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shiorimakibawrites · 7 days

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Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @bellaxgiornata, @flynnethenerd Also posted on AO3

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

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You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

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Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

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Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

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Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

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Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers �� with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appealed by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #part 1 of 2 #cat man do #a03 link

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heyitsrink · 8 months

Text

"He tasted of ginger and wine, and the air around us smelled sweet and perfumed, like lily of the valley, its delicate blossoms crushed tenderly between our chests."

• • •

These lovely words and the scenario depicted are from Ch. 19 of @tragediegh's brilliant fic Of Cats And Closed Doors

#rote #realm of the elderlings #ocacd #of cats and closed doors #rote fanart #fitzchivalry farseer #the fool #fitzloved #fitz and the fool #this fic is healing all the hurt that rote inflicted on me #seeing them happy is all i ever wanted #fan art of fan fic #fan fiction #not my words

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finntheehumaneater · 4 months

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Hello! For the angsty-ish prompts, maybe “Didn’t you see what I did?!” and Steddie? (Or another pairing, should the mood strike you!)

Hallo!! So…I maybe saw your ask and got super fucking excited…and possibly wrote this way too fast. It turned out to be longer than I expected, and went in a totally different direction than I had planned, but…here it is!!

(I didn’t read this over, so apologies for any mistakes lmao)

angst prompt list | hurt/comfort prompt list (for people who don’t like angst :D) {more about the asks in my pinned post}

CW: some gorey description used in a metaphorical sense (blood, bones, guts, ripping skin, etc.)

Sometimes relationships weren’t meant to last—“we’re family” lost its meaning to him over time—and that made Eddie want to claw out his bones, hands shaking and blood everywhere so that he could die in peace and not have to worry about pushing anyone away again. He pushed away his mom, and then he never got the chance to get her back. He let his dad do he pushing for him, because he was so fucking tired all the time—came out of that with scars and bruises and a deep cut that ran down his chest, carved open and horrible. No one sales could see it but him. Sometimes it wasn’t there. But it still felt like it. In a way, his dad still had pieces of him that Eddie would never get back.

He pushed his uncle away at first, snapped at him and yelled and threw things, because he was a kid and he was angry, but Wayne was stubborn and just held Eddie as he kicked and screamed and sobbed. And Eddie loved Wayne. He was more of a dad to him than his real one had been. He never forced Eddie to do anything he didn’t want to, and Eddie only finished high school because he didn’t want Wayne to feel disappointed. Like Wayne would ever be disappointed in Eddie. He didn’t make Eddie talk to the neighbors or go out and do things—but Eddie did those anyway, sometimes, to just give Wayne a break.

And the trailer was nice, until they lost it in ‘86. When Eddie’s broken body made it back, more ruined than it had ever been. He had woken up in a hospital bed, wires stuck into him with needles and a blue hospital gown covering him. There was no one with him. He was alone. It’s not like he expected anyone to be there, but maybe Wayne waiting for him to wake up would have been nice. And it hadn’t been a slow kind of waking up like he had seen in movies—blinking up at the ceiling and trying to remember where you were—it had been the fast kind of waking up, like the one you would have after a nightmare. He was upright in a second, sobbing before he could even breathe in.

A nurse came in shortly after and got him to lay down for a while. He asked where his uncle was, and she told him that no one was allowed to visit. She said she was surprised that they hadn’t handcuffed him to the bed, and her voice sounded bitter, like she wouldn’t have liked it if they had.

After a few hours, she had him sit up, and she untied the back of the hospital gown, sliding the blue-and-white dotted fabric off of his shoulders to look at his chest. And Eddie couldn’t really look down all that well, so he just let his head drop as gently as he could, chin pressed to his chest. And he didn’t know why it made him cry so hard to see a line down the front, all stitched up with a thin line of blood leaking down the middle. But maybe it was because the nurse seemed to notice it. Maybe because it made him think of his dad. Maybe it was because it just made everything feel more real.

Some of the stitches were torn—probably because Eddie refused to stay still, all of his body feeling like it was itching and squirming and twisting in ways that hurt—so the nurse fixed them and then gave him a hug. He didn’t know that nurses could do that. He had been in the hospital loads of times as a kid. For when he “tripped down the stairs” or “fell out of bed” or “fell off of his bike”. He didn’t even have a bike until he moved in with Wayne. And whenever he cried, then, the nurses would just look at him like it was an inconvenience for them, and his dad would tell him to shut up so that they could finish up and get out of there. He was eight. That wasn’t fair.

After a little while, Wayne was allowed to come in. And he didn’t say anything at first. Just sat next to Eddie and held his hand while Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but he knew he was going to.

Wayne couldn’t stay forever, because he still had to work. The government hush-money was fine, but they needed that to afford the apartment Wayne had found just outside of Hawkins, so everything else came from his job. When Wayne couldn’t be there, Eddie was alone.

Until Steve Harrington started showing up. Honestly, it was a miracle that the fucking armed guards outside let Steve in, seeing as they weren’t family—barely even friends—but Eddie knew why. Before Steve started showing up, Eddie would talk to the guards. It was more like yelling through the locked door to them, just trying to keep himself busy so that he didn’t break down again, like he so often did. And he’d just talk about anything and everything to them, even though he knew it pissed them off. He kind of did it because it pissed them off.

So having Steve in there with him meant that he would stop bothering the guards. And Steve was mostly quiet, but he would tell Eddie what the kids were up to, and how his neighbor—Max

Mayfield—was up to. She was a good kid, he thought. The two of them had never really introduced themselves to each other, but sometimes Wayne would have Max over for dinner when her mom would go out drinking. That was rare, though, because Ms. Mayfield mostly stayed home to drink. And there were times when Max didn’t want to be home, so Eddie would take the couch and let her sleep in his room for the night until she felt safe enough to go back home. And Ms. Mayfield wasn’t like how Eddie’s dad had been, but she scared Max in a different way. No kid should have to see their parent passed out on the couch that often.

She was in some kind of coma, according to Steve, but she was getting better. He said she opened her eyes a few times, but that didn’t really mean anything, and he knew it. Eddie tried his hardest not to cry when Steve was around, because the first time he had done it, Steve had panicked and looked uncomfortable. He knew it was because Steve had been tired and Eddie had just burst into tears suddenly when one of the IV wires tugged too hard as he moved his arm—but Eddie still felt bad.

Sometimes it happened, and he would wait until Steve was leaving the room to curl up into the bed as best as he could and just cry. And sometimes Steve would turn around and come back to sit with him, to hold his hand and just let him cry for as long as he needed, but most times Steve would leave and Eddie would be alone again.

Steve was there a lot for him when Wayne couldn’t be. And Wayne was trying his hardest, but his boss was strict and he wasn’t allowed to leave early or call in sick. Steve was there when Eddie had to try walking for the first time in three months. Steve was there when Eddie had to start doing Physical Therapy a few times a week. And Steve was there when Eddie had been discharged.

Steve took him to his house, and not to Wayne’s apartment, because Eddie wasn’t really over losing the trailer yet. He let Eddie sleep in the guest bedroom, but they ended up sleeping in the same bed when Eddie’ hobbled over to Steve’s room to lay with him after Steve woke up screaming. Eddie didn’t really have nightmares all that much, because he thought about the shit they had been through all too often, but Steve seemed to try and push those thoughts away.

Eddie woke up with Steve curled into his side, his face pressed against Eddie’s arm, one hand curled across Eddie’s chest and into his hair—over the scar down Eddie’s front that still felt like it was bleeding all the time, even though it was closed. And for a minute, Eddie felt a little safer, turning as best as he could to wrap his arms back around Steve, nose pressed into his hair as he just tried to breathe and go back to sleep.

When they woke up, Steve moved away and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to pry Eddie off of him as gently as he could, because Eddie was still half-asleep and his limbs felt stiff and imoblile. He made fun of Eddie a bit for hugging him in his sleep, before he went down to make food, but Eddie didn’t mind.

He got up and tugged on one of Steve’s t-shirts that he found, before putting back sweatpants from the day before—because Steve had told him he couldn’t wear his jeans until his legs were a bit better, in case they hurt him. Eddie didn’t think that would happen, but the sweatpants were easier to move in considering how stiff his legs always felt. And if it made Steve happy, he’d do it.

He limped down the stairs, nearly slipping—which had happened before—but he caught himself on the railing and went down the straits slower until he was on flat ground and could hold onto the wall better until he got to the kitchen.

Steve had his back turned to him, looking through the refrigerator for bread to make toast, because Eddie was one of the pickiest eaters alive, and was tired of the off-brand cereal he got to eat at the hospital. Eddie struggled to pull himself up onto the counter for a moment, and when he got up there, one of the knobs from the cabinet was digging into his spine—but being up there made him feel taller than Steve, so he stayed.

Steve turned around with the bread, doing a little spin that made Eddie laugh—before Steve saw Eddie and let out a strangled scream, throwing the bread bag near him.

Eddie leaned forward and caught it, smiling to himself. “Morning.”

