yet again when you felt his soft belly against your back.
You mewed, before he bent down and began to track his lips down your jaw and into your neck. His gentle kisses made you feel all warm inside, before he finally moved his hands over to your bosom.
Gingerly, he rubbed the tips of his index and ring fingers on both hands against your nipples, moving them in a circular motion.
You bit your lip, trying not to scream at how good it felt. Harding was more than aware of how sensitive your nipples were, being your gynecologist first and all.
The memory of you moaning audibly when he gave you your breast exam during your first appointment with him still made both of you giggle.
“Still so sensitive,” he whispered against your shoulder he was now kissing. “Just like the first time I touched you there.”
“Yeah,” you hummed. “Your fingers and hands just feel so good.”
He chuckled.
“That's what made me fall in love with you,” he admitted.
“Really? You never told me that.”
“I guess I never wanted to admit it. But we've been together for a year now so might as well be honest. I never thought I would fall in love so quickly after my wife died. But then you came into my office, you beautiful ray of sunshine. My angel, sent to me from above. Your smile, your laugh, your timid voice, it all just sent my soul ablaze. I'm just glad you gave an old man like me a chance.”
“Oh, Hardy. I love you,” you hummed. “And I don't care that you're older than me. You know I like older men. You've been a heaven sent to me too. You're the best gynecologist and boyfriend a girl could ever hope to have. And between you and me, I've never had orgasms as good as you give me.”
He snickered before blushing himself.
“Thank you kindly, angel. I love you too,” he assured you with a quick kiss to your cheek.
His hands moved up to your soft flesh after, and gently he knead your boobs between his strong and sturdy hands.
You moaned loudly as he did so, leaning more into his belly as his massage became a little firmer.
“Still feels good, angel?”
“Yes, yes, Hardy. Please don't stop.”
“I’ll keep going for a little longer. But I have to address your cramps soon too,” he explained. “Looks like you don't have any lumps though. That's good.”
You laughed.
“It's not a breast exam, Hardy. You're always on, I swear.”
“Nothing wrong with checking on your breast health while I’m making you feel good,” he remarked.
“I guess you got me there,” you relented, before he slowly removed his hands from your breasts. “Thank you, Hardy. That felt so good.”
“You're welcome, angel,” he quickly replied before he took the handheld shower head off of its stand and angled it at your stomach and midsection.
“What are you doing?” you asked, annoyed that the water wasn't falling down on you anymore.
“Handling your cramps,” he swiftly said, before his thumb pushed the nob down and made the water spray out a little heavier and a bit faster against that skin.
“Ooh, okay. That feels really good,” you moaned, making Harding give you another cheek kiss.
“I know, love. I'm just gonna run this over your abdomen and midsection for a couple of minutes. Let me know if I need to change the speed or the temperature.”
“Okay,” you cooed.
He only snickered in response, keeping the shower head in his left hand while his right hand held your waist steady.
His hand holding your waist also moved in circles, gingerly tickling your skin there. It made you giggle and he gave you a sweet neck kiss after.
“Okay, you want me to run the water on your tummy a little longer? Or are you ready for me to wash your hair and body?”
“I'm ready for you to wash me,” you replied. “I miss more of your touch.”
He snickered in your ear.
“I'll wash your hair first,” he whispered, after he put the shower head back on its stand. “I want to take my time washing your beautiful body and praising it like I want to.”
“Okay…daddy…”
“What did you call me?” he asked, his voice oozing with intrigue.
“You heard me…daddy.”
He sinisterly snickered before pulling you closer to his paunch again.
“I'm gonna tear you up in 5 days,” he warned with a kiss to your ear and jaw. “But until then, I'm gonna make you squirm and beg for Wednesday night to come.”
“Oh, daddy,” you whimpered, as his teeth grazed your sensitive spot on your neck. He nibbled down, making you jolt a bit before you moaned in ecstasy.
“Sexy temptress,” he moaned, before he moved his head and hands from you.
You whined, but turned your head to see him gathering your shampoo in one hand as his other hand pushed down the pump.
“I'm coming,” he said when he saw you looking his way. “Be patient, little grasshopper.”
You giggled.
“Okay,” you playfully moaned before you felt his shampoo slathered palms moving around your scalp and hair.
His firm, big hands always felt so nice moving the shampoo around.
It was the most pleasant head massage.
“Rinse,” he instructed you before you ran your head right under the shower again and let the shampoo run down your skin and down the drain.
As you were doing that, Harding gathered some conditioner the same way as the shampoo.
You both met halfway again after and soon he was working the conditioner into your hair.
He was even more thorough, knowing that your conditioner of choice made your hair even more smooth and silky than it naturally was.
Because he loved touching and admiring your hair. It was one of his favorite ways to show affection to you other than the neck kisses and bites he always gave you.
“Okay. I'll let that sit while I wash you off,” he told you. “Would you like me to bathe you with your lavender wash or cucumber melon wash?”
“Lavender, please,” you answered.
“Your wish is my command, angel,” he replied, before he put some of the liquid on your favorite purple loofah.
He started moving the loofah against your back, making sure to make his fingers slip from the material so it could graze your back.
You whined at the teasing touch, so he began to kiss every area his fingers and loofah traced.
And to your delight, he got on his knees to playfully smack your ass before he moved the loofah over and kissed right where he smacked you.
“Oh, daddy. You're so naughty,” you teased to get a reaction out of him.
“I'll definitely be Wednesday,” he promised as he got off his knees.
He turned you around after, fully intending to wash off your breasts first.
He was gentle though especially when he got to your pussy.
And his kisses felt even nicer as he went on while you were facing him.
