pretending-is-detention

[pretending-is-detention]

❛ if we learn our love is the hurting kind, i’ll let it devour me ❜

hurting kind bob fem reader

♪ hurting kind, del water gap

masterlist / marvel masterlist

summary. You and Bob are best friends, you’re there for him no matter what. But he leaves.

warnings. drugs. addiction. slight mentions of throw up. ansgt but pt2 wont be alllll that :-) no dialogue (sorry i got carried away)

When you first found Bob out of his mind, you didn’t judge him. You didn’t belittle him for it. You knew about his family issues as you both grew up together. You were always his shoulder to cry on, as he was yours.

You were always there for him— when he was fighting his thoughts, or when he was battling his withdrawals you were there, with a cold towel patting his head as the beads of sweat form on his head, mixed with the tears that were pooling in his eyes before they fall onto his cheeks, coating his skin. And you would softly dry them away, while whispering sweet nothings to him.

You were there for it all.

High school to adulthood. You held his hand through everything. To when he first turned to Meth, to when he first tried to turn away from meth.

Most importantly when you were in highschool and you both didn’t have a prom date — so you went together. He went dress shopping with you, and you matched colours with his suit, because you were best friends.

Bob wasn’t so sure why you were still there by his side when he was battling his addiction — when he was fighting his withdrawals he’d utter some nasty stuff to you, and you’d take the words in, but didn’t let them get to you. You both sat in the bathroom, the towel in your hands now dropped to the floor due to your shock. Unshed tears now linger in your eyes as you stare into his eyes, noticing the lost look in them. You stood up and let him cool down, as you left the room. Bob sat there watching your retreating figure, deep down he felt guilty, but in that moment he had no control of what he was doing, it was the drugs in his system.

So when he saw you walk back into the room with tear stained cheeks and a glass of water for him, he knew you were too good for him. He knew he had to get better. For you.

So he left. To get his life together, so he can be better for you.

He left a note on the fridge of your home — the home you both basically shared, considering he was too unstable to live alone, you let him into your space. His toothbrush now next to yours, his shampoo bottles next to yours on the shelf in your now shared bathroom, a pillow that was once yours now smelling like him, the left side of your bed was now his side of the bed. You slept beside him at nights in case he was sick in his sleep, in case something was to happen at night. As he finally slept after a breakdown you wanted to reach out and hold the hand he had laying under his pillow. But you resisted.

When you got home from work your home seemed very still, something seemed off. It was never this silent, usually you heard the shuffling of feet, or the clanging of pots in the kitchen as Bob tried to make you a meal after your long day of work.

That's when you noticed it, the note on your fridge, the stickers dotted on it — the stickers you would jokingly give him as an award for him trying to stay sober. The paper used for the note ripped out of your notepad.

Next to the note was one of the post-it notes you left him in the morning — a daily ritual you did to keep him going, to motivate him to stay clean.

Your post-it note had a simple ‘You got this!’ with a drawn smiley face next to it. It was depressing looking at your note compared to Bob’s.

Bob’s note said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m trying to get better for you. I’m leaving for you. I will find you again, when I'm better.’ In his messy handwriting, no doubt his hands were shaking as he wrote it.

Your hands shook as you grabbed the note off the fridge, tears escaping out your eyes and down your cheeks, dripping onto the page and staining the paper.

Simple words but soul shattering for you. A million thoughts raced through your minds as you read the page over and over again.

The silence in your home was almost deafening — it didn’t even feel like home anymore, without him it wasn’t home. Bob’s presence that once lingered in the halls was now gone, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

TIME SKIP — THE VOID

The Void had entirely corrupted Bob. Taking over the city and his newfound friends he met in the Vault— the Vault that almost killed them, the one that almost took him from getting back to you.

You. You were here.

Well, it was a memory of you.

One where you were desperately trying to help him as he fought the drugs in his system. You and Bob were in your bathroom, you had a towel in your hand once again as you tried to clean the puke off of his face as you cling to him, silent pleas on the tip of your tongue. Bob was too high to even notice it then — But now? He saw it. He saw what you had to deal with when he couldn’t function, he saw the struggle, he saw your determination to make him better. And so did the rest of his newcomer’s. Yelena, Bucky, Alexei, Ava, John saw his memory of you. They saw you. They saw what you went through with him. They watched sorrowfully as they saw you beg him to stay with you, as you put his head under the cold shower to awaken him.

