#The Matt Experiments

[banannabethchase]

I just think. Adam deserves to have someone titfuck him. (challenge mode: not mox. in fact, double challenge mode: someone completely new!)

A Cowboy to Ride - also on AO3

~

Matt's obsessed with Adam's chest, and he's incorrigible about it. Luckily, Adam is happy to indulge.

~

*sighs* Sarah what have you done to me with this prompt. I achieved the single challenge but not the double.

~

Adam should have learned by now, after all this time, that Matt can’t control himself.

“Locker room,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing at Adam’s wrist. “Now.”

“Fuckin’ hell, baby, tone it down,” Adam murmurs, sliding a hand into the back pocket of Matt’s jeans. “We’re still in public, you know.”

Matt licks his lips as he stares at Adam’s chest. “But – you look good.”

“And you need to keep it for the bedroom.” Adam leans in and presses a kiss to Matt’s forehead, though, because he can’t resist.

Matt lets out a mildly panicked whine and yanks Adam harder. “Don’t make me wait like last time,” he pleads, but there’s a smile behind it.

“Do you want me to make you wait?” Adam asks, in his ear. “Do you want me to work you up so you go to everyone in this place for just a little attention because you can’t get what you really want?”

Matt’s considering it, and Adam thinks he’s in for a hell of a night, when he’s interrupted before Matt can even speak.

“Matt!” Tony yells. “I need your help – Jerry had to step out so I need somebody else up here.”

Matt lets out a weird little panicked whimper, looking from Tony to Hangman. “But I –”

“Go do your EVP shit, Matty.” He leans in and whispers in Matt’s ear. “We can do cowboy shit later.”

Matt giggles and turns a little pink. “Okay,” he half whispers. “I – okay.”

Adam walks backstage, shaking out his shoulders as he shoots smiles at some of the friendlier guys backstage.

“Hanger!” Nick says, catching up with him. “You okay? Swerve and Cage are the worst.”

Adam shrugs, still high on adrenaline and Matt’s attention. “I’m good. Dealt with worse guys, right?”

Nick looks at him funny. “I mean, yes, but a post-match beatdown never feels good, you know?” Nick studies him for another moment until it seems to dawn on him. “Oh, god, you and Matt are doing a thing again, aren’t you.”

“I – what?” Adam searches his mind for when he could have been that transparent in this three second conversation. “No we’re not.”

Nick sighs. “God, you guys are so obvious. Sometimes I wonder if my life was easier when – ” He stops himself. “Well, okay, it wasn’t.”

“Nah, you’re right,” Adam says, and he’s surprised he’s still riding the earlier high. “Your best friend and your brother fucking across the country can’t be all that fun for you.”

Nick groans. “Please – don’t make me relive the shit you did back in New Japan and Ring of Honor back in the day.” Adam’s grin gets wider, and Nick winces. “Oh. Well. Damn it.” He laughs, a little panicked. “As long as the two of you are happy, I guess. But I do hate it. I need you both to know I hate,” he gestures weirdly in the air, “this. The vibes or whatever, when you do whatever this is.”

“And I’m sure we both hate your dancing, but here we are.”

Nick frowns. “My dancing is entertaining and everyone should be into it.”

“Entertaining does not mean good,” Adam says, nudging Nick with his shoulder.

“Exactly. I didn’t say good. It was fun. Maybe I’ll join Dancing with the Stars next season or something.”

“Please do,” Adam says, clapping Nick on the arm. “I’m always a fan of comedy.”

“Eff you!” Nick says, grin widening. “Alright, man, I gotta get to the locker room – we had to rearrange the card for Rampage and I’m the lucky person to go tell people.”

Adam nods. “Good luck, man. Don’t get yelled at.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Nick turns to leave, then comes back for a hug so quick Adam can’t even react. “Love you, man. Even when you and Matt are weird.”

Adam wants to hug him back, to tell Nick that he feels the same way, but Nick’s out of there before Adam can even open his mouth.

He gets back to the hotel on his own after a text from Matt and another from Nick. Matt’s I have to stay late I’ll see you later at the hotel <;3 has Adam a little worried, but Nick immediately texted after to say I’ll keep him from doing anything stupid, so Adam was able to relax.

Adam debates getting himself off to a few of the videos they made back in Ring of Honor, but he decides to keep it in his pants until Matt gets here. He can wait.

He flips through the channels absently, checking his phone more often than he probably should, until he gets the text from Matt at 11:14pm.

On my way back &lt;3

Adam grins. Matt’ll be off his rocker with the need to blow off steam with he gets to the room, and Adam can’t wait.

He makes sure the room is presentable – underwear in his luggage, the takeout from last night in the trash, all that – and he’s just finished when the door unlocks and swings open.

“Hi!” Matt says. “Oh, my god, the traffic was insane.”

“You walked across the street!”

“The foot traffic and the car traffic came together to make my life stupid,” Matt explains. “Plus, my backpack is heavy.” He looks over at Adam.

“You have four steps to walk,” Adam laughs, but he grabs the backpack anyway and drops it on the chair. “C’mere.”

Matt hits Adam like a brick wall into a vicelike hug. “Hi,” he says, face muffled in Adam’s chest. “This is kind of nice, actually.” He pulls back. “Can you get naked now?”

“What a line,” Adam says, shaking his head. “Romance really does die.”

“It – no it doesn’t!” Matt says. He plays with the hem of Adam’s shirt, bites his lip a little. He leans in, pulling the collar of Adam’s tee down, tracing his collarbone.  “It’s just, you – you looked so good,” Matt says, open mouth moving along Adam’s collarbone. “You looked so good.”

Adam laughs, settling his hands on Matt’s hip, fingertips sliding under that pretty shirt of his. “You look good too, baby.” He pulls back. “Real good. You know I like the half up hair thing.”

Matt’s eyes scatter away, a pleased smile on his lips. “I know,” he says. “But, um.” He slides his hands up Adam’s chest, nails gently pressing into the skin of his pecs. “You look good. Like, your chest.” Matt clears his throat. “God. You – wow.”

Adam laughs. “What, you got a thing for big tits or something?” He means it as a joke, kind of, because it’s such a weird word, but Matt goes bright red. “Oh. Oh, you do.” Adam huffs out a laugh. “Sit down, baby. You want a show? I can give you a show.”

Matt sits down on the bed so fast he bounces, legs folded under him as he drops his hands in his lap. “I wanna see,” he near whispers. “I – yeah.”

After all of Swerve’s shit talking the week before, the look on Matt’s face as Adam plays with the hem of his shirt, the way he whimpers at the barest hint of skin, makes Adam feel like he could rule the world.

“Too slow,” Matt says, eyes locked on Adam’s fingertips as they tease at pulling it up. “Go faster.”

“Oh, you’re being demanding now?” Adam asks, dropping the shirt. He steps into Matt’s space, grinning at the way Matt cranes his head up to see him. “You wanna have control, by all means, take it.”

Matt bats his eyelashes, looking up. “I could,” he murmurs. “I do the top thing.”

Adam leans down, presses a kiss to Matt’s forehead. “Sure you could, baby.”

Matt pushes at Adam’s chest. “Go – get naked. I wanna see.”

“You want a strip tease?”

Matt shrugs. “If that’s what gets you naked, okay.”

There’s a part of Adam that’s always been a bit of a performer. He likes the attention and putting on a show, likes to be a bigger version of himself. But he’s never a better performer than when his audience is Matt.

“Higher,” Matt murmers, the request almost a question. “Please?”

“You sure?” Adam asks, only his eyes peeking out over his shirt. Matt’s eyes are glued to his stomach, slowly crawling up his body.

Matt’s eyes snap up to Adam’s. “Are you kidding? Yes, I’m sure. Take off your shirt.”

Laughing, Adam slowly drags the shirt over his body. He thinks he can feel Matt’s eyes burning like a laser into his skin, and finds himself wishing the touch were real.

“Screw it,” he mutters, and he rips off the shirt and throws it somewhere in the room, diving at Matt to catch his lips with his own. Matt lets out a cute little squeal of excitement as Adam drapes himself over Matt’s body.

Matt is shameless as he runs his hands over Adam’s skin, grabbing and touching and squeezing. “You’re so – I don’t – come back.” He doesn’t seem to be able to string a sentence together, so focused on Adam, and it’s the kind of ego boost Adam might not need.

Adam slides his lips down to Matt’s neck. “And here I was,” he laughs, in between kisses, “thinking you were getting tired of me now that I’m older.”

“Are you kidding me?” Matt asks. He’s trying to pipe through some of his usual attitude, but the breathy desperation makes it fail. “You look, somehow, even better.” His breath catches as Adam bites at his collarbone. “Like – I like the scars. A lot.” Matt’s fingers trace a few from barbed wire against his forehead, eyes locked on the spot. “You should do more death matches. I like this.”

“You just want me all beat up and bloody.” Adam props himself up on his elbows to press a kiss to Matt’s nose.

“Not – well, okay, that’s not all of it.” Matt’s cheeks turn pink. “I mean, like, you know how good you look when you get all wild eyed, and you look so pretty when your hair goes all pink – don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you!” Adam says, doing a terrible job of stifling the chuckles.

“You – go back.” Matt pouts, but Adam’s pretty sure it’s an attempt to be firm. “I wanna see you.”

Adam’s still laughing as he leans back on his knees, and he watches Matt’s eyes light up. “What?”

“When you laugh, your pecs – bounce.” Matt’s tone is almost reverent. “Do – I can’t think of anything funny. What’s funny?”

“Monkeys on unicycles?”

“In theory, that’s funny, but I need something that will actually make you laugh!” Matt huffs. “Okay, remember that time we were in the gym and you and Kenny were trying to actually wrestle and –”

Adam can’t help it; he laughs so hard he throws his head back. “Oh, fuck, and Kenny slipped on his shirt and fell with his ass in the air? And you texted a picture to Kota?”

“Yeah,” Matt murmurs, not laughing at all. “Oh, my god. You – get over here.” Adam barely gets his eyes open before Matt’s leaned up and biting at his pec.

“Oh, hi,” Adam says, swallowing. “Jesus, you’re like a lamprey.”

“A what?”

“A fish that – never mind,” Adam says. “Fuck. Usually I do this to you.”

“And now it’s your turn,” Matt says. “Now shut up and lie down so I can get my hands on your chest.”

Adam does as he’s told, because he can indulge Matt from time to time, and Matt goes at him again like a madman. Adam slides his hand onto Matt’s hair, fingers tangling. “You’re determined today,” he exhales. “Jesus. I’m gonna be covered.”

Matt pulls his head up, quirking an eyebrow. “No worse than what you do to me, like, nightly.”

“Yes, but you’re used to it,” Adam says, with a little tug to Matt’s hair. “I’m not used to you being all, well, dominant is absolutely the wrong word.”

“Is not!”

“Really,” Adam deadpans. “Calling you dominant is a totally normal, accurate statement. You’re pouting right now.”

“I – tops can pout!”

“Not like that they can’t.” Adam can’t resist pulling Matt in by the hair and tasting the pout on his lips. Matt scrambles on his lap, shoving Adam back onto the bed. His fingertips tweak Adam’s nipples, grab at his skin, massage his muscles, and fuck if it isn’t great. Matt’s doing his best to control the kiss, but he’s hesitant at times, unsure, and Adam fills in where Matt can’t figure it out.

“Tell you what,” Adam says, pulling back as he cants his hips up to meet Matt’s ass. “You ride me tonight, tell me what to do. It’s all about you, baby.”

“Okay,” Matt says, even pinker than before. “I – I can do that. But it’s always all about me.”

“That is not what a top would say.”

Matt opens his mouth to argue. Then, like he’s just lost an argument with himself in his head, huffs and swings a leg off of Adam’s hips and goes to his bags in the corner of the room. “I’ll have you know,” he says, digging around. Adam’s a little disappointed he’s still mostly clothed. The view would be outstanding. At the thought, he undoes his belt and shoves his pants and boxers down his hips to drop them to the side of the bed, wrapping a hand around his cock for the hint of relief. Matt’s still talking as he searches, and Adam can’t focus on it. “And that was twice, and since one of those times was in a match, I think that counts double.”

“You getting on top of someone during a match and pinning them to the ground doesn’t count as being a top,” Adam says. “You forget the lube? I’m not going out to CVS this time.”

“You would if you really loved – oh, found it!” Matt turns around, twirling the bottle in his hands. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hey,” Adam says with a lazy smile, hand still around his cock. “Somebody order a cowboy to ride?”

“That’s not even funny anymore,” Matt says with a smile. He strips out of his clothes at lightning speed and dives back on top of Adam, squeezing at his pecs. “God, you’re hot.”

“You, too.” Adam gets two handfuls of Matt’s ass and squeezes, grinning at the way Matt’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open. “Pretty tits, too.” He leans in and wraps his lips around a nipple. Matt whimpers.

“I – I want to –” he stops speaking when Adam pulls away, grinning up at him. “I – oh my god, what?”

“What what?”

“I don’t know what to do!” Matt wails. “I just want you to fuck me but I don’t – please?” He bats his eyelashes. “Being a top is too much work. Can you just fuck me and make me cry about it?”