“Okay, you can rinse again,” he told you after he got back up on his feet again.
“Yes, daddy,” you teased again, as you did as he said.
Once you were done rinsing your body and the conditioner out of your hair, you returned the favor by washing Harding off with his favorite Old Spice gel.
He was practically mewing at your soft touch too, since you let your fingers slip past the loofah like he had. And you gave him many many kisses upon his body as well.
You just had to show him how much you loved him and appreciated his care.
“That was quite a shower,” Harding said after he turned the water off.
“Yeah, it was. But I'm hungry now.”
“Ditto,” he replied. “But let's get dried off and dressed first. Then I'll order dinner.”
“Sounds good to me,” you said back, following him out of the shower.
As expected, Harding insisted on drying your body and hair off before he dried himself off.
Then, of course, he also dressed you in your favorite pajamas once you put some new pads and panties on.
You threw your now dry hair into a bun after, while he got into his own pair of favorite pajamas.
You stared intently, but he didn't notice until he pulled his pajama pants up. Then he chuckled once he noticed.
“Like what you see?”
“Of course, handsome,” you said, reassuring him with a warm hug.
“Angel, you're too kind,” he said, his face turning completely red. “Now let's get you to bed. I'll order our food after.”
“Okay,” you hummed, rubbing your head against his arm.
He chuckled again, kissed your forehead, and then led you back into your room.
Without hesitation, you crawled to your side of the bed and let him tuck you in before he gave you another kiss upon your cheek.
“Take it easy, angel. I'm gonna go back downstairs, order the food, and wait for it while you rest up here.”
“Sounds good to me,” you chirped, before he left you, snickering all the way downstairs.
Luckily, you weren't by yourself in bed for too long. Between Harding ordering the food and him waiting for it, it was about 25 minutes of wait time.
And when he made his way back upstairs, you got really excited because you could hear his loud footsteps.
You smiled as he made his way back into the room. And you noticed that he had a tray with two bowls and two tea cups in his hands.
“Dinner is served,” he announced. “I got us Pad Thai to share, some roti bread, and green tea. I just wanted some tea, but I figured that you could have some too. It does help with cramps.”
“Aww, Hardy…thank you!,” you said as he came over to your side of the bed and placed the tray down by your feet.
Carefully, he gathered the teacup and put it on your nightstand before he handed you your bowl he topped with the roti bread.
You grabbed it and smiled at him, then watched as he moved the tray over to his side to get his bowl and teacup.
And once he got his self straightened out, he got closer to you in the bed.
“You can eat now, angel,” he said after he noticed you hesitating. “You don't have to wait for me.”
“I know. But I wanted to,” you clarified. “Thank you for making my first night of shark week better. You always have a way of picking me back up.”
“Funny, I could say the same,” he said with a hardy chuckle. “You're welcome, though. Guess this night wasn’t a complete bust on my end either.”
You giggled, before you leaned against his arm.
“I love you so much, Hardy. I'm so glad you're off tomorrow so you can take care of me more.”
He laughed.
“I love you more, angel. I'm glad to be off too. Because there's no patient I rather be with and care for than you,” he assured you...
...making you blush even more.
#hope you enjoy#happy reading#this is my first time writing harding#so i hope i did him justice#harding hooten#dr. harding hooten#monday mornings#fanfiction#fanfic#my fanfic#fan fic#fan fiction#alfred molina
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Hello, I am back yet again. It was really hard to choose one this week, but! A decision was eventually made.
lavender blood by starkskypines on Ao3!
Yet another Batfamily, Tim-centric fic. This was really fantastic though, and thoroughly angsty, whumpy, and fluffy. (warning for child abuse, though.)
Thanks so much for running this blog!
WELCOME BACK and THANK YOU for the very kind words and for the submission! Couldn't do it without these! And HECK YEAH BATFAM! If I am anything, I am an angst lover, and @starkskypines PROMISES to deliver with those tags (and then warm my heart with some fluff). I love this concept. Thanks so much for sending it in!
Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)
#FANDOM FRIDAY#creator appreciation#fic rec#fanfiction#fan fic#batman#dc comics#jason todd#tim drake#dick grayson#bruce wayne#roy harper#damian wayne#angst#whump
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Always zine is available now!
I just want to say a massive thank you to @portalpanda, Sam and everyone behind-the-scenes who helped put together the Always zine in memory of Cindy Morgan! It must have been a colossal task and Panda managed it all with grace and patience.
The zine looks amazing! I'm looking forward to spending some time going through all the art and stories of the creators involved. Well done, everyone!
Remember, donations to the zine will go towards Girls Who Code, which is a very worthwhile cause, Programs!
cindymorganzine.itch.io/always
#cindy morgan#yori#lora baines#ma3a#cindy morgan zine#always zine#fan art#fan fic#tron#tron 2.0#tron legacy#tron uprising#tron identity#artists on tumblr
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so let's say at the wedding, Buck decides to come out to his parents before Tommy arrives. But before Tommy can get there, an emergency occurs that he can't leave. So he's later and later and later, until it's more halfway through the reception and Buck already feels like shit due to the hangover.
he sits at a table with his parents, Eddie within ear shot two tables behind them with Marisol. she goes to the bathroom, but Buck's parents are becoming more and more dismissive, to the point the comments are borderline homophobic/biphobic. Eddie can see Buck's stress level building before his eyes.
The one of his parents says "at least you're little thing doesn't have to take away from your sister's wedding." the hurt all over Buck's face, his parents disparaging what is him coming out. Eddie stands up and immediately walks towards Buck.
"Hey," Eddie reaches his hand out, "do you wanna dance?"
