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whesnia · 11 hours

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Heavy Lies the Heart - Part 3

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2.3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: (eventual) canon death Summary: Two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance. Can they find purpose in each other, or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: CanNOT believe I'm updating a third time in as many days. This whole chapter is just dialog. All 2,300 words of it. I am deceased. I love writing dialog, but there is a limit. Also, tumblr is held together with old gum and scotch tape, so currently I can't reply to comments on posts. Until they fix it just know I do see them all, even though I can't respond at the moment. For now, if you want a direct response you'll need to send an ask!

Benedict was quite certain he must be dreaming.

He stood outside his home, in the low light of evening, with the girl he had been searching for.

She had come to him all on her own; and now he knew her name.

Beatrice.

"A lovely name indeed," he praised, "But it would perhaps be more proper for me to address you by your surname." Even Benedict, with his distaste for the rigid etiquette of the aristocracy, would feel a certain level of unease referring to a young lady of rank by her given name.

Beatrice looked back at him nervously, "No no, I think Beatrice will do just fine."

"You do have a surname?" Benedict joked.

"Naturally," she lied. While her full name was rather long, it did not include a surname. As was the case with all members of the royal family.

Benedict raised a brow curiously, "It would seem you do not wish to tell me."

"Well...no, I would rather not."

"How intriguing; why ever not? Is your family embroiled in some sort of scandal?" he asked.

"It is nothing like that," she replied, her eyes moving to avoid his gaze, "It is only...well, truthfully I fear once you learn of my lineage, obligation will keep you from speaking honestly with me."

Beatrice knew she was dancing close to the edge. While she had not directly told Benedict her true identity, the more he knew, the more likely he was to put the pieces together. All but telling him her family was of a high rank was a risk, but she wanted to be as honest as she could be with him. She did not enjoy the thought of deceiving him any more than was absolutely necessary.

There was a small smile on his face as he examined her worried expression. He could see this was quite important to her, so decided to leave it be.

"My, your family must be quite important," he commented, "But I shall ask no more. I believe we are all entitled to a secret or two--and of course, I would also enjoy continuing to speak freely with one another." He smiled reassuringly at her as she stared back in surprise, "Beatrice it is."

She felt her face flush at the sound of her name. While it had been at her insistence, it still felt strange to be addressed so casually by anyone outside of her family.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied with a grateful smile.

"However, there is a condition," Benedict continued, "If I am to address you by your given name, I must insist you address me by mine."

"Oh." Beatrice hadn't considered it, but then again it did seem only fair, "I suppose that would be alright...Benedict."

She knew her cheeks were red, but she took some comfort in the fact that he seemed similarly effected.

He looked away, attempting to regain his composure, "Good. Yes, alright then," he cleared his throat, "Now that we've gotten all of that settled, perhaps you would do me the pleasure of an evening promenade?"

He seemed apprehensive, perhaps worried she would decline; Beatrice found it rather endearing.

"That sounds lovely," she answered. He looked back at her, clearly relieved by her answer, "Oh, but before we go," she pointed to his cheek, "you have a bit of charcoal on you face, just there." Benedict's hand instantly flew to to his face.

"How humiliating! And you said nothing as I stood here looking like a chimney sweep?" he joked through his embarrassment.

Beatrice laughed, "Well, there never seemed to be a good time to tell you--and if your were secretly in the business of cleaning chimneys, I would certainly have hated to embarrass you by pointing it out."

"Well then perhaps I should be thanking you for your discretion," he smirked, his hand moving to wipe his face in an attempt to remove the dust.

"No no, don't do that! You'll only smudge it more," she said, batting at the air near his arm in protest. He stopped, lowering his hand as instructed. "Here, allow me."

She lifted her arm, her free hand grabbing the reticle around her wrist. She adjusted it until she was able to reach inside, pulling out a handkerchief. It was lovely: Pure white, with intricate floral embroidery and a lace trim. She raised the handkerchief towards his face, and he instinctively leaned back.

"No ah, well, that is..." he sputtered, "You'll ruin your handkerchief," he finally managed to say.

In truth he was simply startled by her sudden action. She had been so casual in reaching out to touch him, as if it hadn't occurred to her how it might look. Benedict found himself once again surprised by her. So often she seemed to try to conform to the expectations of society, even when it clearly caused her discomfort. Then she would do something like this, and she hardly seemed to care what others might think of it.

"It is only a handkerchief, it can be cleaned you know," she replied, her hand moving once more. Benedict didn't shy away this time, and soon felt the soft fabric rest against his skin. His heart began to race at the simple gesture.

He suddenly found himself unable to look her in the eye.

Beatrice was gentle as she began wiping the charcoal away, seeming completely unaffected by the action or his reaction to it. It lasted only a few moments, but to Benedict it seemed far longer.

"There, much better," she said, removing her hand and smiling at her work. Benedict blushed.

"Yes, thank you," he replied nervously.

"It was no trouble," she assured him, moving to place the handkerchief, now stained with black, back inside her reticle, "Though, I believe I can offer little help for your gloves."

Benedict looked down, his white gloves covered with splotchy, black fingerprints. His hands must have been covered in charcoal when he left his room, and he simply hadn't noticed.

Had he truly been so distracted?

"Forgive me, I am truly a mess this evening."

"Not at all," she replied, before grinning, "It seems you were dealing with quite the begrimed chimney."

He smiled gratefully, "Surely they must keep their fire going year round, to build up such an impressive level of soot."

With that, he offered her his arm.

"Now that you will feel marginally less mortified to be seen with me, perhaps we can be off?" She smiled shyly, pulling at the edge of her hood.

"Yes, I would like that," she answered, her hand moving to entwine her arm with his. They set off down the street, strolling to nowhere in particular at a leisurely pace.

"So," Beatrice was the first to speak, "You are an artist then?"

"And what makes you say so? There could be any number of reasons for a man to have charcoal on his hands...and his face," Benedict quipped.

Beatrice smiled, "No, I believe I am right. You certainly behave like one passionate about the arts."

"Oh? And how is it I behave exactly?"

"Well, my grandmother would say you are rather...bohemian," Beatrice replied.

"Bohemian? And I suppose your grandmother would not mean that to be complimentary?" Benedict asked.

"Indeed she would not," Beatrice laughed, "Though as a rule she is simply not one for compliments. She is, above all things, proper, and can be rather terse at times."

Benedict nodded in understanding, "Ah yes. I have only a few childhood memories of my own grandmother, but she seemed much the same."

"Please don't misunderstand--I am actually quite fond of her," Beatrice corrected, "She is simply not an overly affectionate person."

"I see. So do you spend much time with your grandmother then?" he asked.

"As much as I am able, though my father is quite strict and doesn't like me away from home for too long. I am quite lucky he allowed me to stay with her for the season," she replied.

"Ah, an overbearing father. That makes sense," he commented, smirking at her as she pouted at him.

"Oh? And what about you? I can't imagine your parents restricted you much, given your proclivity for breaking with societal expectations."

Benedict laughed, "This from the girl who has clearly left home without permission to meet a man unchaperoned." She blushed in surprise, turning her face away.

"Well, that is..." She struggled to find a believable justification for her actions.

"Not that I judge you. If anything I'm glad you decided to break a few rules," he smiled as she continued avoiding his gaze, "And for what it's worth, you are correct; I am guilty of being raised by kind, loving parents who supported my interest in the arts and allowed me plenty of freedom."

"I knew it." Beatrice turned back, smirking at him triumphantly, "About you upbringing and being an artist, it would seem."

Benedict laughed, "Oh please, do congratulation yourself more."

"Perhaps I will," she joked.

Soon, her face fell into a thoughtful smile, "You're parents, did they love each other?"

That seemed an interesting turn in conversation.

Benedict nodded, "Yes, from what I remember they were quite mad for one another. My mother talks about it often, particularly mow that so many of her children have come of age. She is constantly encouraging us to find love matches for ourselves."

"You're all lucky to have such a caring mother. Not many would prioritize their children's happiness over their obligation to secure a good match," Beatrice replied.

"You're right, we have been very fortunate," Benedict smiled affectionately, "And so far my mother has gotten her wish: Both my brother and my sister have found love matches for themselves, though it is less certain that the rest of my siblings will follow suite."

"And you?" Beatrice asked without thinking.

"Me?" Benedict repeated, "Well, I'm not sure I shall ever marry."

In spite of herself, Beatrice could not help but look somewhat disappointed, "Oh, I see."

"Though," he continued, "I suppose love may be the one thing to entice me into such an arrangement, should I ever find it."

He couldn't help noticing how the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly as he spoke.

"And what of you? Are you hoping to marry for love?" It was little business of his, but he had to admit he was more curious about her answer than he aught to have been.

"I," she hesitated, her head falling as her gaze fell to the ground, "I would certainly like to, but I'm afraid it's rather unlikely. At best, I can hope my future husband is someone I don't utterly dislike."

"Ah, right--you mentioned your father was strict. Will he be choosing for you?" Benedict asked sympathetically.

"Yes," she confirmed, trying to hold fast to her smile, "My mother and father's marriage was arranged, and now the two despise each other. I suppose so long as my marriage is at all better than theirs I can count myself lucky."

"That must have been a difficult way to grow up," he commented, not know what else he could say.

"I suppose, though it could have been worse. My mother hasn't lived with us since before I was born. When they are forced to around one another, it is an unpleasant affair for all involved; so perhaps it's for the best."

"That's...quite an unusual situation," Benedict noted.

"Perhaps it is, but it is mine," she replied, glancing up at him, "But now it is I who has made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should move to a lighter subject?"

"Of course," Benedict agreed.l

He wanted to comfort her in some way, but he wasn't sure how he could. He certainly had no idea what it was like to grow up the way she had, or what it was to know that inevitably your future would be chosen for you. There had been a certain level of expectation placed on him as the second son, but he still enjoyed immense freedom. He felt any attempt at comfort may come off as disingenuous, or perhaps even patronizing. He wanted her to know he was sincere.

"Are you attending the next ball?" she asked him after a long moment of walking in silence.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. This is my sister Francesca's first year out, and the second year for my sister Eloise. My brothers and I typically accompany our mother to help keep an eye on them."

"What thoughtful brothers you are," she replied, her tone somewhat teasing.

"Well yes, I suppose we are rather good brothers--the best, even. Our sisters are quite lucky to have such devoted elder brothers looking out for them," Benedict joked back. Beatrice smiled at that, turning her head so he wouldn't see.

Benedict clearedhis throat, "Will you also be attending?" he asked as casually as he was able.

It was unlike him, but even the chance omhe may be able to dance with her was enough to entice him into attending every event for the rest of the season.

"I believe so," she answered.

"So we will see each other again soon?" He asked, hope clear in his voice.

"Yes, though..." she looked up at him nervously, "before that, perhaps I might visit you again?"

"You mean sneak out and see me at Bridgerton House?" She nodded in response, "Hmm...you're not going to throw more rocks at me, are you?"

Beatrice laughed, "I won't so long as you're paying attention."

"Well then, how could I say no?" He smirked.m, and she smiled back at him shyly.

At that moment, they stopped. Benedict looked around, surprised to see it had gotten quite dark. He realized they had walked farther than he had intended to go.

"As much as I loathe to suggest it, perhaps we should be heading back?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Beatrice agreed, "Though, I believe I am closer to home here than back the other way."

"Well then, allow me to walk you home," he offered.

"No!" she answered quickly, "Thank you, but I am quite alright getting back on my own."

He nodded, "Ah yes of course--your secret. Well, so long as you're certain you'll be alright alone?"

"I will," she looked away, looking pleased, "Thank you for understanding."

She unwove her arm from his, "Well, I suppose I should be off, it was truly a pleasure to see you again, Benedict."

He smiled, reaching forward, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.

"The pleasure was all mine, Beatrice," he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand gently. She felt her cheeks burn. He released her from his grip, and Beatrice held her freed hand tightly against her chest.

"Yes, well...I'll be going then," she replied, quickly turning and making her way down the lamplit street. She glanced back only once, and he lifted his hand to give her a small wave.

Benedict continued watching her until her silhouette finally disappeared into the night.

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Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y

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whesnia · 11 hours

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Precious Truths: Part 4

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

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The next day, your Aunt Eliza takes you to the modiste for new dresses. The ones you had gotten earlier in the season "wouldn't do anymore" according to her. Now, you had to stand out more, make yourself look more appealing. Corsets were tighter, hugging your figure more and making you breathe less.

Your aunt is holding up some fabric against you when Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton enters the shop with an annoyed Eloise following her.

"Good afternoon, Lady Bridgerton," you greet the woman with a kind smile.

She observes the fabric held against you, "Well, that is a beautiful fabric. It goes well with your eyes."

"Thank you," you give her a small nod.

Violet clears her throat, "I assume things are...well now?" The dowager does her best to be discreet.

"As well as they can be, Lady Bridgerton," you respond.

After Aunt Eliza brought you home, your father was asleep, still cradling a bottle of brandy in his hand.

You confessed to Aunt Eliza about your secret identity, about your writings. She was proud to know that you never truly gave up on poetry as well as how famous your words were becoming. However, she was saddened that you felt the need to hide your ongoing love for poetry from her. She expressed that she would have helped you, that you didn't need to hide that love from her, especially since she also loved your mother like her own sister.

Aunt Eliza became even more determined to help you out of the situation.

Although your father and Aunt Eliza are siblings, none of the luxuries of your father's lordship well onto her. She also never found someone to marry, becoming a spinster and learning to become content with it.

She can only do so much to help you, given that your father still has the funds to help. Thankfully, your Aunt Eliza had stepped in to help manage the finances.

"Remember, dear, if there's anything you need, you let me know. We are happy to help," Violet says as she places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. Your family has always been so kind to me."

Violet gives a smile and greets your aunt, the two moving towards a shelf of silks that catch their eyes. You move to Eloise with a grin, whose face is the complete opposite of yours, "Everything alright, El?"

She groans, "You disappoint me. Mama, says you're taking this season more seriously now and that I should do the same. I blame you for this!"

You let out a deep breath, "My condolences, but, trust me, this wasn't the plan either."

The young Bridgerton steps closer to you and whispers, "What happened? Anthony and Benedict were talking about you this morning when we were breaking fast."

You blow air out of your mouth, "My father threatened to marry me off to my dreadful cousin if I am unable find a husband within a month's time."

Eloise makes a pondering face and then asks, "Is it the cousin that visited a few summers ago? He tried to best Anthony in everything?"

You scrunch your face in distaste, "The very same."

Eloise shudders, "God, he was...appalling."

"Yes, and there is absolutely no chance I am marrying him. So, you see, I'm lacking a choice." You give her a pointed look and she nods.

"Oh, Y/N," Eloise hugs you, "We shall both get through this together."

Aunt Eliza calls from the door, "Y/N, make haste! We must continue!"

Your shoulder slump forward, "I'm coming!" you give Eloise a wave and follow your aunt out.

______________________________

Benedict's in the sitting room, sketching in his notebook. He's sketching a pair of eyes, ones soft and full of wonder. The very pair that belongs to you, the eyes that he loses himself in.

"Here," parchment falls over the sketch and Benedict sits up, looking at Anthony, who's given him the paper.

"And this is...?"

"The list of eligible men for Y/N."

Benedict gulps as he reads of the names, sitting up to read the list "No to Harris," he says with a shake of his head and then grimaces, "Absolutely not to Woodrich."

"What's wrong with them? They're from good standing families, no scandals-"

"That you know of. I hear Harris has been visiting the brothels far too often lately. Woodrich apparently invested in the empty mines that Lord Featherington spoke of last season. So he has no money."

Anthony gives his brother an annoyed expression, "I shall cross them off the list, but the rest of them?"

Benedict hands the paper back to his brother, "I suppose they're alright. But Y/N gets the final say, obviously."

"So you have truly decided you won't do anything about this whole ordeal?" Anthony asks his brother in disbelief.

Benedict stands with a sigh, "Yes, brother. I have. I won't do anything but assist in Y/N's search for a husband. That is final." He steps aside, striding out of the room in annoyance.

Hyacinth, who sits with Gregory playing a game of chess, shakes her head, "I always thought Y/N and Benedict would get married."

Anthony nods, "As did I, Hyacinth," he murmurs and also exits the sitting room.

____________________________

No longer were you able to be a wallflower when it came to balls, soirees, luncheons, etc. You and Penelope had been wallflowers together since both of your debuts. However, now Penelope is on her honeymoon with Colin, so you are left to fend for yourself.

You now stood more towards the front, more accessible and noticeable. You hated it. You hated how people looked at you when you attended the next ball with your new gown and different hairstyle.

When you saw the Bridgertons, you immediately rush up to them, clinging onto Benedict's arm.

"Please dance with me," you beg in desperation, yearning for some sense of familiarity.

"Of course," Benedict takes your gloved hand and leads you to the dancefloor. When he looks over his shoulder, Kate is winking at him and he rolls his eyes.

You curtsey as Benedict bows before the next dance, a waltz. With the strings, you and Benedict move as one. Swaying to the melody, bringing each other in close.

"Thank you, Ben, for dancing with me."

"Of course. It is tradition at this point, is it not?" he gives you that cheeky grin that always makes your heart flutter.

You sigh, "Might be the last time I get to dance with you for a while. I should probably prioritize potential suitors."

Benedict's smile slowly fades, "Yes, well, Anthony came up with an impressive list. I overlooked it as well. You might find some of them...agreeable."

You hum as you circle Benedict, "Are any of these men here now?"

Benedict takes a quick glance around the room, "A few of them. Shall I introduce you?"

You shake your head, "No. Thank you, but it is probably best I do that myself. You might scare them off," you give him a smirk and he chuckles.

"That is a fair argument. If I am quite honest, I don't think any man will truly be worthy enough for you."

You arch a brow at him, "Oh?"

He nods, "You're...everything and so much more."

The way he says those words, you feel like there's something more to them. He relayed them to you so breathlessly and he's looking at you with a gaze that makes you feel as though you two are the only ones in the room.

As the dance nears its end, you and Benedict are face to face, so close to lips touching. However, when he inches closer to you, you pull away and curtsey.

"Thank you for indulging me, Mister Bridgerton," you walk away from him without another word, fanning yourself as you grow warm.

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whesnia · 1 day

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[[and then I met you || ch. 21]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4k

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“Ahhhh.”

You open your mouth wide so Doctor Minnie can shine her flashlight down your throat. She hums and haws as she peers in, looking for who knows what, and when she concludes her search, she scribbles on your chart. Your chart is a piece of notebook paper with a wonderfully drawn crayon portrait in the corner, your name carefully written out across the top, and timestamps with detailed notes of each check up you have received today. These notes include squiggles that could be interpreted as cursive and the letters a, m, and q repeated over and over.

“You needs to drink more water and puts the towel on your ear,” your daughter tells you seriously. It is the same treatment you have gotten all morning, so you are well prepared for it.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Minnie gives you a big smile, then whirls around to bark orders, “Nurse! We needs more water! Please, thank you!”

Matt is on the other side of the coffee table, sitting cross legged as he manipulates pipe cleaners around popsicle sticks. He and Minnie have been working on an art project for the better part of the morning - between your hourly check ups. He got his own checkup this morning and earned a band-aid on his cheek, but your daughter has been obsessed with making sure you are okay.

You are in no way complaining over her dotting - you more than understand this is how she is coping with what happened and you are more than happy to receive fake shots and orders to stay sitting on the couch. Whatever makes her feel safe and happy.

You know her father feels the same way.

He raises himself into standing, the smallest smile forming on his lips as he falls into his role, “Yes, Doctor. How many ccs?”

Minnie rubs her chin in thought, and you have to bite your lip so you won’t start laughing. She’s been so intense playing doctor, and you don’t want to discourage her. You are worried any teasing might upset her and that is the last thing you want to do at the moment, especially given the circumstances.

She finally decides on a number and declares, “Six!”

“Six ccs of water coming right up,” Matt tells her. He plucks your still half-full water bottle from the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen. Mouse watches him go, squinting her little eyes like she’s either judging him or trying to remember something.

Apparently, it is the latter, as she gasps, then calls after him, “And appy juice!”

Matt gives a dramatic gasp and turns to face the both of you, “And appy juice? Are you sure, Doctor?”

Minnie giggles, clearly amused by her Daddy’s antics. There’s a difference between teasing and playing along, and Matt is king at being Mouse’s partner in crime. You’ve seen a different side of your daughter come out when she’s around him - a little bolder and more sure of herself - and you want nothing more than to encourage that.

“It’s for me!” Your little one says between her laughs and that makes Matt smile brighter.

“Ah, a drink after a hard day's work. Six ccs of water for Mommy and one appy juice for the Doctor.”

“What do you say, Mouse?”

“Thank you, Nurse!”

As Matt gets your drinks together, you help Minnie out of her Doctor’s coat and you fuss with folding it as she starts to put her check-up toys back into their bag. She must be getting tired if she is asking for her juice, but she looks completely alert and like she could keep playing for another hour or so before slowing down. She woke up at her normal time this morning, but at some point in the night she wound up in your bed. You don’t blame her at all for that.

You’ve been on your own roller coaster of emotions this morning.

You woke up in a cold sweat - memories of being strangled flying through your mind - and the only thing that had been able to calm you was Matt’s arm around you. It helped to keep you grounded - remind you that you weren’t alone and that you were safe.

(“I love you.”)

No one can touch you or your baby if he is there and it isn’t some hindbrain ‘man protect woman’ nonsense.

Matt is a superhero in the most literal sense.

He has powers and an armored suit and fights bad guys.