“Of course, baby,” Adam murmurs. He reaches out and brushes some hair from Matt’s pouting face. “Anything you want. All about you, right?”

Matt keeps the pout at a thousand as he nods. “I love you,” and it’s impressive he gets the words out with how stuck out that bottom lip is.

“I love you, too.”

Adam grins at him as he drips the lube over his fingers, probably too much, but Matt’s wide eyes as he watches are so damned pretty he can’t stop the show.

“Now, please,” Matt whispers. “I – please don’t make me wait like last time.”

“Oh, you remember last time?” Adam says, sliding his finger between Matt’s cheeks, watching his eyes flutter closed. Matt leans forward, ass in the air, like he’s desperately waiting, but all Adam does is trace the rim of his hole. “You got so needy for it you started hitting on the whole roster.”

Matt’s breathing picks up. “Only ‘cause you were doing one of your stupid experiments.”

“Maybe this is one, too,” Adam says. “Maybe I made sure to get my tits all pumped up just to get you riled up.”

Matt leans back, like he’s trying to coax Adam’s finger inside of him. “Sure, whatever, just – please?” He turns those eyes on Adam.

“Only because you asked all nice,” Adam says, like it’s a chore to give Matt exactly what he wants, like he’s not just as impatient for it as Matt. He just hides it better. He works a finger in, grinning at the noises Matt makes, then a second, then a third, all while Matt pushes his hips down. “You really are desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” Matt snaps. His eyes widen. “Sorry. I just –”

“Nah,” Adam says, grazing Matt’s prostate with his fingers once before pulling them out. Matt makes the weirdest combination of sounds, akin to a frustrated cat, and Adam has to resist the urge to laugh. “Don’t apologize. I like when you get bitchy.” He drips more lube on his hand and coats his entire cock, Matt’s eyes on him the whole time.

Matt goes easily when Adam grabs his hips and moves him backward. Matt tries to shove himself down on Adam’s cock, but Adam stops him.

“Slow down, baby, don’t hurt yourself.”

Matt pouts. “But I want it.”

“Fuck, you’re insufferable.” Adam guides him down, his own vision going white at the feeling of Matt all around him. “And perfect, goddamn.”

Matt giggles, hips rocking. “I – oh, yes – know that, thank you.”

“This is why you can’t be a top.” Adam rocks his hips up, trying to screenshot the look of Matt’s bliss in his mind. “Tops don’t talk about how perfect they are all the time.”

“They can,” Matt replies. He pulls up on his knees, Adam’s dick slipping out of him entirely, before carefully sliding back down. It’s almost more than Adam can handle, the feeling of it all, and he finds himself weirdly worshipful of the moment. He thought for so long this was gone, but it’s all here in front of him right now.

He’ll never stop beating himself up over all the years they lost.

Matt still, like back in the day, makes the prettiest little noises as they slowly rock against each other, as their bodies slide and move and connect. Matt smiles down at him, his hair falling like a curtain, as Adam keeps his hands on Matt’s hips to guide him, move him. He moves a hand and slides it into Matt’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss.

Matt hums against his lips, hands braced on either side of Adam’s head as he rocks, breathing heavily. “Adam,” he says in almost a whisper.

“I know, baby,” Adam says back, their foreheads pressed together. “I love you, too.”

He’s not paying attention, is his mistake. He’s focused on Matt, on how he feels and how he looks and how he sounds, on the perfect slide, of the warmth of Matt around him. He’s not trying to keep himself together.

“Matt,” he chokes out, before he can figure out how to stop it. “Oh, god. I – Matt.” He groans and comes, deep within Matt, his mind whiting out for anything that isn’t the man he loves, the world swirling around him and settling into a feeling of utmost satisfaction. “Matt,” he whispers again as he comes back to earth.

Matt is still rolling against Adam’s cock, and its getting to be too much too fast too –

“Matt,” Adam gasps, “Matt, I have to –” He tilts his hips, sliding out of Matt, who whimpers.

“I didn’t get to come,” Matt says, pouting. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Adam says. “Oh, my god, no, Matty, I just got super into it and you.” He thinks, desperate to get that disappointed look off of Matt’s face. And it hits him. “Oh. Matt, I – do you want to fuck my tits?”

Matt blinks at him. “What?”

Adam shuffles so he’s better propped on the pillows and moves his arms to his sides. He looks down, and his chest really does look big like this. “See?” he says. He reaches his arms out and grabs Matt’s hips, pulling him closer. “Go for it. I know how much you like them.”

Matt bites his lip, hesitant, like he’s not sure how to do it.

“I’ll help you,” Adam says, stroking the soft skin of Matt’s thighs. “Come on, baby, try it.” He grins up at Matt. “You want to see about being a top, right?”

Matt’s hesitance disappears. “Okay,” he says, almost like he’s convincing himself. “Yeah, okay.” He leans down and braces his hips on either side of Adam’s ribcage and slots his dick in the valley of Adam’s chest. “Wow,” Matt says, and he’s able to slide okay even without any lube, he’s leaking so much. “Oh, wow, Adam, this is…” He trails off, staring at his dick as it moves. He reaches down and grabs handfuls of Adam’s chest, pushing his tits together, and moves his hips.

It takes a second, but Adam realizes the wetness pooling on his belly is – oh, god. His own come is leaking out of Matt, getting all over the two of them. Adam’s head is spinning with all of it – Matt’s focus, his little noises, the slick sounds, the way Adam’s nails bite into Matt’s thighs.

“Adam, can I?” Matt asks, breathing raggedly. “I’m so – I’m gonna –”

“Do it, baby,” Adam says, and he works on a hunch. “Get us all messy.”

Matt’s last sound is a desperate little whimper, something from the back of his throat as he splays one hand in the mess behind him and pushes one more time. Adam’s never had somebody come on his chest before. On his face, sure, but this is new. It’s warm and wet and all Matt, and he feels claimed. Permanent.

“Oh, my god,” Matt pants, eyes a little wild. “You – it’s all over you.”

Adam laughs. He shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, baby, that’s kind of the point.”

“I’m usually…”

“On the other end of things?” Adam fights the urge to laugh again.

Matt huffs. “Well, yes, but still. I didn’t know…” He runs his fingertips through the mess on Adam’s chest and neck. “I don’t want to do it all the time, but I liked it.”

“I’m glad,” Adam says, and he reaches up and twirls a lock of Matt’s hair around his finger. “Figured you might like to have a moment with these.” He makes his pecs bounce, and Matt’s eyes lock on them. “You like that?”

“You know I do. Shut up.” Matt’s smiling, though. “I don’t think I could do this every time, though. I like – I like it when you’re in charge, mostly.”

“I know, but we can change things up.” Adam winks. “Though I’ll never get tired of fucking you up against the wall.”

Matt’s giggle is a little panicked. “Um. Good. Good, because I won’t get tired of it, either.” He rests his hands on Adam’s chest again, face wrinkling. It only gets more distinct as he wiggles. “Okay, so, it was super hot or whatever, but now I feel gross and sticky.” He rolls off of Adam at an angle so weird he can only be avoiding dirtying the sheets.

“Shower?” Adam asks. He’s got come in his hair, somehow. He hadn’t realized Matt’s aim had been that terrible.

Matt stands, hips shifting. Adam almost managed to get hard again from the shining wetness all over his ass and thighs. “Shower.”

~

Mini Playlist:

Me & U - Cassie

Strip Tease - Danity Kane

Keep Riding Me - ur pretty

Do Me - Kim Petras

#HangMatt #anxious millennial dreamboat #Matt Attrackson #in which Sara writes #wtf i like wrestling now??? #SARAH THIS IS ON YOU #sarahcakes613 #the matt experiments

[mattiepieofchaos]

i wanna jump on this bandwagon before it's over!!!!!

(please screw up my life)

10 notes and i will ask some of my fellow musical cast members for ways to contact them after our last performance

20 notes and i will practice so hard to be a good actor for the school musical

40 notes and i will finally try and learn how to animate

80 notes and i will try and talk to my dad more

160 notes and i will start taking care of myself more (aka cleaning my face more often, brushing my teeth properly, and flossing)

320 notes and i will actually try and better my mental health

640 notes and i will try and become better friends with my peeps

1280 notes and i will mend the distant relationship i have with my dad

2560 notes and i will tell my dad about my mental health issues

Do what you must to make yourself happy. J just thought this might be kinda cool to do i guess?!????

update (5/22): the musical is over and im in a gc with a bunch of other ppl from the musical !!!!! also i guess i have to animate now :/

#the matt experience

[pastafossa]

Haunted (Matt Murdock x TRT!Reader, Fic, SFW)🌧️

Right, so close to 3 years ago, I had an ask in my box: 'what would happen if TRT!Reader/Jane Hind lost her memory just before returning to Matt after her three months away', aka: just before point where they both confessed their love and got together in mainline TRT. So I wrote up a fairly angsty, no happy ending sort of fic about it, which you can find here. But there just felt like there was more to the story, and the idea of a sequel wouldn't leave me alone, so I've worked on it in little bits and pieces over the past few years and I'm finally ready to unleash that into the world now that it's been edited to my satisfaction.

This will have a happy ending and hurt/comfort, once we swim through a lot of Matt Suffering. <3 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it.  He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow.  There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting.  Matt was alone.  You’d left him alone.  It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back. So… why did you feel so very sick?

Wordcount: 11, 805 words so, hilariously, about 3 times the length of Part 1

Warnings for this chapter: angst, alcohol, matt spiraling fairly badly, he throws some things, LOTS of TRT references and spoilers so I wouldn't do this one unless you've finished the Miami arc in TRT.

Sad Matt gif as a reminder that the angst is pretty heavy here because I'm really going to emotionally beat on this poor man for a bit.

At Ciro’s insistence, you gave yourself one month in Hell’s Kitchen. 

A month wasn’t much time, granted, but it would hopefully be enough to see if there was a chance of bringing back the memories you’d lost: memories of friends, of your life here, and of… of whatever it was that you’d had with Matt Murdock. Based on his grief over the loss of Jane Hind—not you, but her surely, the role, the mask you’d worn while here—his attachment to her had been deep and fervent, and those feelings appeared to have been at least partly reciprocated. The dangerously intimate photo you’d found in your memory box was all the proof you needed of that. 

Your past self had already been accustomed to his touch when the photo was taken, based on the way she’d allowed him to press his head tenderly to her temple, his dark eyes warm and fond as he'd smiled in her direction even if he couldn't see her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She should have been put off by the proximity, by such a blatant show of physical intimacy, but instead of looking distressed, she’d been relaxed and comfortable where she’d confidently tucked herself up against his side. Try as you might, you hadn’t been able to find any hint of discomfort, any clue that signaled the obvious affection she’d felt was an act, her shoulder angled in a way that made you think she’d wrapped her arm comfortably around his waist, her grin bright and so very real.

This couldn’t be you.

When was the last time you'd looked that happy?

When was the last time you’d let someone hold you close? 

And when was the last time someone had looked at you like… like they might… 

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

“I believe that… you might have, yes. Him, and this city. That is why I encourage you to stay, for a time at least. See if the memories return to you. Even should you leave, it would be wise to know of the life you led here.”

Ciro had sent a check to your office, booking you for the month and clearing your schedule. Just like that, you were free to focus on looking for something that might trigger the return of your memories. Though what that something might be, you weren’t really sure. A more thorough examination of the apartment had been your first step. Unfortunately, there’d been nothing there that seemed familiar beyond the same cheap decor and calculated set pieces you’d always used. You’d quickly ruled those out. They were meaningless distractions meant to reinforce the lie of whatever pre-planned identity you’d taken on. In this case, that identity was Jane Hind—practical, professional, detached, likes sailboat paintings and the color grey. Based on the fine layer of dust you'd found coating everything but the kitchen counter and a neat stack of mail, no one else had spent much time here during your months away. That, at least, fit your pattern. You weren’t in the habit of making friends or putting down roots. There was no point in doing so when you’d just wind up cutting them loose and running again. 

What had unsettled you far more were the hints of connection you’d found quietly tucked away:

A fleecy stuffed bear holding a plush crystal ball, the threads connecting the two uneven as if hand-stitched. That kind of time and effort wouldn’t have been spent on anyone but a friend, and the bear’s prominent position on the counter lent it far more importance than any of the other decorations.

A tacky ‘Handsome Devil’ coffee mug, the curling red script and clichéd devil horns design bizarrely out of place amongst the rest of the plain white mugs in the cupboard. An identity like Jane Hind wouldn’t have been caught dead drinking from it, which meant someone else was here with enough regularity to have a mug of their own. Further digging revealed a second decorated mug, this one adorned with the name of the law firm co-run by Matt. You could have written off one mug, but two? Two was a pattern.

An entire drawer in the dresser devoted solely to a pile of dangerously soft shirts that clearly didn’t belong to Jane Hind, the fabric threadbare and worn. They looked about the right size to be Matt’s, though, the faint traces of scent a match for him. The fact that they took up an entire drawer indicated he’d visited often enough to need a space for his clothes. 

You’d… made space for him in your false life. That wasn’t something you did.

Or had you been the one wearing them? 

Maybe…?