“Jesus Christ…” Steve breathed, sighing and running his hands down his face, his cheeks flushed as he snatched the bread back and walked over to the toaster.

“Nope. Just Eddie,” Eddie muttered, grinning, but he didn’t really feel happy. Because after this , he was going to be leaving, and then he was probably going to avoid Steve. But he might not have to, because why would Steve want to see him after this, anyways? It was just pity.

Still, Eddie couldn’t help but ask the question that had been gnawing on the back of his mind like some kind of rabid dog. He cleared his throat and looked down, feeling the tears burn in his eyes even though he hadn’t said anything yet. “Why did you let me stay?”

“Hm?” Steve hummed, and it sounded absentminded, like he wasn’t really listening as he put the bread into the toaster and pulled the switch down until it clicked.

“Steve?,” Eddie tried again, and this time Steve turned around. Eddie looked up, and fuck, Steve was looking at him with those eyes again—all concerned and pitiful. And Eddie wanted to rip himself open, peel back his skin and show Steve all of his damaged parts—all of the pieces that he didn’t show anybody else. But he didn’t. He just swallowed and asked again, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, stepping between Eddie’s knees and placing his hands on Eddie’s thighs in such a casual way that Eddie wanted to scream. “I mean…you’re in my house.”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie muttered, his face burning red as he looked away, vaguely feeling a few tears slip down his cheeks. “Don’t avoid the truth, man, I know this is all just fucking pity.”

“Eddie—“ Steve started, his voice sounding hurt as his eyebrows creased in concern, hands reaching up to touch Eddie’s face. Eddie flinched away, the knob on the cabinet pressing even harder into his spine.

“Didn’t you see what I did? With the fucking kids? Why do you think I didn’t let any of them come and see me after the charges were fucking lifted?” Eddie choked out, words biting around the broken sob that he was desperately trying to hold in, because Steve didn’t need to pity him any more than he already had. “I’m a fuck-up! Everyone leaves! And if people don’t do it on their own, I fucking push them away! I’m not—“

Steve tugged Eddie into a hug, pulling him down until his face was pressed into Steve’s shoulder. There was a hand wrapped around his waist, one in his hair.

“Stop it,” Steve whispered, his voice soft. “You’re not a fuck-up. Don’t say that.”

“I am,” Eddie muttered, his voice sounding wet and broken and childish. “I am.”

“I don’t care, then. I don’t care if you’re a fuck-up, okay? I’m staying, and I’m going to help you get better. Because I care about you. Not whatever shitty things you’ve done, Eddie.” His words were quiet, but Eddie felt himself shrink back slightly, sobbing, only for Steve to pull him back again, one hand tracing over his spine in the most gentle way possible.

“You’re an idiot for caring,” Eddie whispered, his hands going limp from where they were previously gripping at Steve’s arms.

“Maybe,” Steve mused, combing his fingers through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie found himself leaning into the touch. “You can’t push me away, though. You’re stuck with me now.”

Eddie laughed wetly into Steve’s neck, shaking his head. “Fine by me.”

This kind of felt good. Like this is what he had been waiting for. Like the aching, sore feeling inside of him was being clouded over by something nicer and more soft—something loving.

It felt like the cut down his chest was finally healing. For good this time.

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sweetnsour-stuff · 4 months

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Sheldon is:

a) Into Robots b) A Furry

So, y'know. Lmao

#Sheldon going to a Feline Fan Convention: Sus but not concrete #Just casually having a cat suit he wore to it: Furry #Also it's just funny to me. He's such a loser I love him tbh #This is coming from a furry btw #Sure Jenny's his main crush but one can have fictional crushes alongside irl ones yeah?#Also I tried replicating the show's style and it turned out. Ok.#Not perfect but alright. I meant to colour the lineart blue but forgot lol #It still looks too clean tho I haven't figured out a good brush for the lineart yet #If anyone happens to have a suggestion please I beg #I'm happy with the Roxanne tho #fnaf #my life as a teenage robot #mlaatr #fnaf fanart #fnaf security breach #five nights at freddys #fnaf sb #fnaf roxy #roxanne wolf #fanart #xj9 #jenny xj9 #jenny wakeman #my art #art #drawing #digital art #digital fanart #shitpost #kinda

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th3basementdweller · 3 months

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I find him very interesting

Okay that is all

#dialtown fanart #dialtown randy jade #dialtown #dialtown randy #drawing #randy jade fan art #randy jade #playing with fictional characters like barbie dolls #sopping wet cat

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alwaysjustmina · 4 months

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I never posted this story here and it's one my favorites. Raindrop with Kittens, what more could we want?? I love them. My spouse keeps asking me to do more in this series since it's the only thing I'll let him read I've written, maybe for Christmas.

The Perfect Surprise

Artwork by the lovely @crooked-hourglass

Part 1

Dewdrop was going to kill him, he already knew it. Prepared for it. But he loved him, he wouldn't kill him, right? Right. Maybe. How was he to deny those cute faces?

Dew was going to kill him.

************************

Dew was finishing practice later than everyone else today, he had been working on a new solo piece for the upcoming tour. He probably should have stopped hours ago but wanted to get it down. Because of this lack of judgment, he was stumbling half asleep into his room. Immediately, disappointed when he noticed Rain was missing from their bed. Odd. It snapped him out of his sleep deprived haze.

He missed him, he hadn't seen him all day apart from practice earlier and at that he couldn't really talk to him there. He had been looking forward to this part of the day the whole time he had been sequestered in solo practice hell, getting to snuggle into his cool body and bask in his sweet scent as he drifted to sleep.

No note was left, maybe he was in the commons? As he left to go check, he noticed Rain’s old room had a slight glow shining from under the door. Why would someone be in there? As he approached he heard Rain talking to someone, maybe one of the other ghouls was moving in there?

When he tried the door it was locked, he knocked and called out, "Rain?"

Immediate silence from the other side.

"Rain, I know you're in there." He said with a sigh.

He could hear shuffling and then Rain finally spoke, "Dew, hey what's up?"

"What are you doing? Why aren't you opening the door?"

"I, um, am cleaning some boxes out to get the rest of, um, my stuff out of here."

"Open the door, I miss you. I'll keep you company."

"NO!" Rain shouted all of a sudden.

"Babe? What's going on?" Rain was never like this, what was going on.

"Sorry, Dew, I will be in our room shortly. Give me a few." Dew sighed and shuffled back to their room.

Rain knew Dew was going to be curious what was going on but, he wasn't ready to show him yet. He quickly got everyone settled for the night and crept back to their shared room to climb into bed with Dew.

"Missed you," Dew mumbled as he curled his body to conform next to Rain’s, sighing at the feeling of his baby soft skin.

Rain placed a kiss on Dew’s shoulder and whispered, "I love you," as Dew's breathing evened out in sleep.

The next morning Dew awoke to an empty bed, Rain nowhere to be found. Again. He quickly showered and got dressed to go grab a coffee in the kitchen and texted Rain to see where he was.

Dew: you left me alone again 😞

Dew: I miss you, where are you

Dew: 🌧 ?

Rain: hey, can you meet me in our room in an hour? Wait outside until I answer the door? I have a surprise.

Dew: a surprise? I remember your last surprise, I liked it very much

Rain: 😉

Dew: yes I will see you then

Rain didn't know how Dew would react to his surprise, if he thought it was the same as last time, he was in for a huge disappointment.

So Rain readied their room, bringing all the supplies in and twisted his hands in nervous energy while waiting for the allotted time.

When he heard the knock on the door and the soft call of his name, he turned on his way to the door and whispered, "Wish me luck."

As he slipped into the corridor closing the door behind him, Rain pulled Dew into a quick kiss before leaning back.

Dew could tell instantly something was up, Rain wouldn't meet his eyes and kept fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

"What's wrong, what happened?" He pressed.

"Nn-nothing."

"Rain, I know you better than I know myself, I know when something is up, just tell me."

Rain swallowed past the lump in his throat, "Promise you won't get mad?"

"Rain!"

"Promise! And promise to keep your voice down? Promise!" He finally met Dew’s eyes, imploring him to keep an open mind.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing Dew would deny Rain. He nodded, "Promise."

Rain pushed the door in and brought Dew into the room before quickly shutting the door again behind them.

Dew quickly scanned the room, nothing seemed out of pla-, wait. "Rain, what is that?" His voice elevating into a higher pitch.

"You promised!"

Dew inhaled a deep breath ready to assure him he was calm, and then he saw a second one. "Rain??? Two? What?"

Rain pushed him back into the door, trying to block his view, but it wasn't helping as Dew continued to poke his head around Rain’s body. His eyes traveling to the floor and back up to Rain’s face and back again.

Rain did the one thing that would distract him, and dove into Dew's mouth with his tongue, pressing his body hard up against the door. Dew let out a small moan of protest, before finally giving into Rain’s ministrations. He reached his hands up to rest on Rain’s perfect hips and squeezed as he rutted slightly against him.