Bob stood awkwardly in the corner as he watched, his posture slackened as he watched with guilt. The guilt crawled up on him like the void did prior.

And he felt judged by the rest of the group. But it was completely the opposite, they weren’t judging him. They were pitying him. They can see how he desperately wanted to get back to you, the expression currently on his face gave him away, the yearning so evident in his eyes as he couldn’t help but watch the scene unfold in front of him.

The group silently agreed that they would help him get back to you.

published. 04:25 am gmt (😭)

notes. ive had this idea for awhile now, and now finally got to it. i'll try get to pt2 as soon as i can :-)

[pretending-is-detention]

Project: Get Over Bob

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. no use of y/n, not much angst right now, reader pining for Bob but pushing it all down!! Bob breaking my little y/n's heart.

word count. 2.7k.

Bob Reynolds was many things, but one thing he wasn’t, was subtle.

You knew it.

He knew it.

Everyone knew it.

So when he started batting his eyelashes at the owner of the local bookstore, you knew that you might have to get rid of your crush.

You and Bob had known each other now for at least a year, and had fallen into the perfect morning routine.

You’d wake up at 7am, stumble your way into the kitchen, knocking on everyone’s doors as you went. Of course, Ava, Bucky, and Walker would have already left for training, but it was nice to cause a bit of ruckus so early in the day. You’d pop some coffee on and by the time it brewed, Bob would be sitting at the island in the middle of the room with a grin and an extra Splenda packet for you.

But today?

Today, he was nowhere to be found.

“Coffee for me?”  Yelena asked as she wiggled her brows at you.

You smiled and scoffed “Knock yourself out”

“Have you seen my bowie knife, I think I left it in the sink but I came to grab it last night and it was gone.” She whined, her bottom lip jutting out in such a cute way you couldn’t help but grin and pinch her cheeks.

“You left your disgusting dirty knife in the sink?!! We practically EAT out of there”  Walker shouts.

“We don’t eat out of the sink stupid”

“Well, if we’re washing our dishes in the sink and we eat off of them then – yeah – we do”

“So what? You decided to throw my knife away because of that??”

Yelena’s accusation turns John bright red, the two bickering and throwing insults around at a rapid pace.

While those two are enthralled in a ‘spirited debate’  Ava and Bucky stroll in. The latter animatedly mimicking what you think? is some kind of old-school wrestling move. Bucky suddenly tunes into the two blondes’ argument, starts to smirk and you raise a brow at his reaction. His wink back was enough evidence that he definitely had something to with the disappearance of Lena’s knife.

Yeah, you need to learn how to rage bait effectively from the centurion.

The elevator chimes and you all turn to see Bob waving, carrying a very nice smelling paper bag which you can only hope are filled with some almond doughnuts from Supermoon.

You open your mouth to say something, until a small figure comes out from behind him. Long black hair, big eyes and-and wait it’s the lady from the bookstore?

You’d spoken to her before and honestly, she was lovely, super smart and made your day every time you stepped foot to her store. She'd recommended Dante's Inferno to you when you’d ask for an all-time classic so obviously you had to love her. You liked her so much you’d even taken her email so you both could discuss you guys’ excitement for the new Odyssey film.

And now here she was, the kind woman from the store clinging onto Bob’s side.

All you could see was his hand, Bob’s hand, your Bob’s hand covering hers so tenderly.

The way always he did with you.

Everyone’s gaze seemed to zero in on you and your reaction.

“Hey guys um Lily and I are heading to the game room, you-you guys are welcome to join, we’re watching ‘The Shining’!” God, the way his eyes shifted to hers in such a soft way, assuring her that she was welcome here, killed you.

He stares at you for a moment; you know Bob was looking for some comfort from you, that yes he's made a good choice in finally trying to live a normal life.

Through your shock you pull yourself together, give a thumbs up and wink, mouthing the words ‘she’s cute’. You heart may be breaking but you care for him too much to not support something that makes him so obviously happy.

You can see him visibly relax and as the others rally to greet Lily a sudden flurry of steps from Alexei stole the group’s attention. The large leather clad (you’d have to have a conversion to him about the concept of lounge wear) man claps his hands together as he caught sight of the two in the doorway.

“Finally Bob, you ask Lily to come here. You know he asked me over and over and over advice on how to charm pretty woman with shop” he says, turning to the group with a smile on his face.