You’d spent a long moment holding one of the shirts in your hand, rubbing at the fabric in hopes of stirring something. When that hadn’t worked, you’d even brought it up to your nose to inhale slowly, just in case the traces of scent brought some memory back. 

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon. 

All it had done was remind you of holding a grieving Matt in his kitchen after he’d realized your memories weren’t coming back. It was a gloomy enough memory, but ultimately unhelpful.

You'd tossed the old shirt on top of the dresser and moved on. 

While you didn’t know who exactly you’d been here in New York, the longer you searched, the more it became clear what had happened. You’d started to slip, your years of isolation forming a crack in your layers of armor. That fracture had allowed an attachment to form, an insidious connection worming its way in through the open gap like poisonous roots through crumbling pavement. You’d grown weak, and careless. There was no other explanation for why you’d broken so many of your rules, dominoes tipping one by one until it cascaded into a waterfall of mistakes. You’d slipped before, of course—loneliness was natural and expected, which was why you had so many contingencies—but you’d never let yourself get in this deep. Not until now. 

What you didn’t know was… 

Why?

Why here? 

Why these people? 

And why the fuck hadn’t you followed your rules and run? 

If there was an answer to be found in Jane Hind’s apartment, you couldn’t seem to find it, no matter how hard you look, no matter how many of her belongings you dug through. Even your memory box had failed you, the photo of you and Matt at the back of your stack of pictures an outlier you couldn’t explain, this fruit of an as-yet unidentified poisonous tree. You had no real leads, no faint ringing of memory to guide you beyond a vague sense that, somehow, this started with Matt. You didn’t even know where to begin. 

At least, not until some shaggy-haired guy named Foggy—what the fuck kind of nickname was that?—showed up entirely and rudely unannounced at your front door, dressed in a cheap suit and wearing a bizarrely determined look. Despite your doubts, you reluctantly allowed him in. He made it pretty clear he knew you, and if you were lucky he could tell you more about your life here.

“So I know you usually skedaddle when things get uncomfortable, which I imagine they are at the moment. How long are you trying to stay?” 

“One month.” You shrugged casually, a cover for just how warily you were watching him as he paced in your—in Jane Hind’s living area. He knew far more about you than you knew about him, a reversal you were uncomfortably aware of. That vulnerability was almost enough to trigger a retreat beneath that cold, brittle shell you’d used long ago, though you quickly caught hold of that instinct and buried it back down deep where it belonged. Still, you couldn’t quite hide the cool clip to your voice, your walls firmly in place. “Leaving after that. Don’t see the point in staying if the memories are gone. Truthfully I’m not sure why I stayed in the first place, especially once it was clear I was getting attached. No offense.” 

“None taken, my hopefully-still-friend-when-your-memories-come-back.” He abruptly swiveled on his feet to face you, squinting at you thoughtfully. “How badly do you want your memories back?” 

You thought of out-of-place mugs and hand-stitched psychic teddy bears; of faint cinnamon and a worn photo frame; of the way you’d held a broken Matt in his kitchen until he’d carefully pushed you away and asked you to leave, his face closed off and distant despite the tears on his cheeks and yours. 

You’d… been someone here. Someone cared for. Someone whose loss was mourned.  

Even if you left, you needed to know just who that someone had been, if only so you could make sure this never happened again. Not until you reached your island in the sun. 

“Badly enough to stay for the month,” you said quietly. 

“Then put some shoes on. We’re going on a memory hunt.”

Over the next few weeks, Foggy took you all over Hell’s Kitchen. 

You visited Jane Hind’s office, abandoned warehouses, and empty rooftops covered in thick blankets of snow. He reintroduced you to Karen, to your upstairs neighbors, and to a bartender who didn’t seem all that inclined to be introduced to anyone. You drank crappy beer and slightly less crappy vodka, played pool, and went to the zoo to stare for far too long at penguins, which Foggy refused to explain no matter how much you pressed. He had you focus on sights, on smells, on sounds that might trigger a memory. He joked with you in between, and he was just funny enough, friendly and clever enough, that for the first week or so, you were consistently cracking a smile. Hell, you even laughed now and then, much to your surprise. He really did know you, enough so that you gradually began to relax around him, just a little. He was likely hoping the addition of a friend’s voice would bring back what you’d lost, especially when paired with all the other sensations. 

But no matter how much you both tried, your memories remained lost. 

God, you hadn’t thought this would… would hurt as much as it did. Yet with every day that you failed to find your way back to who you’d been, the more that fierce ache, that old longing inside you grew. Your smiles became brittle, your laughter fading, until both finally dried up like withered, crumbling leaves beneath a bitter frost. You couldn't help pulling away really, not when your soul curling up in the dark might protect you from the agony of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found what you'd always wanted. How fitting that it had been ripped away from your bloodied, desperate hands like so many times before, one more square for the filthy patchwork quilt of shredded lives and possibilities you’d been forced to leave behind. What was worse: even your memories of that seeming joy had been stolen, too, leaving you with nothing left to carry but the tattered scraps of a ghost and the photograph of a stranger wearing your skin.

It shouldn’t have been possible to miss what you couldn’t remember. Yet here you were missing it all the same. 

It didn’t help that Matt was avoiding you in every way that mattered. You’d thought about calling him if only to ask him questions about your life here, but you could never quite work up the courage to do it. He must have felt the same since he hadn’t reached out to you, either. And why would he? He knew as well as you did that your memories likely weren’t coming back. It made sense to cut that connection, tear it away like a weed before the roots could do more damage—something you should have done sooner, for both your sakes. What you hadn’t expected was just how good he was at dodging you, somehow absent no matter how many places Foggy took you to, places he swore Matt frequented with you when you’d lived here, as if Matt’s mere presence might be enough to trigger some memory in you. Had he been that important? Either way, it didn’t matter. You hadn’t seen Matt once since you’d walked out, doing your best to ignore his hitched breath as you’d opened the door. You’d forced yourself to ignore, too, the broken, agonized sound of grief that he’d let out as you quietly shut the door behind you, leaving him alone. 

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it. 

He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow. 

There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting. 

Matt was alone. 

You’d left him alone. 

It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back.

So… why did you feel so very sick? 

Sympathy. 

That was all you were feeling. Matt was grieving a woman he’d cared about, one who’d died and left a cold stranger in her place. It was normal to feel for someone in that much pain, and no one should be alone while grieving. Maybe this was for the best. The sooner you were fully out of his life, the sooner all his friends and family could step in, and the sooner he could move on. He wouldn’t be alone, then. And even if he was, his loneliness wasn’t your goddamn problem. You had more than enough troubles of your own.

Protect yourself. 

Protect what you might one day have. 

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright. 

He did his best to avoid you, but that only grew more difficult once your ghost began to haunt his every step.

Even Josie’s quickly became off-limits—something he discovered one night when he stepped through the front door where he was promptly met with the familiar, comforting scent of you floating like a haze beneath the smell of cheap beer and sour sweat. His body went rigid the moment he recognized it, your presence across the room a sharpened knife that only widened the wound carved into him by your death. And if the scent of you was a knife, then your bark of laughter was a cruel twist of the blade, one that left him gutted and shaking there in the doorway. He drank in his apartment after that, waiting for that blessed moment when he would feel nothing, waiting for the very second the glorious shroud of night fell. Only then could he finally escape to the streets and drown himself in a far better kind of pain, taking his rage and his grief out on whatever piece of shit had the misfortune of falling into the Devil’s path. 

But Foggy seemed determined to shove the specter of you directly into his face. 

“You need to talk to her!” Foggy snapped, his voice only just shy of a shout. Matt ignored him as he headed for his office, desperate to retreat from your scent lingering on Foggy’s clothes. Foggy had taken you to a coffee shop that morning, one you’d frequented when you’d lived here, and now each inhalation was a vicious torment. It felt like breathing in shards of glass, the sharp pain of it throbbing with every stuttered, choked breath he drew in. If Foggy noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Christ, Matt! You love her and we both know it. If you talk to her, it might trigger something—”

“Stop,” Matt grit out, reaching up to scrub his hand angrily over his face. He stalked his way over to his desk, still desperate to escape somehow, even if it was into his work. “Just stop, Foggy. I did talk to her, and you know what happened? Nothing. She didn’t remember anything at all. She’s gone, and you dragging this out is just making everything worse for all of us.” 

“So what, you’re just gonna roll over?” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms as he planted his feet in Matt’s doorway. “Are you sure you actually loved her? Because I’m pretty sure she loved y—”

Matt slammed his fist down on his desk, the furious crack of it echoing through the office like a gunshot as he shouted, “Don’t you fucking dare!” 

Tension hung thick in the air as Matt’s chest heaved, his teeth bared, blood and adrenaline running hot in his veins as if Foggy were some sort of-of threat. Everything in him shook with rage, or maybe unshed grief, the burden of them both impossibly twisted and tangled beneath the sea of his guilt and his self-loathing until he couldn’t tell which was which. He just couldn’t—how was he supposed to force it all down when Foggy had just come so close, so dangerously close to shattering what few pieces remained of Matt’s crumbling armor?

It was bad enough loving you the way he did only for you to slip through his bloodied, desperate grasp like whispering grains of sand. What was worse, this entire disaster was one of his own making, a series of mistakes whose snarled, winding paths led inevitably back to him just like they had so many times before in his life. This loss of someone who’d truly understood him, accepted him, cared for him had already broken something inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to repair. But that fracturing inside him would surely rise up to consume him if Foggy were right, if you’d truly cared for him that deeply before your memories were taken, so deeply that you might even have…

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you. 

Abruptly Matt’s surge of rage drained away and his head fell, leaving him feeling all the more empty and broken. He braced his arms weakly against his desk, drawing in a shaky breath as he forced himself to confess, his voice gone hoarse and ragged with grief. “I loved her, Foggy.” He lifted one shaking hand to his face. “God, I loved her so, so much. I can’t… I don’t know what to do without her now that she’s gone.” “I know, Matt,” Foggy said gently. “I know.” “I loved how she always smelled a little like coffee, and the way she always managed to wind up climbing into the oddest places for a case. She had one of the foulest mouths I’ve ever heard, but I swear she could use it to talk her way out of almost anything or to bring someone up out of whatever dark hole they were trapped in. She was… far kinder than she’d ever admit.” His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it, the expression miserable and gutted. You’d have likely argued with him about how kind you were if you’d been here. But there was no chance of that now, no matter how much the scent of you on the air told him otherwise. “Some days it felt like she was the only thing holding me together, like the only time I could breathe was when she held me in her arms. She was always there when I fell apart, or when it all… when it all started to hurt too much. And I tried to give her whatever pieces of me the Kitchen hadn’t already taken, to be there for her like she was for me, to keep her safe. We were finally going to make our relationship official when she came back, her and me, even if there’d… already been something there for a while now if I’m honest.” 

And it had, it had been there, this soft, tender thing that had developed slowly but surely between the two of you, a tangling that came by degrees rather than all at once. It had sprouted, grown, and blossomed so gradually that even now he struggled to point to any one moment where it had truly begun—the night he found you in the warehouse, maybe, or that first game of Devil Hunt, or when you’d both almost taken the leap before he’d realized you were drunk. But the question of where it began didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was there, something nameless yet still so good and warm and perfect, a connection nurtured in the low light and the blood-soaked soil of the Kitchen. You’d felt it just like he had, and you’d been willing to take that chance with him despite the baggage he carried behind him like an anchor destined to drag him down. You never would have agreed to kiss him when you came back otherwise. Now that chance was gone. 

“How much did she know before she left?” Foggy asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. 

”She knew that I-that I wanted to be with her, but I never told her that I loved her.” Matt blew out a slow, heavy breath. “I was too scared of chasing her away, I guess. I thought maybe when she came back, if she still wanted me, I would… I decided that I would tell her. But I waited too long. Now she’s gone and I’ll never be able to tell her. All because of me.” 

He finally lifted his head, tipping it at Foggy. Neither of them dared mention the wetness on Matt’s cheeks. Even speaking about this—about how much he’d loved you only for him to ruin it—was almost more than he could bear, the edges of the wound still fresh and raw. Then again, maybe he deserved that pain after how miserably he’d failed you, just like everyone else in his life. “I miss her. And what’s worse is even when she’s right there in front of me, she’s not. She’s not, Foggy. Because I-I fucked up. I’m the reason the woman I knew, the woman I loved, died. I’m the reason she’ll never remember what we had, why I’ll never hold her again, and why she’ll leave New York at the end of the month like she does whenever she’s afraid of forming a connection.” He let out a bitter laugh, waving towards the windows, towards the place you’d once held dear. “I couldn’t even keep her here before. She almost ran last summer and the only thing that stopped her was being kidnapped. That was what slowed her down long enough for our thread to turn red, not me. She won’t let that happen a second time, not now that she’s seen what happens to people I care about. Do you understand?” 

The door to Nelson and Murdock creaked open, Karen’s voice making its way in first. Her voice was followed only a moment later by another’s, one still so familiar. 

“—I mean, winding up in a pool while chasing a kid sounds about right for me, so even if I don’t remember, I won’t argue—”

“I had to keep you here somehow.” Foggy’s voice remained quiet, but there was no disguising the ferocity in it now, the fervent belief. “Get out of your own head and talk to her, Matt. Fight for her. She would want you to.” 