It is hard to wrap your mind around and you have so many questions, but you both agreed to wait until Minnie took her nap to talk. This isn’t a conversation you can have over her head.

Minnie finishes picking up her toys just as Matt returns from his task. He lets her climb up onto the couch and settle against your side before handing over her juice. Your water gets placed on the table and you thank him before turning your eyes to your daughter.

“What do you want to watch, sweetie?”

“Penguins,” she answers, right before starting to nurse her juice. You found a video about the life of penguins that is toddler friendly a few days prior and it is quickly becoming a favorite. The documentary is a nice change from the cartoons that usually make up your television time and you are fine to watch it for the upteenth time.

Matt takes his place on Minnie’s other side, practically squishing her between you, and the three of you begin to quietly learn about the flightless tuxedo wearing birds. The video is a little less than thirty minutes long and by the time it is wrapping up, Mouse’s chin is on her chest, and she is snoring. In a silent agreement, you let Matt take care of putting her into bed for her nap. Though he has done it a few times now, he still cherishes the moment in a way you no longer do.

Your heart beats a little harder when Matt and Minnie disappear down the hallway. Your stomach swirls with anxiety over the talk you know is coming - though in a strange way you are not scared. You trust Matt to tell you the truth, but you are not sure you want to learn those truths. Doors you never even knew existed are opening to you and part of you wants to stay naive to the ongoings around you, but you know you can’t do that.

This is part of Matt’s world, and if he wants to be in Minnie’s, you need to know everything about it.

As you wait for Matt to return, you close your eyes and try to take a few deep breaths. It does nothing to calm your heart or mind, but it gives you something to focus on. You do not want to work yourself up by overthinking - that would just make things worse for everyone. So you count to five between inhales and exhales until you hear the door to the bedroom close.

(“I love you.”)

It feels like you stop breathing until the cushion beside you dips.

Your anxiety is flaring - your throat feels so tight and there is so much pressure on your chest. You know there isn’t a reason for your body to be reacting like this, but you don’t know how to stop it. You feel like you are trapped under your own worries, and you can’t escape.

“You’re terrified,” Matt says in a dull voice from beside you and you have to pry your eyes open to look at him. He looks so resigned and neutral, and your heart manages to pang for him between being crushed.

You don’t know what he could possibly be going through - you are finally alone with him, and your mind has decided you need to have an anxiety attack. Does he think you think he’ll hurt you or something just as ridiculous?

You may have only known Matt for a short time, but you trust him. He hasn’t done anything to break that trust and he has shown you he cares. He sat with you in the hospital and stayed with you after until he knew you were okay to be on your own.

He’s gone out of his way for you on so many occasions.

He’s made you feel safe.

Wanted.

Loved.

(“I love you.”)

Your mind is spinning and panicking and everything is so intense, but your mouth, as always, decides to work without permission.

“Will you hold me?”

The words shock you. You’ve never asked anyone to hold you - you generally don’t like to be touched - but when Matt’s arms are around you, the world seems a little more stable.

Matt seems just as taken aback as you are over the request. It takes him a moment to act, but then he chokes out, “Of course,” and opens his arms to you.

You turn towards each other, you bringing one leg up to tuck under yourself, and slot together. Your arms go around his middle and you press your face into his neck, while one of his hands goes to your hair to hold you in place and the other starts rubbing up and down your spine.

The relief is almost instant.

You release a long shaky breath and nuzzle yourself closer to him. He smells like your body wash and coffee, and he feels so solid against you. You feel like a shield has wrapped around you and nothing can get to you - not the all the day to day things you worry about like bills and messages you need to respond to nor all the evil things that lurk in the shadows.

For once in your life, you feel like you're not alone.

“I’ve got you,” Matt breathes into your ear and you believe him.

“You’ve got me,” you repeat into his shoulder. You can hear how watery your voice sounds and you tell yourself you won’t cry.

(“I love you.”)

You fall into a brief silence - you need a moment to recenter yourself and Matt seems to realize that. You feel him press a kiss to the side of your head as he continues to pet you and you have no idea why that helps to soothe your nerves. You let your eyes fall shut and focus on only him.

Once you don’t feel like you’ll get choked up if you start talking, you ask, “Is it okay if we talk like this?”

“Perfectly fine with me,” he whispers against you and you decide to just dive into it.

“You’re Daredevil.”

“I am,” he confirms.

“Will you tell me about it? From the start?”

You feel Matt take a deep breath and to offer him some sort of comfort, you curl your fingers into his shirt, holding onto him a little bit tighter.

“After I lost my dad and went to St. Agnes, they didn’t know how to deal with me. I didn’t have control over my senses, and I was angry at everything. I still don’t know how, but they found a man, Stick, to come help me - to teach me how to be Blind. He taught me more than that. He focused my senses, showed me I had control over them and how I could use them. And he taught me how to fight.” Matt’s words are steady and firm, but you can feel his heart pounding against you.

You absorb the words, a frown forming on your lips, “he taught you to fight? As a child?”

He sighs against you, then nods, “Yes. Stick believed there was a war coming between the Hand and the Chaste and they needed soldiers for the Chaste. I’ll…I can tell you more about that later.”

“Okay.” You want to know more about whatever the Hand and the Chaste are, but you can tell that is an entirely different conversation. One you aren’t quite ready for, yet.

“Stick taught me how to fight and how to use my senses to my advantage. He taught me how to channel my anger. My…my grandmother used to tell me the Devil was in the Murdock boys. And it’s true. I have the Devil in me - all my anger and rage. Stick taught me control. Then he left and I was angry he left, but I kept up my training. I didn’t need to enroll in martial arts classes to be able to learn - I could do it from blocks away. The boxing ring my Dad used to train at let me come in and use the mats and bags and I just kept at it.”

“Were you able to practice with people?” You ask. You know learning things in theory is way different than learning for practicality and fighting doesn’t seem like something you can just know in theory if you are a superhero.

Matt chuckles into your hair, “I got into a lot of fights in the schoolyard. I didn’t put up with bullies and no one wanted to admit I kicked their ass, so I never really got in trouble.”

With what you know of Matt and his personality and sense of justice, that makes perfect sense to you, and you say as much. He kisses your hair again before continuing on.

“When I reached college, I could…understand all the things I was hearing. All of the crime. I did everything I could - legally. I called the cops, I made reports, but more often than not, nothing ever happened. It made me angry - so angry - but my dad never wanted me to fight with my fists. He wanted me to use my head, do things the right way - so I tried. I really tried. For years. Then Foggy and I decided to start our own firm, to help the people in Hell’s Kitchen, really help them, and I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t listen to the cries of kids being abused by their parents and people getting mugged and my city, the city I love, being poisoned. So, I let the Devil out.”

“And became Daredevil?”

“I did not choose that name,” Matt huffs, “But yes.”

You don’t remember much from when Daredevil first started appearing on the news - you were pregnant the first time you saw him, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. You have no idea what he was doing then.

So, you ask.

“How? How did you let the Devil out?”

Matt doesn’t answer you right away. He noses at your hair and traces his fingers up and down your spine and you have the feeling he’s thinking over his answer.

“I went after all the people poisoning my city. Not just the muggers and abusers. The drug and weapons dealers. The corrupt. There was a man named Fisk who was trying to take over the city, turn it into something it isn’t.”

“I know that name,” you say against him, “I read about it. There were…two cases? Legal ones.”

“Yeah. It was…complicated. It is complicated. We went against him as Nelson and Murdock and I went against him as Daredevil. He’s in prison now and he’ll be staying there,” Matt tells you and you have the feeling you will have to have a whole different discussion about Fisk in the future.

“But what about now? You are still out there fighting.”

“The city still needs protecting.”

It does, you know it does. Your attack is proof of that. You don’t want to think about it and the hands around your throat, so you press your face more into Matt’s neck and force yourself to fast-forward through the memory to something relevant to your current talk.

“You work with other…superheroes?” You ask. “Like Frank?”

“Frank isn’t a superhero and neither am I,” Matt scoffs, “But yes..I’m…learning to work with others. It’s not something I’m used to yet.”

“Tell me about them.”

He hums against you, then starts slowly, “You met Frank. He’s…we don’t get along. We have very different philosophies about how things should work, but he’s a good man. I’d rather be with him than against him and…I trust him to protect the people I care about. He’d fight tooth and nail for Karen - he has, and if I had to choose someone, besides myself, to protect you and Minnie, it would be him.”

Again, you believe Matt. From what you have seen of Frank, and not the Punisher, you think that trust is well earned. If Matt trusts him, you think you should too.

“And there’s Jessica. She is a private investigator and….very strong. Luke is also strong and..uh..bulletproof. He’s dating Claire, who you also met, she’s a nurse who got wrapped up in everything and helps when we get injured. And then Danny and Colleen. They are…” he trails off, like he’s unsure how to describe them and you do not push. You can’t imagine having to describe superheroes.

“What about Foggy and Karen?”

Matt shakes his head, “I try to not involve them in Daredevil things, but it ends up overlapping. They want to help, but I want them to be safe.” He pauses and you can feel him swallow, like he’s nervous. “I tell them everything, though. I used to think I had to keep my lives separate - one as Matt Murdock and one as Daredevil. I’ve tried to live as only Matt and I’ve tried to live as only Daredevil, but neither worked. I’m still finding the balance of living as both, and they help me. They give me rules to follow, make sure the plans I come up with are sound and that all options are considered. That is what I want with you. I want to be open. I want to be able to tell you everything and not keep secrets. I have seen what that does to people in my life and I don’t want that with you.”

You take in his words and let them mull over in your mind.

You can’t ask Matt to stop being Daredevil - you know you can’t. You heard what he said about why he needed to be Daredevil, and you understand that. He can’t sit by and do nothing, and by what he is telling you, he’s trying to be smart about it. He works with people to protect the city - to protect you. Yes, it scares you about all the risks he is taking and how they will translate into your life, but ultimately, the decision is his. If he wanted to keep you in the dark about everything, it would be a different story, but he doesn’t seem to want that. That makes it easier to accept and process - having as many pieces of the puzzle as you can helps you see the whole picture.

You shift slightly in his arms, tucking yourself even closer to him, and ask, “What are you working on now? With Frank?”

Again, he doesn’t answer right away. You let him think over his words as you process. Your anxiety has definitely decreased - you feel like you can breathe and that things are going to be manageable. You can speak with Foggy and Karen and get their perspective on things and it can help you come up with a game plan.

Having a plan is step one in everything being okay.

(“I love you.”)

“Jess, Frank, and I are…,” Matt starts slowly, “trying to help some street kids. They live in the sewers and don't trust the System or cops, but a few of them have gone missing and one has been killed, and they are scared. There's been guys in suits lurking near one of their hang outs and they don't appear in any government database, so we've been trying to track them down.”

Horror runs through you at his words. Someone has been hurting kids? Minnie’s face flashes through your mind and you press yourself closer to Matt.

“Street kids?”

“Mostly teens,” Matt amends. “I gave them information about St. Agnes but I more than get why they don't trust it. The System is horrible. The sewers are the only place they feel safe.” You feel him lick his lips again, then to your surprise, his voice changes from serious to almost fond. “They have a tent city. They let us come down there and bring supplies last week. Blankets and food and stuff. Frank got them a cellphone, so they'll be able to contact us if anything happens.”

Your mind spins at the idea of a bunch of kids living in the sewers. You knew it happened - New York is full of homeless people - but you never thought about it before. Guilt plagues you and you can't help but ask, “Can we help in other ways?”

Matt shakes his head, “Not in the ways you are thinking. We're going to find these guys and put a stop to whatever they are doing and right now that's the best we can do for them. They don't want to come up to the surface and if we try to force them, they'll move and still be in danger. After they know they can trust us and we put a stop to what is happening, we can start the next steps.”

“You'll protect them?” You ask, wanting to hear him say it.

“The kids may be under the streets of Hell's Kitchen, but they are still mine to protect.” His arms tighten around you, and you feel yourself melt against his chest, “And you are mine to protect.”

(“I love you.”)

“How do we protect you?” You ask, wanting to help in some way.

“Like this,” he hums, his fingers tangling into your hair a bit. “By reminding me what I am fighting for. Giving me a reason to live. I’ve been in the depths of Hell, just wanting to give up - give my life over to the Devil and go until my body stopped. I’ve been bloody and broken and alone. I don’t want that again. I want to be here with you. With Minnie. You’re my reason to get back up.”

(“I love you.”)

You press your face flush against his neck, your cheeks heating up at words. “Should I get a better first aid kit? Take CPR classes?”

He chuckles against you, and you feel it vibrate down into his chest, “That wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He pauses then tells you quietly, “Minnie has seen me in my armor, but I’m going to be doing my best to avoid getting injured in a way she can see. I have been working more on my defense - something I never really practiced.”

At the mention of your daughter, you pull back so you can look Matt in the face. Talking where you don’t need to look at his face has been helpful in calming your anxiety, but when it comes to Minnie, you need to look him in his sightless eyes.

“Are you going to train Minnie -”

“No.” Matt cuts you off before you can get the question out. “I’ll teach her how to cartwheel and other fun things, but I will never teach her to fight. I think everyone should take a defensive course to learn to get away, but I don’t want her to punch. I don’t want this anger inside of her. Minnie doesn’t have the Devil in her, and I won’t be the one to put him in her.”

You search his face and know he is telling the truth. You want your daughter to grow up to be a good person, to have as much passion as Matt does about helping the world, but the idea of her suiting up and fighting crime terrifies you. You are glad Matt feels the same way.

“Will you teach me?” You ask after a hesitant moment. “I was pretty abysmal at defending myself.”

He raises his eyebrows at the question, “You want to learn how to defend yourself?”

You shake your head, then lick your lips before dropping your voice just a touch, “I want to protect the people I care about, too.”

Matt tugs you forward gently until your foreheads are touching. You close your eyes again and let yourself start to smile.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want to learn.”

(“I love you.”)

a/n: we're over 100k words :')

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whesnia · 3 days

Text

Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-five: "The Evening of Insecurity"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 9.2k

Summary: You attend a fancy gala as Matt's date.

Old insecurities resurface, making you question your place at Matt's side.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.] [FFTD Series Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: The gala smut you've all been patiently waiting for (AKA there's semi-public sex in this installment)! Enjoy the return of Spicy Matty because this installment is slightly angsty but definitely filthy. Feedback is always appreciated!

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Sitting in the back of the limo, your eyes were fixed on the skyline of the city flying by through the open sunroof. All the bright lights intermittently shining along the tall buildings stood out against the night sky–like false stars glittering amongst the city. As the excited chatter among your friends filled the air, you felt your nerves for the evening increase, gnawing at your stomach as you sat silently beside Matt. Occasionally your eyes would drop down to sneak glances at him in his tuxedo beside you as he focused on the conversation, a smile drawn wide on his handsome face as he listened to Foggy. His presence gave you a bit of comfort at least, though admittedly the sight of him dressed so well also caused a stir of anxious butterflies to flutter in your gut.

You’d gotten ready with Marci and Karen at Karen’s apartment for the evening, so you hadn’t actually seen Matt until he’d shown up with Foggy in the limo a little bit ago. Of course he’d looked just as breathtaking in a tuxedo as you remembered him looking during that charity benefit where you’d received an award last year. The dress shirt and suit coat he had on fit his broad, muscular torso just right, making you wish you’d been alone with him in the back of the limo on the ride to the gala. You were certain you’d have ruined your makeup and messed his hair and clothes if it had been just the pair of you alone, too. He looked more than good enough for you to want to throw decorum straight out of the sunroof if it wasn't for the fact that you both had an audience. You were longing to rip that bow tie off of him and tear open the buttons on his shirt. Your fingers practically itched in your lap to yank the zipper of his dress pants down, your body refraining from climbing on top of him and–

Matt’s hand tightened around yours in your lap, the gesture drawing you instantly from your thoughts. Gaze dropping down from the sunroof once more, you saw he’d focused his attention on you now. His dark glasses hid his eyes, but you could see the little coy smile now playing along his lips. He’d clearly picked up on what you’d been thinking about, the thought causing you to clear your throat as you ducked your head, grinning to yourself. Matt leaned over towards you in the seat, his mouth just beside your ear when he spoke.

“Trust me, I’m thinking about after the gala already, too,” he whispered.

At the sound of his deep voice in your ear, the nerves that had been in your stomach were abruptly replaced with a fire that quickly found its way through your veins, heating you from head to toe where you sat. Eyes still averted towards the deep red heels just visible beneath your floor length black dress, you couldn’t resist the words from spilling out of your lips next.

“Actually,” you whispered back, “I was thinking about what I wish we could’ve done beforehand. In the limo. If it had just been us.”

You caught the sharp intake of his breath beside your ear, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you fought back the smile growing further on your face. His hand gripped yours tighter as you felt the limo begin to slow to a stop.

“Oh, hey!” Foggy exclaimed from across the large limo seat. “Looks like we're finally here! Time to rub elbows with the filthy rich, drink all their booze, and eat all their little fancy finger foods!”

You were too focused on the presence of Matt beside you to excitedly stare out the window with your friends now that the limo was gradually pulling to a stop. Instead, you were very aware of the side of Matt's body currently pressed against the side of yours where you sat.

“Might want to control your thoughts tonight, sweetheart,” Matt murmured, his mouth still beside your ear. “I might not be able to hear them, but I can certainly guess at them.”

Raising your gaze from your shoes, you turned and focused on the cocky grin along his mouth. Taking a slow breath in, you fought to control the urge to force him to stay back in the limo with you, desperate to keep him all to yourself for the evening instead of actually attending the event. It was probably a good thing that you hadn't gotten ready together at the apartment because the pair of you might have never left, especially if your first week of living together was anything to go by. Matt dressed in a tuxedo was a turn on all on its own–a sight you were absolutely weak for.

“You're doing it again,” he cheekily pointed out.

“I can't help it,” you whined softly, aware of your friends already beginning to exit the limo. “It's hard to not have thoughts when you're dressed like that.”

Forcing your eyes away from Matt, you began to scoot along the length of the seat, making your way towards the limo's exit with Matt following behind after you. Carefully you slid out of the vehicle, trying to make sure you remained covered as you stepped outside due to the high slit in the side of your dress. You sent the driver a smile and a polite ‘thank you’ as you took a couple of shaky steps past where he was holding the car door open.

Smoothing a hand down the silk of your dress, your other clutching your purse, you turned back around just in time to see Matt gracefully ease his way out of the back of the limo. You almost lost your footing as you saw him rising to his full height in his tuxedo, your heart skipping at the sight of him. His covered gaze quickly found you, probably having caught the stutter of the traitorous organ in your chest. The smile that formed along his mouth caused your heart to start up again, pounding rapidly and unevenly inside of you.

The grin remained as he stepped over towards you, your breath coming in sharper as you tried to contain yourself. Matt held out an arm expectantly in your direction and you swallowed hard, reaching out and directing his large hand to your upper arm. His fingers curled firmly around your bare skin, the heat of them raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the night.

Matt leaned in towards you, amusement in his voice as he whispered, “Breathe, sweetheart. I don't want you passing out on me.”

Heat was burning at your cheeks as a sudden timidity began to overtake you. That feeling like you didn't belong at this man's side–a feeling you hadn't really felt to this extent in quite some time–was suddenly washing over you. It didn't help that you were leading him up onto the sidewalk and over towards your friends where they were standing in front of the elegant ballroom the event was taking place at. Foggy looked handsome as well in his tuxedo as he stood beside both the stunning Marci and Karen, the pair looking like glamorous models in their dresses.

As you led the both of you towards your friends, Matt silent at your side, your eyes were shifting around at all the well-dressed people making their way towards the entrance. Almost immediately your nerves hit you like a truck once more, your foot twisting in your heels as you took another step. Briefly you faltered, but Matt’s hand gripped your arm tight and quickly caught you, stopping you before you could fall.

“Relax, everything is going to be alright,” Matt assured you, his mouth once more beside your ear as you both continued walking towards the ballroom entrance. “I've got you tonight Bambi. Just take a deep breath.”

“Right,” you murmured back, nodding your head quickly as nerves continued to fill your stomach. “Tonight will–will be fun.”

“I'll make sure you enjoy yourself here, sweetheart,” he promised. “Just relax and focus on me. That's all you need to do.”

You glanced at him beside you skeptically, your stomach anxiously flipping inside of you. “Okay, that normally calms me down, but tonight is a bit different. It’s not that you don't always look good, but tonight you look insanely good, Matt. Which almost makes me more nervous than relaxed.”

He chuckled lightly, focusing on you at his side as he walked. “And does it make you more or less nervous to know you're coming back home with me after all of this no matter what?” he asked.

“More nervous,” you immediately answered.

“Mmm,” he hummed back thoughtfully, his attention returning ahead of him. “Then maybe don't think about what I'm going to do to you when we get home tonight.”

You laughed weakly as the pair of you approached your friend group. Unfortunately what he'd said had only made you think about going home with this handsome man after the gala even more. And that was only increasing your anxiety for some reason. You definitely felt out of place at his side now that you'd left the safe confines of the limo, your eyes taking in the sight of all the stunning couples around you.

“Yeah, not helping,” you whispered.

Matt laughed lightly at your side, his warm hand affectionately squeezing your bicep. You didn't know how you had thought you could handle attending this event as his date, but now that you were here, you certainly hoped you could survive it.

Focusing on your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you checked over your makeup and hair once more, making sure everything still looked as good as it had when you’d first left Karen’s apartment. Satisfied that nothing seemed too out of place, even with the occasional kisses Matt had snuck in so far this evening, your hands once more smoothed down the sides of your silk dress.