"w-what?" Buck studders, but Eddie doesn't wait for a response. He grabs Buck's hand and pulls him to his feet. His parents are shocked, but Eddie is guiding Buck to the dance floor. Honestly Buck feels a little relief that he doesn't have to sit with his parents any longer.
"I'm leading," Eddie orders as he places his hands on Buck's body.
"what are you doing?" Buck questions, but there is a giddyness in his voice.
"dancing with my friend," Eddie answers nonchalantly.
"you don't have to do this," Buck comments, though he doesn't know why he's so happy Eddie did.
"any excuse to give some parents the middle finger," Eddie shrugs off. Buck looks over Eddie's shoulder to his parents glaring, as if he is taking away from his sister's day. but no one else seems to care besides them. He looks back at Eddie.
"well thank you," Buck sighs, "What a mess of a day. I'm almost relieved Tommy didn't make it, not see me looking like I slept in a bathtub last night."
"what are you talking about? you really rallied. he'd find you handsome as hell," Eddie gleams, then suddenly feeling this tightness in his chest, as if he just realized he's dancing with a guy in front of everyone. and not just any guy. Buck, his best friend who he has a connection with like he hasn't with anyone before.
and now he's publicly dancing with him, and he didn't even think about it. Buck looked like he needed help, and also deserved at least one dance with how good he looked tonight.
oh god.
"and you look-" buck starts, but then stops himself because 1) he may have been about to call his best friend beautiful 2) Marisol is standing by her and eddie's table staring them down.
"uh your girlfriend does not look happy," Buck comments, causing Eddie's head to turn. the second they make eye contact, she hightails out of the reception hall.
"wait!" Eddie yelps as he chases after her. he feels bad leaving Buck there, but his girlfriend is obviously mad. But it's not like he was dancing with a girl, he was just offering some support by slow dancing with his guy best friend.
it is sounding gayer and gayer the more Eddie thinks about it. he's not far behind her but as she stomps through the entrance way, Eddie sees Tommy heading in the opposite direction.
"Hey Eddie!" Tommy starts, but then see Marisol storm past him with Eddie trailing behind, "uh, bye Eddie." wanting to avoid whatever confrontation is happening, he continues into the hall.
as Eddie steps out the building, he looks over his shoulder to see Buck embracing Tommy, looking so elated that he finally appeared.
and Eddie doesn't know why but he feels like he got punched in the gut.
"Marisol!" he calls out.
"I want to go home," she commands.
"yes, let's go home and talk-"
"no, I want to go to my home," she cuts him off, "my car is at yours. either drive me there or I'm taking an Uber to get it."
"it was just Buck," Eddie tries to distract.
"no, it was only Buck," Marisol points out, "we barely even danced, and then you-"
"Eddie, you're in love with your best friend," Marisol states firmly, "I don't care how he feels for you, but I don't want a boyfriend who obviously likes someone else more than me."
"So are you taking me home or not?"
and there goes the longest car ride of Eddie Diaz's life.
#buddie#i think i just wrote a fan fiction? nice#911#911 abc#fan fic#fan fiction#fan fic writing#tw homophobia
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Neighbor Series: Ch. 4 Part 2
A Delicate Ecosystem
Part 2: Carmen is obviously down bad, but does Sydney feel as deeply? Is her career or love most important?
I think this might be the last in this series.
The rest of the day and night went smoothly. Sydney tried to dismiss that stupid conversation with Richie from her mind. Carmy was the same as ever. She supposed he didn't have "the talk" with him. Typical that Rich thought it was her responsibility to control the actions of a grown man.
The next day Sydney walked past Marcus and Fak huddled in conversation and thought she heard her name. She shrugged it off, put away her stuff in her locker and joined them.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt. Marcus can we talk for minute?"
Fak who usually had something quirky to say, just waved at her and scuddled away.
"Yeah, anything wrong?" Marcus asked with an odd, no an irritated look, on his face.
"Well, yes. Our bread supplier isn't going to come through for the rest of the week. A death in the family. Carmy wanted me let you know that we'll have to make it in-house today, but we have a backup ready for tommorrow."
"Got it."
"Okay, let me know if you need anything."
"I said I got it."
Sydney was thrown off by his tone. Yes, Marcus had asked her out several months ago and it was weird for that night. Afterwards, they'd moved on and were back on good terms. She racked her brain trying to think if she'd done or said something recently to offend him.
"Um, is there a problem?"
"Nope."
Marcus's face was now unreadable and he walked away to his station. It was eerie, but Sydney had many other things to do so she shelved it for now.
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The following day Carmy stood behind the restaurant for a his "smoke" break right before nightly service. He quit cigarettes a shortly after The Bear opened because he had caught pneumonia and missed two days of work. His doctor told him that she'd seen a lot of pneumonia cases in her elderly and smoking patients that season. So now he chewed Nicorette and pretended that it was just as satisfying. While he stood there enjoying the solitude, Anna, a new hostess came out and began smoking her vape pen. She had a one of those warm, generic voices that was perfect for customer service, but she could instantly switch to a cloying Kardashian-esque accent. She used it whenever she could talk to Carmy alone. However, today she didn't immediately begin speaking when she saw him. He decided to not waste the chance to escape. Just as he was about to go back in Anna spoke up.
"So…do you like know of any nice apartments around here?"
Carmy was facing the door so he could roll his eyes, without her seeing. Then he turned around trying to look neutral.
"Uh, no. Well, I like mine. It's 10 minutes from here, but there's almost never anything available."
"Oh, really? Didn't Sydney just get a place there? Or did she move in with you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, I just thought I heard like you were maybe together?"