As he saw he had Dew’s full attention, he broke the kiss, without pulling his body away from him and moved down from his lips to his neck, sucking the delicate skin into his mouth as he began to whisper quietly.

"You remember how we talked about wanting more the other day?" His tongue laved at the flickering pulse point in Dew's neck.

"Mmhmm."

"Well, I saw these two and thought, more."

"Mmhmm. And?"

"Well they needed a home or they would have to go to a shelter and I just couldn't, didn't you see their cute, little faces?"

"Mmhmm." Dew could barely think as Rain nipped his ear lobe and slid his tongue in, his warm breath flowing down the side of his neck causing little pockets of pleasure every time it hit him.

"And you wouldn't want that right?"

"Mmhmm." What was he even saying?

"And you love me right?" Dew nodded.

"Can we keep them then?"

"Mmhmm."

Rain squeezed his arms around Dew, nipped at his neck once more and stepped back to sit in the middle of the floor.

Dew barely knew what just transpired. "Where you goi- wait, what?"

He came to his senses very quickly.

"You did that on purpose!" He was secretly pleased with Rain’s manipulation skills, but had no clue what he was in for.

Rain just held his hand out to Dew for him to sit on the floor with him. He couldn't deny him as he sank to the floor and seated himself across from Rain.

Rain scooped the two furry balls up and placed them in Dew’s lap.

"Ok babies, say hi to Daddy Dew."

Dew quirked his brow at Rain, "Daddy Dew?"

"Well they certainly can't call you Dew!" He said matter of factly.

"Rain, babe, they can't say anything, they’re kittens. "

Rain just looked at him in exacerbation.

"Ok, Daddy Dew it is. What's your name? Mommy?" He laughed.

"Of course not, I'm Daddy Rain," wondering how Dew even thought that.

The kittens looked up at Daddy Dew expectantly, they were actually quite cute. One was an orange and white tabby with the biggest blue/gray eyes. As it looked at Dew it fell backwards against his crossed legs and landed on its back, snuggling into him he pulled his tail to his mouth and started sleepily playing with it while watching him. Dew watched for a few moments, noting his belly and chest were all white, while his back had speckled orange mixed with white. Dew melted, dammit Rain.

The other kitten, a gray and black tiger stripe tiny thing, prowled around the space between his legs, pouncing every so often at something only he could see. Dew picked him up to get a better look, he was able to cup him in one hand as he brought him closer to his face. This kitten, also, rolled on its back, yawned and stretched, bringing its paws to cover its eyes. Dew chuckled, "Aren’t you a cute thing," he whispered. He pried its paws away from its eyes to see what secrets they held. The kitten quite obviously was pouting that the start of his comfy cat nap was interrupted and growl/purred, not sure of the sounds it could make yet. Dew just grinned, this kitten had the bluest eyes, whereas the other was almost more of soft gray, this one held the depths of the deepest oceans in its gaze.

He set it back down beside the other, they quickly wrapped their tails around each other molding their little bodies together, he could feel and hear the little purrs they made as they drifted to sleep. He stroked their little bodies with the barest touch of his finger and again smiled as they snuggled into him closer.

Dew looked up at Rain, his eyes glassy as he looked at his mate. Rain had the biggest smile on his face as he looked back at him. Dew curled a finger at him and pointed to his other knee. Rain laid his head there and stretched his long legs out beside him. While Dew continued to pet the kittens with his one hand, his other stroked through Rain’s hair, pushing his soft curls behind his ear every time it sprang free, which happened a lot.

"I knew you'd love them."

"I love you."

"Not mad?"

"Nope, you were right." He bent his head forward to place a kiss on Rain’s temple as he laid there.

"Did you name them, daddy?" He chuckled quietly at that name.

"No, I thought we'd do it together." He reached up and grabbed Dew’s hand as it brushed through his hair and brought it to his lips to kiss. He rolled onto his back and his beautiful blue eyes looked at Dew through his luscious, long eyelashes.

Dew couldn't think as Rain stared up at him, how did he get so lucky? He was so beautiful and he was his, his thoughts thinking, mine. He must have said it out loud.

Little did Dew know but Rain was thinking the same thing, "Yes, yours, you are mine too."

They stared at each other for a while, getting lost in the other until the kittens started to stir again.

The gray one first, standing up on all fours and promptly pouncing off of Dew’s lap to the floor and seeing Rain’s tail tapping on the floor proceeded to sneak closer to him. The orange one stood and promptly tumbled off of Dew’s lap to the floor, not too steady on his paws it seemed. Rain and Dew both laughed.

"You better watch your tail, he is going to get you." Dew warned Rain.

"He is fine, besides how much could his little baby teeth hurt if he does?" His chortle quickly turned to a gasp as the kitten did exactly what Dew warned of.

Rain quickly sat up and pried said culprit from his tail, "That wasn't very nice little one," he warned as the kitten squirmed to get out of his hold.

Rain stood putting the kitten back on the ground and went to lay on the bed with his tail out of the grasp of those tiny pinpricks of death.

"Leaving me to be mauled?" Dew asked with a smirk.

"Come lay with me, they can explore," he implored stubbornly.

Dew quickly rose from the floor and laid down beside Rain, with their heads watching the little brothers play together on the floor, pouncing at each other's tails and getting scared when they actually caught one. Rain held Dew close to him, his chin laying in the perfect spot carved into Dew's neck. Their hands entwined at their side.

Dew noticed all the changes to their room as they laid there, Rain was definitely prepared. There was a litter box in the corner with little pee pads all around it, toys scattered everywhere. A cat bed beside theirs on the floor. Little bowls for food and water by the door. He could see on the table in the "living room" two cat collars, one fiery red, the other a deep blue.

"You have any thoughts of what we may call these two?" Dew asked Rain softly as the orange one made its way over to them and started pushing its head into the hand Dew had draped over the side of the bed to the floor. He quickly started petting him, and with a loud purr the orange kitten sat on its hind legs content for the attention it was receiving. The gray one seeing that the orange one was getting attention did the same thing to Rain, but instead of being content with pets it would occasionally paw at Rain’s fingers in play. This brought a smirk to Dew’s face, "You realize that one is me, right? Always wanting your attention."

Rain laughed and leaned over to whisper in Dew's ear, "And that one is me, always content to just have you touch me." There was definitely a salacious edge to his tone as he licked Dew's ear lobe.

"Rainnnnn, not in front of the children."

They both laughed, what did they get themselves into?

"I have an idea, I'll name little you, you name little me?"

"Deal."

Dew reached down and picked up the orange cat, who probably resembled more of himself, but whose nature was definitely Rain. From his demeanor to his lack of coordination as he walked on his little legs. Bambi. No he couldn't name him that, he didn't want Rain to know that word lived in his head as a description for him. The orange kitten just stared at Dew adoringly, his tongue darting out of its little mouth as he slobbered around Dew's finger as he nipped at him. "Puddle. This one is Puddle!"

"Puddle?"

"Yes, he has left a little puddle on my hand of his slobber, and puddle describes water, and you are water, perfect!" Dew was quite pleased with himself.

"Ok, Puddle, I like it." Rain brought a finger to Puddle's little face and pet him, "Hello Puddle, I'm Daddy Rain, and this is Daddy Dew, you will be so loved by both of us."

Dew smiled at Rain, and placed Puddle on his chest as he leaned over and kissed Rain lovingly. Trying to not burn too brightly from how much he loved him, in this moment and all the moments.

Rain pulled away before the kiss could deepen and picked up the gray kitten, who yowled and growled lowly at being manhandled, and then quickly settled down on Rain’s chest as soon as he knew he wasn't going far from the one he craved attention from. Rain laughed, "And this little one, is Ember, he is a little spit fire, just like you."

Rain greeted Ember the same way he had Puddle. The kittens being kittens again slid between their two bodies and entwined themselves around each other and quickly fell into slumber.

Rain and Dew continued to gaze at each other, their tails wrapped around the others and were quickly pulled into sleep by the lulling purrs of the kittens, adding their own to the cacophony of sounds.

Rain and Dew both smiled in their sleep, again thinking the same thoughts. They had a little family.

#rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #kitten ghouls #kittens #raindrop fanfic #im living through them #im allergic to cats #cuteness overload #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #raindrop #fan fiction #ghost fan fiction #mina writes

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bandtrees · 9 months

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Annoying fandom people when you tell them characters do things based on writers’ decisions and biases and are not fully autonomous sapient beings they’re watching in a terrarium

#babbles #this is in general an ideal i hold very close in fandom stuff but like especially abt wc cuz that fandom sucks with this #i hate warriors fans so much it’s unreal. it’s not ‘these writers have weird ideas about what is romantic’ but ‘this character is toxic!!1’#boiling down what can be a meaningful discussion about abuse and patriarchal standards into a purely blorbobrained character argument #about in universe traits like these characters are real and we need to give them counseling #because having the 500th soapbox about bramblestar or nightheart or whoever being abusive makes you feel progressive #like. i'd love to discuss for instance the misogynistic standards that the erins have as writers and how that affects their work.#i dont however care to discuss which Fictional Cat For Ten Year Olds is the most Problematic. bc that does nothing #reminds me of that tweet abt like the fatphobic trope of chars being depressed or hitting a low point and being fat slobs #and ppl came in waves like 'no it makes sense because he was depressed and xyz etc etc' like we're discussing a real person #and not constructs made by writers that show fatphobic ideologies. missed the point so hard dude.#less 'character does this' more 'writer made the character do this'. not even in criticism but in discussing themes etc etc

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bloodpawprint · 9 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ gym rat abby

her work was definitely paying off, the only down side was that you were alone almost all day, struggling with the thought of her muscles flexing when she lifts weights, her hair sticking to her face… always left you as an impatient mess back at the apartment.

she enjoyed working out, and was proud of her physique, so you never whined to her about how much time it consumed, the time that you were sure was dedicated to you. maybe not.

so there you stood, in the kitchen with your tail between your legs waiting for abby to get back. would be aaaany second now… surely.. your lips turn down into small frown as you stare at the door, anticipating the click of it being opened. and when it did happen, you weren’t as excited to be in her presence anymore, too diminished by being alone all day to actually have a reaction to her arrival.

she smiles at you, oblivious to your daunting feelings as she drops her gym bag by the door as makes her way over to you. fortunately, as soon as her lips peck yours, a smile overtakes and you reach up to brush the blonde hair from her pretty face. her large hands slide over your waist as she moves her lips over your cheek and to your jaw, murmuring about how much she missed you. “how was your day, baby?”

you hum, entranced by the feeling of her mouth against your skin, brain going a little fuzzy when her lips ghost over your pulse. you sigh quietly, eyes fluttering shut as you force a proper response out. “‘was okay… lonely…”

“aw, my poor girl,” it was almost taunting, but you don’t seem to mind as her hands move to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you to sit on the kitchen counter, still able to look down at you due to her impressive height. her fingers slip under the leg opening of your shorts which had conveniently ridden up as you sat, exposing more of your thigh to her. you feel her smile against your neck when you whine, your hand balling into her sleeveless shirt. “why don’t we make up for all this lost time, hm?”

#.. bloodpawprint 🐾#౨ৎ written by cat ౨ৎ #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson imagine #abby the last of us #abby tlou smut #abby anderson fan fiction #abby x reader #abby the last of us smut #abby anderson drabble

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bloopitynoot · 7 months

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Shadowgast Bakery/Coffee/Tea Shop Au's I Love

Okay I promised this after the Shadowgast Fics that made me Ugly Cry list, but instead I ended up doing a Space Opera-AU list. OOPS.

That's fine - it gave me some extra time to read again for this list!

So here it is, in all it's fluff and glory - some of the Bakery/Coffee Shop Shadowgast AU's that I love.

____

Starting with the longer forms:

1 Labor of Love

Labor of Love (43331 words) by OMGitsgreen (let me know if you know their tumblr so I can tag!) Chapters: 6/6 Rating: Mature Summary: "He still looked devastatingly attractive in every possible way and it wasn’t fair because he looked like he had just rolled out of the bed. Essek needed at least an hour in the morning to talk himself into being even vaguely pleasant. “Oh! Guten Morgen, and welcome back to the Xhorhaus Bakery,” Caleb said, a certain pleasant crinkle to his expression. He was smiling a soft, gentle smile that caught Essek off guard. “What can I get you this morning?” At Xhorhaus Bakery, where the Mighty Nein bake up Rosohna's most delectable treats, magic is something that is in the air. For Essek Theylss, there might just be love there too. COMPLETED

Why I loved it: This is one of my favourite fluffy fics. It's the passion for magic, the softness in the baking, and the transformation of lonely-to-in-love Essek that has my heart. This is truly a comfort fic for me, it's just so unbelievably sweet.

____

2 always the lonely ones know

always the lonely ones know (19348 words) by jolychetta/@hearthianhatchling Chapters: 6/6 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Essek Thelyss doesn't like unexpected changes, but when his usual coffee shop is replaced by a new one, he has no idea how much his life is about to be shaken up. He should hate the Chaos Crew Café and its people, but he keeps returning every day. It definitely has nothing to do with the handsome barista who served him the first day. In the following weeks, everything unravels - Essek's life, his feelings, and the friends he suddenly finds himself having. Learning to become your better self is hard work, it turns out.

What I loved about it: This fic gave me that perfect taste of the "I don't care about the results of my actions but oh no, I have friends and I think I developed a conscious" but also "this iced mocha is life changing". I loved the entirety of this fic, it was as much a fluffy coffee shop au as it was a story of unlearning and coming to terms with your actions. I almost wish it was a longer slow burn!

_____

3 read between the lines (Everything is gradual)

read between the lines (everything is gradual) (3047 words) by Chanse @spottedenchants Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Series: Part 1 of in which caleb owns a cat café Summary: Caleb’s gaze roams, his eyes narrowing in a manner Essek can only deem analytic. If this was all a hazing prank-- “You are Jester’s… acquaintance?” Lovely. Even better. His reputation precedes him. - AKA a fateful encounter is had on one sunny day in Nicodranas

What I love about this: This is part one in a hefty cat café universe (I know it says one chapter but I think there are at least like 14 parts??)- and all of it is absolutely adorable. Caleb owning a magical cat café is honestly the most wholesome and expected thing. You've got the high strung disaster hot boy, you've got the mostly confident ginger magic man just interacting so awkwardly. If you like disaster first encounters that evolve into the cutest of relationships- this entire universe is for you. Oh and also, in later parts, Frumpkin is in charge of the cats and his thoughts are a jellicle dream.

___

On to the shorts list!

(not that these are short listed- rather they are literally just shorter in word count fics)

4 The Nicodranas Harbor

The Nicodranas Harbor (2220 words) by TheBeeIsLost (if you know them here please let me know so I can tag them!) Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Essek didn't want to be here, but he didn't have a choice in the matter. after weeks of keeping himself cooped up in his own home he decides to finally go out and see what all the fuss about this city is. He found a bit more than he thought he would.

What I loved about it: This fic was an absolute whirlwind. Essek leaves the house one time and stumbles upon a ginger wizard barista who has him completely rattled. Very short, very sweet, and Essek Thelyss will be back.

___

5 serve with lemon and honey

Serve with lemon and honey ((1032 words) by quothhh (if you know them here let me know so I can tag!). Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen and up Audiences Summary: "I don't suppose you can brew me anything stronger than chai today?" Essek asks as he sits at his regular seat along the bar, fingers rubbing at the Ludinus-shaped migraine already pulsing between his temples.

Caleb laughs and tucks his book under the counter. "Ja, actually, I think I can.”

In which Caleb Widogast is definitely just a barista and Essek Thelyss definitely isn't a Dynasty spy.

What I love about this: The absolute wizard flirting is so lovely in this fic. It is in two parts! I do wish this world was explored more, it would have made a lovely longform. But as it is, it is wonderful. Just two- normal- absolutely not magical, absolutely not a spy, guys, just at a teashop/art gallery/bookstore/apothecary. Oh and there's a recipe in the notes of the first part *chefs kiss*.

________ And as always- I will happily accept shadowgast recs and theme recommendations for future lists! Up next: I want to do a corporate/business AU list.

#shadowgast #shadowgast au #bakery au #critical role #critical role fan fiction #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #disaster wizards #but at a coffee shop #or a tea shop #and even a bakery #OH and a cat cafe?#coffee shop au

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best-fictional-cat · 1 year

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Round 1 Group 10

Lumi (Cats are Liquid) vs Mewo (Omori) vs Pet cats (Stardew Valley)

#fun fact: the submission for Stardew Valley cats only stated the orange one but I expanded it bc my cat is that third yellow one #another fun fact: if Lumi gets swept you cats are liquid fans did it to yourselves (I hope your jug of a cat wins this tho)#best fictional cat #polls #cats #competitions #cats are liquid #lumi #omori #omori mewo #stardew valley #stardew valley cat

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shiorimakibawrites · 24 days

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Rollercoaster (Part 16 of Alley Cat)

Image Credit: kissmegoodbye.net / Nathan Dumlao / Amber Kipp

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 6808

Summary: Matt's attempts to relax after work are marred by worries. It's a night of ups and downs for both of you. Continuation of Part 15 - The Interrogation

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, swearing, emotional rollercoaster, referenced sex, referenced sexual harassment, referenced police misconduct, stress, anxiety, referenced hallucinations, rough kiss, forehead kiss

Alley Cat Masterlist

Matt Murdock Masterlist

My General Masterlist

Tags:@loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @bellaxgiornata, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

Also posted on AO3

Part 16 - Rollercoaster

Matt stretched his arms over his head. His muscles and joints complained loudly about how long he had been sitting at his desk today. But it couldn’t be helped. Shortly after lunch, he had discovered that Burke & Winthrop had filed even more motions in the Al-Farsi case. Most matched their usual pattern of almost but not quite frivolous but a couple had tripped over that particular line.