You had to admit, the dress you’d chosen for tonight looked good on you. It hit in all the right places and the side slit that reached mid-way up your thigh was surprisingly flattering. You’d certainly never worn anything quite so beautiful before, only having splurged because Matt had practically urged you to buy something you really wanted to wear tonight.

But despite how beautiful the dress was and how good it made you feel to be in it, the nerves still fluttered frantically in your stomach as you stared back at your reflection. A frown pulled the corners of your mouth downwards, your eyes focused on the way they’d dropped. The slight confidence boost you’d felt tonight after getting ready with Karen and Marci had almost completely disappeared in the first hour of you being here with Matt.

You’d followed him around, his arm looped through yours, politely greeting the people that approached him and smiling as they discussed varying topics. You’d joined the conversations whenever you’d had a chance, but nothing had fully shaken the insecurity that had only continued to grow inside of you every single time Matt introduced you as his girlfriend, because you could’ve sworn a few women had openly sneered at you. Others had given you a once over, their defined brows arching in something like distaste as they eyed you.

You knew Matt couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but you wondered if he’d somehow known something was happening. He’d often pull you further into his side throughout the evening and whisper comforting words before planting a lingering kiss to your temple. And while the gesture occasionally eased a flare up of your insecurity, that feeling always quickly returned whenever the pair of you passed some gorgeous, model-like woman in what was clearly a designer dress as she turned her nose up at you. Or as some other well-dressed man shot you a curious, almost offended glance. You’d soon found yourself wondering how your friends had been so excited about attending an event with all these stuck-up New York City elite–though it seemed like all of them were fairing vastly better this evening than you. And that only made you further feel like you didn’t belong here, walking the ballroom with Matt’s arm looped through yours as if you actually could be the one at his side.

As you were adjusting a loose strand of hair while looking at your reflection, a woman entered the bathroom and approached the opposite end of the counter, ignoring you entirely as she began fixing her makeup. Squaring your shoulders, you forced yourself out of your spiraling thoughts now that you were no longer alone. They weren't going to help anything tonight anyway.

You reached a hand out, grabbing your clutch purse from off the counter before turning and heading towards the exit. Making your way down the short hallway outside of the bathrooms, you smiled politely whenever you passed someone as sweat began to dampen your palms. When you finally re-entered the extravagantly decorated ballroom a moment later, the sound of the live orchestra playing hit your ears just over the noise of multiple conversations. Feeling your nerves increase even further at the room full of people, you mentally reminded yourself that you only needed to survive for a few more hours here before you and Matt could go home.

Eyes scanning the room, it didn't take you long before you found Matt among the crowd of people. He was standing exactly where you’d left him a few minutes ago when you’d excused yourself to the restroom, but now you noticed he was talking to a different group of people than when you’d been at his side initially–three men and one of those gorgeous, model-like women who was standing a little too close to him. With a sigh, you plastered a bright smile onto your face once more and began making your way through the crowd and over towards the group, walking carefully so as not to trip in your heels. But your smile faltered the closer you neared the group when you began to pick up on the conversation.

“Oh, I apologize,” you overheard one of the men saying to Matt. “I truly thought she was your date tonight. You both just look so good standing together, I only assumed.”

You felt your feet come to an abrupt stop along the floor at the man’s words, your heart thudding so heavily in your chest that you could feel it. That was the last thing you wanted to hear tonight. More confirmation that you weren’t good enough to be at Matt’s side–that you didn’t belong there.

“Ahh, well, considering I’m blind, I can't exactly see why you'd say that,” Matt replied.

His tone had been charming and polite as usual when he'd responded, but you’d caught the edge to his words that the others clearly hadn't. Nevertheless, the entire group still laughed at his joke, but you winced as you stood there rooted to the spot feeling like your heart was gradually sinking to the floor.

“But I can assure you all, my lovely girlfriend is around here somewhere,” Matt added on. “And I’m sure she’ll be back very soon.”

Swallowing hard, you willed yourself to take another step over towards the group, attempting to push down the hurt the man’s comment had caused. You knew it was only a mistake, but that didn't stop it from unleashing even more insecure thoughts that were now running wild in your head, making you feel even worse than you had been a few minutes ago in the bathroom. Though it was taking everything in you to not have your fears feel validated by that small mistake.

You’d barely managed to take two steps closer before you noticed the woman beside Matt raise a hand and place it along his shoulder. The sight had your feet abruptly come to a stop once more. You noticed Matt had stiffened at her touch, but the sight of her so casually and intimately beginning to rub her hand along him immediately elicited a strong reaction from within you. Sick churned in your stomach, your heart nearly launching itself out of your mouth at the sight of this woman so brazenly touching him like that. As if she had every right to do so. The urge to vomit only increased when she leaned in towards him with a seductive smile spread across her damn red lips.

“If I was your lovely girlfriend,” she purred at him, “I’d know far better than to leave you alone in a room full of gorgeous women. Wouldn’t want one coming along and stealing you away from me, if I was her.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt tears burn at your eyes as the other men in the group burst into laughter at her comment. As if what she'd said was actually funny and the implication of her words wasn't vastly inappropriate. The woman just stood there smiling at Matt, her hand still rubbing his shoulder. You took in the frown along Matt’s lips for a second before your feet suddenly moved of their own accord, spinning you around and taking you directly away from the group. Too focused on fighting back tears in your eyes, your hands nearly crushing your clutch purse as you stalked off, you hadn't caught what Matt responded to the woman with.

By the time you'd finally weaved your way around the mass of people and found yourself out of the ballroom and in an empty hallway, you'd completely lost your sense of direction. You had no idea where you'd wandered off to, your mind too busy cruelly playing back the mental image of that woman touching Matt the way she had. Saying the things she'd said.

Right now you wanted to scream. To collapse onto the floor and cry, giving into your spiraling thoughts that came rushing back to you–all the ones trying to tell you that you’d never be good enough for Matt. That you didn't belong at his side at events like this. That you would never be the right woman for him.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you attempted to muffle the choked sound of a sob that you were desperately fighting back. Because you knew that you couldn't cry here no matter how much you wanted to break down. You didn't want to ruin Matt's evening with your insecurities, the very same ones which you thought you'd put to rest already when it came to you being with him. Yet here you were, hiding in a hallway and trying not to cry because some woman was hitting on him in front of you again . Upset because some guy had mistaken her as his date just because of how she looked standing next to him.

Sniffling hard, you tried to force yourself to stop getting so worked up over all of this. This wasn’t the time or the place. Frantically you blinked back your tears, reminding yourself repeatedly that Matt had clearly not wanted that woman's advances and that he had openly acknowledged having a significant other. He hadn't done anything wrong. You honestly weren't even upset at him.

But still, that moment had wounded you quite deeply anyway. It made you once more feel like you weren't meant to be with him.

Trying to focus on your breathing, you attempted to calm it down and even it out. You needed to relax so that you could find your way back to the ballroom and finish out the rest of the night. You’d worry about all of these spiraling feelings of inadequacy later. But as you were inhaling a slow and quivering breath in, you heard the door at the end of the hall open. Before you could even turn around to see who'd joined you, you heard Matt gently calling out your name. Eyes closing, you roughly blew out the breath you'd just taken. You hadn't wanted him to know how upset you'd been over something so ridiculous. Especially not with how far your relationship had come with him over the past few months.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Matt asked.

With your back facing him, you quickly began wiping at your dampened cheeks, forcing the tears back. You knew it was pointless though because you knew with his senses he had already been aware of the fact that you’d been in here crying. Continuing to roughly wipe at your cheeks, you heard the sound of Matt’s footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Yeah, I'm–I'm fine, Matt,” you answered, trying to keep your voice even.

“You're crying,” he pointed out. “You're not fine.”

Blinking hard a few more times, you tried to quickly regain control over yourself. But the moment you felt Matt's gentle hand on your shoulder, a soft sniffle snuck its way out of you.

“I know you overheard what just happened,” he told you quietly. “I heard you walking over as it was happening. I know that’s what has you upset and I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

You shook your head before looking back over your shoulder at him. Matt was standing just behind you, his glasses no longer on his face and covering his eyes, probably having removed them and slipped them into his jacket pocket when he’d come to talk to you. There was a worried crease between his brows as his eyes continued to dart around your face, scanning you over. You could practically feel the way he was analyzing your body right now.

“You didn't do anything wrong, Matt,” you assured him. “You don't need to apologize. It's just–”

You broke off on a sigh, your eyes dropping down to your red heels peeking out from beneath your dress. Matt's hand on your shoulder began to gently spin you around to face him before his other hand landed on your opposite shoulder. Both of his hands gave you a firm, comforting squeeze as you continued to avoid his stare.

“It's just what, sweetheart?” he prompted.

You winced, shaking your head. “It's stupid. Really. I got upset and I was hoping to just come out here and calm down because I know how stupid it all is. We've been over this before–I thought I was past this already.”

“Hey,” Matt murmured, both of his thumbs beginning to rub soothing little circles over your bare shoulders, “whatever upset you isn't stupid. You can talk to me, you know that. I want you to talk to me. We do have that pinky promise, after all.”

Shoulders sagging in defeat, you knew he was right and had a point. You both had long since agreed to communicate with each other. This was precisely one of those times where you needed to.

Inhaling a deep breath, you slowly released it before your eyes traveled their way up Matt's handsome form in his tuxedo. When your eyes finally landed on his face, you couldn't help but relax at the way he was gazing down at you with so much love and concern reflected in his eyes. The sight only had you feeling further idiotic for having had such a strong reaction to that woman hitting on him.

“It’s really stupid but…I just feel like all night everyone has been staring at me like I don't belong here. Or rather, here with you, specifically,” you confessed awkwardly. “Mainly the women. They've just…openly made faces at me all night long and it's been weighing on me. And then to–to come back from the bathroom just to overhear all of that? For that woman to just touch you like that? Make the comment she did?”

You shook your head, that unpleasant squirming of your heart in your chest returning at the memory. Quickly you tried to blink back the tears, not wanting to cry anymore. Matt's expression only further softened as he listened to you.

“To hear someone else openly acknowledge that another woman looked good next to you–something people here would probably never say about me–it…hurt,” you whispered.

Matt was quick to wrap his arms around your shoulders, drawing you into the front of himself as he pulled you in for a hug. Your own arms timidly rose up, encircling his waist under his suit coat as you buried your face against his chest, careful not to smear any makeup onto his white shirt. The cologne he'd put on tonight filled your nose as you breathed in, somehow calming the uneven pattering of your aching heart. He smelled good, like something warm and woodsy. Safe and comfortable. The longer you breathed it in, the more it eased that ache in your chest just a little bit more.

“I wouldn't concern yourself with the opinion of anyone here,” he told you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. “Everyone here is so superficial and just putting on an act. And if you forgot already, they only invited us here last minute as a slight. Believe me, I've overheard some of the things being said about Nelson, Murdock, and Page when they think we can't hear. It's not you, sweetheart. I promise you that. And you know I love you,” he continued, the soft and even rhythm of his voice calming you more in his embrace. “Not a number far enough from one, right? I don't want anyone here but you and I never will.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “That’s why I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” he replied. “You had a human reaction to the way you're being treated, sweetheart. That’s normal. It’s okay. I'm just sorry that's how you're being treated because you're here with me.”

One of Matt's hands unwrapped itself from around your shoulders, his fingertips beginning to glide their way down the back of your bare arm as his other continued to hold you to the front of himself. Your eyes closed under his touch, goosebumps rising along the skin his fingers had just brushed over. When his hand reached your wrist, you allowed him to gently unwrap it from around his waist.

“But you know,” he murmured, something about his change in tone catching your attention as his fingers interlocked with yours, “one of these days, there'll be a ring on this hand.”

Your eyes flew open, your entire body tensing against the front of him at what he'd just unexpectedly said. His fingers continued to affectionately toy with the fingers of your left hand as you stood there feeling like you suddenly couldn't breathe, your heart skipping a beat.

“And then I'll be introducing you to everyone as my fiancé at these galas,” he continued, a hint of a smile in his voice, “not my girlfriend.”

Your knees felt weak at his words, your right arm holding onto Matt even tighter, afraid you might actually lose your balance in your heels. It had been awhile since either of you had mentioned marriage, both of you having been so busy lately, but you knew it was something you both wanted. It’d been discussed. But for some reason standing there and hearing him so casually refer to you as being his future fiancé had you wondering if maybe you were closer to that future than you’d even realized. Was it possible he’d already bought a ring? You were too afraid to even hope for that, but the prospect of being engaged to him soon had your insecurities immediately draining straight out of you.

“And eventually,” Matt continued, his chin rising from off the top of your head, his lips lowering beside your ear, “I’ll be introducing you as my wife at these things. Then they’ll all have to call you Mrs. Murdock.”

Sucking in a sharp breath that got stuck in your throat, you found yourself suddenly lightheaded just at the thought of that. A jolt of excitement raced through you as Matt pressed a kiss to your cheek, and then his lips were curling into a smile along your skin. At a loss for words, you stood there with your mouth slightly parted in surprise as you tried to process the fact that he'd just said that.

“You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed out, not even pausing to think.

Because you did. You liked the sound of that a lot. The idea that Matt really wanted only you so much that he’d make a lifelong commitment to you. That he’d put a ring on your finger as a visible reminder to everyone else that you were his, and someday, you’d get to put one on his finger that showed the world he was yours . Forever.

You liked the thought of that far more than you realized, especially here in this moment and after what had just happened out in that ballroom.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, his hand which wasn't currently interlocked with yours sliding slowly down your back, “wasn’t quite expecting that reaction when I said that.”

“Wasn’t exactly expecting you to say that,” you whispered back.

His hand continued its slow descent down your spine, a shudder racing up the length of it under his palm. Eventually its trajectory changed, his hand coming to rest along your hip. Holding onto your waist in one hand, his other hand still entwined with yours, Matt began to carefully walk you backwards. As you moved, his nose nuzzled affectionately against your temple while your face remained buried against his chest. You felt your breath coming in sharper, the fingers of your right hand curling around his dress shirt beneath his suit coat as you tried to keep yourself from tripping over your own feet.

“I want to make you mine,” Matt told you, an edge of the possessive Devil in his words. “And I want you to know that you’re mine. To never question it.”

Your back had just barely bumped against the wall before Matt’s hand released yours and instead came to lightly encircle your jaw in his large palm. A soft gasp slipped out of your mouth as his hand gently pushed your head back against the wall, raising it up so that your mouth lined up with his. He leaned in and your eyes snapped shut just before his lips were on yours, somehow soft and full of heat simultaneously.

You lost your footing at the intensity of the kiss, your left hand flying out to grasp onto Matt’s bicep over his suit coat just before his body pushed you further back against the wall, keeping you upright. His hand continued to hold your jaw firmly in place as he kissed you in a way that he had yet to this entire evening–a way that had your knees trembling. But just as you’d barely had a chance to match that intensity, he abruptly broke away from you, a fire burning in his hazel eyes as he focused his sightless gaze along your cheek. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your mind still reeling in the moment.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” he told you. “And I don’t care who tries to flirt with me. There might be a whole room of other women out there,” he continued, gesturing his head back down the hall in the direction from where he’d come, “but the only one I want is right here. And if you want, sweetheart,” he whispered huskily, his hand releasing your jaw and sliding down to lightly grip your neck, “I would be more than happy to show you how much I want you right now.”

Head still resting against the wall behind you, your eyes grew wide. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“I–I’m not sure I follow,” you whispered.

Matt's face hovered a few inches from yours, that unmistakable heat still burning in his eyes as he focused back on you, a small smile on his mouth. You were positive the tips of his fingers were feeling the thrumming of your heart with where they each rested along your neck.

“There’s a room to your right,” he said. “Yes?”

Slowly turning your head, you glanced over your shoulder. There was in fact a door there, one labeled ‘office.’

“I don’t hear any cameras inside of it, and I’m guessing it has a locking door,” Matt said.

Your attention returned to him, your brows jumping up onto your forehead. “Are you suggesting we…?”

“Yes,” he replied, his smile growing into something mischievous on his face, a glint of something flickering in his eyes. “If you want to, of course.”

“But–but Matt,” you whispered in a rush, your cheeks heating as you glanced back to the door at the other end of the hall, “there’s literally hundreds of people back in the ballroom. And security roaming around. We are by no means alone here. We could get caught!”

He shrugged a shoulder, the movement drawing your eyes back to him. You could feel your heart beating faster in your chest at his suggestion, an unexpected excitement growing inside of you at the prospect of having him here at this gala without anyone knowing. The pair of you had never done anything like this before, the closest having been when he’d teased you back at Fogwell’s Gym last year. But you'd been alone at the gym that night–this was different.

“I can assure you,” he began, “that no one has even been down this hallway except us all night. Trust me, I can tell. If we keep quiet, no one will ever know but us. So it’s up to you, sweetheart.” The corner of his lip curled into a devilish smirk, the sight causing your thighs to press together. “We can certainly head back to the ballroom instead. I would be content just having you at my side for the rest of the night. Or,” he continued, the corner of his lip curling even higher, “I could ease any of your lingering insecurities for the rest of the evening first. Prove that you and you alone are mine.”

His hand released your neck as he pushed back off the wall, giving you space. Space you found yourself not remotely wanting.

“But the choice is yours,” he assured you. “Because you know I'd never want to make you uncomfortable.”

Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you felt at a loss for words as you tried to decide. There was a part of you that wanted to lead him back down the hallway and just finish out the night. It wasn't like the pair of you couldn't do all of this back at the apartment afterwards, and it would be more than mortifying if the pair of you got caught fucking in an office during this gala. But another part of you was curious. Curious to see what he meant about easing your insecurities–because you knew whatever happened he certainly would. And the thought of fucking him while everyone else was a few rooms over was tempting, especially considering the way both you and Matt had been treated so far this evening by the other guests. It'd be a little secret just between the both of you, and something about that had your blood beginning to rush to your cunt.

Ultimately the image of that woman who'd been running her hand along Matt’s shoulder flashed through your mind again, but this time something else raced through your entire body at the memory of it. Something almost possessive hit you hard. Something territorial. Without further contemplation, you knew exactly what you wanted right now.

Hands flying out, they latched onto the lapels of Matt's tuxedo before roughly yanking him towards you, immediately crashing your mouth onto his. Matt's hand tightened along your hip almost bruisingly tight in response, something like a snarl vibrating in his throat and rolling into your own mouth. The sound of it had your fingers curling further around his suit coat, your feet beginning to clumsily guide the both of you over towards the office door. After a few steps, your hand released his coat, beginning to feel around the wall for the door handle. You were too caught up in kissing Matt to actually look for it, not wanting to end the moment, but he must've realized what you were doing because he broke away from you a moment later, loosing a breathy laugh as your hand continued to blindly search for the handle.

“I take that as a yes on doing this,” Matt teased. He released his hold on your hip, grabbing you by the hand instead and shooting you a cheeky smile, one that had the corners of his eyes creasing. “Allow me,” he said.

He pulled you a few more steps down the hall towards the door, reaching a hand out and easily opening it. All the while he continued to smile back at you, his attention never leaving you. Somehow that only made you want him more–especially in that damn tuxedo.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, tugging you along after him. A giggle escaped you as you stumbled into the room behind him, your feet a little unsteady in your heels. You were still unable to believe that you were about to do what you were about to with him while so many people were nearby. But as usual, this was Matt you were with. The very same Matt who always made you feel safe and comfortable.

You had barely entered the room before Matt turned back towards you, quickly closing the door and flipping the lock on the handle. And then he was on you once more, pushing you back against the door without warning as he caged you in between his arms. His mouth was at your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the length of it like you both hadn't just been briefly interrupted. Your head fell back against the door behind you with a soft thump , your eyelids fluttering in pleasure as your hands rose up, grabbing helplessly at his back.

“Only want you,” Matt murmured against your skin between kisses. “Only you.”

He continued trailing his sensual kisses along your throat, his hips pressing you firmly back into the door. Your breath was coming in sharp already, your mind almost entirely forgetting about the gala happening just a few rooms over because of his skilled mouth. When his lips finally landed over your pulse point, you felt his teeth gently bite down on the skin, taking you by surprise and eliciting a sharp hiss of pleasure from you. Your nails dug into his suit jacket, your teeth gritting together to keep from making too much noise.

“ Matt ,” you breathed out.

“ Mine ,” he snarled in response along your neck.

The hand he had splayed wide along the door beside your head dropped down, landing on your thigh through the slit of your dress. He let out a pleased noise as he began to trail kisses past your collarbone, his face lowering to the cleavage the V-cut of your dress created. His hand began to massage the muscle of your thigh, gradually making its way further up your leg and towards your ass as his lips began to suck at a patch of skin along your breast. A dampness was steadily growing between your thighs, your eyes completely closing under his attention as one of your hands slid up and into his hair.

“Thought there was a slit in your dress,” he whispered, face still buried against your chest, the stubble on his chin tickling you with each word. “Was hoping to properly appreciate it tonight.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut short by his teeth placing soft nips along the swell of your left breast. His hot breath cascaded its way down the front of your dress as he did, the feel of it causing your brain to go blank. His large palm was kneading your ass in a way that had a soft moan tumbling out of your lips, one you were powerless to stop. Matt's mouth paused at the noise, hovering just above your chest as you felt his hand dragging its way back down to your thigh.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warned, his warm palm sliding to the inside of your thigh, fingertips brushing against your cunt just over your now damp panties. “Need to keep quiet if you don't want us to get caught.”