No. 

No, no, no.

Your body may have been here, whole and real, but the woman who’d known him wasn’t. The song of your voice, your sweet scent, the flames of heat and stirred air currents around you flaring into a familiar shape: all of it was nothing but a lie, a snare for his senses, a ghost of his own making, and he wasn’t about to be caught by it again. 

He darted back around his desk, shoving his way past Foggy on the way toward the front door, his heart racing. If he was quick, if he just put up enough of a front, he could get out before they trapped you here with him like they’d planned. He wouldn’t relive this grief again, he couldn’t, not without falling apart. The moment he’d had with you in his apartment had been enough agony for one lifetime. 

“Hey, Matt.” You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly on your feet where you’d stopped by the front door. Your stance was cautious and guarded, almost wary of him. It was just one more reminder of how uncomfortable he made you now. “Are you—”

“Heading out,” he said stiffly, only belatedly remembering to trace one hand along the wall as if his heightened senses hadn’t given him a clear map of the room the moment his adrenaline spiked. That spike was a curse all its own. It made the scent of you so much stronger, the lie of it fresh and present as it twined around him. His chest hitched just once before he forced himself to breathe his mouth. But that route of escape had been cut off, too. All it did was shift his focus to the taste of you on the air, and the taste of familiar fabric once so tenderly given. 

You were wearing one of his shirts. 

He fumbled for his cane, his hands starting to shake before he finally found it where he’d left it against the wall. He couldn’t let you see him like this. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t remember him, nor was it your fault that he’d lost you. He’d done enough damage without adding a layer of guilt to what you were dealing with, too. But despite his attempts to hide what he was feeling, his face a hard mask, your fingers still brushed gently against his arm a moment later. It was an offer of help, or maybe an attempt to reach out, to slow him down, to connect. It was a kindness, a sympathy he didn’t deserve. Even now, you read him far too well, this touch the same as it had been that first night he’d met you when you’d gently brushed your hand against his arm. “Hey, do you need… I could walk you home.”

He shied away from your touch, finally managing to roughly unsnap his cane before going for the door. “I’m fine. I just—I have things to take care of. Excuse me.”  

He went straight home and showered, but no matter how many times he scrubbed, he couldn’t seem to wash the ghost of your scent away.

You slowly wandered around Matt’s office, taking it in. This was another place you’d supposedly frequented, a place that should have been familiar, and one you'd avoided until now.

Even though Foggy had assured you it was alright, it felt… almost wrong to explore a stranger’s space like this without them present. But you couldn’t help but brush your fingers across the battered desk and the small labels in braille you couldn’t read, run your hands along the chair for clients that you might have sat in once, and trace curiously the small seashell next to Matt’s laptop. The base scents of Matt were stronger here where he spent so much time, only partly erased by the smell of coffee and paper. The room was clean, cared for, and well-organized despite how rundown the office was. Important to him. You could tell that much, even if the scents and sights had failed to spark any memories.

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough. 

This was about more than just figuring out who you were, now. For some reason, you needed to know who Matt was, too: this man Jane Hind had cared so much about and who’d cared so much about her. You told yourself it was practical. Matt was your best bet when it came to remembering who you’d been. But some part of you deep down recognized the lie. No, there was something in you inescapably drawn to him, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe that strange, unnatural gravity was what had started this whole mess in the first place. What was it about him that was so different, that had driven you to break every last rule you’d lived your life by for over a decade? 

And why… did you spend so long wondering if he’d ever climbed out his office window?

It had been twenty-nine days, and not a single memory had returned. 

Oh, there were beats now and then when you thought that maybe, just maybe something was coming back, but those moments were painfully few and far between. Even in those moments, you couldn’t say remembered anything, exactly. It was more a frustrating sense of deja vu, a fleeting little itch at the back of your mind like you’d forgotten something important, flashing road markers to warn you of the dark, empty gaps in your memory. That sense was probably driven at least in part by Foggy’s growing desperation as he frantically hunted for something that might trigger a return of your memories. 

But the rest of that feeling… the rest was all you. 

There was no denying a traitorous part of you wanted to remember no matter how ill-advised it might be. You wanted to remember this bizarre little family you’d stumbled into and then lost, just like in Los Angeles. You wanted to remember the love you’d had for this place, this city, this taste of mutual affection that had grown up around you after going so long without. After endless ages and ages of drought, of starvation, you hungered for even these bare crumbs of connection, something to tide you over until you found safe haven on the distant horizon. What a tempting thought it was to slither back into the life of this woman who’d been so cruelly murdered and replaced by a stranger wearing her skin.

Was this what a demon felt like when it took over a body? To walk around with someone else’s face, to speak with the unnatural voice of the dead, tormenting the loved ones that remained? 

That, ultimately, was why it didn’t matter what you wanted. Your presence in this city only spread rot and suffering. It would be better for everyone involved if you left like you should have long before now. Then they could all grieve without you tainting the very soil around them. 

Especially Matt. 

You’d seen him once or twice in passing as your time in New York wound down. Even at a distance, you’d marked the growing circles under his eyes, dark enough to be visible despite the glasses he always wore. The rest of him wasn’t doing much better. It seemed like every time he crossed your path, there was another bruise, another cut across his face or knuckles, a shifting canvas of pain painted across skin grown pale and drawn. He didn’t just look tired—that wasn’t what this was. This was something far worse, a haggard exhaustion, a weariness that couldn’t be solved with sleep, if he slept at all. This was someone being haunted. 

Probably because the ghost of Jane Hind kept crossing his path. But that would be solved soon enough. 

You’d already packed up your things, not that you had much to take. Just your bag and your memory box. You’d be leaving the next day. Foggy was still convinced he had a few more days, but you had other plans. You couldn’t give Matt back the woman he’d lost, nor could you give him a body to bury, a grave to lay flowers across, but you could give him what Jane Hind had carried with her until her dying breath. 

“I thought you might… want these before I left tomorrow,” you said quietly. “I… sorry, it’s… it’s a bag with my—with her things.” 

Matt took it carefully from you, the motion mechanical and stiff. He hadn’t really invited you the rest of the way into his apartment, the two of you now stalled out in the hallway just beyond the closed front door. He hadn’t taken his glasses off, either. It made it harder to read him, his face closed off and impassive, a wall of red glass placed firmly between you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen his eyes even once since that day you’d first come back, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t like feeling vulnerable, either, though that was just a guess when it came to what he might be feeling. 

“It’s the shirts from her apartment, which I think are yours. And the stuffed bear.” You bit your lip and released it slowly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “And the… the mug, which Nelson said was yours, too. The one you used at her place. I also put the hoodie in there, the one she had with her while she was traveling. And…” You reached into your pocket, fumbling for a moment. God, you were bad at this, unsure of just how to do this without hurting him any more than was absolutely necessary. It wasn’t a concern you usually dealt with since your goal was almost always the exact opposite, a precaution meant to destroy any threads of connection they held with you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t giving you much to work with, though you didn’t miss his subtle flinch when you drew the key from your pocket. “I thought you might want this, too.”

You cautiously edged forward, daring to breach the ring of radiant heat that surrounded him, the closest you’d come to him in almost a month. He went stiff as you approached, his jaw growing tight as the gap between you both closed. Another step, and his head cocked as if he were listening to your footsteps, or maybe… maybe he was just waiting to find out what you had to give him. But he wasn’t telling you to fuck off or just set your gift aside, which was a good sign. So you hesitantly reached out and brushed your fingers lightly against his bicep, a signal so he knew you were about to pass him something. 

A breath.

He remained absolutely still amidst the sudden, crackling tension in the air as your fingertips skated gently down and around his forearm, stirring all the little hairs, his skin shockingly warm. All you’d intended to do to take his arm and guide it up so you could place the key in his hand, but you quickly found yourself distracted by a ragged scar along the back of his forearm, one your fingers seemingly made their way to on instinct. It was a deep scar, the original cut likely made by some sort of blade, the edges of it rough and uneven from messy stitching. Your curiosity got the better of you, so much so that you missed the way Matt had begun to hold his breath.

“Who fucked up the sutures on that?” You furrowed your brow, your thumb smoothly marking out the jagged line of it. “They did a terrible job. No offense.” 

Matt’s face fell and you only realized too late just who it was that must have patched him up. 

Before you could blink, he’d yanked his arm out of your grip as if your touch had burned him. “Don’t,” he grit out, his chest heaving as he put a few steps distance between you both. “You can—just put your key on the bench.” 

“How did you know—” “Because there’s only one thing left it could be.” 

You nodded weakly, taking a few steps back towards the little bench beside the door. That unfamiliar ache, that sense of wrongness was back, the weight of it settling uneasily in your chest like a stone until you almost wanted to retch. It didn’t help that Matt was just barely holding himself together while you were here. 

Best to say what you’d come to say and leave him be. 

You gently set the key down, and the quiet click of the brass against the wood seemed to echo in the hallway, a graveyard bell tolling with a looming sense of finality. What you were about to tell him would hurt, you knew it would, but maybe one day he’d find comfort in it. This—a sign of what she’d felt—was the real gift you’d truly come to give, the only true token of her you could offer. Your words, when you spoke, were almost as hoarse as his. “I thought you should know I… she wore it. The key. I asked them. She wore your key and she never took it off. Not once. Whatever you both had, she treasured it, and all she wanted was to get back to you. She didn’t leave you by choice, Matt. I hope that… that helps.” 

Of all the things you’d said and done, it was this that finally seemed to break him. His face twisted in a sudden wave of grief, and regret hit you all at once. You quickly took a step towards him, one hand out, though you weren’t sure what you’d do if he reached back—it wasn’t like you knew how to comfort him, and you sure as hell didn’t know if he’d tolerate you holding him again, nor whether he was someone that needed some sort of touch when he was hurting. But before you could take another step he’d flinched away from you, retreating quickly back into the darkness of his apartment, his voice ragged. “Just go. Get out.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, backing away towards the door. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”  

It shouldn’t have hurt as you closed that door one last time. But you cried all the same. 

Somewhere within the apartment came the sound of splintering furniture and a hoarse scream wracked with grief.

“Look, Nelson.” You tiredly adjusted the strap of your duffle bag over your shoulder, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as if it would stem your growing headache. “I know it’s a day early. But another twenty-four hours isn’t going to make a fucking difference.” 

“I don’t need another day!” he pleaded, his arms spread wide where he’d blocked your front door, ensuring you couldn’t leave your apartment until you’d heard him out. You’d had no idea he even had a key until today and, not for the first time, you cursed Jane Hind’s apparent lack of common sense. You did not give out keys, or at least, you hadn’t before coming here to this ridiculous fucking city. “Just five minutes. That’s all. I’ve got one last thing to try.”

“Maybe I don’t want to try one more thing!” you snapped bitterly, dropping your hand. That anger was a good cover for the way something sharp and prickly had begun to catch in your throat, the incident with Matt still fresh in your mind. “I’ve tried for a month, and it’s gotten me nothing. Fucking-fucking bars and random rooftops and a shitty little duck, goddamn penguins and keys, and none of it did shit! Jane’s gone, ok? She’s dead. And I’m sorry, I know you all cared about her, but I’m done—”

“Have you climbed inside a thread?” 

“...What?” you asked in sudden bewilderment, your rage abruptly faltering in the face of pure confusion. “What the fuck does that even me—”

He let out a whoop, practically dancing on his feet. “Yes! I knew it! I can’t believe no one told you!” 

“Told me what?!” You chucked your bag back onto your couch in sudden exasperation. If this was thread-related, at the very least you could stay long enough to listen. “There’s nothing to climb!”

“Ok, so stick with me.” He rubbed his palms together eagerly, a bright light in his eyes. “Because I’m about to get really metaphysical.”

It took you what felt like hours to climb inside the shimmering honey-colored thread that lay between you and Matt—a thread that sang with his sorrow and your reluctant sympathy. 

It wasn’t right having your soul constricted like this, all of who you were narrowing down into something so small as you squirmed through a barrier that tasted and felt like dirt and earth, chasing after the sound of trickling water. There wasn’t supposed to be anything on the other side. It was an emotional connection, nothing more.

And yet here you were, standing in a place that had no reason to exist.

“Holy shit,” you whispered in amazement, spinning on your heels to examine your surroundings. “Holy shit, he was right.”

Despite the late hour, the air was full of a muted light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, tinting the world a hazy, eerie green. High up above you roiled thick, sullen black storm clouds, silent flashes of red lightning carving their way between swirls of charred smoke. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see by.

And what you saw was heartbreaking. 

You stood in a dry, stony riverbed. The ground beneath you was cracked and brittle where the water had receded, leaving behind nothing but dust and broken branches. The river itself remained though just barely, the thin trickle of flowing water down the center of the riverbed a far cry from whatever immense force had carved its way through the landscape until the banks were a good ten paces from one side to the other. The terrain beyond the river didn’t look much better, wilted, drooping cattails dotted up the bank before giving way to endless forest that stretched farther than your eye could see. Like the cattails and scrub, the pine and fir trees stood withered and brown, casting their empty branches up toward the sky. 

If it had been beautiful here once, whatever had happened to you had destroyed that beauty. 

“Jesus,” you whispered. 