Big mistake, Matt thought with a smile. It probably wasn’t a nice smile. He was feeling the same vicious pleasure that he always did when he had someone on the ropes.

“Wow, whose getting their ass kicked this time?”

Foggy, standing in the door of his office, sounding cheerful despite the long day they both had. Karen had already left for the day. She said something about a lead she wanted to check out for a case she was sharing with Jessica. They had been working together a lot lately . . .

“What makes you think I’m kicking someone’s ass?” he asked.

“I know that smile, buddy,” Foggy said. “You’ve scented blood. So who’s the unlucky bastard, this time?”

“Burke & Winthrop,” Matt said. “You know how Justice Watanabe just warned them about their motion practice?”

“Yeah?” Foggy asked, growing excitement in his voice. “Did they ignore his warning?”

“They did,” Matt confirmed.

“Bad move,” Foggy said with a certain amount of relish. He knew well as Matt did that Justice Watanabe was a very serious, no nonsense judge. He didn’t make idle threats – if he told you he was going to sanction you for doing something, he was going to sanction you. Nor was he going to appreciate the inherent disrespect of having his instructions blatantly ignored like this. Rule 11 sanctions weren’t a guarantee – there was still time for Burke & Winthrop to withdraw the offending motions or modify them just enough to make them acceptable. But they might not and since Justice Watanabe had already warned them, it might not really matter if they do . . . still just a possibility but it was sweet.

“Wanna go to Josie’s?”

Matt considered the offer. It sounded good. He had done everything he could today. You were working – your message said you were even planning to continue working from home after you ate dinner. He hadn’t hung with his friends in a while . . . especially just him and Foggy.

“Sure, Fogs,” he said. “Will Karen and Jessica be joining us?”

“Nah,” Foggy said. Matt could hear the smile in his voice. “Just us avocados tonight.”

“We’re not just avocados, Foggy,” Matt teased. “We’re the best avocados in this city, remember?”

Foggy laughed. “Damn straight. But right now, this avocado needs a beer.”

It didn’t take them long to close up the office and make their way over to Josie’s. The bar had just the right amount of crowd tonight. Big enough to make the place feel lively without making it crowded. Or so loud that he had to cut the outing short before he developed a migraine. The conversation and laughter that filled the bar buffed up against him like a gentle wave. Something he was aware of but could largely ignore. He still held his white cane in his hand but there were enough other regulars in the crowd that he didn’t really need it to get a path cleared to the bar.

“Murdock, Nelson,” Josie greeted them with mock gruffness. He heard the thunk of two glasses hitting the bar and sliding toward them. He recognized the distinctive mixture of sour-sweet-bitter that made up the bar’s brand of draft beer.

“Josie, you are a saint,” Foggy said, grabbing his beer and taking a big gulp before he even tried to sit down. Matt couldn’t blame him. Neither had them had lucked out with opposing counsel today. Matt had gotten Burke & Winthrop. Foggy had Nigel Norwood from Norwood & Sons.

Norwood had been their classmate at Columbia. He didn’t like Matt but he seemed to loathe Foggy in particular. Neither of them had any idea why. Might have been pure snobbishness. Maybe the grandson of a US Senator, scion of a wealthy and prominent New York family hadn’t liked sharing a classroom with the son of a shopkeeper and a public school teacher. They knew that he hadn’t liked getting thoroughly trounced in mock trial by said son. Or that he hadn’t done much better against Foggy in real court cases. Maybe he didn’t like Foggy’s popularity with girls.

For all that Foggy complained about Matt getting all the pretty girls, Foggy had his fair share of admirers. Matt had found himself sexiled to the library several times while they were roommates.

Regardless of the reason, the end result was that Norwood was just as much of a headache as Burke & Winthrop in his own way. Anyone would need a beer after a day like that.

“Save it for your girlfriend, Nelson,” Josie retorted with equally feign annoyance. Matt could tell that she was actually pleased. The banter might have continued but another patron called for her attention and she walked away.

“Speaking of which,” Matt said, folding up his cane and sliding onto a stool. “Where is the lovely Ms. Stahl?”

“Work,” Foggy answered, getting onto his own stool. “Her trial date got moved up and the judge wants the briefing done yesterday.”

Matt made a sympathetic noise. They had all been there. Judges could be impatient like that. He hadn’t forgotten the time their Crim Law professor had her lecture interrupted by a judge who wanted to hear oral arguments on a motion to suppress right then and there. Knowing full well that trying to argue with the judge about his timing would just hurt her case, the professor had just rolled with it. And immediately turned it into a learning opportunity for the class, after getting permission to put the call on speaker phone.

He sipped his beer and wondered if the case you were working on was Marci’s. It was possible. You both worked for the same firm. You had worked as Marci’s paralegal previously. On the other hand, Lee, Everett & Kirby wasn’t exactly small. And there were hundreds of cases on the docket in this city. It could just as easily be a coincidence.

“She was very disappointed,” Foggy continued. “Said that she could really use a beer right now.”

“The changed dates stressed her that much?” Matt asked, frowning. That didn’t sound like Marci. Usually, she thrived under that kind of pressure.

Foggy snorted, “Of course not. She’s fine with that. It’s the new case that she just got assigned to. Or rather it’s who got assigned as her co-counsel on that case.”

“Creepy Asshole?”

“Creepy Asshole,” Foggy confirmed. He didn’t sound happy about it.

Matt scowled. He wasn’t happy about that either. According to Marci, Creepy Asshole was a coworker who treated her like an idiot and never looked higher than her breasts. He had hit on her a few times, through not recently. Apparently he behaved this way toward every woman at the firm but had some kind of connection to the partners that protected him for getting fired. That and he was smart enough to avoid doing and saying anything truly outrageous in front of witnesses.

Marci wouldn’t tell them the man’s name, claiming they might do something dramatic. Like what happened to that guy who had groped her in the library during undergrad. He and Foggy had protested that it was all an accident. Foggy hadn’t mentioned that those bushes said classmate was walking by had very sharp thorns. And Matt certainly hadn’t tripped him with his cane into those bushes. Honest.

That other classmates who exhibited similarly unacceptable behavior had equally bad luck with the topiary around them was sheer coincidence.

Marci hadn’t believe them then and she still didn’t. But not even the solemn vow that Creepy Asshole would have no unfortunate encounters with any plants (through he might have one with the devil) would convince Marci to give them a name.

“I know,” Foggy said, sounding as frustrated as he felt. “Let’s change the subject before I talk myself into borrowing certain items from your apartment. Where’s your new lady tonight?”

“Also working” Matt said. “Her court dates got moved up too.”

Foggy’s hum of acknowledgment was accompanied by the soft swish of hair. Softer than it used to be – Matt still wasn’t entirely used to Foggy’s hair being shorter than his shoulders. Along with other equally quiet sounds and tiny changes in the surrounding air that meant someone was nodding. “You planning on seeing her again?”

It was too easy. “Can’t. I’m blind, remember?”

An irritated huff of air. “I’m giving you a dirty look. You know perfectly well what I meant!”

“You walked right into that one, buddy,” Matt pointed out immediately. “But to answer your question, yes, I am planning to see her again.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“She makes a very good cake,” Foggy said, sounding almost serious. “And she has already paid us a retainer. Do I need to remind you that we need at least some paying clients?”

“No,” Matt said. “You don’t need to repeat your ‘Con Ed Does Not Accept Bananas’ speech.”

“Hey, don’t knock my bananas speech. It’s very convincing.”

“It is,” Matt said. “I agreed to the sliding scale, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Foggy said. “Despite your bleeding heart.”

“My bleeding heart? I believe it was you who agreed to take the Lincoln case pro bono.

Matt thought that Foggy might be giving him another dirty look. “Don’t act like you weren’t marshaling your arguments for why we had to take that case!”

He smirked. “Didn’t need to. I knew we were going to take that case from the moment Mr. Lincoln walked in our door.”

Foggy grumbled but rather tellingly didn’t argue. Mr. Lincoln had come to them because his landlord was trying to evict him for getting a guide dog, citing the building’s no pets policy. Which didn’t apply to service animals like Cedar. The landlord was probably banking on Mr. Lincoln either not knowing that or lacking the resources to fight it. Unfortunately for the landlord, Nelson & Murdock (for obvious reasons) took a rather dim view on disability discrimination.

Talk quickly turned away from work. Foggy shared the latest Nelson family gossip – who was getting married, which of his cousins was having (another) baby, how one of his little cousins had broken his arm attempting to jump from the roof onto a trampoline and how a different little cousin had gotten her brand-new pink dress covered in duckweed up to the waist while catching frogs . . .

The updates from Maggie had been almost staid by comparison. The teens had stolen some bottles of communion wine and attempted to get themselves drunk off of it. A black cat whose white markings made it look like it was wearing a priest’s collar had effectively moved into the church. Between its appearance and that its favorite napping spots being the pulpit and the confessional booth, the kids had taken to calling it Father Meow. Thankfully, Father Tomas took the cat’s habit of meowing loudly during certain amount of Mass and the resulting giggles in stride.