“That might prove–”

You stopped short as Matt's fingers pushed your panties to the side. They soon began sliding back and forth through your damp folds, collecting the slick that had been steadily forming there for the past few minutes as your breath hitched. Hips squirming along the solid door behind you, a surge of pleasure raced through you when the pad of his finger began to delicately circle your clit. Eyes closed, you swore you saw white flash across your closed lids. He always knew exactly how to touch you.

“Difficult,” you finished lamely.

“Mmm,” he hummed out thoughtfully.

The pad of his finger continued tracing circles over your clit, your cunt starting to desperately ache for his attention as he did. You could feel his erection growing against your leg through his dress pants with the way his hips were still pushing you back into the door. The feel of it almost had you accidentally loosing another moan.

“Or maybe you'd rather they all knew you were in here with me,” Matt continued, his tone suddenly dark and low–something reminiscent of the Devil. “Is that what you want? For all of them out there to know you're in here letting me touch you like this?”

A quiet curse slipped out of your mouth, your back arching against the door as his finger quickened its pace, pressing more firmly against you as he did. Admittedly you wished that woman out there knew exactly what he was doing to you right now after the way she'd been touching him. You wished she knew just how much he wanted your hands on him instead of hers.

“ Yes ,” you whispered, the word sneaking its way out of your lips.

The truth of your admission surprised even you, your eyes flying open. Matt was hovering over your cleavage, his finger still drawing delicious patterns on your clit. But his face shifted ever so slightly upwards at your response, his focus turning up towards you. There was something almost dark matching the intensity in his eyes, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as a growl rumbled in his chest. Your heart instantly accelerated at the look on his face.

“Certainly caught the truth in that,” he assured you, his finger never stopping its movements along you. “So you want me to give you a reason not to doubt that you're mine for the rest of the night? Is that what you want? To stuff you with my cock and fill you with my cum so you know who exactly you belong to?”

“Yes,” you answered.

Once again you’d found yourself stunned at your admission–and how quickly you’d answered. Even Matt seemed to be taken by surprise for a brief second, his head tilting a little to the side. But then ever so slowly his hand slipped out from under your dress, his smirk growing at the faint, pathetic groan you emitted at the loss of contact.

He straightened up before you, both of his hands landing on the belt at his waist. Your eyes dropped down in the small distance between you, your heart hammering away in your chest as you watched his hands undo the buckle before sliding his zipper down. In a swift movement, he shoved his pants and boxers farther down his thick thighs before tugging his dress shirt out of the way, all the while your eyes were focused on the emergence of his erect cock springing forth. Practically salivating at the sight of it, especially considering the exhilarating situation you both were in, you whined impatiently against the door.

Matt’s eyes flew to your chin at the noise, a smile overtaking the smirk on his lips. In seconds he was pressing you back against the door behind you, one hand firmly grasping your thigh while his other roughly shoved the fabric of your dress out of the way so forcefully that you swore you heard a seam tear. But you didn’t care as he hoisted your leg up onto his hip, the head of his cock bumping against the slick of your core. Your hips eagerly twitched forwards at the contact, already desperate to feel him fill you.

Matt’s forehead lowered to rest against yours, the hand he didn’t have holding your leg in place along his hip beginning to drag his cock back and forth through your arousal. You bit the tip of your tongue more firmly with each teasing pass of him through your folds–partly in anticipation and partly to remind yourself to keep quiet. Even if you couldn’t hear the noise of the gala, there was a small part of you still aware of it continuing not that far away.

But when you felt him finally sink inside of you, you almost forgot your own name. The pair of you released a sigh at almost the exact same moment, as if you’d been waiting far too long for this connection between the pair of you tonight. Though truthfully with how long you’d had to endure chaste kisses, seeing him in that tuxedo while watching him display his intelligence in conversation all night, had felt like a new form of torture. And now having him finally burying himself inside of you felt like the sweet relief you’d been craving.

Matt rolled his hips forward into you, sliding the entirety of himself inside of you as your hands wound their way into his hair, keeping his forehead against yours. His lips brushed against yours so lightly that you almost didn't feel them just before his fingers dug into your thigh where the slit of your dress had slipped out of the way, gripping you tightly in place against him. His other hand landed with a sharp slam on the door near your head, holding himself upright.

“I’ll give you something to remind yourself that you’re mine for the rest of the evening,” his husky voice promised you. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart.”

Your whole body trembled at his words, feeling him drag his cock out from inside of you slowly at first before he sharply thrust himself back inside of you. Clenching your teeth together at the impact, your fingers curled tighter around the strands of his hair, not even worrying about how mussed it would look by the end of this. You had a feeling the both of you would look disheveled at this point no matter what, and a large part of you almost didn’t care anymore.

Gradually Matt began to pick up his pace as he began to fuck you, his hips eventually snapping forward into you so hard that your back and your ass pounded into the door behind you, the resounding bang accentuating each time he pumped into you, the noise louder than the obscene sound of skin on skin. You were struggling to keep your mouth shut, fighting to keep your pleasure quiet as Matt’s hips continued to viciously roll into you over and over again.

Eventually your lone heel on the floor began to slide ever so slightly back and forth along the tile with the intensity of each of his thrusts. One of your hands dropped down, grabbing onto his round and solid bare ass in an attempt to hold onto something. Beneath your palm, you could feel the large muscle repeatedly contracting in your hold with every pump of his cock burying itself inside of you. Eyes becoming half-lidded, your ragged breaths mingled with his sharp grunts in the minimal space that existed between your mouths. His forehead hadn’t left its place against yours, and every so often his mouth would occasionally graze your lips before he took the opportunity to seize your mouth in soft little kisses. The intimacy of the tender action was a perfect contrast to the way he was currently roughly fucking you into the door behind you.

“No one else–will ever have me–like you do,” Matt ground out between each sharp slam of his hips into yours. “You'll be–the only one–I call Mrs. Murdock.”

Your nails dug into the firm muscle of his ass at his words. You once more hadn't expected him to say that, but the pleasure of hearing it again shot straight through you so fast that you swore your whole body had ignited. With his cock filling you so wholly and those words echoing in your mind, you felt a moan building in the back of your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunted. “The way your body reacts every time I say that–”

Matt inhaled a hiss of air, his hips faltering in their rhythm as if he was already struggling not to cum just at your reaction. The fact that he was so turned on at the prospect of you being his wife alone had your eyes snapping shut completely, that moan that had been building in your throat making it halfway out of your mouth before Matt quickly quieted it with his own, swallowing the sound.

You could feel yourself growing closer to your release already, far more turned on by hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Murdock’ as he buried himself inside of you than you could ever imagine. With the way his body was shuddering against yours, you could tell it was having an unexplainable effect on him, too. One that was drawing him fast to his own climax.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

You heard Matt let out a low groan, his hips beginning to sloppily slam into your own as his blunt nails dug into the flesh of your thigh, clamping it tighter to his hip. Your release was building just at his reaction, making you understand just how he was feeling in that moment, too.

“Call me that again,” you breathed out.

His mouth found yours immediately, latching on as he kissed you fiercely but with so much tenderness. As if he was struggling with the intensity of his own feelings at your request. When he broke away from your mouth, he stayed so close that you could feel his lips brush yours as he whispered the name one more time.

Your eyes rolled back behind closed lids, your thighs shaking as another particularly rough thrust of Matt's hips pushed you back into the door. Your cunt tightened around him as he once more filled you, the delicious stretch of him inside you one you wanted to remember for the rest of the night.

It was the pleasure-filled, deep moan that Matt so carelessly spilled into the room as he abruptly came inside of you that had you about to cum along with him. He continued to pump into you, the warmth of his release filling you as you neared your own climax. But the moment Matt whispered ‘I love you’ in a broken, breathy pant, you completely lost it.

Gritting your teeth together, you fought back the moan growing deep in your chest as best as you could, though you couldn't completely quiet it as a wave of pleasure raced up the entirety of your body. Your thighs trembled at the intensity of it as Matt's cock gradually began to slow its pace, your own orgasm washing over you in a crashing, dizzying wave that took you by surprise.

Eventually when you'd finally fallen limp against the door behind you, exhausted and spent, his hips entirely stopped their movement. Inevitably Matt's forehead left yours, your eyes opening as he carefully removed himself from inside of you before shifting your panties back in place. The pair of you were both panting hard, attempting to catch your labored breaths. His face was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, a look of almost smug satisfaction on it.

Matt's hand gently lowered your leg from his hip, returning your foot to the floor as your hands both found their way to his hips, trying to keep your balance. Matt's own hands landed on your shoulders in return, helping to keep you upright as his gaze landed on your cheek.

“Certainly didn't expect tonight to go this way,” he mused.

“You and me both,” you breathed out, still trying to catch your breath. “I've never exactly done that before.”

When Matt was sure you weren't about to lose your footing, he released his hold on you and took a step back. With an amused huff and a growing smirk, he began to pull his pants back up and to fix his disheveled state of undress.

“Pretty sure that wasn't the first time we've done that , sweetheart,” he teased. “We seem to do that often. And quite well.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you readjusted your dress, noticing he had just slightly torn the seam when he’d yanked it out of the way. Though you didn't think it was too noticeable to continue wearing tonight.

“You know what I mean, Matt,” you told him.

“I know, I'm only teasing, love,” he assured you.

Your eyes spotted the small, decorative mirror hanging on the wall across the room, just past Matt as he continued adjusting his tuxedo. You bent down carefully, picking up your clutch purse that you'd dropped to the floor the moment Matt had pushed you back into the door, and then you made your way over to it.

“Convenient there's a mirror in here,” you said to Matt as you began inspecting your slightly smudged lipstick. “I can at least attempt to make myself presentable again before we go back out there.”

Using your fingers to wipe away the smeared lipstick as best you could, you heard Matt approaching you from behind. You saw him appear over your shoulder in the mirror a second later, taking in his out of place hair and slightly rumpled shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing himself to the back of you as he leaned in towards your ear, your eyes catching sight of a devious smile on his mouth before he spoke.

“Now when we go back out there,” he murmured, his voice once more low and husky like the Devil’s, “I want you to remember this moment anytime anyone looks at you like you don't belong at my side. And if you catch yourself starting to believe them, I want you to do something for me, okay?”

“And what's that?” you asked him slowly.

Matt's nose brushed along the shell of your ear, your body straightening at the touch.

“I want you to focus on the feel of my cum dripping down your thighs,” he ordered you.

Your hands stopped what they were doing trying to fix your makeup, hovering over your face as your breath caught in your throat. Eyes growing wide at Matt's reflection, you watched as he pulled away from your ear, turning and grinning at you through the mirror.

“I know I'll certainly be paying attention to it for the rest of the night,” he said, grin growing wider.

207 notes · View notes

whesnia · 5 days

Text

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

I WILL NOT BE TAKING TAGS FOR THIS SERIES! THERE WILL NOT BE A TAGLIST!

747 notes · View notes

whesnia · 6 days

Text

no in-between | part four

matt murdock x reader

notes: college au, professor x student relationship, slooow burn

warnings: mature, minors please dni; non-consensual drug use; mentions of medical topics; age gap

word count: 4.36k

series masterlist | ao3 link

Silence surrounds the empty street. Snowflakes dance in a cold wind. And it's so dark.

Your eyes struggle to adjust against the night sky, and your head is swimming so badly you don't want to keep them open long enough to keep trying. Consciousness hangs on tightly, but you're on the edge, teetering a little bit closer with each passing second. You can't orient yourself; up is down is sideways. Noises start to float into your ears, but everything sounds like it's underwater, and you can't quite make out what you're hearing.

Screaming, maybe? Fighting, definitely.

You can't figure out where the noise is coming from. Trying to sit up is a mistake, and you're instantly back on the ground again. Then you hear a voice. And it grounds you in a way you aren't sure anything else could.

Dr. Murdock?

You think you say his name, though you aren't even sure the words make it past your lips. You can't open your eyes, fighting against the nausea now building up in your stomach. But it is his voice. You're sure of it.

What the hell is he doing here?

"Hey, hey, stay with me, okay?" you hear him say, his voice sounding frantic.

Then you're being moved. You aren't sure where to, or even where from, but you can feel your body moving. You protest against the motion, pushing weakly against it. But then you feel a little more right, and you feel solid concrete underneath your palm, and something solid behind your back. Upright. Good. You hear his voice again, still tight.

"You awake?"

You nod your head and feel a sharp pain somewhere near your neck.

“What’re you doing here?” you try to ask, but your words are liquid, slurring together with no breath to separate them.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says too quickly, though you want to disagree, because it does matter, it matters immensely.

“‘S not safe,” you spit out.

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, a hint of something sad in his voice. “Let’s worry about you, okay?”

“What’s going on?” you ask, working hard to try to form words that should be familiar to you.

“You’re okay now,” he tells you, and doesn’t elaborate.

“But-”

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

You can feel an ache growing through your body, muscles that were tense finally starting to release.

“Y’can’t drive,” you tell him as your head begins to feel too heavy to support.

It sounds like he murmurs something, but you don’t catch it, and you don’t ask, forgetting immediately as you feel an arm wrap tightly around your waist to pull you up.

Consciousness is evasive now, coming and going in waves. You can hear sirens, growing closer and closer before becoming deafening and then going silent. Though your eyes are closed tightly against the wave of nausea brought on by movement, you can hear Dr. Murdock speaking to someone -a paramedic?- and his voice rumbles from his chest to your back. Someone is telling you, “This’ll just feel like a pinch,” as you feel the pinch and reactively squeeze someone’s hand.

Then, nothing.

When you force your eyes open again, against your better judgment, you’re in the harsh light of a hospital room, Annie at your side, already yelling out to somebody that you’re awake.

“What time is it?” is the first thing you ask after Annie calms down enough to actually listen.

“God, I don’t know, feels like we’ve been here forever.”

She slips her phone out of her pocket.

“Uh, 10.”

“AM or PM?” you ask.

“AM.”

“Jesus, how long was I out?” you ask her as you reach your hand up to rub your face, only to feel an uncomfortable pull in your arm, finding yourself hooked to an IV.

“I got a call around midnight last night,” she tells you.

You’re already having trouble recalling what happened. You remember leaving the bar, walking home, then the ambulance. Your body aches, your neck is sore, and your right wrist feels like it’s on fire.

“What the hell happened?” you ask her. “And how did I get here?”

“I’m not sure,” Annie tells you, and her face suddenly turns dark. “They think you must’ve been drugged at the bar. You don’t remember?”

Your skin starts to feel clammy as nausea creeps back in.

“No, I- I barely remember anything.”

“The doctor said that can happen with these types of things. I am so sorry.”

Annie’s face looks so genuine that you want to cry. For her or for yourself, you aren’t sure.

“Anyway, after you left the bar, somebody must’ve heard the fight and called the police.”

“The fight?” you ask.

“Shit, you really don’t remember anything, do you?”

You shake your head even though her question makes you grow frustrated.

“Some witnesses at the bar said a couple guys came up to you after you fell on the street, and you just started swinging at them. Got one of them pretty good, apparently. They were trying to move you again when someone came out of nowhere and beat the shit out of them. Apparently it looked like some vigilante shit.” She shrugs. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, swallowing hard while trying to wrestle all of the emotions running through you right now. “But how did I get here? To the hospital, I mean.”

There’s one thing that you remember, even though it feels like a dream, foggy and nearly forgotten. But you’re sure it happened.

“I’m pretty sure an ambulance. Which, I don’t know how you’re gonna pay for that, but-”

“I mean who called the ambulance?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some witnesses probably. Whoever called the police, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, even though the answer leaves you completely unsatisfied.

Getting discharged from the hospital takes longer than the actual hospital stay. At least, that’s how it feels as you sit in the hospital room by yourself, flipping through the TV channels for the hundredth time and still finding nothing to keep you occupied.

Shortly after Annie left, the doctor came in and explained what had happened. At least, what they think happened. An IV had helped rehydrate you as you slept, and it also helped flush whatever drugs the men gave you out of your system. Those types of drugs, she explained to you, don’t stay in your system long, and don’t usually cause any long-term effects. The only long-term effects, it turns out, would probably be in your wrist, which you had fractured when you punched one of the men, and on your head and neck, which had been hit and strained when you fell to the concrete. A few other scrapes and bruises on your arms, legs, and cheek would heal up in due time. All in all, you got off pretty lucky.

Finally, a nurse comes into your room, carrying a handful of papers. Sweet release, you think. She takes your vitals while giving you the same instructions you’ve heard a hundred times before- go home and rest, take acetaminophen or ibuprofen for the pain, keep your wrist wrapped, and come back if your symptoms get any worse- and you’re signing the discharge paper itself as she takes you by surprise.

“You sure got lucky with your fella being there.”

“I’m sorry?”

Maybe she had you confused with another patient, you think. Nurses probably see hundreds of people a day, it’s an easy thing to do.

“Your fella,” she repeats, taking the paper and marking your vitals on the small computer in the corner of the room. “When he got the ambulance for you, told the paramedics what he thought happened. It’s a good thing he was so close by when everything went down. Right place, right time. Someone’s looking out for you.”

She makes a gesture with the paper in her hand, pointing to the ceiling, her eyes following. Great, you think. Just what you want to deal with in a hospital and covered in bumps and bruises. Luckily she doesn’t say anything else, just tells you to call or come back if anything worsens and shows you where the exit is. You get a cab back to your house and hope you never have to leave again.

You decide, in fact, that you never want to go out in public again. Never want to see another person, never want to do another thing. You just want to lay in bed all day, wrapped up in your sheets and your comforter in the total darkness. Blinds drawn, fan on, comforting silence. That’s all you want.

Apparently, it’s too much to ask. You don’t know how many times your phone vibrates on the nightstand before you finally pick it up, only to throw it back down again when you see the name across the top of the screen.

Mom

She’s the last person you want to talk to right now. You aren’t even sure how she knows that something happened. You certainly didn’t tell her, but you have a feeling Annie might have. She’s always got your best interest at heart, though she can overstep boundaries to see that through.

The buzzing from your nightstand again has you nearly throwing your phone into the wall, but as you pick it up to silence it, it’s a different name on the screen, and you freeze.

Dr. Murdock .

Oh. That comes as a shock. You’d saved his number during the conference last winter, along with several other professors who were in attendance in case of an emergency. But you never expected the name to actually show up on your phone. He must've kept your number, too.

Shuffling out from your duvet cocoon and clearing your throat, you pick up on the fourth ring.

“Hi,” the voice on the other end starts immediately, soft and careful. “I hope I’m not overstepping anything, but I just wanted to check in on you.”

Check in on you . Not make sure you’re okay . Not hope you’re doing better . No pressure to be any certain way, no demand to lie because no, you’re not okay, and no, you’re not doing better. No unasked questions of what happened or when you think you’ll be ready for things to go back to normal. Just checking in.

You’ve been home for at least a week. Doordash has been your best friend. You’re taking things at your own pace. The last thing you wanted was everyone asking you what happened and but you’re fine, right, so why aren’t you back at campus yet?

You don’t answer him, your mind racing far too fast to form any coherent sentences, but he seems to understand your silence.

“What can I do?” he asks directly.

“I could use some company,” you say with a dry laugh.

You didn’t like asking for help, never have, so you disguise it as a joke, just in case. But everything about him, about this exchange, feels so genuine, and you feel safe in asking for help.

“Okay, we could meet at-”

“No,” you say immediately, stopping him mid-sentence. Then you stammer, trying to collect yourself. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t want to leave right now, and- it’s just, going out-”

You can feel a panic bubbling up in your chest. But he shushes you so gently you want to cry.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, his whisper barely a crackle over the phone. “You don’t have to explain. I can come by after my last class.”

When he comes by, he isn’t empty handed.

“I, uh, took the liberty of getting you something to eat,” he explains in lieu of a hello. “I was getting dinner for myself and thought you might enjoy a break from cooking. I hope that’s alright.”

You don’t answer at first. Your smile is so warm you can feel it burning in your cheeks.

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay. I can always take more leftovers. Gives me a break from cooking, too.”

“No, it’s perfect,” you say, taking the paper bag from him and leading him inside.

You had managed to get out of bed, shower, and pick up a bit around your house before he came over. It was more than you’d done all week. Now, sitting with him at your dining room table, wearing your nicest t-shirt and jeans, clean hair and clean floor, you feel…good. For the first time in a week, you feel good.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks you as you make yourself comfortable in the seat across the table from him.

“Um, about as well as one can expect, I guess,” you answer, your tone sarcastic but lighthearted. When a small frown tugs at his mouth, you try again. “I’m alright, really. It’s really just my wrist that hurts now. The doctor gave me a wrap for it but I have no idea how to rewrap it, so I gave up on that.”

“Do you still have the bandage?” he asks you nonchalantly, like that’s a normal thing to ask someone.

“Uh, yeah, I think it’s somewhere around here. Why?”

“I can show you how to wrap it. If you want me to.”

It seems like an odd offer, but you don’t refuse. You just go dig the elastic bandage out of your bathroom drawer and move your chair closer to him at the table.

“Okay, show me,” you say, handing the bandage to him.

He doesn’t do anything and for a moment you think you’ve somehow made a mistake. You don’t know what you did wrong, but it must’ve been something, right?

“Give me your hand?” he asks, kindly but expectantly.

“Oh.” You’re surprised but don’t want to show it. “Uh, okay.”

So you sit in front of him, close as you’ve ever been. He holds his hand out and you place yours on top. He takes your hand gingerly, like it’s the most fragile object he’s ever handled. With surprising skill, he wraps the elastic fabric around your fingers, your hand, your wrist, before clasping it.

“Is that too tight?” he asks when he’s done.