Yelena places her hand in the small of your back and glares at Alexei, the man looking absolutely bewildered at the others’ reaction to what he thinks is the best news he’d heard all week.

“So.. you both are together or –“ John questions, shooting an inquisitive look between the two.

“We haven’t really, well, haven’t put a label on it yet, we’re just hanging out, right-right?” he turns to face her, and every inch of her face lights up as she laughs.

“Yeah, this is his audition for boyfriend”, nudging him in a familiar way.

They’d only known each other a month why were they suddenly so buddy-buddy?

Ava, as kind as ever, decides to change the subject, asking about the team’s plans for next month’s mission. You hear the words safe-house and horses but can’t bring yourself to care.

The lovebirds take this as their cue to leave and Bob gives you a soft smile as he walks away with someone that’s not you.

Ok.

Time to get over Robert Reynolds once and for all.

Phase 1

You decided to split Project Get Over Bob into 4 phases = fill up your timetable and become busy - stop hanging out with Bob – stop thinking of Bob – reach the ultimate nirvana and make yourself invisible to him.

Ok, well the phases were vaguely something like that.

Simple right?

Phase 1 was easy; you’d used the guise of a new hobby (jiu-jitsu) as an excuse to be out of any kind of common area or team activity. Claiming to the team during the monthly debrief that you had to know the sport as an effective cover for your mission.

So, while half of your day was taken up by morning classes and sparring in the afternoon with Lena and Buck, there was still the entirety of the evening to deal with.

You and Bob spent most evenings cooking dinner, filling reports to send off to Mel and watching shitty French arthouse films until you were both knocked out for the day. This had to stop.

Ottolenghi could wait, you thought to yourself as you booted up your laptop and found the perfect pottery class that was on the other side of the city and about 2 hours long.

“Are you trying to replace all of our plates?” a voice says from behind you, causing you to jump and almost drop the drink you were holding in your free hand.

“Jesus John, learn to make some noise when walking into a room!”

Walker jumps over the sofa landing snuggly next to you, he reeks of sweat nothing too bad but you wrinkle your nose in faux disgust.

“You smell awful did you roll around in dirt before you got here or what”

“I’ll have you know I beat Bucky and Alexei while sparring today, hence the sweat”

You look at him incredulously. There was no way that Walker could beat them 1 v 2. Sure, he was strong he’d managed to rough you up plenty of times but James had the fancy hydra serum and well Alexei was just out of his mind Russian so how did the so called ‘second rate’ captain America manage to beat them?

As if catching onto your line of thought John grabs your head and brings his arm around your neck, playfully tickling you with the other. Your burst out in giggles, gasping and shouting at him to let you go.

While he has you in a headlock without mercy Lily and Bob walk in.

Their conversation stalls as Bob lays his eyes on the two of you messing around.

Walker straightens up and you stare at him confused with the immediate shift in behaviour.

“What are you both doing?” he questions his voice tight and his hands clenched at his sides.

“John managed to best the two greatest super soldiers on earth, apparently. I personally don't believe it” you state while winking in Lily’s direction. She holds her mouth with her palm, attempting to hide her laugh.

“Anyway, I’ve got some work to catch up on so I’ll see you guys later”,  you clap your hands while standing up and shuffle out of the room, bidding goodbye to them all.

Bob looks at your retreating figure, both John and Lily staring at him snaps him out of his daze and he leads her to the lab downstairs.

You couldn’t wait to leave the room, Bob’s reaction made no sense to you. You knew he was always slightly awkward with Walker but they had hashed out whatever issues they had months ago, so why was he so annoyed with him today?

The rest of the week goes by with you keeping as busy as possible, you can count on one hand how many times you’d even seen Bob and you wanted to keep it that way.

You told yourself all you had to do was make it to week 4, and you would be off to Mongolia with Alexei and Walker for at least 2 months, and by then the Bob-shaped hole in your heart would be filled up and pasted over.

Phase 2

All you needed to do for phase 2 of your plan was to wean yourself off the drug that was Bob. The aforementioned drug was not making it easy for you, even though you’d changed your habits, he hadn’t.