A home safe message from you still hadn’t arrived by the time Matt was finishing his beer but he wasn’t worried. Not yet. It didn’t normally take you this long to get home but you weren’t actually late. Not yet. There was no reason to worry yet. Maybe the subway was running slow today. Or you had decided to stop for take-out instead of cooking tonight. Or needed to run an errand like grabbing some milk or picking up the dry cleaning. He wasn’t worried.

Foggy finished his own beer – he had slowed down after that first big gulp – and from the sounds of the stool creaking, had shifted to look around.

“Looks like one of the pool tables is opening up,” Foggy said. “Wanna play?”

“Sure,” Matt said, eager to give his mind something to focus on. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was fine.

He played a couple games of pool. He drank a second beer. He engaged in playful banter with Foggy about food that ranged whether pineapple belonged on pizza to best foods. They agreed to disagree on the first (again). For the latter, Foggy’s champion was his grandmother’s chocolate cake (“You can’t even taste the sauerkraut!” / “Maybe you can’t.”) but Matt remained devoted to his dad’s stew (even if making it was always bittersweet and sometimes downright painful).

And the entire time his phone remained still and silent.

It was unlikely that he had missed the notification chime but he checked anyway. Not a single missed call, unheard voice mail, or unread text message . . . . you should have gotten home by now . . .

Fear began to blossom in his chest as he called you even as he tried to tell himself that he was worrying about nothing . . . maybe you had simply run into a friend and lost track of time. Lord knew he and Foggy could talk for hours without realizing how much time had passed . . .

The phone rang and rang but the only answer was a computer saying ‘Hello, you have reached the phone of . . .’

He left a message, tried to play off his concern by teasingly asking you if you somehow managed to end up in Queens. Again. It had been long enough . . .

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and returned his attention to the pool table. But he couldn’t concentrate on it . . . his mind was on his all too quiet phone . . . on sitting on the urge to go home, grab his burner and ask the spider kid if he had met any lost paralegals tonight even if that was bound to make the other vigilante curious . . .

“What’s wrong?” Foggy asked, his heartbeat shifting into its worried rhythm. He lowered his voice before continuing, “Are you hearing something that needs Daredevil?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Matt said and explained the situation.

“She’s probably fine,” Foggy said but his heart gave away the lie. He wasn’t convinced of that either. Even if you had decided to walk the entire way from the Upper East Side, you ought to be home by now. “You just called her . . . let’s give her a few more minutes to call back.”

Matt agreed and waited, trying not to think about all the ways you could be not fine . . . He wasn’t very successful, the vicious part of his imagination conjuring all of the evils that could have befallen you . . . those awful moments when someone he cared about (loved) heartbeat sputtered to a stop . . . St. Patrick, I beseech thee to protect . . .

You didn’t call back. Matt called again but as before, you didn’t answer. He left another message but couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice this time. As the minutes ticked by agonizingly slow . . . he picked at the label on the empty beer bottle and listened. Not to his phone but beyond . . . training his ears toward your apartment. Hoping that you were there. If you were simply ignoring him, it would hurt but at least you’d be alive . . . but what if you had some kind of accident and couldn’t reach your phone? Had you been lying on the floor of your apartment, in terrible pain, hoping he’d heard your cries for help?

But the only heartbeat he found in your apartment belonged to Houdini. He couldn’t heard that distinctive rhythm anywhere in your building . . .

A hand grabbing his shoulder shattered his concentration. The sounds of the city rose and threatened to drown him in a roaring river of noise. But that was a war that Matt had been fighting since he was nine. He hadn’t lost a battle in a while. He regained control and within it, recognized the hand gripping his shoulder. Along with increasing frantic voice that went with it. Foggy.

“-can hear me? Matt!”

“I can hear you,” Matt said. He tried not to be irritated at his best friend. Foggy had good reason to worry when Matt didn’t appear to be responding to sound. He had only discovered Matt like that once but apparently that was enough to get it permanently etched in Foggy’s mind.

“Did your hearing get wonky again?”

“No,” he said. “Just the opposite. I was trying to see if she was in her apartment or not.”

“Josie’s is close enough to her place that you can do that?” Foggy asked. He sounded surprised. Even after all this time and their many heart-to-hearts after their reconciliation, the extent of Matt’s senses still surprised him.

“Yes,” Matt said. “Just takes a little concentration.”

“Show off,” Foggy said. “So is she there?’

“No.”

“Alright, let’s start looking,” Foggy said, his hand sliding off Matt’s shoulder and into his pocket. He pulled something out – probably his phone. “First things first, let’s see if she ever actually left the office. She works at Lee, Everett & Kirby, right?”

Matt nodded.

“Would Marci know her?”

“She ought to,” Matt said. “She’s been Marci’s paralegal more than once.”

“Good,” Foggy said and did something on his phone. Calling someone as it began to ring . . then the familiar voice of Marci said, “Yes, Foggy Bear?”

“Hey Marci,” Foggy said, doing his best to sound casual and not worried as he asked if she knew if you had left the office today.

“How do you know my paralegal?” Marci demanded.

“I’m her attorney.”

“Why –”

“I’ll explain later,” Foggy cut her off. “She sent Matt a message two hours ago saying she was heading home and would text when she arrived but we haven’t heard anything since and she isn’t answering her phone. Is she still at the office?”

Marci made an irritated noise at being interrupted but answered the question. “Not as far as I know. I didn’t see her actually left this room but all of her things are gone . . . hang on, let me check if anyone saw her leave.”

He did his best to sit on his impatience while Marci asked a few colleagues if they had seen you . . . no, no, no, finally one said yes. They had been at the front desk and saw you walk out of the door, your briefcase in hand just over two hours ago.

“Thanks Marci, you’ve been very helpful,” Foggy said and hung up the phone before Marci could ask him any questions. “I’m going to pay for that later . . . Do you have any of her friends’ numbers?”

“No.” Something that he planned to rectify as soon as possible.

“Family? Could she have decided to to see one of them?”

“No,” Matt said, then shook his head. “And not easily. None of them live in New York . . . I think the sister is the closest. Somewhere in Massachusetts.”

However Foggy would have responded to that was cut off by his phone ringing. “Probably Marci to yell at me . . . no wait, that’s Brett. Why is he calling . . . Hello?”

“Nelson, are you and Murdock in New Jersey or something?”

Matt frowned in confusion. What?

“Noooo . . . why?” Foggy said, sounding as confused by the question as Matt felt.

“Because your client asked for you over an hour ago and your ugly mug still hasn’t shown up.”

“What?!” Both of them exclaimed.

“Didn’t you get a call?” There was a frown in Mahoney’s voice, a note of suspicion.

“Obviously not,” Foggy snapped. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He hung up and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “I think we might have found your girlfriend.”

“Quite possibly,” Matt agreed. Even if it wasn’t you, none of their clients deserved to have been left in interrogation for so long. Especially with detectives who seemed to be outright ignoring their right to counsel. “Let’s go.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Your legs were so wobbly that Matt almost had to carry you. He had offered. It had been tempting to agree. Very tempting. You had been brave. You had been strong. A not insignificant part of you didn’t want to be either of those things for a while. That part would have been perfectly fine with Matt carrying you around, face burrowed against his chest until you felt better. Or it was tomorrow and you had to face the world regardless. Whichever came first.

But another part of you was angry. Not at Foggy or Matt. You were confident that they hadn’t just left you there, that they had come as soon as they could. But at the detectives for making you feel so helpless and alone, for ignoring your repeated demands to see your attorney like you hadn’t said anything of the sort . . . the near certainty that they had done that to someone else and likely would again . . .

That anger was just a spark right now. Later, when you were feeling less tired and stressed, you were going be furious. But right now, all that anger could accomplish was making you insist on walking. Matt didn’t argue or even get snippy about your tone. Just took as much of your weight as you allowed and helped you walk over to the couch. He eased you both down onto the couch. You kicked off your heels and pulled your legs up, curling against his side. As close as you could get without actually crawling into his lap.

Which you had considered but decided against it. You had displayed enough embarrassing behavior for one night, thank you very much.

Not that Matt seemed to mind your neediness, curling his arm around your shoulders and encouraging you to rest your head on his shoulder. Which you did. The last tears were trickling down your face. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Let it slowly. Then another and another. You needed to get level, to be calm. There were things you needed to do before you could call it a day.

But those things would have wait another minute. Or ten. You could hear Foggy moving around, doing something that involved running water but Matt didn’t seemed concerned and it was his apartment . . . so you ignored those sounds in favor of listening to the soft nonsense Matt was murmuring into your hair and taking deep breaths.

You didn’t know how long you sat like that before you heard Foggy softly call your name from nearby. You crackled open an eye and saw him standing to the side of coffee table, holding out something for you. A washcloth.