“No, it’s good,” you tell him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” And then, as if you’ve already asked the question, he adds, “My dad was a boxer. Learned a lot of first aid that way.”

“Oh, well that’s…unexpected, isn’t it? But I’m grateful.”

“Glad I could help.”

He’s still holding your hand in his, so gentle as if it might break with too much force. You think it might. You just stare at him, unsure of what to say or do. He looks lost in thought, and you’re afraid of disrupting him. But it’s becoming obvious, your racing heart. And it’s tearing something into you that you can’t really explain. It’s white hot and uncomfortable but you never want it to end.

It has to, though. You know that. So you clear your throat awkwardly.

“Any other boxer-worthy first aid tips?” you ask him with a nervous laugh.

As if realizing what he’s doing, he lets go of your hand and straightens up in the chair. You can’t help but feel disappointed at the now-missing touch.

“Not anything the hospital hasn’t already told you, I’m sure,” he says with a laugh. “Though next time you try to punch someone, make sure you don’t tuck your thumb.”

“How did you know-?”

“It’s a common mistake, and it’s an easy way to hurt yourself.”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but smile again.

But after a moment of comfortable silence, of pleasant pressure on your wrist and a trail of fire where his fingers were on your skin, he stands from his chair.

“Well, I’d hate to keep you from dinner,” he says with a polite smile.

A small wave of panic goes through you at his words. You don’t want to be alone again. Not yet.

“Stay?” you ask simply, abruptly.

Your question obviously takes him off guard.

“For dinner, I mean,” you clarify quickly. “You said you got yourself something too, right? You could stay here and eat with me, if you’d like. I could use the company.”

“Alright,” he says easily after only a few moments of contemplation.

That wave of panic in you flips and turns into something else you can’t quite describe.

“Great, I’ll, uh, I’ll get everything ready if you just want to have a seat.”

You hope you don’t sound too eager.

Dinner consists of Mexican takeout and delicious small talk. Your conversations light up the dining room better than the heat light bulbs overhead. You watch the sun out the window disappear in a haze of pink fire, and you watch the night creep in behind it while the two of you discuss your favorite restaurants, what your idea of paradise looks like, and why you chose to move halfway across the country halfway through your college career.

You’re finishing up the last of the dishes, Dr. Murdock leaning on the island behind you and telling you stories of what it was like growing up in New York City, when you look at the clock and sigh.

“Well, thank you for the wonderful company. But I’m sure I’ve kept you from your family long enough,” you tell him, and you wish you could explain the way that made you feel.

He lets out a surprised sort of laugh.

“No, uh…”

“Ah, right,” you chuckle awkwardly, kicking yourself for just assuming that he had kids. “You’re wife, then.”

“No, no wife, either.”

You’re surprised by that. You never saw a wedding ring -and you certainly did look- but you knew people who didn’t wear their rings for one reason or another.

“Girlfriend?” you try.

“Completely uncommitted, unfortunately,” he says with another laugh, holding up his hands like he’s being accused of something.

Unfortunately isn’t the word you’d use.

“Oh, I’m…sorry?” you say, unsure of how else to respond when you should have put your foot in your mouth several sentences ago.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I just don’t have the time for it.”

“Teaching college kids takes that much of your time, huh?” you tease, hoping you can just ignore the way your heart sank.

“I do exist outside of campus,” he answers in a faux offended tone.

“Like what?” you challenge.

He looks like he wasn’t expecting you to push.

“Well, uh, I go to church,” he starts.

“Going to church isn’t exactly a time-consuming hobby though, is it?” you joke. “Unless you’re a deacon or something. Or you do volunteer work there, maybe?”

“Nothing like that, no,” he tells you while shaking his head, chuckling like he’s been caught in a lie.

“Well then, I’d say religious activities don’t count. Sorry, Professor .”

“Well, what do you do?” he asks. “Outside of school.”

You aren’t used to that question. What are you majoring in? Why go to college anyway? What are you going to do with a history degree? These were questions you’re used to hearing, from family and strangers alike. You aren’t used to being asked about you . You find yourself flustered under the direct attention.

“Uh, I play music sometimes,” you answer, shrugging out of habit even though you know he can’t see it.

He cocks an eyebrow, and you can tell that this piques his interest, so you immediately add a caveat.

“Not well or anything. It’s just a hobby, I guess. Something I do in my free time. Nothing serious.”

His smile rests your mind.

“What do you play?” he asks, genuine in his interest.

“Piano,” you answer simply. “Unfortunately I don’t get to play much anymore. Not exactly a lot of room in here for one. Though sometimes I do sneak into the music department and play theirs. Like I said, it’s nothing more than a hobby, but I enjoy it. It helps me get things out of my head, you know?”

“Seems like that could really help you,” he says, and there’s a teasing edge to his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, feigning offense as he chuckles.

“Just seems like you get stuck in your head a lot,” he says. “Gotta get out of there sometimes.”

“I know. It just doesn’t feel safe anywhere else but in my own head anymore.”

He’s silent, nodding his head as if he’s contemplating something

“Well, whenever you’re ready, you should try getting out into the world again.”

“It just doesn’t feel safe anymore.”

He nods his head once, as if he understands. He never could, you think, no matter how hard he tries to empathize. But he does try to empathize, genuinely, and you’re not used to it. You’re used to shutting people out and dealing with things on your own. But now someone was opening up and offering comfort in the best way they could.

“You’ll always be safe on campus.”

He sounds so sure of that fact and you can’t figure out why. College campuses aren’t exactly known to be the safest places. But his confidence makes you believe him.

“And my office door is always open,” he adds, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

But he smiles, and even though you can’t see his eyes behind the glasses, you know it doesn’t reach them. You give him a laugh anyway, though it even sounds weak to you.

It’s quiet for a moment, and though it isn’t uncomfortable, it leads your mind to the heaviness that has hung hidden in the air since he arrived.

“How did you know, last weekend? How did you know where I was, what had happened?”

Your chest is tight as you watch something shift in his face, something much more serious than the lighthearted nature that preceded it.

“I just happened to be there,” he tells you, clearing his throat. “Right place, right time, I guess.” He chuckles weakly.

“You’re the second person to tell me that,” you say, thinking back to the nurse at the hospital.

“I’m just glad I was,” he says, steering the conversion away from your questions.

“Me, too,” you tell him, your voice as heavy as your chest. Then, after a beat, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he tells you as he shakes his head, his shoulders still stiff. “I just called an ambulance. Anyone could’ve done that.”

“Sure,” you agree. “But it wasn’t anyone, it was you. So, thank you.”

He looks uncomfortable, so instead of waiting for him to respond, you ask him the next thing that’s been on your mind.

“Why did you come by today?” you ask him. “I mean, you didn’t have to. I’m just your student.”

“You’re not just-” he starts, but catches himself, freezing as his jaw tightens. “I was thinking about you, just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

He was thinking about you. About you . Sure, it wasn’t the greatest of reasons to be thought about. But it was enough to twist something in your stomach. The idea of him thinking about you outside of the classroom, knowing that you exist in his mind as more than just one of his pupils. It’s a thrilling thought. A dangerous one, too.

“Well, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” you tell him, taking in an exaggerated breath before changing your tone. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone in a week, so it was nice to have someone to talk to other than myself.

His shoulders loosen, you notice, before he stands up and thanks you for dinner. You aren’t sure why he thanks you, since he both bought and brought dinner, and all you did was provide the plates. But you just say, “Any time,” and you mean it. You lead him to the door, and when he leaves, the lock clicking is the loudest noise in the house. Suddenly the silence isn’t a comfort anymore.

It’s raining when you decide to go back to campus.

It’s always raining.

Even though the temperature is nearly below freezing, the sky is defiant and refusing to offer up the beauty of the snow anymore. It’s not done for the season, but it’s done for the moment.

Dr. Murdock came to your house on Friday. You spent all weekend engaging in self-care and trying to hype yourself back up to return to campus. You could do it, you kept telling yourself.

Even if you can’t do it for yourself, you can do it for him. Well, not for him, but because of him. He gave you some sort of newfound confidence. You wanted to see him again. It was motivation enough.

You aren’t sure when it happened. You don’t think it was a single moment. It just accumulated like the snow, a little at a time until it covered everything. Small moments in his office, after class. Late night emails about your homework that he still responds to, no matter how late it was. Catching each other eating every now and again, having your separate lunches in close proximity and making small talk that was more important to you than any major discussion you’ve ever had. Your heart beginning to flutter every time you see him.

You aren’t sure when the jealousy kicked in, either, the feeling of an acid in your throat whenever you saw him talking to other students who were obviously just as enamored with him as you were, or when he was walking with people you don’t know around campus.

Or the worry. The first time you ever noticed he showed up to class with a few scrapes or bruises. I got into a fight with the stairs and the stairs won . You couldn’t quell the worry anytime you saw him show up late to class looking obviously worn out, the days he left as soon as it was over and didn’t come back to campus all day. It didn’t happen often, but it happened enough times for you to notice. For you to start worrying.

But regardless of when it started, that first time you saw him back in class after your week-long absence, you knew. You knew you were too far gone. You knew you were falling for him and there was no turning back for you now.

The self-control it took to keep it all to yourself was tremendous. But you did it. You controlled your emotions and you kept your distance and you shut your feelings away from the light of day.

Because nobody else can know, you think.

Nobody needs to know.

20 notes · View notes

whesnia · 8 days

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 26: Seven Devils All Around

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: When you arrive at your apartment, you notice that the door isn't locked. You make the mistake of entering without calling the police first, and you pay dearly for your recklessness.

Warnings: ANGST, blood, violence, break-in, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: It took me a while to get this done because I just wasn't happy with it, but I finally got it done. We're starting to get knee-deep into the next angst arc, so I hope you're prepared for some tension, twists, and turns!

The view behind the windshield blurs through your tears as you navigate the streets of Dublin, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white.

You push your foot down on the gas. You want to go home, but you also don’t. Your apartment hasn’t felt like home in a very long time. After meeting Michael, and everything was still somewhat okay, he became your home, but even that seems like a distant feeling now. Your feelings toward him haven’t changed, of course, but the pile of shit you have to deal with keeps getting bigger, and you can’t catch up. You don’t know what to do. The helplessness adds to the pain of being in love—of worrying about the man you love and the family he was born into who seems to only want the worst for you and him—and that makes feeling at home a sheer impossibility.

The motor of your car roars, but you keep going at a speed that might cost you your license until you pull into the dark street of your neighborhood and finally manage to park the car before you break down.

Your sobs echo through the small space. Every hiccuped intake of oxygen rumbles in your chest, burning through every quarter of your lungs. It’s getting significantly harder to breathe.

Leaving was a spur-of-the-moment decision that seemed right at the time. You had to leave. You were drowning, but the hand Michael offered was too far away and too high up to reach. Miles stretched between you; if you had tried swimming toward him, you would have never reached the end alive. You had to save yourself.

Leaving was the right thing to do—at least that is what you kept telling yourself on the drive home. Now, though, you're starting to question what you were thinking, breaking apart at the seams after desperately clinging to a life buoy of paper.

You used to be such a rational person. Perhaps it was the constant ignorance of reality—the lying to yourself and pretending all was well—that made everything easier. You became complicit with your trauma’s need to forget everything and move on because facing the truth was just too painful, and you tried telling yourself that you could barely remember most of it, anyway. The things you could remember, you swore to take care of once you had it figured out, but that was a foolish lie you concocted for the sake of your peace of mind.

After meeting Michael, reality only started seeping in again. Because his reality and your reality have both turned out to be brutal in their essence. Though after all this time of pretending and being eaten alive by the things you knew and couldn’t share—didn’t want to share, even because you knew the consequences could cause your entire life to fall apart—reality has become a weight you forgot how to carry. Now, your world is falling apart anyway, and there seems to be no way out.

You knew this would happen, but you didn’t want to face the truth. That is the problem. And that is, you think, on you entirely. You should have been more careful, knowing your delusions would become your downfall eventually.

And you can’t blame Michael, no matter how badly you want to. You can’t hate or degrade him, not even in your mind. He was worried, he was upset, and he was angry because he had to find out that even after trying so hard to stay on the straight and narrow, his chances of getting custody of his daughter would remain lower than the deepest parts of the ocean. He ran against an invisible clock and still lost, even after making it on time. You tried to help him, and he tried to help himself, but your attempts were futile. Now, after everything, he is scared of losing you, too.

He gave you one condition; stay home and don’t do anything stupid. You couldn’t even do that, and the worry made his fuses blow. That’s not his fault.

You don’t know why you did it. The nagging feeling wouldn’t leave you alone, and you acted on your feelings rather than common sense. You were angry at the world; Frank coming over and confronting you with the pictures that weigh heavy in the pocket of your jeans was merely your last straw in a game you felt like you were going to lose right this second if you didn’t do something other than sit around and wait.

You faced your fears today and hated what you saw. You couldn’t stay, not when your lives are starting to pull you in different directions. Sticking together is a dangerous game, one you no longer know how to play without either one of you—or those around you—getting burned. You’re no good for each other, especially not now, and maybe you have never been.

You couldn’t stay, but right now, crying alone in your car as you’re falling apart, you can’t help but wish Michael was there to hold you through the earthquake that takes you under.

Pushing people away is your defense mechanism as much as it is Michael’s. You should never have let him this close in the first place, knowing the past you’ve been hiding from the world. You were so focused on yourself, playing down the risk behind it that you turned yourself into a fool.

You can put a butterfly bandage on his forehead; you can love him, and you can accept the love he can give you, but none of that will fix something that has been broken from the start. None of that can fix your broken family or bring your sister back to you.

Love, bandages, not even a nail could solve the issue you have been grappling with for years, and it won’t magically condemn your father to a lifetime of torture like the one he subjected you to. Saving yourself comes at a cost, and sometimes the leftover debt becomes too high to pay with an empty bank account. What do you do then? What do you do if you don’t have the means to pay the cost, not even to fight?

You slam the car door, locking it with the press of a button. You’re not thinking straight, you try telling yourself, but your body has a mind of its own.

The stairs leading up to your apartment creak under your footsteps. You take two at a time. Last-minute flights are more expensive, but you have some emergency cash stashed away in your wallet; that should be enough to pay for a flight to London. This is wrong. This is beyond reckless, and if Michael knew, he would move mountains to make sure you would never make it to the airport without opening your eyes and rethinking your decision, but it’s not rationality that drives you.

Every time you breathe, the hourglass loses another grain of sand. Every time you move without a purpose or care, another second is wasted into oblivion. You can’t run fast enough, but you have to try.

Hot tears continue to stream down your cheeks, staining your skin with a mixture of sweat and salt. When you finally reach your floor, you search for the right key on your chain with shaky fingers. It has to be somewhere.

You approach the lock. When you left, you locked it. You know you did. You wrote a note in your phone, just in case you were to wonder if you turned off all appliances and locked the door on your way out. You can never be too careful. Michael’s family plays a huge part in your newfound care. It’s no secret that monsters are no longer just lurking in the dark shadows of an alleyway or under your bed. They are in your head and the people around you, and they are even part of your family—your own flesh and blood. Monsters are everywhere but in the places you expect them to be.

You insert the key, and you stop breathing. The door budges under your touch. You locked the door when you left. You closed it. All windows are shut, and one of your neighbors would have noticed if you had accidentally left one open. They would have called you about any suspicious activity because the old lady in the apartment above yours likes to watch. You’re certain you took the necessary precautions, and yet you push against the wood once, and your door opens completely.

Your ribs are starting to hurt from how hard your heart is pounding against the sturdy bone. “What the—” you mutter under your breath. It’s a warning sign you expertly ignore.

Anyone else would have called the police at the first sign of foul play, but you can’t bring yourself to pull out your phone. If someone played with the lock, or if someone broke into your apartment, there are many things they could have taken, and you have never felt so sick to the pit of your stomach—not even when you were beaten senseless or had to confess to your father that you got a bad mark on a test, knowing he would make sure the injuries no one could see would hurt a few days longer, perhaps even scar so you could never forget what he did to you. But even without the scars, the memories are fresher than daisies on a spring morning.

The floorboards creak. Blood rushes to your cheeks. You reach into your bag, fingers wrapping around the small bottle of pepper spray you ordered online one night after a few glasses of wine and a scary encounter with a stranger on your way home from work in the dead of winter. You clutch the small bottle so tightly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you end up spraying yourself.

The silence is deafeningly loud. It screams into your ear. You’re met not with darkness but with a faint string of light streaming into the hallway from the direction of your living room. You should call the police, you really should, but you don’t. Instead, you breach the doorway and step inside.

Documents line the floor like a thin carpet. Some pieces are torn while others are still held together neatly in the corners by fragile paper clips.

You swallow. After Michael accidentally found the file in one of your drawers, you learned from your mistake and hid them somewhere they couldn’t be found. You thought you did because, between the two of you, you are the only ones aware that it even exists. You tried everything to make sure something like this wouldn’t happen. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

The blood freezes in your veins. Your hands run cold. Your desk is tipped over, and your couch has been ripped apart at the seams, probably by a sharp blade that cut into the fabric to check the filling inside. You don’t keep any money in the apartment, but the paper trail tells you instantly that whoever did this was not looking for valuables.

Only a handful of people would profit from that file: those who want to hurt you, and the one person who would take it to protect himself—the Kinsellas and your father.

Tears spring to your eyes. The fear that spreads through your body at a speed faster than lighting works as a paralytic. Your father isn’t a criminal mastermind, but he’s ruthless and who knows what he would do if he found out what you are doing behind his back. He wouldn’t just let out all of his anger and frustration on you, he would kill you. If only he knew what you were doing, he would make sure another gravestone would be added next to Ellie’s. He is that kind of person, but not the kind of person powerful enough to orchestrate this. At least that is what you would have believed a few days ago. Now, you’re not so sure anymore what to believe.

The Devil likes to hide in plain sight.

You can only stare and pray to the heavens above that you’re just dreaming. That this isn’t real. That you’re not standing in ruins. You were so careful…

Again, the floorboards creak, but you didn’t take a step this time. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your skull burns as though someone is glaring daggers into the bone. You can feel another presence in the room, breathing down your neck. Your thumb brushes over the trigger.

The light switch on the other end of the room cracks under the weight of a heavy fist. This is it, you think. You’re going to die. But—and even if it’s just for a moment, it still crosses your mind—maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Your ragged breaths break the silence in the sudden darkness. Without warning, a pair of strong arms wraps around you from behind. You cry out, but a gloved hand finds its way over your parted lips. The taste of the leather makes you gag.

Fear takes over in a storm, but your mind refuses to let you curl up and die. You throw your head back, arms flailing as you scratch at his forearms. DNA is crucial, and no matter what happens, you must fight back.

You fight back with every ounce of strength left, but it's like struggling against a force of nature. The masked man is relentless as he crushes you against the wall.

With a deafening crash, the wooden shelf next to the still-open front door topples over as he backs against it with you pressed to his sturdy chest, sending shards of glass and ceramic crashing to the ground.

The pain explodes like a dirty bomb at the side of your skull. He smashes you against the bricks that hide behind the white wallpaper you chose not to paint over after moving here. In the darkness, you can’t see the crimson stain that forms underneath, but the shadow glistens in the moonlight.

You hit the floor hard, the man tossing you to the floorboards. The impact pushes all the air from your lungs. You gasp, and it burns, but you can’t get the oxygen back where it needs to.

Desperation claws at your throat as you reach out, grasping for anything to defend yourself. You are okay with dying, but not without putting up a fight. And is the easy way out really what you want to take to your grave after making it so far? You doubt that. Survival moves to the forefront of your mind. Before you can even muster a coherent thought, the masked stranger is on you again, hands locking around your throat.

You choke, trying to pry him away, but it’s useless. You kick your feet up and forward, desperate for air, and finally knock him off balance. With a growl of frustration, he releases his hold on you.

In the dim moonlight, you catch a glint of porcelain on the floor next to the scattered shelf. It’s the vase that held the flowers Michael gave you on your first date. You didn’t throw them away when they started to wither because you wanted to hold onto that sliver of happiness for a little longer. The sharp piece scratches the inside of your palm, but you continue to reach for it, your teeth gritted as you struggle against your attacker. Eventually, your fingers wrap around the sharp edges, and you try to jab it into his bicep.

The man leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. “Just stop…fuckin’ fighting,” he hisses. You don’t recognize his voice. It doesn’t even cross your mind to try and do so; your only motivation is to get out.

He catches the shard before you can hurt him though. You half-expected him to keep choking you until you pass out or die. Instead, he turns your makeshift weapon around on you.

Time slows to a crawl. With a primal scream of defiance, you lunge forward, trying to get it back. Yet, it's too late.

The glass pierces your flesh, tearing a gash into your side. The pain knocks the remaining air right out of your lungs. You can’t scream. You can’t cry.

Blood wells up against your skin. With a final, vicious twist of the glass, the stranger wrenches the shard free from your body. The walls start caving in. You’re trapped in a box, and the water is rising in your lungs.

The floorboards from the apartment above that make up your ceiling start to creak, and the man sits back on his heels, chin tilted up. He curses under his breath.

You try to catch a glimpse of his face, but the darkness is overwhelming. Again, the floorboards above creak. You want to beg for mercy, maybe even scream for help, but nothing wants to come out.

The weight on your chest disappears. Your eyes flutter, but you force them to stay open, patting along your trousers. Where is your phone? You hope to God you didn’t leave it in the car. You should have called the police. You should have…

It was foolish to think you would stand a chance against an intruder with a mere bottle of pepper spray. It seems as though he was trained for this very moment. He destroyed your apartment, and now he is reaching for what you were trying to preserve. You don’t know who he is, but he seems to know exactly where to find your little secret, and that makes you sick. The pain makes you sick.