“Can you hear me?” Foggy’s voice sounded distant and far away, tinny like he was talking through a long tunnel. 

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

“...Ok, if you’re trying to respond, I can’t hear you. But according to Matt, whenever you were here, it felt like memories. So poke around, see what you can find.”

You sighed and started down the riverbed. “Not super helpful, but ok. Let’s give it a shot.” 

The water was the most obvious place to start, and you made your way over to the thin stream that ran raggedly across the parched soil. Much to your fascination, you quickly discovered that what you’d thought was one current was actually two, one layered over the top of the other, each flowing in the opposite direction. The first of those currents hiding on the bottom was fairly calm, steady if a little restless, swirls of pale color that almost felt like curiosity, though how you understood that translation was a mystery. The second current seemed far rougher where it roiled atop the first, its section of the stream cloudy and thick with swirls of black and the red of an open wound. You hovered over the second current for a long moment, working up your courage, before you finally knelt and hesitantly brushed against it with one finger. It was just water. How bad could it be? 

The moment your skin made contact, your chest seized on a sudden swell of agony. Your mouth filled with the taste of grief, with the sound of an empty home, the lack of some familiar scent that meant affection and warmth and softness and safety, the ache of an old wound reopened just when it had started to heal. Alone, always alone, I deserve it, so many gone, he was right, when will I learn? There was no hope for comfort from that pain, no escape from the darkness into tender arms that could hold you just right when it all hurt. All you had to look forward to was more— 

You threw yourself backward, scrambling away from that terrible current as if what you’d felt might rise up and chase after you, snapping its teeth the whole way. You didn’t stop retreating until your back slammed against the dry soil of the riverbank. Only then did you stop, panting, your eyes wide in shock as you cradled your hand against your heaving chest. 

Emotion. It’s emotion.

That was what the water was. Matt’s emotion. Which meant the other current—one now shifting back to yellow despite a momentary surge of twisting, roiling black—was… yours. 

Right. So you could rule the water out. But if that was emotion, where was memory? 

Examining the rest of the river was the most obvious next step now that you’d ruled out the water. Based on what you could see, the original riverbed had been a mix of silt and stones of varying sizes, a firm foundation beneath a once-powerful river. Now, though, the grey, dried-out silt was covered in a strange sea of divots and dips, as if something—a lot of somethings—had been plucked up and removed. You traced one of the indents in the soil curiously, lifting your hand back up to consider the grit as you rubbed it between your fingers. Another glance around revealed the answer. 

The stones. 

There were still plenty of stones remaining in the riverbed, but the divots in the dry silt told you there’d once been far more. If that was what you’d lost, then maybe…  

You rocked up eagerly to your feet, pacing around breathlessly as you searched for a promising stone to start with. Eventually you made your pick, plucking up a stone just small enough to fit in your palm, flat and smooth save for a little groove in it as if someone had run their fingers over it endlessly. Strangely, it smelled like honey and herbs, the surface oddly warm against your hand like the brush of a thumb against your mouth. You waited for a long, impatient moment, and when nothing else happened, you tapped it a few times. 

Still nothing. 

And something inside you… cracked. 

“Fuck!” you screamed, hurling the stone back down the river in a sudden rage. The pain and the loneliness you’d been suppressing for the last month, the last year, the horrible, endless eternity since leaving your family in Los Angeles began to claw its way up your throat, the clouds churning wildly above you in response. A wild rain came next, each droplet sharp and cold and edged like the blade of a knife, bitter and biting as it beat against your skin. You grabbed another stone, one that tasted like shitty beer—Josie’s beer. You threw that rock, too, then another and another, throwing stones that smelled and tasted and felt like your shriek of laughter as he grinned and caught you against his chest, like torn flesh and a needle held by tender hands, like your face nuzzling fearlessly against Matt’s throat as he whispered comfort into your hair and held you close, like synced breathing and hearts and dances between binary stars as you both fell into sleep, fell into safety, fell into one another, phantom sensations that only made the fierce ache in you grow stronger because with every stone you snatched up it became clear that… 

You’d been loved. 

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world. 

Not the walls you’d put up in front of him before he’d found some way past them. 

You. 

And he’d loved you with every part of him. 

You weren’t sure when you started crying, a violent, vicious stream of tears that was just as much a product of rage as grief. Here was someone who’d loved you fully, loved you despite every asterisk and bit of baggage and sharpened edge that came with being a broken hound, with being a former experiment still on the run. But you barely noticed your tears, spitting up at the unforgiving clouds and the howling wind, because you could howl, too, just as violent, just as much a threat as any storm in this place. “I want my fucking life back! I want him back!” 

You hadn’t wanted it before, or maybe you had and you’d just been too afraid to ask for it. But now? Oh, oh, now you were furious, furious and hurting and screaming, because you’d denied yourself connection all these years only to find it in the last place you’d expected. That was what this had been—home, family, love. That had to be why you’d stayed in New York, why you’d risked everything for these people, for Matt. You weren’t an idiot. You’d have run the numbers and the math, made your calculations.

You couldn’t bear to lose this. Not… not again. 

You threw stone after stone, hunting frantically as your fingers bled dry, desperate fury into the air, reddened drops disappearing before they ever hit the ground. The trickle of water in the center of the riverbed had churned itself into a frenzy, but you ignored it. There had to be something here that would trigger a memory, something that would let you remember being loved again, something big enough, important enough, so you grabbed and you grabbed and grabbed and grabbed and grabbed until at last, you found a stone the size of your fist. You snatched it up with a ragged sob, cradling it greedily against your chest as if doing so might let you carry it out of here, because you wanted it, you wanted him, wanted to remember more than anything in the world. 

“Let me have it!” you snarled, snapping your teeth at the howling winds of the storm as if you might catch this place between your jaws and tear it open until you at last found what belonged to you. “Give it back!” 

And with a blink—

He tore one of his bloodied gloves off, his hand shaking as he reached out to you.

You stilled the moment his fingertips brushed tenderly against your cheek, so very gentle, affection layered over blood and earth and hurt. And god, your skin was so terribly dry and cold, the beat of your heart uneven as it struggled to pump blood through your body, but he could feel you react to him, the barest parting of your lips as you dragged in a startled breath. He didn’t want to startle you further or risk you fighting him, so he let his voice drop into a whisper, soft as the brush of a feather.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

‘I heard you,’ he tried to say. ‘I heard you. I’m here.’

And your weakened heart… skipped.

He wasn’t sure if he reached for you or if you reached for him. All he knew was it was the sign he’d been looking for. In a heartbeat, he scooped you up off the floor, stealing you back from that dry, filthy cement and crusted blood that had tried to take you from him. He cradled your cold body against his chest, then, held you there where it was warm and where you were safe. You made the softest little noise, the sound choked and dry, but there was no disguising the heartbreaking relief in it. He pulled you in further, pulled you up until you were curled up in his lap, not an ounce of air left between your bodies, your head laying against his shoulder.

He would never let you touch the floor of this place again.

“D…” you mumbled, not one hint of fear in you despite what he’d just done, the blood on his hands and the burning heat of violence that still lingered in his bones. You wearily slid your head over, inch by inch, until you’d buried your face against the sweat-slick line of his throat, nuzzling in against him with a hoarse sigh that only made him hold you tighter. You inhaled slowly then, heedless of the blood and dirt and sweat that coated his skin, your fingers coming up to hook weakly in the collar of his shirt. “You came.”

And you… smiled.

He buried his face against your hair and let out a shaky breath. As he did, he dug down past blood and dust and dirt, dug and dug until he found the sweet, familiar scent of you, a scent he never wanted to leave him again.

The stone fell from your limp hands, a ringing in your ears you could barely hear beneath the sound of the water nearby, frothing and wild. 

The increased sensory feedback had been bizarre, and there was… there was no reason he should have been covered in so much blood, his body burning as if he’d been fighting before coming to you. But…  

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called. 

“D.” The letter felt strange, and yet… natural, as you cradled it on your tongue. “D?”

And you knew what came after that letter, shaping the word again in your mind. 

You knew. 

You… remembered. 

“Always,” he’d said. 

“Always,” you whispered, casting your eyes up the riverbed towards another large stone. “Always, D.”

He didn’t know what you were doing or why you’d climbed inside the thread. 

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt. 

“You’re stuck with me, unfortunately for you.”

He’d thought catching your scent, hearing your laugh, being forced to take back the key he’d given to you had been the worst of it. But no. It was far, far worse having to relive these memories of your time with him over and over and over without pause, his senses filled with you: with your touch, with your scent, with the taste of you on the air. He heard you whisper, laugh, and sigh; felt the brush of your fingers in his hair and your body shaking with laughter when he snatched you up during a game of Devil Hunt and the safety of you as you’d held him so tenderly after his fight with Foggy. All of it was a reminder of what he’d lost, what he’d never get back. 

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

He was in agony. There was no blocking you out like this, no escaping your memory no matter how much he tried to push back or retreat, until he wound up trapped and spiraling in his kitchen. 

“Kiss me when you come back.”

On and on it went, memories snapping at his heels until all he had left to hide behind was rage. He swept his arm across the counter, glass shattering as he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually he found himself backed up against the wall, sinking down as he hitched out something like an agonized groan, his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, please—”

“Adoringly yours, because I do adore you, you ridiculous man...”

“Leave me alone,” he whispered. “Just leave me alone.”

“...Remember that. if nothing else.” 

In hindsight, it was a really bad idea to give back your key.

“Matt!” you shouted, pounding frantically on his front door. “Matt, let me in! It’s me, I swear, I can-I can—”

Silence. 

And you weren’t willing to wait any longer. This wasn’t something you could explain through the door, out here in the hall where the neighbors could hear. You needed to get inside. You knew he was in there somewhere. 

Red threads never lied.  

You wiped the blood away from your nose and took off for the stairs. It was only one flight up to the roof, and sometimes he left the rooftop door unlocked. Even if it wasn’t unlocked, you’d use the key under the mat. You didn’t remember everything. But you remembered that. And if the key wasn’t there? You’d break that fucking door down.

He sat unmoving in his meditation pose on the floor, the sound of your attempts to get into the apartment distant and far away. Meditation had been the only thing left he could think of that would allow him to escape the pain and the memories of you that had flooded his thoughts. Like this, with his mind and his focus withdrawn until it lay deep within himself, he’d hoped he’d be far enough away from the world that the ghost of you couldn’t reach. 

Yet even deep in meditation, his instincts were set off by the crack! of his rooftop door slamming open.

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his heart racing as he bared his teeth, his body prepared to face whatever threat had just broken in. The sensations of you, at the very least, had quieted during his meditation, which should have left him enough space for some small margin of peace as he threw himself into a fight. But that peace was nowhere to be found, because you were here again. 

He recoiled from that thought the second it crossed his mind. This wasn’t you, that much had become painfully clear. You’d passed away somewhere far beyond his reach, away from the home, the life you’d lived here. The woman that stood on his landing now was nothing but a ghost, a fading memory and a terrible reminder of what he’d had and lost, what he’d earned by daring to reach for something good. There was no undoing it, no washing away the blood on his hands. If anything, how he felt for you had doomed any hopes of you staying long enough for him to reform that connection with you. He knew how you operated—hell, you’d tried to run on that hot summer night so many months ago after seeing just how much he’d cared, even if you’d ultimately changed your mind. At the time, he’d thought it was Destiny, the hand of God ensuring you remained in the Kitchen where Matt could keep you safe from the Man in the White Coat, here in this place where you both might… might shape something good out of all the broken pieces you’d both been left with. He knew better, now. Even the hand of God couldn’t break the curse Matt placed on those he loved. You would leave, leave like all the others, and he deserved it. 

The only question that remained was why you seemed so, so fucking determined to make him suffer. 

“Matt.” Your voice cracked as you stumbled down the stairs. “Matt, I—”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, sweetheart?” he grit out, reaching up to fist his hands tightly in his hair. He’d never known you to be unnecessarily cruel, but there was no other explanation. “God, I-I can’t—you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Matt, just let me—”

“Do you even care how much you’re hurting me?” He hitched out a broken laugh, something bitter and tormented, the sound absent all humor as you made it down the stairs. “All those months, all I wanted was for you to come back. I begged. I prayed to God, over and over again, that he would bring you back to me. And now that you’re gone, you just won’t leave. I can’t get away from you no matter what I do. Do you know what that’s like? To lose someone you love only for their ghost to haunt you every time you turn around?”

A soft intake of breath. 

There it was. Now that he’d said it, you’d leave. There would be nothing more frightening to the You he’d first known than a word like love. 

“I just…” His breath hitched again, something thick building in his throat. It was just another sign of his weakness, the same weakness that had gotten you killed. 

‘I warned you, kid,’ came Stick’s voice, so smug that Matt bared his teeth. ‘I fuckin’ warned you the night I opened up her eye. But you didn’t listen.’

He started to pace wildly, ignoring your voice as he hunted for some opening through which he could escape, flee from Stick’s voice hiding in the corners of his thoughts, from your ghost. With every step his movements grew more frantic, more furious as his rage built like a rising wave: rage at himself, at God, at the monster who’d taken your memories and the possibility of a life for you here with Matt, and at you, too, because you just didn’t get it. “I just want to grieve, and God can’t even give me that much, can he? Is that what this is? Punishment? Revenge? Congratulations. Job well done. You can go.” 