Anna kept her voice light, but she seemed nervous. One hand was gripping her vape pen and the other was twirling her long brown hair.
"No, we don't live together. What does that have to do with you finding an apartment?"
"No? Well, I didn't think so. Sydney is great and all, but she's…like you could like date anyone here, you know?" Anna replied choosing to ignore his question.
Carmen couldn't believe he was having this conversation. This time he couldn't help rolling his eyes in her face. The unmitigated gall of this women to talk about Sydney and to approach her employer in this manner.
"Anna, my dating life is not up for discussion."
Carmen wanted to say more, but he knew that it would be best to discuss it with Natalie first. She came from corporate America and knew the proper HR way of dealing this stuff.
"Oh, oh yeah. Like, okay. Um, I better get back" Anna stammered, blushing and darted through the door.
That night Carmy was on alert. It was one minor incident, but he had to suppress his compulsion to spiral with doubt and worry that Sydney would be hurt because of him. He hadn't really thought much about how others might view their potential relationship. He probably blocked it out because there was already so much to worry about. Also, their kitchen "mind-meld" flow was getting better all the time. It was exhilarating how they had become more and more attuned with one another during service. Often while working side by side they would hand each other the very thing they needed without even having to speak, much less look at each other. They could plate a dish together faster than a pit crew could replace a tire. With a glance Carmy knew when Sydney needed a break on their most insane evenings. He'd just squeeze her shoulder and she'd move so he could take over for a quick five. He did the same for others though.
However, what happened the other night might have raised some eyebrows. He was asked to greet a congressperson who was dining there and he beckoned for Sydney to join him. Before they went out he grabbed a towel to pat her dewy forehead, retied her chef's coat and smoothed it down like he was her personal valet. This was in front of the entire kitchen. He hadn't meant to do anything that would make Sydney a target. His intention was to support her, not romance her at work. Of' course there were slip ups. He just hoped the conversation with Anna was a one-off. To be on the safe side during service he tried not to do anything extra with her besides their usual telepathic routine. Sydney followed his lead avoiding making unnecessary remarks or touching him.
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Later he walked her home. They were silent at first, their stride in perfect harmony.
Carmy cleared his throat.
"Sydney, has anyone been treating you differently?"
Sydney paused in surprise for a second, but then she answered "Am I that easy to read?"
Carmen was now very concerned.
"No, it's just that I had a weird conversation before service with one of the front staff."
"Was it about us?"
"Yeah, has anyone said anything to you?"
"Yes, Richie did. A couple others are just being a little icy this week. It's no big deal."
Carmen took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers.
"What did Richie say?"
"Oh, Mr. Richard had a speech. He wanted to make sure I kept the "shop" closed until you and Nat could pay back Cicero. He's afraid I'll mess up the ecosystem. "
Carmy's froze for a second, then he blushed scarlet from the mention of him getting anywhere near Sydney's "shop" and from Richie's audacity to address Syd instead of him.
She continued.
"At the time I thought he was just being Richie. Now, I don't know. I don't want to mess anything up for you, for us. The Bear is so new and we are on track to paying off the debt and maybe even getting a star."
"Sydney. We make an excellent team and nothing that we've done or will do together outside of The Bear will change it. I promise you, that I won't let it change. Your dreams are first priority."
"So are yours, Carmy."
Carmy's focused on his breathe for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears. His dream was doing this with HER. He meant it when he said he wouldn't even want to do it without her. Each day together wove a new thread from his heart to hers, but he wouldn't force it on her.
"Sydney, I like you. More than anyone I've ever…."
He stopped unsure if she was ready to hear how deep his feelings ran.
"But I understand if you want me to back off. Whatever you decide I will talk to them and fix this. You deserve nothing but respect."
They reached the front of their building and Sydney turned to face him. He was visibly trembling. Tenderness for him surged from her heart. Carmen was the most sincere man she'd ever met. He couldn't fake happiness, indifference, or confidence unless that was how he truly felt. Past the anxiety, occasional moodiness, and temper, at his core she saw someone who desperately desired to serve and to be understood.
He stood there defenseless.
She put a hand over his heart as if to speak to it.
"No, don't back off. I don't care what any of them think as long as we're good."
Carmy breathed again, took her hand in his and kissed her palm, nuzzling it against his cheek.
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Sydney lay in bed that night thinking. She knew down to her bones that her foundation was stronger than his. It was not due to any fault of his own. Her home had been filled with safety and love. It was her nature to be a perfectionist, but even when she failed she knew that she had intrinsic value as a person. What she lacked that Carmen had was the courage to be vulnerable. He was open to her about Mikey within the first few weeks of their meeting despite not knowing how she would respond. This and his consistent effort to know her, drew her in despite the chaos of early days at The Beef. She knew that he would actually listen and give her an opportunity to grow. There was another intangible factor, which scared and thrilled Sydney. When she often found him gazing at her, there was a feeling that he was not only moved by her beauty, but for who she was. It reminded of her of how her father looked at her mom, even when she was sick. It was one of her few memories that hadn't faded. She also knew there were no strings attached when he promoted her to CDC, but her heart demanded more with each passing day. She wanted to be Carmen's refuge and release in every way. This knowing was overwhelming and she was grateful that he moved slowly despite the hunger in his eyes.
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The next day Natalie was working on-site when Carmen came into her office and closed the door.
"Hey Carm, how are you?"
"I'm good. Sorry, I didn't respond to your text last night. Baby PJ looked very cute in his White Sox outfit"
"Well, at least send a smiley face or something! But what's up?"