How did he know?

Through blurry eyes, you see the masked figure playing with the file in his hand. He passes by you, the mask moving where he’s smirking.

“No,” you choke out. “Please…”

He sighs a condescending breath. “Little girls shouldn’t stick their noses into issues that don’t concern them.”

‘What does that even mean?’ you want to scream back at him, but the only sound that passes your lips is a gurgled moan as the tip of his steel boot starts to dig into the wound on your side.

You reach for him, but he disappears as soon as the light outside turns on and the stairs creak under the weight of your upstairs neighbor—the old lady who once introduced herself as Lilian after you helped her carry her groceries.

The invisible noose around your neck tightens. You haven’t been this scared in a very long time. If you’d stayed; if you and Michael had talked it out, and if you’d tried to be more rational instead of letting your heart take over, this wouldn’t have happened.

You fumble for your phone, your fingers slick with your blood. They tremble against the surface of the screen, leaving crimson fingerprints behind. The screen doubles and distorts before your eyes, the numbers dancing mockingly out of reach.

You manage to hit the speed dial for Michael—yes, him, not the police, and that little voice in your head is baffled that you continue making such bad decisions. Your voice is a hoarse whisper as you plead, “Please pick up, please pick up, please…” But there's no answer.

Panic claws at your chest. The phone slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor beside you, into a pool of blood and the remaining shards of the vase.

Lilian calls out from the other side of the door, her footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

With a last, desperate surge of strength, you reach out, fingers brushing against the cold floor. “Help,” you croak. Your head pounds. It sounds as though you’re screaming.

The door doesn’t budge. Didn’t she hear you? You press the call button again, desperate, but again, Michael doesn’t pick up. You can’t hold your eyes open much longer. You can’t…

The world spins dizzily around you, the darkness threatening to claim you and drag you toward the light.

You sob, reaching for the throbbing wound in your side. It’s time to accept it for what it is, you figure. Lilian pounds on the door, but the sound is starting to fade as your heartbeat pounds harder and faster against your ribcage and your throat, trying to catch up. You realize it won’t. Not in time. Your heart will grow weak soon.

You’re unsure how long you lie there, floating in a weird middle space between consciousness and a depth you have never been in before. You dip in your toes, but it won’t quite accept you just yet. You want to jump in. You want to learn to swim, even if you have to drown first. The pressure is taking you under. God, you want it to end. It’s too much, and you hate that you can’t do anything.

Denial works until it doesn’t.

The door breaks off its hinges. It couldn’t have been Lilian. You feel a hand on your cheek, and the man it belongs to slaps your skin rather roughly. Your eyes flutter open, weak and sensitive to the light.

The old lady must have alerted your other neighbors. Their voices overlap, grow louder, and then disappear. You can only hear your racing heartbeat in your throat.

Someone applies pressure to your wound, and you cry out. At least you think you do. Your fingers twitch, reaching for the man’s arm. He’s looking at you softly, trying to keep your attention on him, but it’s not him you care about.

Michael.

It comes out as gibberish.

“Save your strength,” your neighbor says. “Help is on the way.”

But you fear that the help he mentioned might not make it on time as your eyes close and you decide to succumb to the darkness. You put up enough of a fight for one day. You’re tired, and so you decide to let your eyelids flutter shut and fall into blissful oblivion.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight @ebathory997

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whesnia · 10 days

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Carpe Noctem [Masterlist]

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Don’t Eat, Vampirism, ANGST, blood (lots of blood), religious imagery & symbolism, blasphemy, referenced drug addiction, lots of mental illness (tw), murder, suicidal ideations, corruption kink, obsession, dark themes, referenced sexual assault, referenced abusive relationship (not Matt), referenced child abuse, canon typical violence, diary entries (gets gradually less heavy), eventual smut, blood play, BDSM undertones, flashbacks, transcending into insanity (kind of), no happy ending, Additional Tags Added Before Every Chapter

Summary: Over the past centuries, nothing could have stopped Matt Murdock from wanting—no, craving—everything, even what he could not have. Nothing though has him in quite a chokehold like the insatiable hunger for blood. Nothing could have stopped him from getting what he wanted until you stepped into his life. Matt has stolen, beaten, and killed without care, but corrupting a child of God is a line he dares not cross. You, a nun. It’s unthinkable. The part of him that longs for the life he was torn out of—the boy still riding the waves of Catholicism, that Matt Murdock—would rather see him impaled on a wooden stake than allow him to take your blood. The same walls of Clinton Church that house you would incinerate him, and he still wants you. But he can't have you. For you, devoting yourself to God saved you from the abyss, but returning to Clinton Church, the place where it all started, might have been a mistake. It is only a matter of time until the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen gets what he wants. Matt Murdock. A vampire. Thanks to him, your world drastically changes for what you realize might be worse than death. Mortal death, at least.

Note: Having fleshed out the characters and the storyline, I added a few more additional warnings that are important, and I adjusted the summary from my original preview when it was still just a concept. My vampires are heavily inspired by Anne Rice. Imagine this story as a sinus rhythm; there will be ups and downs, and then a lot more insanity, but there won’t be a happy ending. Also, we will be having a lot of guest appearances from established DD characters and original characters, and since this is an alternate universe, forget everything you know about the show, like, right now. The characters and some defining incidents are the same, but that's it. Anything else? Oh, this work is strictly 18+ and I would encourage you to heed my warnings!

Read Me On AO3!

One: "All these spindly roots"

Two: TBD

Three: TBD

(…)

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whesnia · 11 days

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As Luck Would Have It [1/2]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.5k [Part Two]

Warnings/tags: Humor, fluff, and a charming, teasing Matty

Summary: Stressed out while working on a dead-end case at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Matt isn't too thrilled when Foggy interrupts and asks him for a favor. Despite his annoyance at another task being added to his list of things to do, Matt is shocked when the potential client Foggy asks him to call turns out to be a wrong number. What's even more surprising is how much Matt enjoys chatting with the woman on the other end of the line.

a/n: This is going to be a short, two part piece. It's light and fluffy so I hope y'all enjoy it! Feedback/reblogs are always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwllf @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1

Matt’s fingers slid across his braille reader, his brows furrowed together in deep concentration as he focused on reading the digital document displayed on his laptop. This entire case had been draining him lately, only managing to aggravate him as he continually hit legal wall after legal wall trying to figure out how to help their client. What made things worse was that he knew what was really happening behind the scenes in this case that he, Foggy, and Karen had been working on, but he also knew that Matt Murdock wasn't supposed to know about any of that.

With a vexed grunt he raised a hand from off his braille reader, running it through his hair in agitation as he blew out a frustrated breath. Tired of reading the same thing over and over with no new way forward, Matt pushed his chair back from the desk in annoyance. The desk lurched a few inches across the floor at the force as Matt grit his teeth together.

He wished he could use the information he'd uncovered last night as Daredevil. That would have solved all of his problems and easily saved their client. But of course, none of that evidence was remotely admissible in court. So while he knew where the truth lay in this entire case, he was still currently helpless to use the law in his fight for justice. Though he was certainly determined to keep picking through detail after detail in search of something he could use to his client’s benefit.

The sound of footsteps approaching his office door caught Matt’s attention and his head shifted to the side. Matt pushed all thoughts of his frustrating case out of his mind as he focused on the noise. Barely a second later the sound of Foggy’s unmistakable heartbeat registered in his ears just before two knocks sounded against his door.

“What do you need, Fog?” Matt called out.

He heard the door handle twist, the door to his office opening as Foggy stepped inside. Matt didn’t have to exert much effort studying him to notice how stressed Foggy currently was. His blood pressure was quite clearly elevated this morning along with his cortisol levels–he could practically smell the stress in the faint bit of sweat on Foggy’s forehead. So apparently Matt wasn't the only one having a shitty day at the firm today. At least he wasn't alone in that.

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy began hesitantly, stopping just inside his office before shifting his weight back and forth along his feet almost nervously. “I know you're busy running yourself into the ground for the Richmond case, and I know how frustrating it's been to keep hitting a deadend. But…” he trailed off for a moment, Matt catching the faint waver in his tone. “I was actually hoping to ask you for a favor this morning.”

Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses at Foggy. Leaning back in his desk chair, he lowered his hands down onto his lap and attempted to keep the annoyed fidgeting of his fingers hidden from his friend. The last thing Matt wanted right now was another task added to his agenda for the day. All he wanted was to make headway on this case before it drove him insane.

“What kind of favor?” he asked, trying to keep the edge from his tone.

Matt heard Foggy take a few more steps forward into his office, stopping just in front of his desk. The sound of something like a small slip of paper faintly rustled between Foggy’s fingers as he stood there.

“Elliott got a call a bit ago from someone by the name of Edgar Philips who was potentially interested in hiring us,” Foggy began to explain, setting the paper down onto Matt's desk before sliding it across the surface towards him. “And the case sounded… interesting to say the least. But the thing is, Karen is out today dealing with the Rodriguez building permit thing, and I'm about to head over to the courthouse. So I was…sort of hoping you could call them back and handle the consultation? Somehow fit them in today?”

Matt could hear the way the muscles in Foggy’s face had contracted, sounding like he'd almost grimaced when he had asked for the favor. His heart rate had accelerated just a bit, meaning Fog was clearly anxious that Matt would decline to help take on even more work today. Truthfully he wanted to decline calling this possible client because he was already swamped with the Richmond case, but maybe taking a few minutes to focus on something else would benefit him. Maybe stepping away for a bit before coming back to things with a fresh mind would help him see things a little differently. Clearly he wasn’t making any progress this morning doing what he had been doing.

With an exasperated sigh, Matt slid his hand across his desk to where he’d heard Foggy set the slip of paper. His fingers felt around the wooden surface for a second before he found it.

“Yeah, I'll make the call,” Matt told him, pulling the paper towards himself.

Foggy let out a relieved breath, the sound of his entire body relaxing impossible for Matt's ears to miss. At least he could make Fog's day a little better.

“Great, seriously! Thank you, buddy,” Foggy said in a rush. “You have no idea how helpful that is right now. I've already got so much to do today, I really didn't know how I was going to fit that call in. And you know how bad the reception can be at the courthouse.” Foggy laughed good-naturedly, his mood already lifting. “But hey, before I go, did you need me to read that phone number off for you? Or dial it even?”

Matt's fingers ran over the indentation of Elliott's pen marks on the paper. Despite how scatterbrained their new secretary often tended to be, he at least appreciated that the man had a heavy hand when he took notes from the calls he answered. It at least made things easier for Matt to read without too much extra assistance–something he loathed having to ask for if he didn’t need to.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I can make the numbers out just fine. Don't worry about me, Fog. Just go take care of what you need to. I'll deal with this Edgar Philips.”

Foggy’s hands clapped loudly together, Matt picking up on the sounds of his feet as he already began to back out of his office.

“Thank you, Matt, you're a life saver!” he exclaimed. “You know, more than you usually are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt said with a grin. “Can you just shut the door again on your way out, though?”

“Can do!” Foggy replied.

Matt swore he heard the air shift as Foggy sent him a salute. Chuckling lightly at his best friend's ability to lighten the mood, he heard the sound of his office door closing before he heard the muffled sound of Foggy’s footsteps as he began making his exit from the office.

For a minute Matt sat in his chair, listening as Foggy said a brief goodbye to Elliott before leaving. Then the usual ‘silence’ of their office returned. Though it was never truly quiet to Matt because he could still hear the hum of the lights in the building, the almost constant tapping of Elliott's fingers on his keyboard in the room over, and even the incessant buzzing of a fly that had been trapped in the office since yesterday afternoon.

Foul mood slowly returning, Matt's fingers ran over the pen marks on the slip of paper still in his hands. Glancing down towards it, he wondered what the interesting case that Foggy had mentioned was actually supposed to be about. To Matt, interesting just translated to complicated, which was the last thing he needed right now. Though whatever it was, he figured getting the call out of the way would be the best course of action for now. Afterwards he’d be free to continue working on the Richmond case for the rest of the day, hopefully without any further interruptions or distractions.

Shifting in his chair, he slipped his cell phone from out of his dress pants pocket, the electronic hum of it louder now that it wasn’t muffled by fabric. He raised it to his mouth before speaking a few voice commands into it, then he took a second to recite the number he’d been given from off the paper. Sitting back in his chair, Matt listened to the familiar dial tone as he held the phone to his ear, but surprisingly it only managed to ring twice before someone had quickly answered.

“Seriously, Lindsey, I said I’d call afterwards,” a distinctly annoyed and hushed female voice came over the line. “There’s nothing of interest for me to report yet and now you’re just making me even more nervous. At this point my armpits are going to be as sweaty as my hands.”

Sitting forward in his chair, Matt rested his elbows along the top of his desk. A small grin slipped onto his mouth as he tossed the little slip of paper somewhere among the mess of papers before himself. He hadn’t expected that to be the response to his call, but now the person on the other end of the line had captured his undivided attention.

“Maybe you should try using more deodorant then,” Matt cheekily suggested.

A surprised gasp met his ear, the sound making his smile widen further. Clearly whoever he'd gotten ahold of had just now realized they were in fact not speaking with Lindsey.

“Oh, shit,” came your clearly embarrassed and still hushed voice as the realization that you were speaking to someone else settled in. “I'm sorry, I totally thought you were my friend calling back. I didn't check the caller ID because I didn't want my ringtone to make any more of a nuisance than it already had been making because it's so loud. I swear I don't ever hear it if I don't have the volume up so high. But now I am incredibly regretting the decision to not just have taken the two seconds to look and check the number first.”

There was a pause where you loudly cleared your throat over the line. Matt found himself still grinning at the word vomit that seemed to keep coming from you with no end in sight, his irritation at having to make this call quickly vanishing. His left hand began to absently fiddle with a pen from his desk as he listened to you ramble on further.

“Clearly you're not Lindsey and now I'm absolutely mortified,” you continued in a rush. “But for the record, I am wearing deodorant. A lot of it actually. I'm just nervous and it makes me extra sweaty, alright? I don't like job interviews. They terrify me.” Your voice dropped to an even quieter tone as you continued on, Matt not remotely interested in stopping you because you had easily become the most fascinating part of his day. “And I dislike when you have to sit and wait in those stiff plastic chairs while the secretary keeps shooting you random smiles from their desk like you're not about to vomit all over the floor from nerves. I swear they make you sit outside the office for at least ten minutes like it's some sort of extra secret test before the actual interview takes place. Are they supposed to be judging how I sit and do nothing? Or how I handle intentionally being asked to show up at a certain time but am purposely made to sit and wait? I swear, it’s done on purpose.”

“So what I'm gathering from all of that,” Matt finally began when you had paused to take a breath, still grinning as he spoke, “is that you are not the Edgar Philips I am looking for, nor were you the one who most likely tried contacting the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page earlier this morning on his behalf. Am I correct in that assumption?”

There was a very long pause on your end of the line after he'd spoken. Matt waited patiently for you to respond though, his left hand still leisurely flipping the pen back and forth between his fingers.

“Did you say…law firm?” you hesitantly asked.

“Yes, I did,” Matt replied.

“So you're a…?”

“Lawyer, yes. One of the partners, actually,” he answered easily. “And one who must have somehow gotten the wrong number it appears, judging by your response.”

“Yeah, I uh–” you cleared your throat again, “–I definitely didn't call your office today. And I am certainly not Edgar Philips.”

“Ahh well, my apologies,” Matt said, setting his pen back down on his desk before sitting back in his chair. “I'm sorry to have interrupted your day, especially at such an inconvenient time as right before a job interview. I suppose I shouldn’t further distract you.”

There was a small part of Matt that almost felt reluctant to end the call already, dreading having to ask Elliott for help with the clearly incorrect phone number so he could get in touch with the actual Mr. Philips before going back to that irritating Richmond case. You'd been an amusing distraction this morning at least.

“Actually you've somehow managed to calm my nerves,” you replied. “Apparently embarrassing myself with a stranger has now made me feel less like vomiting.”

“Any less sweaty?” Matt teased, unable to help himself.

You laughed lightly over the line, the sound a pleasant one that seemed to ease the tension from Matt’s own body. Something about your voice and your way of immediately speaking to him as if you'd known him for longer than two minutes had drawn him in.

“Maybe a fraction less, thank you for that,” you answered. “You uh, you have a calming voice, whichever part of Nelson, Murdock, and Page you are.”

Matt's brows quickly shot up onto his forehead in surprise. No one had told him that before.

“I do?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you hummed back. “You know, if you ever need money, you'd be great at calling people and talking to them until they relax before they have to do something they're nervous about–like going to a job interview. Or maybe even attending events with them to keep them calm or something. You know what I’m saying?”

Matt couldn't resist the laugh that slipped out of his mouth, his head tilting to the side. “Is that an actual thing that exists? Because it almost sounds like you're just describing a male escort,” he pointed out.

“ No !” your harsh whisper came over the line, the embarrassment in it causing Matt to chuckle again. “Oh no, that's not–no I didn't mean it like that! I swear! Is that even legal in New York City? Though I suppose maybe you don't live here since this is a wrong number and all... But no! That’s not what I meant!”

Matt relaxed further back in his chair, finding that he'd been enjoying this unexpected conversation with you this morning far more than he could’ve thought. He truly didn't want to end the call even though he knew he would need to soon. Though he found himself wishing for an excuse to talk to you again already.

“I do live in New York City actually,” he answered. “And male escorts aren't supposed to be getting paid for their time in the way that you're currently thinking about, so yes, they are actually quite legal.”

“I imagine as a lawyer that owns your own law firm, though,” you began, “you don't exactly need a side hustle as a male escort. And that–that’s a joke, by the way,” you quickly clarified. “You know what? Just forget I said that, I'm just nervous for this interview. I'm rambling.”

“You are, but I'm enjoying it,” he told you. “But our law firm tends to take on lots of cases pro bono, so truthfully, I could probably use a side hustle. I'll keep your vote of confidence as a male escort in mind if I ever struggle to continue paying my bills.”

The bark of laughter followed by your soft curse under your breath had Matt’s cheeks hurting from how wide his smile had grown.

“Despite how entertaining this call has been, I should really go,” you said. “I imagine they should be calling me back soon and I probably shouldn’t be sitting here looking like I’m having so much fun on the phone judging by the frown the secretary just gave me. I’ve never had one frown at me before and I’d really not like to mess up my chances here. I kind of really want this job so I can actually do something with my degree.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, but either way, I wish you luck,” Matt replied. “I should probably get back to work myself, but I’ll admit that you’ve been a pleasant distraction from a case I’ve been struggling with myself, so thank you.”

“Then I wish you luck as well, stranger,” you replied. “I hope you make some progress on your case.”

“I suppose if I don’t, there’s always other viable career options for me that I’ve recently had my eyes opened to,” Matt teased.

He enjoyed the sound of your laugh over the line one last time before you told him goodbye. Almost reluctantly Matt ended the call, lowering his phone down onto his desk. His smile faltered as he once more overheard the sound of Elliott’s fingers typing on his computer. With a defeated sigh he pushed his chair back, rising up to his feet and accepting the fact that he’d need to ask Elliott for help dialing Mr. Philips correctly.

“Matt, this is–” Foggy began but quickly stopped himself.

Matt sat back in his chair, a triumphant smile spread wide across his mouth as he continued to listen to both Karen and Foggy rifling through the documents he’d had printed out early this morning. The three of them were currently sitting in the conference room while Matt proudly sat back, enjoying the sound of the pair of them getting excited over what he’d discovered yesterday afternoon. Apparently taking a step away from the case for a little bit had been just the thing he needed to do to come back at it with a different angle.

“Dude, this is exactly what we needed for that Richmond case!” Foggy finally exclaimed, his head darting up towards Matt. “You’re brilliant!”

“Ahh, well,” Matt said with a smug smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Just doing my job, Fog.”

“This must have taken a lot of creative thinking,” Karen muttered, still flipping through the papers. “Hell, Matt, I think you just saved this whole case.”

Matt had been about to respond, tempted to make another cocky comment, but the sound of his phone receiving a text cut him off. Brows furrowing together slightly, he slipped his hand into his pants pocket and pulled his phone out. Holding it up to his ear and muttering out a command, he slid back his chair from the conference table before rising up to his feet and walking a few steps away from Foggy and Karen.

He frowned slightly at the number the automated voice began to read off in his ear almost immediately. It wasn’t one he had recognized. Why would a strange number be texting him? Though when he heard that same automated voice begin to read out the text message he’d received, a small smile easily slipped onto his face.

“Just wanted to let you know that I was offered the job already this morning,” the automated voice read into Matt’s ear. “Apparently you’re my good luck charm, stranger. So thanks for the chat. Hope you made some progress on your case, too.”

For a moment Matt just stood there in shock, holding the phone to his ear and grinning like a fool. He hadn’t expected to ever hear from you again, and he certainly hadn't anticipated the burst of pride at your news. And apparently you’d also been his good luck charm because after he'd dealt with the real Edgar Philips, he finally made a break on the case that had stumped him for weeks.

Without a second thought, Matt turned around to face both Karen and Foggy, lowering his phone to his side. “Hey, I’ve got to respond to this message,” he told them. “Do you mind if I handle this back in my office now?”

“No, no,” Foggy answered distractedly, the air shifting as he clearly waved Matt off. “Go do your thing, buddy. We've got plenty to focus on at the moment.”

Trying to fight back the growing smile on his mouth as he maneuvered his way back over towards where he'd been sitting, Matt picked up his cane that had been resting against the table. As he navigated his way out of the conference room and back to the privacy of his office, he already began thinking up a response to your message. And he also wondered how strange it would be if he called instead of texted you back.