Every day he would wake up even earlier than usual and make your favourite breakfast of blueberry pancakes and an iced black coffee, leaving it on the counter closest to the elevator. He would stand next to your breakfast, almost militant in ensuring you ate every last bit because how else would you have enough energy for jiu-jitsu? He was so happy that you had decided to take on a new hobby and put yourself out there, you deserved to have fun so of course he wanted to show his support in any way he could.

You’d then decided to take the stairs around the back so you could avoid him but  he’d taken to waiting by reception with your breakfast in a small tin, like a wife waving her husband off for work. Was Bob your wife?

Never mind.

You’d decided to forgo even more sleep and join John in his 4am gym sessions, leaving for class after sparing with the super solider that spent 2 hours kicking your ass so hard that by the time you got to class you were aching.

At least it had limited your conversations with Bob.

One other problem needed to be solved.

Bob’s night terrors were almost daily and before Erica-gate you had allowed him to come to your room, he’d nestle himself into your sofa, you would wake up sometime after and speak to him until he felt at ease at which point he would whisper goodnight and tip toe back to his own bed.

You knew deep down that he only came to your room because it was closest to his, the comfort of your sofa was the most alluring part to him, you guess. It was bigger than Bucky’s, way softer than whatever the hell John had stuffed in his room, cleaner than Ava’s and Alexei and Yelena had declined any kind of comforts in their rooms so that wasn’t an option for him.

Bob loved your room.

So you would need to change your room.

It had to be sneaky, the others were already pestering you about changing your training timetable, but a big change like this would arouse suspicion from Bob. Maybe a burst pipe would be best.

You knelt next to your sink, gripping the hammer you’d stolen from the construction team plastering the entrance of the tower after an unfortunate parking incident at the hands of Yelena. You weren’t worried about the sound of you brutally slamming the hammer to the pipe, you’d forced Valentina to sound proof everyone’s bathrooms out of fear the others would hear you screaming your lungs out to Dionne Warwick every morning.

One final hit and water exploded across the room, soaking the floor and walls. Within minutes, the water seeped into the carpet of your room and once you were satisfied you changed out of your wet clothes and temporarily disposed of the hammer under your bed.

Running out your room you shouted for Ava – she was always locked in her room, tinkering away at her next project- you asked her to call maintenance up and with that phase 2 was well on its way.

The team sans Bob gathered round your room door as the very kind man who had fixed up your bathroom informed you and Mel that the flooring would need to be replaced because of the risk of Mold.

You struggled to hide your joy at the success of your plan so turned your face to grin at yourself. Quickly turning back and putting on a concerned face as you ‘brainstormed’ a solution to your-self inflicted dilemma.

 Ava tutted loudly as the group discussed where you would be staying. She locked eyes with you and gave you a look you couldn’t figure out, you’d have to chase her up on that later.

“Could I have the room next to you Buck?” his was the furthest from yours and would provide a respite from the man that you were attempting to avoid.

“Yeah course kid, need a hand with your stuff?”

You both spent the day moving every single item in your room into the one at the end of the hall, there wasn’t even a speck of dust that could have been traced back to you.

As you brought the last box out of your room Bob rounded the corner. It had been a few days since you’d last spoken to the man and even the sight of his face felt like too much for you to handle. But ignoring him now would be cruel and it wasn’t like you were trying to punish the guy.

Right?

His hair was up in a clip, something he normally only did when at self-care night with you and the other girls, tucked into Lena’s covers with a hyaluronic face mask and a hot chocolate. You liked it, he’d normally have his hair covering his face but you like seeing him, all of him.

“What happened? Why-why is your room boarded up, did something happen-“

“A pipe burst so I had to switch to a different room” you shrugged. “Buck offered the one attached to his so-”

“What-what about the one next to mine?”

Shit.

You hadn’t really thought about a good excuse for that, obviously, the one next to his would be the more reasonable option but you quickly spit out a lie.

“I was considering it… but the view from the other side of the tower is so great at night! It’s nicer to have a view of Central Park than Goldman Sachs when I’m working”

He nods in understanding, “Oh ok that makes sense”  He stills for a moment, and it looks as if he may say something, but he stops himself.

You take advantage of his hesitation. “I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna turn in m’kay, see you around Bob”

“Yeah-yeah I’ll see you, goodnight”

You walk past him as quickly as possible without looking back; if you had, you would have seen the absolutely devastated look on his face.

Bob wasn’t stupid.

He’d been trying to get your attention for the past two weeks and he knew that you were working hard to prepare for your mission, but you always made time for him no matter what.