"So, I don't know if you've noticed but I'm interested in someone who works here."
"Oh, bro I know…so are you and Sydney official?"
Carmy brushed his hair back with his fingers and shook his head.
"Were you never going to say anything?" he asked.
"The best thing a sister can do is stay out of it. It's brothers who get involved with their sister's romantic choices. Thank God, you couldn't run off Pete."
"Okay. No, we're not rushing into anything. So far, she allows me to walk her to and from work. And we talk everyday."
Natalie clutched her chest and sank down further into her chair.
"She allows you to…I CAN'T! I had no idea my baby brother was this sweet!"
"SUGAR, the point of me bringing this up is that some of the staff have been going behind my back to talk to her, icing her out, and there's been a rumor that we live together. I won't have it! Anyways, I figure you know the corporate way to handle it."
"Okay, we were going to discuss health insurance options for the next enrollment period during family service, but I can slide in a talk about relational professionalism."
"Thank you."
Natalie sighed and squeezed Carmy's hand.
"She allows you to walk with her! Oh, Pete is going to melt."
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For old time's sake Sydney prepared Mikey's spaghetti recipe for family service. Carmy saved her a seat and she sat down next to him feeling Anna's bitter glances and Richie's disapproval. Marcus ignored them. As they ate Natalie gave the insurance presentation and then her politically correct professionalism talk. She took care to make it not obviously about Sydney and Carm. When she was done and people started to file out, Carmen asked for the original Beef staff to remain behind. They took their seats again looking intrigued.
He moved to stand at the head of the table.
"Alright, great…Okay. So I asked Natalie to give that talk. And thank you Nat, but I have something I need to say. too"
"So, You've all been here a long time. Before I came you already had each other's backs and then I took over. It was an adjustment. Then Sydney came and I had a partner from my world. There more changes but somehow we found a way to work together. Then we found the money and we started this. You all choosing to stay and gain new skills, means so much me and I know it does to you too.
The Bear is a special place because it's a family business. And not just because of Natalie and I, but it's all of you too. The thing is we got to have each other's backs. It's not enough to to get through service, get the reviews, a star, whatever, but we got to respect each other. You know that without Sydney and Natalie giving it everything they had during the reno, none of this would have happened. Where we're sitting would be a parking lot or a Dunkin's. Anyways, I'm disappointed that some in here saw everything Sydney did to help get us here and they're giving her crap because I like her. In HERE I respect all of you, everyone is paid fairly, given opportunities, and I care about you…your lives. She didn't do anything, but her job and she deserves your respect. Out THERE I hope to spend as much time with her as she'll let me. But in HERE we're a business and we're a family.
The silence was palpable. Sydney's eyes never left Carmy's face while he spoke and when he took the courage to meet them, he saw admiration there and her beautiful smile.
Tina broke the heavy mood.
"So, Jeff. Are y'all together? Are we what they a call a "mom and pop" now?"
Carmy grinned, still looking at Sydney.
"I'm working on it."
#the bear#sydcarmy#sydney x carmy#sydney adamu#carmy the bear#carmen berzatto#carmy x sydney#carmy berzatto#fan fiction#syd adamu#syd x carmen#syd x carmy#mushy stuff#fan fic
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Reblog for a larger sample size!
No "show results", if you're not a fanfic writer just be patient.
I saw a post about an anon saying it was embarrasing to have an ao3 account in your 30s (it's absolutely not), so I want to do a poll and see what the age range actually is.
#sam polls#fanfic#ao3#fanfiction#fan fic#fan fiction#writing#authors#writblr#fanficblr#wattpad#quotev#live journal#fanfic.net
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it has begun
#barbie#oppenheimer#barbenheimer#margot robbie#cillian murphy#greta gerwig#christopher nolan#ao3#barbie x oppenheimer#ryan gosling#fan fic
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i’ve started to think about ao3 audience interaction as kinda comparable to doing a live reading in an intimate little bookstore, like kudos are everybody who stayed til the end and applauded, comments are everybody who waited to come up to talk to you afterwards, and bookmark comments are the little snatches of conversation you overhear outside.
this helps me feel better/less anxious about responding to comments with some form of thanks, because if someone walked up to me in person and said they liked my work right after reading it, i would compulsively say thanks. it also helps contextualize audience size in a healthy way i think, bc most of us naturally crave more attention on our fic, but if we were actually in the room with even like 20 people applauding and five people waiting after to tell us how awesome we are we’d be fuckin elated.
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Episode 2 of Unveiled Disasters! Getting kicked in the kidneys is literally awful, don’t try it at home kids!
Previous: (2) Episode 1
Next: (2) Episode 3
See all...
#the mutation situation#tmnt#tmnt 2012#teenage mutant ninja turtles#ninja turtles#teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012#human tmnt#human au#fan fiction#fan fic#comics
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Alastor's Birdy-HC
AN: Alestor who was married to a woman during his life. she went to heaven and he went to hell.
Alastor was a mystery to everyone
Creepy, scary, and truly evil were things other souls used to describe him
He didn't care about anyone or anything
He found joy in others' misery
No one would expect him to have ever been in love
no one
Then Missy came to visit
"so how's your little birdy doin'?"
who?
"ya know? his wife?"
his what?
"She's not here. she would never be here"
he's not denying it? and here? as in hell?
"YOU WERE MARRIED!?"
"I AM married. we never divorced"
his eye twitches. That wretch of a woman, missy
spill his whole life story, why don't you?
"She went to heaven. She's an angel."