226 notes · View notes

whesnia · 13 days

Text

no in-between | part three

matt murdock x reader, college au

warnings: implied drug use, alcohol

word count: 3k

part two | part one

How was life supposed to go on now?

The rest of winter break had gone by far too quickly. You had tried to stay busy, but the persistent ice and snow in the air made doing anything outside of your house less than pleasant. You’d cleaned every room of your house and worked on your assignments until your eyes crossed. But it still didn’t take up enough time to keep your mind away from him, from the warm bed and the smell of him on the sheets, of how kind he had been to even offer you the help he did.

So how was life supposed to go on?

Okay, maybe you’re being a bit dramatic. But how are you supposed to go back to campus and face Dr. Murdock after what happened at the hotel? You’ve had a thing for him since you first ran into him -literally- and you couldn’t deny that. But now, alone in your house and unable to stay busy, he was all you could think about. Not only about what had happened, but how things would go forward from here. Should you thank him again when you returned to campus, or were you supposed to act like nothing happened?

Well, technically, nothing had happened. Just two people sharing the same bed, sleeping on opposite sides, staying as far away from each other as possible. But the thought of seeing him again was sending your heart into somersaults. You’d tried ignoring it, but whenever you tried to stay busy, you remembered how that simple kindness made you feel, how his willingness to give up his own comfort for you, his student, to get a decent night of sleep.

And whenever you laid in bed at night and tried to relax, you remembered how he looked in his t-shirt and sweatpants, so casual and comfortable and just beautiful. It twisted your stomach into knots, made it hard to sleep, made it hard to do anything but think about seeing him again. You dreaded it and yearned for it all at once.

Luckily you still had one more week until you had to face all of the questions swirling inside you.

Champagne sparkles in a glass as loud music spills into the kitchen from somewhere in the house. This is your third glass of champagne, and the warmth building up in your chest is being dampened by some guy you met five minutes ago who’s leaning against the counter next to you, holding a plastic red cup and rambling about soccer.

He’s a soccer player on the university’s team, he tells you, and you couldn’t be less interested. But you’re a guest at Annie’s party and you don’t want to be rude to this house full of near-complete strangers. So you nod as you down your third glass of champagne and go to the fridge to find a beer.

The guy follows behind you, talking and not taking the hint. He’s nice enough, but you wish he would leave you alone. He’s talked you quite literally into a corner, and you’re uncomfortable at the thought of being stuck there.

“So what about you?” he asks, his sudden silence as he waits for an answer startling you back to reality.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you have a favorite soccer team?” he asks again, undeterred.

“Oh, uh, no, I-”

“There you are!”

Annie’s loud exclamation is a saving grace in the kitchen as she comes up and throws an arm around you.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” she continues jovially. “Come with me.”

You don’t question her as she shoots the guy you met five minutes ago a faux apologetic look. As she drags you through the silver streamers haphazardly hung in the kitchen doorway, you thank her for saving you.

“Sorry, Cody’s a real piece of work. Won’t shut up about soccer, or anything, for that matter. And he may or may not have spiked a bunch of drinks at one of my friend’s parties. Jury’s still out on that one, but he gives me the creeps anyway.”

“Why the hell did you invite him then?” you ask her after taking a swig of your beer.

“Jessica’s been trying to get his attention, and when I invited her she begged me to invite him, too,” Annie says with a shrug.

You don’t know Jessica, but you silently wish her the best and hope she gets better taste in men.

In the living room, several people are huddled on the couch and chairs around the television, watching the count go down as they wait for the New Year’s ball drop in Time Square. You couldn’t picture yourself being there. It always looks like hell on Earth. And while you aren’t at a small gathering by any means, you are happy that there are enough people here to lose yourself in.

You feel yourself drifting off mentally as you think about what Dr. Murdock is doing right now, how he’s celebrating, if he’s celebrating. Would he be the kind of person who would want to be at Time Square on New Year’s Eve? You don’t think so. You can’t see him surrounded by so many people and so much noise.

“You doing okay?” Annie pulls you back to reality and you realize she’s giving you a puzzled look. “You’ve been kinda out of it all night.”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, just a lot on my mind lately, you know?”

She nods sympathetically, even though she could never know.

“Well, drink! That makes everything better, right?” she laughs. “Like my dad used to say, I’ve never met a question alcohol didn’t answer. Didn’t end too well for him, but anyway, you get the idea.”

She’s laughing and just barely slurring her words, and you wonder how she can be even more talkative when she drinks. You admire Annie’s light-heartedness. It was endearing and, especially at times like this, comforting. It makes you realize that maybe you’re always taking things too seriously, reminds you that life doesn’t have to be so dour.

But then she realizes that you’re not laughing with her. She realizes how heavy something is weighing on you. So she pours you a shot of something -liquid courage, she tells you when you ask what it is- and as it burns down your throat, you feel like maybe it would be good to get things off your chest, to tell somebody else what you’ve been obsessing over.

“You know you can tell me anything, girl,” she tell you as the liquor still burns on your tongue. “What’s going on with you? You haven’t been yourself since that conference.”

You swallow hard, and it has nothing to do with the sting of alcohol now.

“Really, Annie, it’s nothing,” you lie.

She doesn’t believe you.

With alcohol running through your blood and only ten minutes until you say goodbye to the year, you consider telling Annie what happened. Not only what happened, but how it made you feel. How comfortable the bed in the hotel in the Midwest was, even though you aren’t sure if it was just a really nice bed or if it was who you shared the bed with that made you feel comfortable, made you feel safe, made you feel taken care of with such a simple gesture of kindness.

Okay, fine, you’ll tell her. She looks so curious and so concerned and you’re drunk with a loose tongue. So you open your mouth, tell her that she can not repeat what you’re about to tell her-

And then there’s excited yelling coming from the living room, and Annie’s grabbing your arm and flashing you a huge smile and dragging you back into the living room.

As soon as your mouth is shut, you realize the mistake you’ve just narrowly avoided.

Everyone in the room starts counting down from ten, and you have to admit, you get caught up in the excitement.

The countdown goes to zero, the ball drops, you can hear fireworks and cheering outside, and neither you nor Annie bring up your conversation for the rest of the night.

A week later, you’re back at campus. Remnants of snow on the grass, an icy chill in the air, and your heart beating so fast you think it might just burst. You keep your head down as you make your way to your first class. Somehow, even though you know it’s impossible, you’re worried that everyone knows what happened. You’ve heard stories of professors and students hooking up and it ending badly for both involved, and you can’t help but worry about the potential fallout.

But hell, you didn’t hook up. You shared a bed, that’s all. For God’s sake, why is it so hard for you to remember that?

Was it because you wished more had happened? Because damn near every night over winter break you fell asleep to a fantasy of something that could have happened? Because it was becoming an all-consuming desire that you felt yourself losing control of more and more every day?

Probably, yeah.

You get to Dr. Murdock’s class right on time, not daring to show up early like you usually did. You take your seat, you participate only as much as is absolutely necessary, and you get out of there as soon as class is done.

When you’re back in the hallway, it feels like you can finally breathe again, like you were holding your breath for an hour and didn’t even realize it, like simply being in the same room as him took the air right from your lungs.

You stay there to catch your breath for just a moment, letting everyone else file out of the room before turning to go yourself. But then a voice from the classroom stops you dead in your tracks. Dr. Murdock calls out your name, and you consider just running without acknowledging him at all.

But you don’t. You curse yourself for not leaving fast enough, take a deep breath, and turn back around, walking into the classroom without even questioning how he knew you were just outside.

“Yeah?” you say hesitantly, feeling like a child about to be scolded for taking something that wasn’t theirs.

“How was your break?” he asks comfortably, and the lack of tension in his voice only heightens yours.

“Uh, good. Yeah, it was good,” you answer, unsure of yourself immediately. “How was yours?”

“Uneventful,” he says, and his voice is so…the same. It’s the same as it always is when you talk to him. There’s no hint of anything having changed, no tension, no questions, no worry.

And that’s…good. Right?

If it’s good, though, why are you feeling something like disappointment tugging at the center of your chest?

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing though, right?” you ask with a forced laugh.

“No, I guess not,” he says, and his smirk throws you back into the same spiral you’d been falling down over the past several weeks. “Well, I just had a few questions about the draft you sent me last month. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to it, the end of the semester is always so busy.”

“Oh.” You feel a rush of relief wash over you. “That- that’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes,” he says slowly, a hint of confusion strung through the single word. “Like I said, I just have a few questions. Could you come by my office later to discuss it?”

Shit.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great. I’ll see you then,” he says, then he’s gathering his papers and it’s clear you’ve been dismissed.

You walk out of there as fast as you can, trying to unknot all of the conflicting emotions running through your head.

The sun is starting to dip down toward the sky when you’re done with your classes for the day. Snow is beginning to drift down to the ground slowly, and you pull your coat closer to your body against the chill. You know Dr. Murdock’s office hours by heart, which is admittedly embarrassing. But you know he’ll be in his office for at least another hour. Dragging yourself there feels like torture. But it’s necessary. Besides, he only wants to talk about the draft of your thesis you sent to him for review. So the pounding of your heart in your chest is unnecessary, really.

The wooden door of his office is slightly ajar, and you don’t hear anything on the other side. Bracing yourself with a sharp inhale, you knock lightly on the door. When he gives you the assent, you push the door open and walk in. With a polite greeting, you hover by the door, contemplating a quick escape.

“You, uh, wanted to talk?” you ask, as if it’s a question.

He’s leaning back slightly in the office chair behind his desk. He looks relaxed, but not at ease. There’s a tension on his face, in the way he holds his mouth and the slight furrow in his brow, in the way his hands are clutching the arm rests of the chair, fingers wrapping around the edges a little too tightly.

The darkening sky outside the small window of the office is gray, the snowflakes nearly imperceptible. It looks as silent outside as it feels in here. Then he finally speaks.

“About the conference…”

Your heart sinks so far into you that you’re worried you’ll never find it again. Your chest constricts, halting your breathing, and it feels like there’s a knife twisting in your gut. Running sounds like a good idea now. This is it, you think. The end of it all. You’re standing in front of a firing squad without a blindfold and you’re just waiting for the first shots to ring through the air.

But there are no bullets, no firing squad, no knife ripping through your stomach.

“I just want to make sure you’re…okay,” he says softly after a moment of contemplation where you’re frozen in place. “That nothing that happened made you uncomfortable.”

The surprise that hits you forces the air you’re holding in out of your mouth in a huff. His head tilts to the side just slightly, and his fingers are flexing around the arms of the chair.

“No, I, uh- no, everything was…fine.”

How embarrassing, struggling to find such simple words. How embarrassing to be flustered by such a simple encounter. The blush is so hot on your cheeks that you’re convinced he can just sense it somehow.

“Not uncomfortable at all,” you continue. “It actually helped me out, a lot. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. I talk a big game, but-” You shrug, before realizing it’s a useless move, and add, “I really was clueless. So thank you.”

He laughs, and it’s the purest thing you’ve ever heard. The tension you’ve been holding in your muscles suddenly melts away. Shifting in his chair, Dr. Murdock leans forward, elbows on his desk, hands resting underneath his chin. You take a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk, and you can almost see your reflection in his glasses. A smile still lingers on his lips.

The rush of relief you feel now makes you want to laugh, too. You’ve been so worried, so concerned since the night of the conference. You’ve been thinking of how it was such a terrible idea and how it was all your idea. Worry about being scolded or being reprimanded somehow had plagued you over winter break.

“Good,” he says, so easily, so light, his voice so soft you could lay in it for days.

You watch his jaw tense for a moment as he looks like he wants to say more. He’s thinking of something, you can tell, contemplating something that you desperately wish you knew. Your eyes shoot to his lips as his tongue shoots out over them for just a moment. And they look so soft, soft like his voice. Soft like his eyes behind his glasses in a dimly lit hotel room. His jawline is speckled with a shadow of what he’d probably shaved this morning. Unconsciously, your mind wanders to the thought of how it would feel to kiss him there. How the soft skin of his neck would feel under your lips. How it would feel to kiss him and work your way down and loosen that tie and-

He clears his throat, and it startles you out of your daydream. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears as your eyes dart to anywhere else in the small office. He probably doesn’t know that you were staring at him, you know that. But you’re worried that maybe he could feel your gaze on him, growing warmer and warmer by the second.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then,” you say when he doesn’t say anything else.

He shakes his head, tells you not to worry about it.

Looking for any excuse to take your mind away from the heat in your cheeks and the heat growing in the pit of your stomach, you lie about having somewhere to be, and thank him again. You’re out the door and down the hall as quickly as you can without being conspicuous. When you’re safe in your car, you turn the radio up as loud as you can stand to keep your thoughts away.

So life goes on. You attend class, you talk to Dr. Murdock only when you can find a reason to make it seem necessary, and life goes on. It’s not ideal, you think, but it’s fine. It’s comfortable.

You’ll take it over the alternative that you were so afraid of.

By the end of the week, you’re ready to take your mind off of everything. To your surprise. Annie, ever the partier, has no plans and no intention of making any. She’s probably still recovering from New Year’s Eve, you think.

Desperate for something to do other than sit at home and try to avoid your own thoughts, you decide to go out. You don’t go out often, really. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been out without Annie there to tell you where to go and where to avoid. But there’s a bar you’re familiar with that’s close to campus, within walking distance of your house. It feels like a safe bet. So you fight the feeling of staying home and sulking by getting dressed, doing your makeup for the first time in weeks, and heading out to the bar.

The bar is…fine. It’s definitely a college bar. That’s not a bad thing though, right? In fact, it feels like exactly what you need right now. A distraction from the dual relief and disappointment of realizing that things with Dr. Murdock are going to go on like nothing ever happened. How relieved you are. But how disappointed, too.

Sitting at the bar now, trying to ignore the obvious 18 year olds trying to order a drink that will make them seem older, you take in the scene of people playing pool and shooting darts and just sitting and talking and laughing too loudly. The bartender, a young woman who seems far too nice to put up with the amount of assholes you’re sure are here every night, asks you what you’re drinking. You order, you pay, and you tip her well. But you don’t say much else. You aren’t in the mood to talk. Pulling out your phone, you start scrolling through your social media feed while drinking your overpriced beer.

It isn’t long before you’re interrupted. It takes you a minute to recognize who it is that sits down beside you and starts talking like you’re old friends.

“Cody,” you say in lieu of a real greeting.

You don’t ask him how he is. You don’t care. And you don’t plan on humoring him by pretending that you do.

“What’re you doing here all alone?” he asks, sloshing his drink on the bar.

“Same as you, I suppose,” you answer with a sigh, lifting your beer as some sort of explanation.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks as a few of his friends join him at the bar to order their own drinks.

“No,” you say flatly, and, worried that perhaps you are being a bit too harsh, you quickly add, “but thank you, though. I’m not staying out much longer anyway.”

One beer and you’re already done here.

He nods his head in acknowledgement of your decline, but he sits down on the stool next to you anyway. You bite back a frustrated sigh as he starts talking about how fun Annie’s party was, and how you should come around more often. One of Cody’s friends comes up behind you and says hello. You think you recognize her from a class you had last semester, but she’s so drunk you think she’s probably being this friendly to anyone she runs into. She joins the rest of the group sitting on the other side of Cody, who’s trying to tell you about…something. You honestly aren’t even paying enough attention to figure it out.

Eyes wandering around the room looking for a plausible excuse to leave, you fail to find one. So you just finish the rest of your beer in one go and you try to bid Cody and his friends farewell. He’s still talking, though, and his determination is almost admirable. But it’s directed at you, and it’s annoying, and you are done with people for the night.

“You sure you want to walk home by yourself?” he asks as you stand up to leave. “I hear there’s crazy vigilantes running around town now. And they aren’t all heroes, you know.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to scare you. There was no way in hell you were going to let him walk you home. There was no way you were going to let yourself be alone with him. You’d take your chances with the vigilantes.

“I can take care of myself,” you tell him. “Thanks, though.”

It’s not a far walk home, and one beer certainly didn’t get you inebriated. If you absolutely needed to, you know you could find a cab. So you shrug on your coat, keys in hand, and you head out into the cold, dark night.

Only a few minutes into your walk, however, you realize that something isn’t right. You don’t recognize your surroundings. You aren’t sure where you are. You aren’t even sure which way to go. And suddenly you’re dizzy. Dizzy enough that you’re almost overtaken by the need to lie down. You feel like if you don’t lay down, you might fall down.

You think you do start falling, maybe.

You feel cold concrete under your hands now.

You hear shouting, maybe.

You aren’t sure, really.

Everything is muffled and blurry and nothing makes sense.

And then, nothing at all.

Just, cold, dizzy, dark.

24 notes · View notes

whesnia · 15 days

Text

Summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

General Warnings: swearing, angsty teen Matt, eventual smut, pining, no use of y/n, violence, family issues, so much crying, fluff

a/n: I absolutely love this series and I'm having so much fun writing it. because of that, I tend to get carried away and the chapters take me a while to write. I'm hoping to start updating this series biweekly in April! Also, this fic ignores general law school rules. Matt, Reader, and Foggy start school at 18 in the year 2007.

Series Playlist (songs added as I plan chapters! it's pretty short rn)

1: Why you gotta tempt my trouble?

2: Shades of pink

3: With your steady hand

4: All this world could give me

5: Heaven help the fool

6: Waste away with me

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whesnia · 16 days

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Chaos Theory: Chapter List

Main Masterlist ° Butterfly Effect Installments ° AO3

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

Series Summary: After finding your way back to Michael and finally finding out who he really is, there is no doubt in your mind that you want to stick around. You care about him and now that the truth is out, you can see him clearly and you know that he needs someone who loves and supports him. You can be that person. You can help him get the happiness he deserves, you think, and perhaps help him get his daughter back, too. You're naive though, and you see it all through heart-shaped glasses - the life Michael is leading is dangerous and you don't know what you've signed up for until it's too late. And you soon realize that falling in love with a Kinsella isn't as easy as you thought it would be.

Warnings: Angst, Smut, established relationship, canon typical violence, graphic descriptions of injury, plot, description of child abuse, Character Death (chapter-specific warnings will be added before every chapter)

A/n: This is the official list of chapters. For those of you who haven’t read it, this is a continuation of my mini-series “Butterfly Effect”. It is not necessary to read because I mention the events that happened during the 7 parts of the mini-series again in this series to go with the plot. Still, it would probably be a good idea to read it and become familiar with their back story. It’s kind of a prequel, if you will. Also, I did add another warning because the plot evolved. I encourage you to read the warnings carefully and stay away if these topics trigger you. That’s all, I think. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE: Secret New Beginnings

CHAPTER TWO: I Know You Feel Like A Piece Of You’s Dead Inside

CHAPTER THREE: I’ll Show You Every Version Of Myself Tonight

CHAPTER FOUR: You See Right Through Me

CHAPTER FIVE: Designed To Deceive

CHAPTER SIX: My Reputation’s Never Been Worse

CHAPTER SEVEN: I Hope I Never Lose You

CHAPTER EIGHT: Let Us Hold Each Other

CHAPTER NINE: I Want You

CHAPTER TEN: I'll Look After You

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Not The Same As It Was

CHAPTER TWELVE: Just Let Me Adore You

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: He Looks Up Grinning Like A Devil

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: We'll Be A Fine Line

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Stop, You’re Losing Me

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Come Back To Me

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Crisp Trepidation

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Maybe I Don’t Quite Know What To Say

CHAPTER NINETEEN: My Castle’s Crumbling Down

CHAPTER TWENTY: You Showed Me Colors You Know I Can’t See With Anyone Else

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Look At This Godforsaken Mess That You Made Me?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: I Stay When You’re Lost, And I’m Scared, And You’re Turning Away

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Bandaids Don’t Fix Bulletholes

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Wondering If I Just Lost The Love Of My Life

if you want to be tagged, just let me know! tag list is always open!

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whesnia · 17 days

Text

Steal My Warmth

summary: matt lets you use him as a pillow.

pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader

warnings: none! fluffy fluff here

wordcount: 379

-----

The way Matt loved you was devastating. He ached when you weren’t near, and when you were he found his fingers were always reaching for you to come a little closer. His hands always found themselves wrapped around your midsection, the extra skin letting him steal an abundance of warmth and softness from you.

When you’d asked him if you could slip under the blanket with him on the couch, he told you you didn’t have to ask as he peeled away the thick fluffy cover.

“C’mere.” You try to slot yourself between him and the couch but he pulls you to lay on him directly, your head sinking into his chest as he tucks you in.

“Cozy?” You nodded, feeling his fingers caress your skin, his touch sliding lower and lower after starting at your waist.

“Watch the hands.” He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He clicks resume on his podcast as you get comfy on his chest and scroll through your phone. Quiet domesticity takes over the apartment, your even breath mirrors his as the two of you soak in each other's presence.

“It should be a crime to be this soft and warm with that much muscle.” You say, poking his abs. He chuckles, pulling your body closer to his.

“Feel free to come steal some warmth more often.” You nuzzle further and he gasps at the feeling of your cold nose pressing against his bare chest. Your eyelids grow heavy and you glance up to Matt, who was listening to his podcast. He looked at peace, his fingers still moving, albeit slowly, across your skin while your head moved up and down gently from his breaths. You smile, your eyes shutting more and more as you finally succumb to sleep with comfort personified who is Matt Murdock.