Bob decided he would get to the bottom of your strange mood, no matter what it took.

Hey guys, hope you like the fic so far, It’s my first time writing fanfiction and not consuming it so if anyone has any writing tips pls let me know!

[pretending-is-detention]

now I know

summary : gojo satoru pranks—by pretending he died— his girlfriend which leads her to have a mental breakdown and panic attack. content : poly!satosugu, angst, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, harsh words, and I forget. words count : 3k(?) idk honestly

wanna see something ugly? Yeah, just read this story 😭

listen to the song until the end, okay?

⠀⠀⠀⠀You unlock the door to your shared apartment with your boyfriends, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru before removing your shoes and slipping onto your home sandals. You raise your eyebrow, confused about how quiet your apartment is. No sound of TV, no sound of Satoru's laugh, just nothing, like nobody's ever lived there. “Satoru?” you called his name, knowing damn well he is home because you saw his shoes and his home sandals are gone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀You went to the kitchen to check the whereabouts of the snow-white-haired man but to no avail. Your forehead furrowed even more before you finally chose to go to his room. Your steps stopped for a moment when you saw the door to your shared bedroom slightly open. It looked dark inside, you could see all the curtains covering the bedroom windows. “Satoru, you there?” you ask. Hesitantly you stepped inside and stopped in the middle of the room once you were inside. Look around in the dark.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Silence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀You carried your feet around your shared bedroom until your steps stopped when you heard a puddle of water. Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer makes you very sensitive even to the sound of dripping water. When you were about to walk back to turn on the light, you tripped over something on the floor, causing you to fall. “What the fuck? I swear I already told Satoru to clean the room. God, he is always so messy,” you grumbled in annoyance. You looked down to see what was soaking your feet and sandals, but all you saw was darkness. Raise your hand towards the light switch and move your index finger up and suddenly the light turns on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀As the light enveloped the room, your heartbeat stopped for a moment. Red, that's what's in your sight. Red, all over the floor. With your position currently kneeling with both hands on the floor, your gaze falls on the figure who is now lying in front of you— in the red puddle. His blue eyes looked at you coldly as if they no longer showed any life. Your heart stops for a moment, as does your breathing before it finally starts beating again, beating faster than it should, so fast that you feel like it's trying to jump out of your body, so fast that it makes you sick.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Satoru lay there, silent, just silent. You never expected this, but at that moment you really wanted to hear Satoru's annoying laugh, but to no avail. Only silence fills the room, the hollows of you. It's so quiet it makes you nauseous. And in a matter of seconds, all the memories of your school days invaded your frail body, trying to rush in and remind you of the Star Plasma incident that almost killed the three of you. You seemed to see how Satoru was lying in a pool of blood for the second time now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀You sat up, “N-no!” you whispered.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Dragging yourself away from Satoru panic began to creep in. The more you panic, the more you try to get away, and the more blood follows you—carving the floor from your clothes being stained with its red liquid. Your eyes opened wide—staring in horror at your hands and clothes, which now had many red spots. “N-no, no, no, no!” you mumbled as you roughly rubbed your skin, trying to get rid of the red. You kept rubbing and rubbing, rubbing it on your clothes. But in your eyes, it was as if the blood never disappeared even after you threw your clothes away until only your underwear remained. But the feeling of the liquid on your skin never goes away.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Frightened and panicked, you brought yourself to curl up in your seat. Your head almost touched the floor because your body was so curled up. Suddenly your head feels very full, the sound of explosions, destruction, gunshots—your ears, head and eyes all feel full as if you were back in that time. You looked back at Satoru and Suguru who were almost dead. But this time it felt like time was running slowly—as if the memories had come to torment you even more deeply than they should.

⠀⠀⠀⠀You can't hear anything. You couldn't hear Satoru who was now standing not far away from you and laughing. His other hand was holding his stomach and the other was pointing at you, pointing out how ridiculous you were. “Haha! You should see the look on your face,” he said. But he didn't get any response other than you continuing to mumble 'No, no, no, please'. You're too busy covering your ears and curling up. You keep moaning and crying in fear, and panic. Satoru's laughter died down when he realized your panic attack was recurring.