EVERYONE HAS QUESTIONS
no she wasn't forced into the marrige
yes he loved-loves he
no it wasn't Stockholm syndrome
they were married for 25 years before he died
yes she's real
"how do you know she's in heaven?"
she literally ran multiple shelters and the had a separate place for all of the strays she took in
"like you?"
angel wishes he thought before he spoke sometimes
then charlie's like:
"YOU SHOULD WORK ON BEING REDEAMED YOURSELF SO THAT YOU CAN BE WITH HER!!"
and alastor's like
ha- no
he doesn't have the right to be with her again
not after what he'd done...
#x reader#x reader fic#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor the radio demon#radio demon#alastor altruist#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#fan fic#rory writes
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Reading the raunchiest, dirtiest, smuttiest, smut on the planet in public, me: 😐
Reading a single, small, tiny, miniscule, itty-bitty hint of fluff in public, me: ☺️🥰😆😝🤩🫡🥰🥹🥺😭😱🤓💖🙈🙉🙊💥💯🤌👌🙌🫶🤲☠️🤡😆😆😆🤩🤩😘😍🥰
#fanfiction#archiveofourown#archive of our own#sterek#reed900#spideypool#harringrove#destiel#ao3#fic#fan fic#reading#read it#read in 2023#911 buddie#buddie
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SIT ON IT.
chris smut, ykwtfgo
dom!chris • poc!reader friendly
contains: FAT-ASSED READER, semi-public sex (in a gathering), reversed cowgirl, large gathering (not really party) type setting, pet names, no use of y/n, lots of touching/groping
semi-proofread ✍🏾
word count: 0.9k
No seats on the couch. Big gathering. Rando’s I don’t know. Friends. Matt—occupied, Nick—also occupied, so where’s Chris? I searched for Chris throughout the gathering until my legs were already tired from walking around. I just gave up and went towards the couch again to find a seat again just to see Chris.
I scurried forwards as I saw him manspreading across the couch seat. He had eye contact with me, signalling to come closer till I was bowed down in-front him.
I light grasped my jaw to put his lips on my ears “Where have you been, I’ve looking for you” Real funny, cause I was about to say that.
“Me too, I need to find a chair or a seat ASAP, I’m tired as fuck” He grabbed arm as he looked around the room for an empty place but there was no luck, Chris sat back still holding my arm as he pulled me in even closer. “Sit on my lap”
Bitch what? I was confused, I knew I wasn’t drunk, I barely had one Twisted Tea but I think I was being deceived. “What you say?” I asked.
“Sit on my lap” I wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, Chris is definitely one of my friends that are fine as fuck, I wouldn’t know how to act if I sat on his lap. “I’m cool, it’s okay” I declined his offer.
“Just sit, you’re obviously tired and what’s the problem?” I pace my eyes across the room before I give in, because I’m not about to tell him ‘Hey Chris I don’t want to sit on your lap cause I lowkey, high key want to jump on your dick.’ No.
I pulled down my mini-skirt which half of my ass was going to fall out of regardless. Sitting down on his left leg, I still refused on sit on his lap, I just wasn’t going to do it “Shit I didn’t realize how big your ass is” He chuckled.
Am I tweaking?
It was kind of uncomfortable and I found myself shifting on his knee often. As I looked back at him and he locked eyes with me “Sit on it” Chris demands. I finally stopped being stubborn and I sat directly on his lap and he adjusted by bucking his hips up towards my ass, feeling Chris under me.
Making sure we were both comfortable I began to move alot more as people brought drinks to the table and I just took a soda then jumping back on his crotch accidentally sitting a little too hard.
A moan escaped his mouth and I realised what I did in that moment. Chris’ hardness grew underneath me, he and I both what I did. “Fuck, I asked you sit not to give me a lap dance.”
“I can get off if you need me to”
“And let everyone see that you gave me boner? Why don’t you help me” Chris proposed
I was flattered and horny, the way he was whispering in my ear with that low voice of his. I wasn’t going to miss the chance to fuck my crush.
“You wanna get a room?” I turned to face him
“I mean… You could just ride me right here” He shrugged, It was risky but why the fuck not, nobody is going to check us. Chris asked one of his friends to give him one of the smaller blankets that was just hung around the end of the L couch.
Chris put it over us, pulling my skirt up and I held the front of my skirt to lift my ass up from his crotch and hover a little bit so he could take his dick out his pants and so I could move my thong to the side.
I extended my neck back to watch his twitching cock fling out of his jeans. He aimed his dick towards my warm entrance pulling me down to sit completely on his dick. I zipped my mouth shut struggling to stay quiet around these people, even though everybody in the room were talking and it was loud.
He held my waist hoisting me up onto his cock slowly not even stopping to look around to see if anyone was watching us.
Chris’ cock is lengthy, I expected it but nothing could’ve prepared me for all it. I was being filled to the brim with him hitting all my right spots.
I spit small whines and whimpers repeatedly struggling to keep quiet, his hands slipped up groping my boobs as I moved at a quicker speed but still not trying to make seem too obvious.
“Fuck— Oh my— Fuck” Chris’ moans are quiet but I hear him because his lips were touching my ear. I slid on his lap, taking everything in my body to stop myself from just stripping off this blanket and bounce on his dick until my pussy go numb.
“Chris— I’m gonna fucking cum” I bounced just a bit as I chased my high, Chris held my hips thrusting up making my ass clap a few times “Shit, you gonna cum with me mama?” I nodded while my ass recoiled for the last few times before his liquids filled me up and he pulled out of me.