You tilted your head as you watched him pace, the same cock of your head you got when considering your potential routes forward. As far as he was concerned, the only route he’d give was a route out the door.  

“I don’t know why you came back, and at this point, I don’t fucking care,” he told you hotly, nothing but burning smoke and thick venom in each word. “We don’t have a red thread anymore. There’s nothing to keep you here. Leave. Now. I’m not asking.”

Your soft response was a single letter, one that struck directly at the open wound inside his chest. 

“...D.” 

He snatched up an empty beer bottle from the kitchen counter in a sudden rage, turned, and hurled it past you. 

You didn’t so much as flinch as the bottle came within inches of your head. Nor did you react to the distant shattering of glass, the sound of it barely audible over his anguished roar. 

“Leave me alone!”  

And then he froze in sudden horror at what he’d done, his heartbeat almost drowning out the soft sound of your steps. All he’d wanted to do was scare you away, frighten you away so he could break where you couldn’t see, because it had hurt, it had hurt to hear you call him—

Wait. 

You’d… you’d called him…

“My Devil Man, my Saint Matthew,” you whispered, the touch of your hands cool and endlessly gentle as you cupped his face. His skin was wet, damp beneath your thumbs as you swiped them across his cheeks, when had he started crying? You brought his head down until you could lay your forehead against his, the taste of salt hanging in the air. Your voice grew achingly tender, so longed for that he swayed helplessly on his feet, wanting nothing more than to be held like you’d held him so often before when he was hurting. “I’m so sorry, D. I’m so sorry I left you alone, sweetheart.” 

He closed his eyes tight, his breath growing shaky. You couldn’t know that he was two steps away from crumbling in your arms, fractures widening with every breath. He had no energy left to fight your touch, your misplaced mercy, but giving into the lie was another thing entirely. He couldn’t bear to hope again, not when it would crush him if he were wrong. “Foggy told you to… he told you to call me that, didn’t he? To see if you’d remember. But I can’t—you’re going to leave me, you’ll—” “Do you remember what I said before I left? Because I do.” You swiped your thumb gently against his cheek, your uneven breathing skipping and falling into rhythm with his as his hands shakily rose. They hovered hesitantly a few inches away from your face, terrified that you might vanish beneath his hands like a ghost. “I don’t leave my box behind, and I won’t leave you behind, either. I told you that you were stuck with me after Nobu. I meant it. It’s really me. I know you’re tired and hurting, sweetheart, but listen to my heart. What does it say? Truth or lie?”

…Steady. 

Truth.

Could it really be you?  

He held his breath as he dared at last to touch your cheek, stirring the fine hairs as he stroked his way along the familiar shape of your face, one he’d traced so often in his dreams. Your skin was damp with tears just like his, another sliding down to bump against his thumb as your lips quirked up into a brilliant smile. And the moment his trembling fingers passed your lips, you kissed the tip of each with a warm fondness, a mirror of that night you’d held his broken, torn body and he’d kissed your fingers and palm. 

“How much do you… do you remember?” There was a ringing in his ears as the world beneath him seemed to roll beneath him. “Everything?” “Not everything. Some pieces are still missing, with Foggy and Karen and my job, but I-I remember enough. I remember you, and what I had with you.” Your voice grew fierce and fervent then as you drew in a sharp breath, preparing yourself. “I remember you, D. And I remember that I love you. I love you, Matt Murdock, all of you, so, so much. And I will never leave you alone again.” You loved him. 

You loved him. 

The weight of it—being forced to let you leave the city, the ensuing months alone, the agony of the past few weeks thinking he’d lost you entirely, and now this, this, knowing you loved him like he loved you—hit him all at once, and with a sudden groan he started to drop. You caught him in your arms, the two of you sinking to your knees as you held him tight and he wound desperately around you in return. Only then did he start to fall apart in your arms, shaking in your hold, his grief, his hurt, his relief spilling out in choked gasps where you’d tucked his head down against your neck. He fisted his hands in your shirt as you both rocked, and a ragged moan tore free from him, spilling against your skin when you lifted your hands to trail your fingers lovingly through his hair. You knew, you remembered just how to hold him when he was hurting, a balm across every last wound. His shivering, touch-starved body remembered your touch, too, drowning beneath the sudden surge of good, warm, safe, soft after months of nothing but pain, so much so he couldn’t help but gasp out your name. 

“I’ve got you now, D,” you whispered, burying your face against his shoulder until he could feel the heat of your tears against his shirt, too. “I’m here, now. You’re not alone. I’ve got you, Matt.” 

“I thought you were gone.” There was no way for him to truly sync his breathing with yours, not with the way you were both crying, but still his body tried on instinct, tried and failed over and over again. He closed his eyes tighter, burying his face deeper against your throat as he pulled you in even closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space between your body and his, where he could feel every beat of your heart against his skin, as if to make up for the way he’d almost… almost chased you away. “I thought you’d left me and I was alone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, and that I didn’t-I didn’t go with you, but I couldn’t—I’m so, so—” 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok.” You kissed shakily at his hair, his shoulder, and whatever other parts of him you could reach, your breath, your tears, your absolution washing over him like rain. “It’s not your fault, D. It’s not your fault sweetheart. None of this was your fault.” 

“But—” “Hey. Listen to me, before you get any further down in that hole.” You lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his tear-stained face in your hands again. For a moment you both simply breathed with one another, your forehead to his, soaking in the contact, the affection that you’d both dearly missed and needed. “What happened to me outside New York, my memory loss… all of that is not your fault. It never was, D. There are-there are a lot of things we’ll have to deal with in the future, things I need to tell you. Consequences of what we’ve done, and—but this isn’t one of them. Never this. You’re what helped bring me back.” “How? I didn’t…” He let out a breathless, watery little laugh. “I didn’t do anything but try to chase you away.” “Some part of me couldn’t help but be drawn to you. I remembered, deep down, I think.” You gave an amused little huff. “And once Foggy showed me how to get into our thread, all your memories are what brought me back, helped me remember, because I could feel it, how you loved me. That was the key. Speaking of which…” You leaned in to nuzzle up against his cheek, your voice lowering to a whisper. “I think I made you a promise, you ridiculous man. And it’s one I intend to keep.” 

And with one small tip of your head, and a single slow breath… 

“Kiss me when you come back.” 

…your lips brushed against his for the very first time, tender and achingly soft, and so full of love that it would have stolen his breath away if he’d had any left at all. 

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d envisioned months ago just before you left, something triumphant and wild. Nor was it anything like the first kisses he’d imagined before that, the first kiss he’d thought this journey with you might lead to. And God only knew he’d considered kissing you for the first time more than was healthy.

Your first kiss with him was, instead, shaky and gentle, tasting of salt and tears and the fading shades of grief retreating like streamers of night before a welcome sunrise. Slowly, and then more surely, his lips began to move against yours, finally allowing himself to truly taste you for the first time, his eyes slowly falling closed as your fingers ran fondly through his hair, you, it was really you, you remembered. With a quiet moan, he breathed you in deep, calling your grace, your love deep into him until it settled there against his heart, knowing that, no matter what else might come, he would never lose it again, one of his hands rising to tenderly wind around your throat, his other hand finding yours so he could lace his battered fingers tightly with yours.

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d expected, but it felt perfect all the same. 

Because all that was left was him… 

And you. 

#the red thread #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x f!reader #daredevil #matt murdock #fic #fanfic #reader #x reader #f!reader #angst #hurt/comfort #tw: alcohol #tw: depression #memory loss #matt is really self sabotaging here to an extent #this fic is three times longer than Part 1 which is hilarious #i have had this in my docs folder for ages and have finally edited it to my satisfaction #gonna post this on AO3 too but dropping it here first since the first fic was only ever posted here anyway! #and you'll get to have a fun 'Pasta writing 3 years ago versus Pasta writing now' experiment #when i post on AO3 i'll probably post the whole thing (including part 1) as one fic in separate chapters just for ease so I'll edit it then

[macksartblock]

Sketches from my shift last night, I’m haunted by the idea of a giant Lego teen

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #lincoln li wilson #scary marlowe #normal oak swallows garcia #taylor swift dndads #6’3 Lego teen is terrifying to picture I’d also have a crisis if I were to experience that #ALSO the ‘cool scar’ Lincoln got from a glass shard the previous ep would’ve needed to be deep as hell or huge #like I buy it healing into a cool scar but as someone with a scar on their face when Matt said that I pictured SO much blood #not dab worthy it’s like hold something to your head or you get blood everywhere level #circulation makes injuries on the face/head just seem crazy #dndads spoilers #my artwork

[mattmurdeaux]

The LA sunlight, happiness, and being free from the throes of chronic depression (even if it's just for a little while) is a good look on you, Matthew 💕

#daredevil #matt murdock #charlie cox #she hulk #she hulk spoilers #so satisfying to see him to finally experience some happiness post dd s3 #he's likely going to be morose in his new show so he should be allowed to have a little hot boy summer in LA #id in alt text

[mangoposts]

0337

The time was 3:37am when my phone began to vibrate against my bed, snapping me out of my relaxed state just moments before i was falling into sleep.

“Hi Matt, you okay?” I answer as if my peace wasn’t disturbed anyway, because well, It’s Matt.

“Yeah baby i’m okay, but uh, i’m outside” He laughs a bit through the phone and my once hazy eyes sprung open when I took in his words fully and realized he meant he was outside of my house at 3:41 in the morning. I quickly look down at my sweatpants and big sweater attire,

“Why don’t you at least warn me before coming at this hour? I could’ve been sleeping.” I scolded him like this at least 1 hundred times in the past, and his answer is always the same.

“I know, I just wanted to see you again” Even though i know his answer, It makes me grin to myself every time. I say nothing before hanging up and making my way to quietly exit my room, the cold morning air hitting me all at once when I open my front door after slipping on my shoes.

I smile to myself again when i get view of Matthew giving me a thumbs up from his spot in the drivers seat through the window of his car parked across the street. And i’m immediately letting out a breath i didn’t know i was holding in the second i close the passenger side door and sink into the warm seat beside him. “Cold?” He reaches to turn up the heat even more before turning to me and i’m a bit speechless as his eyes carried a lot of glint despite the darkness, the street light casting a slight yellow glow onto his face and eyes, reminding me the blue colour of them.

“Are you comfy?” He asks again, and i answer by softly grabbing his crewneck and pulling him into a gentle kiss. I feel his lips curl into a smile while they’re pressed against mine and he lets his cold palm rest against the base of my neck comfortably, pulling me closer over the center console. Despite the rest of our bodies being nothing less than freezing, his lips are warm against mine and i feel the heat start to fill my body the moment his tongue enters my mouth, the wet muscle beginning to mix with my own as we swap saliva. He pulls away with a sigh and a lazy grin

“I guess you’re comfortable, then.”

#This is based off of an experience i had the other night 😬 #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt x reader

[gob-lob]

bro i can watch gore in tv and i can even kinda sorta tolerate sex scenes but i cannot handle second-hand embarrassment. please get me out of here i want to die this is so humiliating i can’t watch this anymore

#daredevil #it’s so good but I’m stuck on this ep bc I can’t get past 1 minute of awkwardness #it’s been paused for the last 10 minutes i’m trying to comfort myself through it but it’s not working #S2 E7 Semper Fidelis is the ep btw #they’re at court and they need to give an opening statement and they’re woefully unprepared and Matt’s not there and ohhh my gosh 😧 #this is so so embarrassing it’s painful #I always experience such strong second-hand embarrassment in everything 😭😭😭 hate it so much

[valfeathers]

hairstylists hate him

#matt death note #mail jeevas #his game sprites with the silvery hair inspired this #also i wanted to do more yellows #whenever i feel like experimenting w colour my first instinct is to draw matt for some reason #hes my silly #death note #wammy boys #(boy: singular) #i havent drawn w colours this bright & happy for a While lmao #death note fanart #v’s gallery

[aeons-behind]

critical role c3e90: a story told in captions

#it wouldn't be a bells hells mission without at least one chaotic catastrophic incident let's be honest #or even a dnd mission tbh #although it also could've been a LOT worse so #this was around the 3 hour 10 minute mark if anyone's curious #also if anyone has ways to improve the image description please let me know #i did my best but i also have no experience with alt image ids or screen readers #critical role #bells hells #critical role campaign 3 #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #ashton greymoore #taliesin jaffe #fresh cut grass #sam riegel #cr3 #c3e90 #matthew mercer #matt mercer #dnd #dungeons and dragons

[banannabethchase]

I feel I'm rubbish at these, cos I don't give prompts, it's more a collection of words like "HangMatt, with lingerie maybe" *shrug emoji* 😉 Oooooh! Would you ever consider more details on the Hangman Matt experiments?? 🥺

Look So Good Underneath Me - also on AO3

~

Adam decides to try a new one of his experiments with Matt, and decides on pink panties. It backfires. Deliciously.

~

Jules I need you to be aware that this is ENTIRELY your fault. This prompt isn't rubbish, it's pure GOLD. Thank you! Title from Pink G-String by Scene Queen.