⠀⠀⠀⠀He crouched in front of you, his hands holding your arms. “Hey? Y/n, I'm sorry. Fuck! I'm so sorry. I—” He was unable to continue his words—felt as if his throat had been blocked by a large boulder. “Love, I'm— I'm sorry, please—” Satoru hugged your shaking body. His wide hands rubbed your head and back alternately—something that used to calm you down and right now it seemed like it meant nothing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Satoru was too focused on you that he didn't notice the presence of another person entering the apartment until finally his body was pushed backwards. He blinked his eyes several times before he realized that Suguru was now crouching in front of your weak body. “What the fuck is going on?!” he asked angrily as he looked at the now-naked you and Satoru alternately. Panic filled his soul when he saw the pool of blood, also on you and Satoru.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But Satoru couldn't answer, his tongue was tied— he felt ashamed of himself and his two lovers for his attitude. He could only lower his head. “Satoru!” Suguru snapped. The man who was usually gentle and friendly, never raised his voice, now looked so angry. His purple eyes were fiery, the veins on his forehead bulging themselves, the skin on his face was red. Suguru carried your body to the bathroom, sat you in the bathtub and turned on the water. His heart hurts seeing you who keep trying to remove the red spots that stick to your skin.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Hey.. love, it's okay, I'm here, I'm here,” Suguru cupped your cheeks— forcing you to look at him. Your eyes darted here and there, searching for Suguru's whereabouts until you could slowly look him in the eye. “S—Suguru.. you— S—satoru.. he— he..” you said, stuttering. Your chest is still moving up and down, you still look scared and panicked, and your tears won't stop streaming down your face. Suguru nodded, with his two thumbs continuing to wipe your tears he said, “He's okay, Satoru is fine, I'm fine, we are fine,” he whispered.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“N—no, Suguru! H.. he's dead! D—did you.. did you not— see him? l-look!” you repeatedly choked on air, making your voice keep cutting out. You raised both your hands towards Suguru—showing them to him as if the red liquid was still stuck there even though it was gone. “His blood is all over me, how can you not see it?! P—please Suguru, help.. help him,” You begged—rubbing your hands with water hoping it would wash away the blood stuck there, on your reflection.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Please, sweetheart..”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Suguru looked at you in pity, he felt sick. It's like you're losing your mind, your eyes can't focus on one point. You kept muttering about the blood on your hands, about Satoru being dead even though the man was standing in the doorway with tears rolling down his cheeks and pensive but you couldn't seem to see him. The trauma you experienced a few years ago was too busy working to damage you until you couldn't differentiate between reality and what wasn't.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“S—Suguru, please! Why— why aren't you doing anything? Please.. call Shoko! M—maybe.. maybe she can help, r-right ?! she..she can— Suguru!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀A slap landed on Suguru's cheek but you didn't realize it—it was too chaotic in your mind. Satoru's eyes widened as he looked at Suguru who was silent—just looking at you with tears forming in his eyes and letting you shake his body as if asking him to come to his senses.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Unable to stand it any longer, Satoru with all his strength forced his legs to take a step closer. He got into the bathtub and sat in the other corner. Slowly, with great hesitation, he touched your hand until you averted your gaze from Suguru. “S-satoru..” you whispered. Smiling weakly, the man looked at you as he pulled you closer.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Y-you're alive! S-satoru, you're...—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“I'm here, I'm here my love.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Satoru hugged you, wrapping your shaking body in his muscular arms. “Sshhh.. it's okay, it's okay. Everything is alright now, I'm here, Suguru is here. We're fine, it's okay now my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” Satoru whispered—his eyes looking at Suguru who was already staring at him blankly. One of his hands continued to rub your head which was now pressed against his chest. Satoru didn't stop saying sorry, continued to kiss your head, hugged your body which slowly started to stop shaking. Your breathing is no longer rushed, your cries are no longer audible, your lips no longer make mumbling sounds.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The three of you remained in that position until you finally fell asleep. “She's asleep,” Suguru said quietly, his voice hoarse than usual. He leaned over to hug you and carried you out of the bathtub. Satoru came out and took a towel, wanting to dry your body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Let me—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“No Satoru! You've done enough," said Suguru coldly. So with that he came out of the bathroom with you in his arms leaving the white haired man alone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Satoru coughed until a little blood came out of his mouth. He could taste the taste of metal on his tongue. Never in his mind would he be in the position he was in now— lying on the floor with Suguru towering over him standing next to him and punching him in the face. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he asked angrily. Satoru looked up at the ceiling, “It's a joke.. I.. thought—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“The joke was supposed to be funny, but nobody's laughing Satoru! Nobody! Look at the effect of your stupid little joke! look at her? Is that funny to you? To see like that?! Fuck—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Suguru was no longer able to continue his words. He brushed his black hair back as he stepped away and sat on a chair at the dining table. His gaze glanced at his clenched left hand—the knuckles were red and there was a bit of Satoru's blood there.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“I'm not strong enough to lose her, Satoru.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“I'm sorry.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Suguru raised his head to look at the white-haired man who was now covering his face with both hands. Satoru was crying, he was sobbing. As much as he was angry with Satoru, Suguru knew that he didn't mean for this to happen. He didn't intentionally do what he did. He knew how regretful the snow-white-haired man was. He knew how seeing your condition earlier hurt Satoru as much as it hurt him. And the two of them just remained silent for a moment, lost in their cries.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The light in your eyes goes out.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The thing your two lovers were afraid of happened. For several days you were just silent, you never said a word. You don't look at your lover, you don't smile, you don't hug them like you usually do, you don't argue with Satoru like you used to, you don't help tie Suguru's hair like you used to, you no longer teach your students at Jujutsu High, just nothing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀When you eat dinner together, you never touch your food, you just look out the window in silence. You no longer sleep together with them, it's just you in bed alone and one of your two lovers will be on guard until you wake up. Just so that when you're having a panic attack one of them will be there for you. Today one thing is certain, you always wake up because of nightmares.