“We gotta be alone the next time”
tags: @chrisenthusiast , @miguelsangel , @lunariaxzz ,@thesturniolos , @angelic-sturniolos111 , @littlebookworm803 , @79sturniolo , @alinaa131 , @sturniolopowers @mattslolita @luv4kozume @sturniofilmd @sturniolooooo @urmom2fresh @chrissturniolosbitch
#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fluff#christopher sturniolo#smut#fics#fan fiction#fan fic#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#hoesformatt#riyahspeaks
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Forgiveness is Electric
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Just a little short story about @critterbitter's hc of Emmet, Ingo, and Elesa. This is between the Volume Control and Volume Control (Reprise). Just a tiny change, Emmet caught Tynamo bc I sort of forgot when he did... My bad. Please go take a look at Critter's work, it is beautiful in every sense of the word.
I lied about posting to AO3 last time with Yearning for Wood Floors, but I will update that soon along with this one.
Enjoy!~
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“I do not think she will like those.”
“Who doesn’t love sweets?”
Ingo argued, plucking a box of Snom-Caps and turning it over and over in his hands. He contemplated the choices of candy in the aisle, the teenage clerk puffing their long, purple-streaked hair from their eyes behind the counter as the two children agonized over their decision. The clerk, Dakota, saw Ingo and Emmet in here all the time, the former had something of a sweet tooth and the latter… Well, whatever the opposite of a sweet tooth was, that was Emmet. The kid just loved sour things.
It wasn’t unusual to see them, but it didn’t usually take this long for them to make their selection. They had been there for nearly fifteen minutes, painstakingly reading each and every label and discussing them in hushed undertones. That was unusual by itself. Ingo was not known for his volume control.
Although unusual, they weren’t worried about them doing anything shady like stealing or being careless and knock things off the shelf. Might as well let them go about their business. To pass the time, they watched the fretful newly acquired Tynamo circle around them faster and faster until Emmet snatched the Pokémon deftly from the air and soothingly stroked its back.
“I am Emmet. We do not know what she likes.”
“We must do something! I just feel so dreadful.”
Emmet could see Ingo working himself up over this, just as he had a few hours ago, and Emmet placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s arm. His smile and eyes softened as his twin turned to him, Ingo’s eyes glittering with emotion and whatever proclamation dying on the back of his tongue.
He hadn’t meant it. He really hadn’t. He always got too loud when he was excited.
It had just backfired on him horribly.
Ingo cringed even now as he remembered the tears in her eyes, her hands slapped over her ears, and eyes huge with confusion and pain. She had run off before he could even apologize, and that knowledge was eating him alive all day.
Candy wouldn’t fix this. In his heart of hearts, he knew that, and maybe he had come here to grab himself some of his favorite snacks to ease the pain of losing a potential friend.
It was hard for them to understand others. Emmet and Ingo were so in-sync with each other that everyone seemed to be moving so much slower by comparison. It was like playing charades with someone who was underwater, the twins made perfect sense to one another, but it was unclear to everyone else.
This was not new to them, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.
With their moms being busy with work and their uncle who didn’t have much interest with them most times, Emmet and Ingo came to rely on each other almost exclusively. Drayden would give them a little bit of pocket change, but never much. They had to be ultraconservative with what he gave them and had taken it upon themselves to run around Anville Town to take little odd jobs.
Leaves to rake? Oran berries to pick? Snow to shovel?
Emmet and Ingo did it all and saved what they could. They barely scraped together the money to purchase the Pokéballs needed to catch Tynamo and for additional balls to try and catch Ingo a starter.
Even though they knew everyone, they weren’t really close to anyone in town.
That could have been different if Ingo hadn’t ruined everything!
“Perhaps sweets are not the solution…”
Ingo finally admitted, setting the box down and rising to his feet. Readjusting his cap on his head and dusting off his knees to unconsciously tidy his appearance, Ingo’s frown deepened in thought. Even if he and Emmet apologized to her, Miss Elesa would not understand them. Drat! If only he had remembered her hearing aids, he had completely forgotten them tucked behind her black hair.
Emmet watched his face scrunch up, clearly having a long inner dialogue with himself where he alternatively berated himself and told himself that there was no crying over spilled milk. Gray eyes scanning the shelf, he took a bag of sour gummy-Bewear for himself, and chocolate covered pretzels for his brother, before hauling them to the counter where Dakota waited.
Tynamo drifted just below his elbow, still quite nervous around new people and often retreating to its ball when too anxious. Emmet’s soft encouragement was the only thing keeping the EleFish out while Dakota rang up both bags.
“Tynamo? Good for you, kiddo. I hear they’re not easy to catch.”
They rested their elbows on the counter, chin resting atop with a kind smile to the quieter twin. Dakota could see him beaming with pride, but he merely nodded, shuffling on the spot while he fished in the pocket of his overalls for some money. His Tynamo, like its trainer, seemed a little bashful at their words, and retreated into its ball.
“200… I think you brother is comatose over there.”
Dakota said not unkindly. Emmet jerked his head to where his brother stood motionless in front of the candy.
“Ingo!”
It was Ingo’s turn to jerk out of his, as Dakota had put it, “comatose state”. He trotted over to his side, staring at the bags of candies with confusion before it all seemed to click into place.
“You did not have to spend your pocket money on me.”
Emmet’s smile softened at the bashful note in his sibling’s voice. He wanted to. Ingo was feeling down, his twin often overthinking problems and burning himself out in the process. Emmet liked to take a step back to listen and reflect on people and conversations. A little break would do Ingo some good, so he insisted on the treats.
“I am Emmet. I wanted to. Yup!”
While Dakota bagged their treats in a small brown paper bag, they couldn’t help but lean over the counter to examine them. Although many people didn’t understand the secret code that the twins exchanged between glances, mouth twitches, and hand movements, Dakota could tell something was awry. Withholding the bag, they leaned over the counter with a faintly curious expression and a light tone.