You must have looked confused because he explained. “Don’t know about you but my eyes always hurt after crying like that. Especially after a long day staring at computer screens. A wet washcloth usually helps them feel better.”

Now that he mentioned it, your eyes did feel a little sore. And more than a little gritty. It couldn’t hurt. You took the washcloth and laid it across your closed eyes. Foggy was right. The coolness felt immediately soothing. “Thank you Foggy. That does help.”

“No problem,” he said with a rustle of clothing and footsteps. “Your tea should be done seeping soon and our food should be here in the next ten minutes.”

“Tea?” You repeated and sniffed the air. You could smell something vaguely herbal but a stronger and more familiar scent was also filling the air, along with a very familiar sound. “I smell coffee.”

“Wow, you two are already copying each other’s sentences?” Foggy teased. “I made the coffee mostly for me and Matt. If you want a cup, I won’t stop you but something without caffeine might be better after all that stress.”

It probably was. You did feel jittery. But you might get a cup of the coffee anyway. Even if you didn’t drink most of it, the warmth and aroma alone was comforting.

“What kind of tea?”

“Don’t know. Braille label just has ‘go to fucking sleep’ on it.”

“It does not,” Matt said. “It says ‘can’t sleep tea.’”

“I was paraphrasing,” Foggy countered. “Since I am positive that ‘can’t sleep’ in Matthew Murdock translates as ‘I haven’t sleep in a week’ to us non-ninjas.”

“I’ve never gone a week without sleep,” Matt argued. “Humans physically can’t stay awake that long.”

“True,” Foggy conceded before adding, “But I distinctively remember spring finals in our freshmen year. You went without sleep long enough to start hallucinating.”

“I wasn’t hallucinating,” Matt protested.

“You said, and I quote, ‘This dorm is a hive. Filled with bees. Buzz.’ Then kept saying buzz over and over again until I slapped my hand over your mouth. Then you licked my hand, Matthew.”

“You licked my hand first.”

“Objection! When did I allegedly lick your hand?”

“When you got drunk at that frat party and got it into your head to serenade that girl from your Punjabi class. At three in the morning. I was trying to shut you up before she threw something heavier than a slipper at you.”

You laughed. Which was probably their goal all long judging by how pleased they looked with themselves when you peeked out from behind the washcloth. The laughter felt good, releasing a tension that you hadn’t realized that you were carrying. You were still giggling when Foggy returned to living room and held out a mug to you. You took it and breathed it in. It might not have been coffee but the warmth seeping into your hands felt nice and it smelled good.

“All joking aside,” you said, looking up at Matt. “What’s in this tea?”

“Mostly chamomile and lavender,” he answered.

“That’s all it takes when you can’t sleep? A cup of flowery tea?” You asked, feeling more than a little jealous. Your insomnia was never so easily defeated . . .

“Not quite,” Matt said. “That’s just part of how I try to relax when I can’t sleep.”

There was the faintest suggestion of a blush dusting his cheeks and the tip of his ears. Which was both adorable and made you powerfully curious. What could make this man blush? Even just a little? He seemed so shameless. Especially last night when he was encouraging you to moan or praising how well you were taking his cock . . .

You felt your face flush at the memory and the accompanying urge to squirm. Then flushed even more when Matt’s head tilted slightly toward you and that knowing smirk starting to form. To distract yourself away from such thoughts before you got (more) worked up, you turned your gaze to the mug in your hands. There wasn’t much to distract your eye. The tea didn’t look much different from black tea other than a little lighter in color and the mug wasn’t decorated beyond being a nice shade of yellow.

You raised the mug to your lips and sipped the tea. The taste was mild, slightly sweet but not sugary. It wasn’t going to replace your beloved coffee anytime soon but you wouldn’t object to being offered another cup in the future. But you couldn’t resist the urge to look at Matt for long.

His mug didn’t match yours. It was white with a stylized drawing of two halved avocados and something written in braille underneath. If you had to guess, it probably said the same thing as the green lettering above it – Best Damn Avocados. Like one of those #1 Dad mugs. Looking closer, you realized that the line art of the avocados was raised. A look over at Foggy showed him drinking out an identical mug.

You found yourself feeling curious again. Those mugs looked something that had been custom-made. Did they really like avocados? You liked avocados too but not enough to get a custom mug. There was probably a story there but before you could ask, there was a knock on the door. Foggy put down his mug and went to the door. You heard the soft murmur of conversation before Foggy came back with a box with the name of local pizzeria in his hands.

The tantalizing aroma of fresh pizza filled the apartment. It made your mouth water. More embarrassingly, your stomach decided to remind everyone that you had missed dinner. Blood returned to your cheeks.

“Hungry?” Matt asked with a little amused smile.

“A little,” you answered ruefully as Foggy walked over with two plates in his hands. Pepperoni. A good choice. You had been expanding your palette since moving to New York but on bad days, you gravitated toward familiar things with happy memories attached to it. Like pepperoni pizza. Even if this hand-tossed crust with its classic leopard spotting was a far cry from the chain-restaurant or freezer section pizza of your childhood.

You must have been hungrier than you thought. You practically inhaled that first slice of pizza. Foggy offered to get you another slice but you quickly said no. He had only just sat down and barely gotten a bite of his own slice. You would get another one yourself. Your legs weren’t entirely on board with this plan. You stood and for a heart-stopping moment, they refused to take your weight.

You started to fall back. But then Matt was there, steadying you with one hand braced against your back, the other on your hip.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he gently chided. “I don’t think any of us wants to add a trip to the ER tonight.”

“Sure you don’t want me to get that pizza?” Foggy asked. He had half raisen from his chair.

“I’m sure,” you said. You reached down and wrapped your hand around Matt’s hand on your hip. You gave it a little squeeze. “I’m fine.”

The hand gave a squeeze of its own to your hip but he didn’t try to stop you from putting your weight back on your legs. This time they held. Matt’s hands slide off of your body with obvious reluctance as you moved toward the kitchen box and the waiting box of pizza. You got your second slice and returned to your previous spot on the couch.

This time you ate more slowly. You had been meaning to try this pizzeria – you walked by it on the way to work and it always smelled good – but hadn’t gotten around to it. It didn’t take long to realize that you should have listened to your nose. It was really good, much better than some of the other places you had tried. From now, you decided, you were getting your pizza from Slice of Life.

You felt a lot better now. The tasks ahead of you that have previously seemed so dauntingly felt manageable. Knowing this second wind wasn’t going to last forever, you cleared your throat and said, “We should probably get started on business.”

Both men seemed to study you for a minute, Matt with his listening closely pose and Foggy with shrewd eyes. But after that minute, both men nodded. Foggy took out a legal pad and pen from his satchel.

You had opened your mouth to begin when Foggy’s phone gave out a loud thrum. It wasn’t the first time the phone had buzzed at him. It had done so several times while you were eating. But each time, Foggy had looked at the call ID and declined the call. This time, however, he fumbled the phone and ended up answering. On speaker phone to boot because you heard a familiar voice all but growl, “Franklin.”

You winced. You recognized that tone. It had never been directed at you but you knew what it meant. Marci Stahl was out for blood.

“Hey Marci,” Foggy said with forced cheerfulness. It was obvious from the look on his face that he knew he was in hot water.

“Do. Not,” she hissed. “‘Hey Marci’ me, Franklin Nelson. I want to know what the hell is going on. Right now!”

After a quick glance at you for permission – Foggy explain the situation. Only in the broad strokes, omitting certain details. Like you had seen Daredevil more than once. And that Matt was the vigilante in question. Listening to his explanation answered a couple of your own questions – Marci was not in on the secret (yet) and how they had learned about the interrogation. Apparently there was at least one detective at that precinct who remembered that things like access to your legal counsel was a right, not a suggestion. Good to know.

“I see,” Marci said after Foggy had finished talking. She sounded more thoughtful than angry now. Which was a relief. “One question.”

“Fire away,” Foggy said as you raised your mug to drink the last of your tea.

“Murdock, are you fucking my paralegal?”

You managed – just barely – not to spray tea all over Matt’s coffee table or dribble it down your shirt. You also avoided chocking on it. Still, you were sputtering and your face felt like it was on fire.

“Ms. Stahl!” you protested.

“That sounds like a yes,” Marci said. “And call me Marci if you are dating Murdock. You are dating right, not just fucking?”

It wasn’t possible to die of embarrassment. Otherwise Jo would have killed you years ago. But sometimes, you thought as you buried your face in your hands, I really wished that it would.

You jumped a little when a hand gripped your knee. You peered through your fingers and saw it was Matt. Who squeezed your knee and sent you a reassuring smile before he answered Marci.

“Yes, Marci, we’re dating.”

“I thought so.”

“Why?” Matt looked genuinely curious. And if you were being honest, you were more than a little curious yourself about that answer.

“That hickey on her neck. You usually aren’t possessive enough of a one-night stand to mark them up like that.”

“Huh,” Foggy said slowly, looking he was mentally reviewing his memory. “I think she’s right.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m always right, Foggy Bear.”