His attention is drawn to you only when your phone lands face down on his skin, the glass screen chilling his body. He brings his hand up to thread through your hair, dull nails gently scratching at your scalp. With his other hand he pauses his podcast and drops his headphones to the ground quietly. He moves your phone away and pulls the blanket up a bit higher to cover your body.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

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whesnia · 19 days

Text

Charlie Cox in The Defenders (1.03)

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whesnia · 22 days

Text

The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 12: The Dark Side of the Moon

Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader

Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3

Chapter Summary

Things start to go south, and fast, and your only salvation is trapped down below in the mansion...

Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)

Major Tags/Warnings Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/WarningsNSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!

Word Count: 4.8k

Marc had been in the thirst room for almost a week, and ever since he’d left your life had become even more of a living hell than it already was.

Khonshu treated you differently. He was colder to you, emotionless when he fed, and he’d begun addressing you as ‘cattle girl’, instead of his usual pet names. You wondered if he meant to dispose of you once your child was born, and perhaps this was his way of detaching himself from you. The alternative was that he was punishing you, letting you know that his affections were reserved for those who obeyed him, those who respected him.

You didn’t mind the lack of attention you got from him, you didn’t want it anyway. You would spend the rest of your life, if you had to, trying to figure out a way to free Marc from the thirst room. Part of you wanted to sneak off and go to Ammit, but the dainty gold chains around your wrists and ankles wouldn’t allow you to. You didn’t trust her either, but if she could at least free Marc, you thought you might be able to find a way out of this entire mess together.

You thought about killing Khonshu, on several occasions, but you were certain it would be impossible without the help of another vampire. You had hunter blood, you knew that now, but you didn’t know the first thing about the practice of hunting, and therefore the only use you had was to breed more hunters, or to serve a vampire lord as their cattle.

You’d never felt more useless than you did in that week following Marc’s imprisonment.

Your bedroom door opened, tearing you from your thoughts in surprise. You were even further surprised when Harrow stepped inside, looking down his nose at you. He closed the door, and you immediately felt a wave of unease spread over your body. Breathing became challenging, you felt terror wash over you…something wasn’t right.

“You’re pathetic, aren’t you?” He smirked, shaking his head at you. “To think that Ammit and Khonshu have been having a little quarrel over you…it’s downright maddening.” He paced, eyes lingering onthe floor and then back up at you. “I have served Khonshu for a long time, longer than you, Marc,” he sighed, “longer than most of the scum in this mansion.”

“What do you want?”

“I want Marc to finally get what’s coming to him,” he spat. “I want you to die, and I want Marc to suffer and I want Ammit to kill Khonshu for everything he’s done to me, the torture he put me through over the centuries.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, trying to absorb his words. It made sense that he hated Khonshu, that fact didn’t come as a shock to you at all. What was shocking was the fact that he felt so bold as to say it. If Khonshu heard him speaking like that he’d have him thrown into the thirst room across the hall from Marc.

“We all don’t like Khonshu, Harrow, if you work with me we can take him down together,” you said, trying your best to sound convincing.

You didn’t give a shit if Harrow wanted to work with you or not, you just wanted to get out of there in one piece, and with Marc in tow.

“You’re not very bright, though you’ve only been alive for a couple of decades, I wouldn’t expect you to be very wise,” he taunted. “It’s too bad that your unborn child won’t get to see the world Ammit creates. It’s going to be beautiful, and they would’ve been a great asset to her.” He shrugged, stepping toward the door. “They say inhaling the smoke from a fire can make you faint before the flames touch your skin. I only hope for your sake that this is true so you won’t feel the pain of burning alive.”

Before you could make it to the door and stop him, Harrow left your room, slamming the door and locking it from the outside. You screamed as loud as you could, shouting for anyone to hear you, but the chaos that started beyond your door was drowning out every sound you made. You banged on the wood, rattling the handle with all your might, but it was no use.

You ran to the window, looking outside and peering down below. If you tried to jump you’d be dead without a doubt. You turned your attention back to the door, the orange glow of flames flickering underneath the gap. If you stayed there you’d be dead too. Dying wouldn’t be the worst fate you could suffer in your position. You imagined the peace you’d feel if you weren’t forced to play Khonshu’s games anymore and for a moment you felt serenity at the thought.

Then you thought about your unborn child, and you touched your hand to your stomach. You weren’t feeling that sense of motherhood yet, the undying affection you’re supposed to have for your growing fetus. Instead, you were concerned with what that child could do for the future of mankind. If there truly was a world filled with the supernatural, and you were the last hunter remaining, then you needed to survive, for the sake of humanity.

Without any options left at your disposal, you slammed your shoulder against the door, a terrible plan, leaving you aching and immediately regretting such a poor choice. You screamed some more, banging on the door with the heel of your palm and praying that someone would hear your plea. By some damn miracle, someone did hear your cries.

Sophia.

Your head maidservant opened the door, eyes filled with terror as she nearly swung it off its hinges.

“Miss!” She shouted, grabbing you by the wrist, “how did you get locked in there I–”

You pulled your hand back, “where are the thirst rooms?”

“They’re downstairs in the cellar but…I have to insist that you–”

You grabbed her shoulders, “just get out of here, and don’t look back.”

“I can’t…” she trailed off, holding her wrists up to refer to her enchanted chains, but they weren’t there.

You looked at your own wrists, realizing that yours were gone as well. There was no way to be certain, but you wondered if that meant Khonshu was too preoccupied to spend his energy on things like restraints. If that were the case, then there was a chance you could save Marc or a chance that he was already free.

“Go!” You shouted to her, pushing her out into the hall and watching her run toward the exit.

You went in the opposite direction, dodging servants and cattle as they ran in a panic toward you. A couple of them tried to stop you, but you shoved them off and continued your dangerous search for Marc. The flames were traveling slowly, giving you some extra time. Deep down you knew, if the choice was between finding Marc and living, you’d be forced to choose the latter.

Far down in the bowels of the cellar, you heard the most horrific screams. They didn’t sound quite human, instead, they were reminiscent of a screeching creature in bone-crushing agony. You slowed your pace, not wanting to accidentally come face to face with said creature, but you didn’t have the luxury of time on your side either.

The cellar had rows and rows of doors. Some were open, others still closed, and some weren’t even on the hinges anymore. The thirst rooms that you’d heard so much about, a dungeon meant for torture and suffering.

You located the source of the sounds you heard. Malnourished and weak vampires were crawling on the floors, attempting to rise and get out of their rooms. The stronger ones, the ones that had been trapped for a shorter time frame, still had it in them to rise to their feet and start stalking toward you in the stairway. You hadn’t thought this through. There were at least five feral and starving vampires coming your direction, and your body was designed to smell more delicious than the average human to them.

You were dead.

You heard your name being called from behind the feral vampires, and you could see for a split second, Marc’s face among them.

“Run!” He shouted, and you knew there was no choice other than to get out as fast as you could.

You took off sprinting, trying the handles of various doors in the hall when you got up on the floor above the cellar, all locked. You looked behind yourself, seeing a group of vampires running toward you, Marc mixed somewhere among them. You finally found a door that gave in, quickly getting inside and slamming the door behind you.

There was shouting on the other side for only a moment before it was frighteningly silent. Either Marc had won and they were all dead, or he’d lost and whatever was left had run off.

“I need you to let me in,” he said, and you sighed in relief.

But before you opened the door, you thought about how Marc had been in the thirst room for at least a week.

“Is it safe?” You asked, slowly putting your hand on the handle.

“I’d sooner walk into the fire before I’d let myself hurt you,” he said firmly, and you wasted no more time letting him inside.

Marc shut the door behind himself and pulled you into a tight embrace. He held you close, deep breaths forcing his chest to heave against yours. He kissed your cheek up to your lips and then stopped. You could hear his breathing change, the hint of a growl rolling up from the base of his lungs while pulling you even tighter against himself.

“I’m starving,” he rasped.

“Then eat.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“You’ll die.”

“Only if you drink too much, you need your strength, we need to kill–”

You gasped, feeling the sharp pang of Marc’s fangs sinking into your neck. He’d never tasted you before, and you wondered if you were as delectable as he’d imagined. The fire didn’t matter anymore, if you needed to escape quickly, Marc could carry you out the window, but for now, you were at peace with each other.

“Marc,” you breathed softly, carding your fingers through his unruly locks. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

His body shuddered against yours, his grip on you getting tighter as he drank. You knew this was dangerous, that there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and that he’d drink from you until every last drop of blood was gone. You trusted him though, you knew you had to.

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered into his ear, and suddenly the suction he had on your neck stopped.

He looked at you, lips glossy and covered in crimson. His gaze dropped to your mouth and then back into your eyes. Marc didn’t say a word before he had you on the floor, the fabric of your dress thrown up in all directions while he fumbled with his belt. In seconds his cock was freed, the fat tip pushing past your entrance and plunging hungrily inside of you.

You arched your back, hips rising to meet his and take him deeper. You could still see the faint glow of the fire under the door, no doubt making its way from the next level up where your room sat to the floor you were on now. It was hard to care in the heat of the moment, mind numb from the blood loss and the feeling of pure pleasure as it tore through your body.

“The…the fire it–”

“Sh,” Marc said, holding you close and fucking you deeper, “I need you, I need you.”

He brought his lips to the bite he made once again, sucking more blood from your body, forcing a wince and a hiss from you. You didn’t mind though, the feeling of having Marc’s cock buried deep in your tight cunt while he drank your blood felt better than you could put into words. There was nothing quite as exhilarating as being used in every sense of the word by the man you…

By the man you loved.

He stopped drinking again to kiss you, lips slick with plasma as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into him, hands reaching up to the back of his head and keeping him in place. You weren’t sure you could handle much more blood loss, so you’d have to keep him preoccupied with your mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered in between breathless kisses.

At first, you were worried he wouldn’t say it back. As self-loathing as Marc was, you wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he wasn’t worthy of your affection, and that he wasn’t good enough to say it in return.

“I love you too,” he muttered against your mouth. “I fucking love you.”

He moved faster, cock slamming into you at an alarming pace, your screams likely indiscernible from those trying to escape the feral vampires and ever-growing flames. You felt your eyes rolling back in your head, your fingers aching from how hard they grabbed onto Marc’s shoulders, and your legs quivering around his torso. He felt better now than before, maybe it was the desperation in his movements or the way he held onto you like losing you would be the worst thing that ever happened to him, but you couldn’t hold on any longer.

In a flash of white, your mind went blank, body spasming around his as your cunt clenched tightly around his thick cock. You heard him muttering something about how hard you were squeezing him, begging you to keep milking his dick, among other bits of nonsense you couldn’t quite find the will to focus on. His body gave in too, hips slowing to a series of deliberate thrusts that gave way to the thick ropes of cum gushing inside your greedy hole.

You could’ve laid there forever, letting Marc pepper your cheeks in bloodstained kisses and whisper sweet nothings into the night. The flames had finally made their way to your door though, and you’d run out of time.

“We…” you sucked in a breath, “we have to go.”

Marc looked at the door and then back at you. He nodded, standing up and pulling his pants back into place. He picked you up and made his way out the window.

“Hang on tight,” he instructed before climbing down to the ground below, putting you down safely on your feet.

There was an all-out battle happening in the field outside of Khonshu’s mansion, and you found yourselves in awe.

“We have to go. I’ll take you far from here, we can run away–”

“No,” you said almost too quietly, “no Marc we can’t just run.”

He looked at you incredulously.

“Look, I don’t know what you have going on in your head right now, maybe it’s the blood loss, but we can’t stay here, this is our chance.”

Marc hadn’t been there for Khonshu’s explanation of your species and what you really were. You told him quickly, knowing there was little time before you would have to join the fight happening just ahead of you in the fields. He looked at you, dark eyes turned up in an expression that reeked of sadness and an agony you could only describe as someone experiencing insurmountable dread.

“You can’t be turned…” He said, looking at you solemnly. “No matter what we…we could never…”

“We can find a way, I promise, but for now…” you touched his cheek and looked out to the field, “we have to finish this. If we don’t kill Khonshu, he’s just going to find me again.”

He nodded, recollecting himself and shaking the sorrow from his mind. He called the armor, and you wondered if Khonshu was the one controlling that enchantment, or if there was another source of vampire magic you weren’t made privy to. There were still so many things you didn’t understand, but now wasn’t the time to question it.

You and Marc made your way to the battlefield. The normally vacant fields were now host to vampires and humans alike, all fighting for survival. You recognized some of Ammit’s soldiers from your time visiting in the mountains. It was a bloodbath, and you were starting to think Marc’s idea of running away was starting to sound better by the second, but you knew you had to be brave. Fleeing wasn’t an option.

You and Marc found Khonshu, and without a word you hopped on Marc’s back, letting him bring you both to the thick of the fight and leaving the mansion, now almost completely engulfed in flames, at your back. Marc stood, ready to fight as you let yourself down from him. Khonshu looked over at you both, Ammit and Harrow were standing some feet away from him.

“Marc, my dove, look at you two,” he said in that sinister tone you recognized all too well. He was still furious. “Marc, my right hand, I always knew you were more trustworthy than that snake,” he pointed at Harrow, “though not completely trustworthy, are you?” He pointed at you now. “Did she tell you that she’s got your baby in her belly?”

Ammit and Harrow looked at each other, a gesture that told you they hadn’t known about your pregnancy until just now. That information could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and despite Ammit’s kind words to you back in her home, you knew she and Harrow were most certainly the ‘wrong hands’ in question.

“If you two help me, help your master, I’ll see to it that you both live. Marc, I won’t throw you back into that room, I won’t, and I’ll even let you see your baby.” Marc’s face was made of stone, face curled downward into a frown. “I have taken good care of you both! Given you a roof over your head! I’ve given you food and shelter!”

“Enough, Khonshu!” Ammit’s voice boomed over his. “If you were so just in your treatment then you wouldn’t be in this position. You brought all of this down upon yourself. Your mansion burns because you were prideful. You had the opportunity to join me and you refused.” She took a step forward. “I am tired of this war between us, so let’s end this.”

“Get back,” Marc snapped at you, and you obeyed without question, moving away and watching the fight unfold.

For once you watched Harrow and Marc work together, both of their weapons moving dexterously by their wielder. You’d always wondered what Marc looked like fighting, and now you could see it, and it was marvelous. He fought with a combination of his brutish strength, and his nimble grace. You watched his crescent darts fly through the air, hitting Khonshu in the chest, though the damage was minimal, and he was able to recover quickly.

You finally got a glimpse of the strength your blood afforded both Marc and Khonshu. The two of them were much faster and stronger than both Ammit and Harrow.

“Harrow!” Marc shouted, holding out his hand.

As if they could read each other’s minds, Arthur threw his khopesh to Marc. The darts weren’t able to do the job, but Marc being at his level of strength while wielding Harrow’s sword, managed to get the upper hand on Khonshu. For the first time since your time there, you saw fear cross Khonshu’s face. His eyes went wide, hands rising to shield his face.

Without waiting for another moment to pass by, Marc made one swift and clean slice, ridding the ancient vampire of his head. You watched it fall to the ground, rolling to Marc’s feet. Ammit laughed, striding over to the decapitated head and lifting it by the dark locks.

“Just for good measure,” she said coldly, tossing it into the burning flames that had now completely covered the mansion.

Marc was breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Ammit looked at you, catching you off guard. While this situation had everything to do with you, you weren’t exactly part of it. You were in no position to fight, not being very strong, nor being very well trained or equipped to do so. You stepped back, and Marc put himself between you and Ammit before you could utter a word.

“Calm down, Marc,” she said in that motherly tone she possessed. “I’m not going to hurt her. Quite the contrary, I’d like to keep her for myself.”

“You can’t have her,” he said, following her movements and keeping the khopesh firmly positioned in her direction.

She raised her hands to show willingness to cooperate, “I’m not the enemy here,” she tried to assure him, “your enemy is dead. Work with me, and the two of you can be happy together. I can even make her immortal, just like you.”

You shook your head, “that’s not possible.”

She scoffed, “perhaps not for Khonshu, but for me…I promise you, little girl, anything is possible.”

Marc looked at you, eyes tracing your frame like he was actually contemplating her words. You shook your head again. If he gave in now, and the two of you went with her, there was no doubt she’d enslave you both the way Khonshu had. There was no sanctuary amongst the ancients, and you were learning quickly that none of them could be trusted.

“Ammit, we must kill him, you have me, you don’t need him.” He looked at you, face turned into a grimace. “And she’s just going to give us more problems than she’s worth. We should kill them both–”

“Silence!” Her voice boomed, and you realized that the fighting had died down around you.

There were bodies scattered over the fields, and save for the distant clanking of weapons, the echoing cries of those who still lived, and the crackling fire at your back, it was quiet. You gulped wondering what Marc’s next move would be.

“You can come with me peacefully, or I can make you, Marc Spector.” Her tone became dark. “The choice is y–”

You gasped, hands flying up to cover your mouth as you watched Marc move lightning fast to behead Ammit as quickly as he’d beheaded his own master. Harrow’s face contorted into a pained scream as he watched the woman he’d served so dutifully collapse before his eyes. You felt faint, not used to seeing such acts of violence up close, or perhaps it was just the blood loss finally catching up with you.

Harrow stepped toward Marc, to which Marc pointed the khopesh in his direction.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He asked coldly. “I just killed your master and mine. I’ll kill you too, Arthur.”

Marc put himself between you and Harrow, you guessed in case he got the idea to come after you next. When Harrow backed down, Marc nodded, the two knights at odds finally accepting that the war was over, and there were no winners, only those who had suffered for the war of their masters. Marc made his way over to you, pulling you into an embrace where you felt his entire body sigh in relief.

“It’s over,” he said, kissing your cheek and pulling you back closely again.

Over his shoulder, you saw Harrow moving faster than you could warn Marc to stop it. He held a crescent dart,standing over Ammit’s body, dark crimson liquid dripping from the blade. Ancient vampire blood. Poison. Death.

The weapon flew toward Marc’s back, and you had just enough time to shout his name before he could turn, the blade brushing along his side, just barely grazing him. He reacted quickly, able to move faster than Harrow with your blood still coursing through his veins. He fought swiftly, dodging the attacks of the other knight with relative ease, but you could tell something was off about his movements.

By the time he’d beaten Harrow down, forced the man to the ground, and beheaded the third vampire in a ten-minute window, Marc was moving slowly; even more slowly than he had been before drinking your blood. His chest was heaving when he turned around, dropping the khopesh on the ground to signify the end of his fight. He looked at you, and without a word, he collapsed.

“Marc!” You screamed, running as fast as you could to his side, dropping to your knees, and looking into his eyes. “Marc, what’s happening?”

Marc gulped, face slick with sweat while he breathed a labored breath. You noticed the steaming on his skin, not unlike the vampire Ammit had made an example of in her home not so long ago. You looked down at Marc’s side, and there was the wound committed by the crescent dart, the skin there was purple, appearing to decay before your very eyes.

“How do I stop it!” You shouted, trying quickly to recall anything you’d learned during your time as a cattle girl that might save him.

“Honey,” Marc croaked, reaching a hand out to you, but you weren’t listening.You brushed him off applying pressure to the wound with some of your skirts as though that might stop it from killing him.

“Blood, m-my blood is special, here,” you said in a weak voice, bringing your trembling wrist to his lips. “Drink it, please.”

Marc looked at your face, grabbing your wrist in his hand while he kept his eyes on you. He kissed your skin, then brought his lips to your palm as well. It was almost poetic, the way the sun started to rise over the horizon in the distance, and the way a soft breeze swept through enough to make your dress flutter lightly. Marc reached up and touched his fingertips to your cheek.

“It’s fine,” he said, visibly struggling with every breath.

You shook your head, “no, no it’s not. My life was nothing before all of this, it was nothing before you. I…I can’t–”

Marc managed to find the strength to sit, pulling you by the back of your head toward him and slotting his lips over yours. You tasted blood, sweat, and tears every time his mouth melted into yours.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered, a deep wheeze following his words followed by a coughing fit that left him back on the ground, looking up at you. “You’ll…” he pressed a hand to your stomach. “You’ll be okay.”

It took you an hour to finally walk away from him, away from the mansion, away from the battlefield. You took two of his crescent darts with you, unsure how the weapons were still possible without Khonshu’s enchantment, but you were too exhausted to question that mystery any further.

Nausea hit you nearly halfway down the dirt road that led toward civilization. You were stuck between trying to control your sobs and trying to stop yourself from vomiting what little food and water you’d consumed over the last several hours. By the time you made it anywhere, you felt like you might die too, and you decided that now with Khonshu and Ammit gone, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, even with the baby in your womb.

You would live though, and several years would go by that felt like moments in the grand scheme of it all. Every time you looked at your son you would see his father looking back at you, and despite the pain it brought, you loved him with everything you could, because you knew that’s what Marc would’ve done. Someday, you vowed, you’d tell him all about Marc, and Khonshu, and everything you’d gone through together.

Until then, you’d shelter him from all of it, for as long as you possibly could.

~~~~

“Khonshu is dead.”

Jake nodded, lips curling into a smirk before he sipped his glass of bourbon.

“And Ammit?”

“She’s dead too,” Jake’s messenger answered.

“Good. And Marc’s lover? The pregnant one?”

“We don’t know.”

Jake hummed, slamming his glass on the table.

“You understand what could happen if the wrong person finds her, don’t you? If those mutts in the mountains get to her before we do? I know they’re looking,” Jake growled, standing up and throwing his chair back until it hit the wall.

“Yes sir, but I–”

“Pull my car around.” Jake muttered, grabbing his coat and flat cap. “I’ll find her myself.”

Moon Knight Masterlist

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