~

“I have a present for you,” Adam says once Matt picks up the phone. He lights up immediately.

“A present?” he asks. “What kind? Can I see?”

“Not until Dynamite,” Adam says, fighting his own grin. “You gotta wait.”

Matt huffs. “This is one of your stupid experiments again, isn’t it. Is this like the time you bought me a neon orange butt plug and had me wear it the night we won the six-man tags in Ring of Honor? Is this a throwback?”

Adam throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, my god, no. But we should revisit that. That was good.”

“But it is an experiment,” Matt says, and when Adam turns his eyes back to his phone screen, even FaceTime can’t hide Matt’s interest. “Right?”

“Maybe,” Adam singsongs. “Maybe I just want to get something pretty for my boyfriend.”

“So it’s something pretty!” Matt says, like he solved some sort of puzzle. “Just tell me.”

“Nope,” Adam says. “You have to wait.”

Matt groans, sounding like Adam’s high schoolers would get when he’d tell them they couldn’t skip any more classes or they’d fail. “Is this like the edging thing you did back before the pandemic that backfired?”

Adam frowns. “No. God. Why would you remind me of that disaster?”

“If I’m miserable, you’re miserable,” Matt says, with a grin.

“What a horrible line,” Adam laughs. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you,” Matt clarifies. “But you’re being mean to me so I figured I’d give it back to you.”

“Cute,” Adam says. “Very cute. I wish you were here so I could fuck that smug little smile off of you. I’ll have to wait until Wednesday, though.”

Matt turns pink. “Miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” Adam murmurs. “I’ll see you soon. Two days, okay?”

“Two days,” Matt confirms. “Love you.”

“I love you more.”

Adam hangs up and has to shove his face in a pillow with the stupid, fluffy feeling building in his chest. It’s been months back with Matt, and before that years with and without him, and he still gets all dumb about him.

When he’s finally gotten his shit together and has stopped mooning over his boyfriend, Adam grabs the box he’d ordered and pulls out the pink lacy thong, neon and so flimsy it’s almost pointless.

The sight of it alone, the image of what Matt might look like wearing it, is enough to get him hard. He gets off looking at a photo of Matt, and curling the lacy fabric in his free hand.

~

“Hi!”

Adam turns to see a familiar flurry barreling toward him and leaping into his arms.

“Hey, baby,” he says, hugging Matt close. Matt’s legs around his waist feel like home. “It’s only been a couple days, you really miss me that much?”

“Uh-huh,” Matt says, burying his face into Adam’s neck. He sighs. “Plus you did the teasy thing again with the present, and now that I see you, I know I’m gonna get it.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it alright,” Adam says, sliding his hand up Matt’s thigh.

“For the love of god, not in the airport.”

Adam brushes some of Matt’s hair out of the way. “Oh! Hi, Nick.”

“Hey,” Nick nods. “Can you put my brother down, please?”

Matt lets out a long suffering sigh as he slides down Adam’s body to the floor. “You ruin the fun, Nicky.”

“I ruin the public indecency charges.” Nick hits Matt in the back with his own backpack. “Grab your stuff so we can all get to the hotel and I can have some peace away from you two heathens.”

“Heathens, schmeathens,” Matt says, rolling his eyes as he grabs his backpack and Adam’s hand. “I’m not the one who was checking out Billy Gunn’s ass last week.”

“Really!” Adam says. “Nick, do you have a thing for Billy?”

“Shut up, Matt,” Nick grumbles. He won’t meet Adam’s eyes. “Matt, you said you wouldn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but it’s Adam,” Matt says, like the name alone gives context. “You know. We tell him everything.”

“You tell him everything,” Nick corrects, shaking his head with a little smile on his face. “I try to keep a little mystery going.”

~

It’s a whirlwind to get back to the hotel, and they end up with less time than Adam had hoped to get ready. He’s in the middle of unpacking when Matt shuffles past him with his carryon thrown over his shoulder. Always the performer.

“You know you don’t have to show off the biceps all the time for me to think you’re hot, right?”

Matt throws a grin over his shoulder. “Yeah, but it’s fun.” He unzips his bag, and Adam is…concerned.

“Oh,” Adam says, blinking. “The white gear.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, taking the white gear and putting it carefully into his venue bag. “I thought you like the white gear.”

Adam bites his lip. “Oh, I do. I definitely do. I just, uh,” he turns around to go to his checked luggage, and pulls out the poorly wrapped gift. “Here. Open it.”

Matt’s brow furrows. “Oh, I know what this is.”

“You do?” Adam asks. “How?”

Matt locks his eyes on Adam’s as he rips it open, pulls out the box, and pulls out the panties. “Because you’re predictable, Adam.” He grins. “You’ve always liked me in pink.”

“Okay, see, but who wouldn’t?” He crowds into Matt’s space until Matt’s back hits the wall. He brushes some of Matt’s hair over his shoulder, careful to graze his fingers against Matt’s neck, just to make his shiver. He leans in, lips at Matt’s ear. “You look so good in it.”

Matt exhales. “Why are you doing this to me when we have to be at the venue in twenty minutes?” he whispers.

“Because I like it when you get riled up.”

Matt laughs. “So predictable.” But he’s breathing a little heavily, his eyes are a little blown, and he can’t stop looking at Adam’s mouth. “I – do you want me to wear this under my gear? Because, well, Nick and I thought white gear because it goes with everything, but we also brought something else.” Matt steps away from Adam and reaches into his bag.

“The purple and black and white would definitely make it harder to see the thong through the clothes.” Adam licks his lips. “Then it’s just you and me who know. Maybe I’ll snap at it a little during the match, just to remind you.”

“Okay, seriously, this is just mean,” Matt says, and he folds his arms across his chest. “You better get me really good after Rampage. I don’t care how tired I am.”

Adam tilts his head. “I – what?”

“You heard me,” Matt says, sliding a leg between Adam’s. “You’re gonna rail me so hard after tonight’s match, when we win those belts back, it’ll be like we’re back in our Ring of Honor days.”

Adam blinks. “That might be the most dominant you’ve ever been, and it’s begging me to fuck you. You’re an enigma, baby.”

Matt is snippy and on edge the whole night, and Adam fights the urge to laugh when Kenny says, “Jesus, what crawled up your ass.” Matt huffs and glares at Adam.

“Are you two in a fight?” Nick asks. “Because if you two are in a fight, I’ll be forced to kill you if we don’t win tonight. I don’t want to commit murder.”

“We’re not fighting,” Adam says, and his expression is apparently not blank enough because Nick groans.

“Jesus, you two,” but at least he’s laughing. “Don’t even tell me. Just,” he turns to Matt, “be normal for the match.”

“I am normal!”

“Are not.”

“Are too!”

“Okay,” Adam says, stepping between the two of them before they get each other riled up in the bad way. “Why don’t we all get back to the locker room and start getting ready, yeah?”

“I’ll see you three later,” Kenny says, eyes not leaving the screen next to Tony. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

It’s early to get ready, with Rampage just starting, but Adam would rather Nick and Matt be bitchy in private than to gather an audience.

“I don’t know why I got dragged in here,” Nick says, rolling his eyes.

“Because Matt’s bitchy and you were goading him,” Adam explains.

“Yeah, Nick –”

“Nope,” Adam says, shoving him into a chair. “Not on your side, baby.” He takes the moment to loom over Matt, who goes all giant eyed and soft. He adds the next sentence in a whisper. “Be good.”

Matt nods. “Okay.”

“I’d say teach me how to do that,” Nick says, flopping into a chair, “but I think that would be gross.”

Adam laughs. “No shit, Sherlock.”

They watch the rest of the show as they slowly pull their gear on. Nick is rambling about shoes while Matt stays extremely close to Adam.

“Matt, I’m not gonna fuck you until after the match,” Adam murmurs, disguising it with a kiss to Matt’s temple.

“Why not?”

“We have, like, twenty minutes before we have to be at gorilla.”

Matt gets this little smile on his face. “Well –”

“No!” Adam laughs. He falls onto the couch next to Matt and grabs him around the waist. “God, you’re the worst.”

“You both suck pretty bad right now,” says Nick, but he’s smiling down at his phone, so Adam thinks it’s not too bad. He resists the urge to ask if it’s Billy.

“I gotta go put on my gear,” Matt says, and he winks at Adam. When he gets his things out of his bag, Adam feels a shiver run up his spine when he spots a hint of neon pink. From where he’s bent over, Matt flashes him a grin that makes Adam rock hard in seconds.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and he realizes far later than he should have that, as much as this experiment messes with Matt, it’ll mess with him, too.

~

Adam thinks the universe is an absolute dickwad by sending Swerve out in the middle of his match with Matt. He’s able to focus when he gets flashes of pink, so slight and so infrequently he’s sure no one else can see it. But it powers him, and it focuses him, and it reminds him why he’s here.

He catches the pink in the corner of his eye right before he pins Cage.

“We did it!” Matt says, breathless and grinning, belt in his hands as he walks backstage. “We won!”

“We did,” Adam laughs, and he’s not doing the best job of staying in the moment, stuck on Swerve and what he might do next. “Holy shit, we did.”

“Hey,” Matt says firmly. “Focus on right now.” He raises his belt and bumps it with Adam’s, and it feels like a promise. “We did it.”

Nick barrels in. “Not to interrupt the love fest, but Hung Bucks champs for life!” He throws his arms around the both of them, and they stumble their way into a wall. Adam’s happy, the kind of soul expanding, deep, long term happy he only feels around Matt, around Nick, around his friends.

The way he used to feel around the Dark Order. But he’s going to listen to Matt. And he’ll focus on right now.

Still tangled with both Bucks, Adam pulls back a little and grins, locking eyes with Matt as he slides his hand down Matt’s back, just under the hem of his pants, and snaps the waistband of the panties.

Matt looks deliciously scandalized, the pink across his cheeks and the smile making it very clear where his mind went.

“Okay,” Nick laughs. “Let’s get backstage to the –”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Tony practically stomps over to them. “I need you two – not you, Adam, unless you want to, I guess – to help coordinate Ubers and Lyfts for some of the talent.”

 Matt blinks. “Why?”

“Because it’s much later than we usually wrap up Rampage and it feels like, I don’t know, wrong to have everybody just try their best to find a ride back to the hotel when it’s past midnight.” He wrinkles his nose. “And I have to talk to the owner of this place about how, no, the blood isn’t going to bring a bad reputation to the place.” He gives Nick a look. “Unless you want to do the political work.”

“I will begin setting up Uber and Lyft rides as long as you never threaten me with politics again,” Nick says. “Come on you, two. Adam, you can talk on a phone, right?”

“Literally no,” Adam says. “Like, anxious millennial is my whole vibe.”

“Deal with it,” Nick says, and he grabs Adam and Matt by the wrists and yanks them over to a quieter space.

Adam makes so many phone calls. So many. Matt, next to him, is chattering away with a big smile, and the tiny hint of pink peeking out from the back of his pants is enough to make Adam’s brain fry.

They go on like this for twenty full minutes, call after call to coordinate between people. The worst is giving specific Uber and Lyft codes out to talent until they can barely read numbers, until Tony comes back from his meeting with a smile.

“You three,” he says, pointing to them, “are godsends. The owner of this place figured out what was happening and thought that we could use that to combat any blood related PR for the night, so no more worries about the way things look.” He exhales. “Go back to the locker rooms, get ready to go. They’re giving us an extra forty-five minutes to clean up and give you time to get yourselves together.”

“Great,” Adam says, blood suddenly no longer in his head. “Wonderful.”

“I’m heading back to the hotel now,” Nick says, typing on his phone. “I can shower there. I’m beat.”

Adam laughs, almost accidentally. “Come on, Matty, let’s go clean up.”

Nick goes with them to get his gear, and Adam’s so hard he’s getting dizzy. Matt can’t even know how the way he bends over flashes the tiniest hint of pink every time, how Adam can tell, through the pants, Matt’s in a thong that Adam bought for him. For some ungodly reason, Matt pulls on a tee shirt. A shirt. He’s covering up that perfect body more.

Adam feels like a dick, but he tries to silently will Nick to pack faster.

Matt yawns a little, stretching enough to reveal another flash of pink, and Adam snaps.

“Nick,” he says, voice sounding tight. “Need help packing?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Nick says. He throws his bag over his shoulder. “You guys wanna get Denny’s or something?”

Matt opens his mouth, but Adam barrels over him. “Nah, we’re good.” He shoots Matt a look that he hopes conveys ‘stop talking so I can fuck you into oblivion.’ “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Nick narrows his eyes, studying Adam’s face, and Adam tries to stay as neutral as possible. “If you end up on the news tomorrow for whatever this,” he waves his hand, “energy is, I’m not bailing you out.”

“Deal,” Adam says. “Fine. See you tomorrow. Love you. Bye.”

Nick’s still laughing as the door swings shut behind him.

“What is up with –”

Adam doesn’t give Matt the time to speak. He collides with Matt, grabbing at his shirt, ripping it at the hem at his haste to get it off.

“Mine,” he growls against Math’s mouth as he kisses him.

“Oh!” Matt yelps. “Oh, yes, love this.”

Adam shoves Matt against the wall, leaning in to suck a bruise into Matt’s neck, down his shoulder. Matt hums into it.