Foggy Bear? That was unexpectedly cute. It also didn’t escape your notice that this was the second person to mention that hickey to you. It seemed your attempt at cover-up was even worse than you thought. Granted, both parties were rather observant people.

Still . . .

“Is there anything else I should be aware?” Marci asked.

“I had work product and similar confidential materials for the Rosenberg-Kowalski case in my briefcase,” you said. “So I refused to unlock it for police when they frisked me. They threatened to get a warrant for the contents.”

“They aren’t very likely to get one. Or a subpoena for that matter,” Marci pointed out.

“I know that,” you said. “But that doesn’t mean that they aren’t going to try. And I assume that you wouldn’t appreciate being caught unaware by such an attempt.”

“You assume correctly,” Marci said. “I’ll watch out for it. Which detectives from which precinct?”

“Tim Vaughn and Darla Reynolds with the 15th Precinct.”

Marci repeated the information in a way that suggested that she was writing that down. Then, after a brief conversation with Foggy, she said good-bye and hung up.

“Okay,” Foggy said, picking up his pen. “Let’s go over exactly what happened.”

You took a deep breathe. Then you started describing what happened, doing your best to remain calm. But when you got to the moment when you tried to get out your phone, your heart began to race with remembered fear. You felt Matt’s leg, pressed up against yours, became rigid.

“He threatened you with a gun?” Matt asked, his voice dark with growing anger. You looked over at him, saw the hands clenched tightly into fists. Then the muscles shifted under his clothes, like he was preparing to stand up. You knew with a visceral certainty that you couldn’t let him do that. If he stood up, he would make a beeline for the Daredevil suit. Assuming he even bothered stopping to grab his armor before darting out the window . . .

Your mind raced, trying to come up with something, anything, to convince him to stay where he was . . . You reached for him, cupping his face in your hands. Gently but firmly you encouraged him to turn his head to face you. Away from where you assumed he had hidden the Daredevil suit.

Once again, you were struck by how beautiful he looked like this. That naked rage blazing in his eyes should have been scary. And while you couldn’t say that it wasn’t intimidating, fear wasn’t your body’s overwhelming reaction.

No, you thought, feeling the wet heat building between your legs. Not fear at all.

His nostrils flared. Then his brow furrowed with the first hint of confusion. It was an opening. You massaged his cheeks with your thumbs. “Orange isn’t your color, baby.”

“He threatened you with a gun.”

“He never even drew the gun from its holster,” you pointed out mildly but his body remained rigid, his eyes filled with anger . . . and fear, you realized with a jolt. He was frightened. And like most men, he was channeling that fear into anger . . .

That give you an idea. It was risky but . . . Not wanting to give yourself time to talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. He didn’t respond at first. Long enough that you felt the first stirring of panic. Had you just ruined everything . . . but then you felt his mouth soften.

He started kissing you back, his hands raising to cradle your head as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t a gentle, loving kiss. You didn’t expected it to be. You didn’t want it to be. You wanted him to turn that rage and its underlying fear into passion. And he did, biting and lapping into your mouth with a fierce intensity that left you breathless. Moaning, you didn’t resist as his hands slide down your back and started to tug you into his lap . . .

A sharp whistle pierced the air, startling you. You reeled back from Matt, almost falling off the couch. Where – ?

“Oi, lovebirds!”

Foggy, still lowering his hand from the whistle and looking rather disgusted with both of you. Embarrassment brought a fresh wave of warmth to your face. You had forgotten he was there. At least you weren’t alone in that particular boat. When you risked a glance at Matt, he had the same flushed, vaguely guilty expression on his face that you were pretty sure was gracing yours.

You forced yourself to look away. Before you got too distracted by his kiss-swollen mouth. Or mussed hair. Or . . . You sat up straight and did your best to ignore the empty ache in your cunt. Now really wasn’t the time.

“Can I trust you two to keep everything rated G until I leave?”

“Sorry Fogs. We’ll be good.”

You echoed that agreement.

Foggy looked skeptical but after a moment, gestured for you to continue your story. You did. Matt and Foggy both asked a few clarifying questions. Neither knew what to make of your observations about Reynolds. Matt added that she had smelled like stress, even more than usual for a cop. Still, it was possible that that what was going on was exactly how it appeared to be – a fishing expedition by a couple of overzealous detectives. But it was also possible there was something else going on. There just wasn’t enough information to be know either way. You’d all have to wait and see.

It wasn’t an answer that pleased any of you but it was what it was.

Matt walked you home. By the time you arrived, your second wind was fading fast. Maybe Matt’s sleepy tea was finally catching up with you. But maybe it was just this emotional rollercoaster of a day . . . Either way, you were practically asleep on your feet.

But you had a meowing cat at your feet who, understandably, wanted his dinner. Any dinner, as blurry eyed look showed that all of his bowls were empty. Even his water. Poor kitty. He deserved a much better human friend than you. You started to shuffle toward the cat food but Matt stopped you.

“Get ready for bed, sweetheart. I’ll feed Houdini for you.”

That sounded like a fantastic idea. You loved your cat but you were just so tired . . . You agreed and turned toward your bedroom. You paid very little attention to what you pulled out of the drawer for sleepwear. At this point, as long as it was clean and didn’t itch, you didn’t care what you were wearing. All you cared about was the siren’s call of your nice, comfortable bed with its fluffy pillows and soft blanket . . .

You were just awake enough to notice the warm, furry body joining you in the bed, tucking himself under your chin with a purr. Dimly, you noticed that he smelled like potting soil but you couldn’t remember why that was problem . . .

Just before everything faded away, you felt soft lips press against your forehead and deep voice say, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Ending Notes:

This chapter’s working title was “Debrief” but given both Matt and Reader go through a bit of an emotional rollercoaster in this chapter, I changed it.

On the ropes is an expression from boxing from where someone is being forced up against the ropes by an opponent’s attack. That someone is usually losing and will have difficulty getting back on the offensive. It used in common parlance to mean that someone is very near to giving up or being defeated.

Rule 11 is (Federal?) Rule of Civil Procedure 11 provides that a district court may sanction attorney or parties who submit pleadings for an improper purpose or that contain frivolous arguments or arguments that have no evidentiary support. Basically, if I’m understanding this right, do not waste the court’s time with utter nonsense. These sanctions is usually a monetary fee.

In addition to being a mobility aid, the white cane can also be used an identifier. Mostly so others know to give the blind person (and possibility the person guiding them, if they are being guided by a sighted person) enough room to walk safely.

Sexiled is a slang term for being banished by one’s roommate from the room/dorm/apartment so said roommate can have sex with their significant other with relative privacy.

Crim Law is a shortened form of Criminal Law.

The professor being called by the judge in the middle of class is an adaptation of a story that an attorney shared during a podcast about having to give arguments over the phone while on a beach dressed in swim trunks.

Con Ed is Consolidated Edison Inc is a utility providing electric and gas service in New York City as well as steam service in Manhattan.

Mr. Lincoln is a nod to Willie Lincoln, a minor character in the Daredevil comic who is a blind African American veteran.

As far as I know, that thing about the guide dog is true, provided the dog isn’t aggressive toward other tenants.

The broken arm thing is something that my younger sibling did when they were about ten.

Duckweed is a common name for aquatic plants that float on or just beneath the surface of still or slow-moving bodies of fresh water like a pond. Through the algae is might also be getting that dress dirty.

Pineapple on pizza is the subject sometimes rather serious debate. I have no strong opinions on the matter – generally I think the people who are eating that particular pizza are the only ones whose opinion of the toppings matter.

Chocolate Sauerkraut Cake is really a thing. I first encountered the concept in a video by B. Dylan Hollis on YouTube. Apparently, if made right, you cannot taste the sauerkraut but I think I’ll just stick with coconut for that texture.

Jack’s stew is an Irish-style stew with beef, potatoes, carrots, onions, and turnips stewed in beef stock and Guinness beer. Traditionally the stew is made with lamb, potatoes, onions, and water but like many common dishes, every family has their own version. Jack made it like his mother did with exception of using beef instead of lamb or mutton because the latter two tend to be more expensive than beef in the US.

Walking from Upper East Side to Hell’s Kitchen would take at least an hour, according to Google maps.

St. Patrick, in addition to being the patron saint of Ireland, is also the patron saint of paralegals. But I’m not Catholic so don’t quote me on that.

Chamomile and lavender are supposed be relaxing. Separately or together, they often are ingredients in calming and bedtime teas.

Leopard spotting on pizza is caused when the dough is fermenting in a cold environment which causes a lot of air bubbles to form and the intense heat of the oven makes those bubbles super pronounced, creating leopard-liked spotting.

Slice of Life is not, as far as I know, a real restaurant.

G Rating is one of the film ratings given out by the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America), meaning for general audience. It is supposed to be suitable for young children with no violence, offensive language, or sexual activity.

#fan fiction #marvel daredevil #mcu daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #alley cat series #ao3 link #ongoing fic #matt murdock x fem!reader #hurt/comfort

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