“You guys alright?”
Unsurprisingly, the two exchanged looks, and a wordless conversation was held between them while Dakota waited. It was Ingo who swiveled his head back to face them, his face knit into a calculating grimace that seemed a little less friendly than usual, but only marginally.
“Yes,” he said slowly, eyes not breaking with the clerk, but they could see him shifting uncomfortably. “Emmet and I are attempting to right a wrong. However, we are encountering several roadblocks.”
There is a pause. Dakota still held the bag just out of reach as they gnawed on their lower lip. This wasn’t really their business, and they weren’t the type to stick their nose in where it didn’t belong… They thought of Drayden, who spent a lot of time in Opelucid and not watching his nephews – he barely spent any time with them.
They’re just kids.
“Do you need some help? It’s my job to help customers in the store y’know.”
Another pause. Another exchange of glances.
“I-” Ingo tries to being, already hard pressed to say anything and even less so when his sibling elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a look. He wouldn’t be allowed to take all the blame. “We upset one of our classmates with our carelessness. We think she was attempting to befriend us, but- uh… there were a few errors on our part.”
“And you’re trying to get candy for her to forgive you?”
“We thought about it, but it grew too complicated. We do not know what candy she likes, but more importantly, we do not think it’s a suitable apology.”
The clerk nodded, tapping the counter in thought as they tried to piece together some genuine advice for the boys.
“I think it’s a nice peace offering, but I think an apology would be better.”
“We broke her hearing aids… Yep…”
Emmet croaked suddenly, shrinking back in shame at the same time that Ingo grabbed the brim of his hat to tug it lower over his eyes.
“Ah,” Dakota hummed, tapping the counter even faster. They meant the new family that moved in from Sinnoh. They remembered their dads talking about the new signs that had to go all over town for the girl’s safety. Dakota couldn’t remember her name. “How did you break them?” They asked, already knowing the answer.
“Volume control.”
Ingo cringed, remembering his uncle’s warning about his naturally loud voice. Inside voice, Drayden had been emphasizing, and Ingo was trying to take those words to heart, but it was difficult. Since Ingo’s face didn’t emote well, he relied on his voice and his movement to articulate his emotions to others. They nod sympathetically.
“You didn’t see them?”
“No…”
The boy was squirming now, his shame and embarrassment with the situation reaching an all-time high. He felt Emmet moving to his side, reassuringly pressing against his arm, and resting his head on his twin’s shoulder. A flood of comfort helped Ingo release a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
Behind the counter, the clerk was rummaging through something – although tall for their age, Emmet and Ingo couldn’t see what they were doing. They heaved a box onto the counter, tipping it so the contents spilled out for them to see, and the boys were confused.
“Headphones?”
Emmet leaned forward on his tiptoes to look at the colorful array of boxes that ranged from normal headphones to ones that had Pikachu and Eevee ears topping them.
“Yeah, uh, maybe if she wears these, you’ll remember right away that she has headphones in.”
It was a half-baked idea. In truth, Dakota felt a bit sheepish about it now that the idea was out of their head, but when they looked up, the boys were beaming – well, Emmet beamed. Ingo reminded of them of their friend’s Purrloin in a way they couldn’t quite put their finger on.
“Bravo! What a marvelous suggestion!”
Ingo practically cheered, stepping beside Emmet to look through the headphones. It was probably going to cost them a bit from the tags on the boxes, but it would be worth it. The headphones would immediately remind Ingo that she had hearing aids in so he would be more inclined to get Miss Elesa’s attention in a different fashion, but it also might do the same for others who were unaware of her deafness.
“Sure – er, thank you…” Dakota was looking at the prices now and mentally smacked their forehead. They probably couldn’t afford the headphones. “I’ll-” They hesitate. It almost pained them to say what they were going to next. “I’ll pay for them so you can take them to her now.” The twins’ eyes went wide, both about to protest when Dakota interrupted, “In exchange, you can do a few chores for me at my place. I need to do some yardwork, but it always gives me hay fever. Sound like a deal?”
The answer was easy for them. Dakota told them to pick ones that they thought Miss Elesa would like.
“I think these ones are quite dashing.”
Ingo said, picking up the box with the Pikachu ears. Emmet pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Nope. Too big. Not a gamer girl.”
They continued to rummage through the boxes. They agreed that she must like Electric types. She had a Blitzle as her partner after all.
“I cannot recall, she is from Hoenn, correct?”
Emmet shrugged, unsure himself because they had both been looking through a magazine with an expose on the newest train lines running out of Nimbasa when she had been introduced. That just meant to them that, when the time came, going on their Pokémon journey by rail would be all the easier.
“Not sure.” He looked at the box Ingo had in his hand and his smile broadened, nodding in agreement to his brother’s unasked query. The perfect balance of subtle but stylish. “I am Emmet. Those are perfect.”
Plusle and Minun headphones.
#pokemon#submas#fan fiction#fanfic#fanfiction#fan fic#sorry critter#i started writing about Tynamo before i remembered he probably didn't have it by that point#im just gonna say newly acquired and cross my fingers#tynamo is shy#nobody knows about it#🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞
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I’m just gonna put this here cause I feel like I never hear people talk about this and they should 😍
#I can’t believe I never noticed this before now and no one ever mentions it in the fics#think about how cute that would be!#Boba Jango or one of thousands of clones smiles and they got these cute ass dimples!#star wars#boba fett x reader#boba fett#star wars the clone wars#fan fic#clone x reader#jango fett#jango x reader#star wars fanart
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