“I kind of liked that shirt,” he pants. “You ripped it.”

“Yeah?” Adam asks. He grabs at Matt’s thighs and lifts him. “Deal with it, baby, I’m gonna wreck a lot more.”

Matt lets out this delighted, high pitched little whine. “God, took you long enough.”

Adam drops Matt on the massage table, scrabbling at the waistband of Matt’s gear pants. He grabs Matt’s hand and pins it to he massage table when he tries to help, and Matt exhales.

“God, yes,” Matt exhales. “I love it when you get this way.”

“You in those fuckin’ panties,” Adam grumbles, roughly yanking Matt’s gear pants down. He lets go of Matt’s hand, needing an assist, and Matt reaches above his head to grab at the top of the table.

“Yeah?” Matt asks, lifting his hips so Adam can yank the pants down. “You like them a lot?”

“I can’t stand them,” Adam says, and he doesn’t even take the time to take the panties off. He leans in, mouths at Matt’s dick through the lace, and the whine that comes out of Matt is almost enough to make Adam come in his pants.

“Adam,” Matt gasps. “Oh – take ‘em off, now, I need you to fuck me immediately.”

Adam pulls back, grinning. “Did you just swear?”

Matt pushes up on his elbows. “Did you just stop?”

“Fair point.” Adam pulls back and locks his eyes on Matt as he walks back to the bags.

“Why are you leaving?” Matt asks, breathing so hard Adam can see the movement. “Come back.”

“Gotta get lube, baby,” Adam says, grinning. He slides his hand in his bag, and it’s right in the front pocket, in the ziplock one quart baggie that made the TSA agent blush. He flicks the bottle open with one thumb, and Matt drops back with a thud against the massage table.

Adam gets back to Matt and unbuckles his pants as fast as he can, his cock springing from his boxers when he shoves them down his hips. It’s almost a relief. He grabs Matt’s legs, yanking him half off the table.

“Yes,” Matt says. “Yes, now, anything.”

Adam laughs, and it sounds a little dark to his own ears. “Slow down baby, we gotta get you nice and open first.”

Matt whines, one of Adam’s favorite sounds, and throws his legs over Adam’s shoulders without another request. Adam presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh. “I gotta take these off first.”

“Okay,” Matt says, but Adam stops him before he moves his legs. Adam leans in and carefully grabs the band around Matt’s thighs with his teeth, dragging them down a thigh. It’s harder than he would have expected, but with a little help from his hands, the panties are gone. He shifts, ducking so he can yank them off and throw them somewhere in the room.

“You have no idea how hot that was,” Matt pants. “Get in me.”

“Hold on,” Adam laughs, turning to bite at the soft skin of Matt’s thigh. He drips lube on his fingers and watches, rapt, as he traces Matt’s hole for a second, listening to Matt’s pained whimpers.

“Adam, please.” He sounds like he’s near to tears. “I can’t wait any more. Please.”

Adam slides a finger inside of Matt, and it’s so easy, like he’s made to fit inside of Matt. Matt exhales and his body relaxes.

“Not enough,” he gasps, “but better.”

Adam grins as he works in another finger, Matt pleading for more as each twist of his fingers presses up against his prostate. With the third, Matt’s heels press into Adam’s shoulders so firmly Adam’s pretty sure there will be a mark.

“I’m ready, and you know it,” Matt bitches. “I want it now.”

Adam drops Matt down, grip iron on Matt’s thighs, until he’s at the right angle. Like this, he can pull Matt down on his dick, the leverage so perfect it feels impossible.

“Oh, god, yes,” Matt groans. “That’s – holy fuck.”

“Two fucks in one night,” Adam quips, finally clearheaded now that his dick is buried in Matt, “what a surprise.”

“I could go for two in one night,” Matt says, and he uses those obscene biceps and a grip on the table to fuck himself on Adam’s dick. “Back at the hotel?”

“Focus on getting railed right now, Matthew, Jesus,” Adam laughs, but he can’t stop smiling. It’s been years since they started doing this, months since they fell back together, and it’s still this good. He still can’t get enough of Matt’s attempts to keep a conversation going, of the way Matt yanks him down for a kiss, the way he’ll grab at Adam’s hand even when it’s impossible to hold hands.

“I love you,” Adam says, “just wanna make sure you know.”

“I know,” Matt says, eyes fluttering closed as Adam adjusts the pace and the angle. “I – know, Adam, I love you too. I wanna come soon, please?”

“You asking permission now?” Adam chuckles. “That something you might wanna try? Me saying no?”

“Not today, but yes,” Matt says. He’s got his teeth sunk down in that pretty pink lip of his, and Adam has to lean in and kiss it, just for the moment. He taps Matt’s leg to make sure he hooks it right around Adam’s waist, then moves his hand, still slick, to wrap around Matt’s cock. Matt whimpers when Adam keeps his grip lose and not quite what he wanted. He was tortured earlier with knowing all of this was covered in pretty pink. Matt can get a little teasing too. Only, he realizes, as he loosens his grip even further, now he’s thinking about those panties, and what Matt would look like in another pair, and his brain is flames again.

“Matt,” Adam laughs, a bit delirious, “fuck, I think this experiment backfired.”

“I disagree,” and he sounds far too put together. Adam picks up the pace of both his hand and his thrusts. “I – oh my god, right like that – think it proved that I look good in panties, right?”

“Yeah, of course you do. But I think it fucked with me more than it fucked with you.” He digs his fingers into Matt’s thighs, tightens his grip on Matt’s cock. “God, I want to be inside you all the time. Next time I’m fucking you with the panties on.”

“Yes,” Matt whines. “Yeah, get – get me all kinds of colors, rip ‘em off me.”

Adam isn’t used to feeling this, like he needs to fuck Matt and won’t settle until he does, like being hilt deep in the man is the only thing that will keep him stable. He may have accidentally edged himself, which he didn’t realize was possible to do. “Anything,” he growls in Matt’s ear, and he bites at Matt’s thigh. Matt gasps.

“If me in undies does this to you, I should have gotten some sooner,” Matt laughs breathlessly. But the laughter fades quickly as Adam fucks into him like his life depends on it. “I – just like – this is different – don’t you dare change anything or I’ll – yes!” Matt comes spectacularly, so emphatically it gets up on Adam’s chin, and it’s enough to make Adam’s head spin with how he’s the one who made this happen. He’s the one who gets to see Matt like this, who gets to fuck him, who gets to love him, who gets every perfect and messy piece of him.

When he comes, he wonders if he’s allow to start thinking about proposing again.

“Jesus,” Adam says, exhaling as he pushes Matt back up the massage table. He drops his elbows down on the massage table, dropping his forehead on Matt’s messy belly.

Matt laughs, hands sliding into Adam’s hair, gently stroking. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m glad we have our own room. Think how weird it would have been to do it in the locker room when anyone could walk in.”

Adam raises his head. “You say weird, but I think you mean hot.”

“Of course I mean hot, but I’m trying to be a normal person.”

“Nope,” Adam says, and he presses a kiss right above Matt’s belly button. “Not allowed to be normal. If you were normal, you wouldn’t be Matt.”

They kiss and touch and gently wash in their private shower. Adam shares his shampoo with Matt and tries not to think of how it’ll make Matt smell like him, how it’ll make everything that much more difficult for him to manage knowing Matt feels even more like his.

They stumble out of the showers naked, drying off together, and dress with the slowest hands and most wandering eyes.

Adam thinks they’re in the clear, for once. Most of the roster is long gone, Nick’s at the hotel. Tony’s probably packing up. They might have time to waste. He and Matt are giggling at each other, hands all over each other like they’re in high school behind bleachers, packing up their stuff, when the door swings open.

“Any of you EVP guys got a – the fuck is that?”

“Is what?” Matt asks, and his expression is so clearly feigning innocence that it’s almost embarrassing.

Mox laughs, nodding to the corner of the locker room by the showers. “I bet those are yours, Jackson. You always look so good in pink.”

Adam’s and Matt’s heads snap over to – yup. Matt’s panties are still in the corner.

“Oh,” Matt says, biting his lip. He looks over to Mox, and Adam can see the way he steels himself. “Yeah, they are. And I do look good in them. You’re right about something.”

Adam thinks his own astonishment is reflected by Mox’s face. “Oh,” Mox says. “Okay. Yeah, didn’t see you admitting to it so easily. Damn.” He scans Matt’s body, then his gaze flickers to Adam. “You ever want a third, you got my number.”

“What?” Adam asks. “I thought you hated me.”

Mox laughs so hard and for so long it gives Matt the time to grab the panties from the corner of the room and stuff them back in his venue bag. “Oh, dude, no.” He shakes his head. “You think I would put myself in the position to get my hands all over the two of you in matches because I hate you?” He chuckles, almost condescending. “Jesus, you’re stupid. I love it.”

“What did you even come in here for?” Matt asks, planting his hands on his hips. He’s got a that little blush back, high on his cheeks. Adam knows what that means.

“I figured one of you two would have a phone charger.” He wiggles a gigantic brick in his hand. “Only room in the building with a light still behind it.”

Matt scoffs. “I have a charger, but maybe not for something that ancient.”

“It’s got a lightning plug!”

Adam snorts. “Sounds like a butt plug brand.”

“That is not a butt plug brand,” Mox says, at the same time Matt goes, “I’d buy from them.”

Adam watches the two of them lock eyes, and that blush rises up Matt’s cheeks even deeper red. But, Adam notes, it’s matched by one on Mox’s cheeks. “Okay, well, if you two are done eye fucking, we can find you a charger.” Adam decides to keep the idea that just popped into his head safe for later, when he and Matt are alone.

“We weren’t – we didn’t –” Matt looks over at Adam, panicked, but settles at Adam’s grin.

“Yeah, we were, baby doll, and I think he liked it.” Mox winks at Matt, then Adam. “So. Where’s that charger?”

~

Mini Playlist:

Pink G-String - Scene Queen

Thong Song - Sisqo

Do Me - Kim Petras

3 - Britney Spears

#HangMatt #This is one of those fics where I really hope nobody in it or related to it ever sees it #WHOOPS #wtf i like wrestling now??? #in which sara writes #Matt Attrackson #anxious millennial dreamboat #angelkitty32001 #4500 words of pure filth #the matt experiments

[a-magical-evening]

Have you ever seen a UFO yourself?

#trey parker #matt stone #i had the weirdest experience rediscovering this moment #because i remembered there was once a time when all i knew about trey parker #was that he believed he'd been abducted by aliens #and somehow i'd forgotten it #my stuff

[definitionofacritter]

Some more tweets from Matt following this week's episode:

All important and good to hear. That second to last tweet instills dread and hope and comfort. Dread that Liam and Ashley (and Marisha?) would choose to pursue another character. Hope that they won't, because Ashley was just talking about how much she loves Fearne, and Liam has been waiting so long for Orym, and Marisha is loving Laudna and Lady D.

Most of all: comfort that, even if they get an obvious retcon, it's at the request of the player and prioritizing their "home game" experience rather than the audience.

Trust the process. Breathe through it. We will make it through.

(Bonus: this is the only clear theory tweet in Matt's likes and, seeing how it was a comparison I made last night and it's the only one like this in his likes, I am eyeing it suspiciously—)

#critical role #matt mercer #bells hells #orym of the air ashari #fearne calloway #cr spoilers #cr speculation #trust the process trust the dm trust the experience

[shiorimakibawrites]

Even at the grocery store, I can't escape Matty.

#personal experiences #matt murdock #daredevil #not promoting

[disastress-i-guess]

#its the boi #fun fact i drew this while listening to anamarie forcino's video about Matt Walsh being clueless about asexuality #i didnt purposefully pick that video it was in my watch later and auto played #but anyways #being an ace drawing an ace while listening to some guy tslk about how aces dont exist was quite the experience #if i wasnt drawing this i probably woyld have yeeted my laptop out the window #anyways anamarie forcino is a queen and you should check out her videos #and matt walsh can go fuck himself #the disastrous life of saiki k. #saiki fanart #saiki no psi nan #saiki k #kusuo saiki #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #why am i getting pissed over something from like what a whole year ago

[sunburnacoustic]

Matt Bellamy, Will Of The People tour 2023, via plug_in_bell on Instagram

Keeping my mouth shut here and expecting absolutely nothing from Museblr. Expectations in the basement. In the gutter, even.

#Muse #muse band #matt bellamy #muse live #2023 #WOTP #WOTP tour #WOTP era #Please can I once in my life experience this. How does one man with a guitar feel so deeply #(Actually I exaggerate; cursed with being a guitarist I kinda get what he’s saying #But I usually need to have been up until 6 am guitar in hand to come close to this man’s nightly nirvana) #Music #musicians

[stxend]

wholeheartedly believe matt murdock would drink la croix. i think he would be so obnoxious about it and everyone would be so mad at him. "oh he wouldnt like the bubbles" he likes his water to hurt him in a way that psychologists are concerned about

#him.txt #i am saying this as someone with severe sensory issues toward water and a large purchase history of seltzer waters #a white boy cracks open a la croix and everyone around him starts to boo (based off of real experience) #daredevil #this is about waid matt specifically in my brain but honestly all of them are little shits