⠀⠀⠀⠀That night Satoru was on guard while Suguru slept on the sofa across the room. He sat on the couch facing the bed— towards you. He had one hand supporting his chin and his gaze never moved from you. Until he saw your body suddenly stiffen. Your eyes widened and stared at the ceiling. But at your glance, just as you opened your eyes you found Satoru hovering not far above you. You face each other. You saw Satoru floating there with those eyes— eyes that showed nothing but emptiness, lifelessness.

⠀⠀⠀⠀There were many wounds on his body, on his face. You felt the blood drip down your face, one by one falling from the wound on Satoru's forehead onto your cheek. You blinked your eyes several times, getting faster with each blink. And the blood dripping seemed to get faster and faster like a rainstorm hitting your face until you were no longer able to open your eyes. You screamed in fear but on the other hand, Satoru saw you growling softly—looking so scared.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Your eyes were tightly closed with veins bulging on your forehead. Your breath moves quickly, causing your chest to rise and fall in sync. “Hey, hey, hey, Y/n, it's okay..” Satoru sat down next to you. His hands pushed your sweat-drenched hair back and caressed your cheek, cupping it. He kept calling your name until finally your eyes suddenly widened. Your pupils fluttered as you looked at Satoru who looked worried. Under the dim lights of the bedroom, you could see his blue eyes shining—like always.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“S—satoru..”

⠀⠀⠀⠀You hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. You hugged him so tight as if your whole life depended on it. Your tears broke. Satoru climbed onto the bed— sat in the middle of it, and pulled you between his legs as he hugged you tightly. “I'm scared Satoru.. I— I thought I lost you forever.. I.. I can't breathe, Satoru I—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sshhh, darling. I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, I never leave, never,” Satoru whispered in hopes of calming you down a little. His hands stroked your hair and back gently. He continued to whisper sweet words in your ear, moving your body in his arms gently from side to side. You buried your face in Satoru's neck. Close your eyes to inhale deeply the scent of the man you love.

⠀⠀⠀⠀For the past few days your condition has not been better than before. Every day you always have nightmares, you can't sleep without medicine to help you. You can't eat without feeling nauseous. You couldn't look at your two lovers without the image of them lying on the ground barely alive. In the middle of the quiet apartment you couldn't think of anything other than what you heard during the Star Plasma incident several years ago. You are always shrouded in fear.

⠀⠀⠀⠀You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt Satoru's body shaking and his crying— he was sobbing. “I'm sorry my love, I'm so sorry. Because of me you have to go through this suffering again, because of my stupidity you have to feel the trauma that you have tried so hard to get through. I'm sorry, please. I can't go through another day watching the light leave your eyes—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Satoru..”

⠀⠀⠀⠀You moved your face away from Satoru's neck only to find the man lowering his head. You cupped his cheeks, lifting his head to look at you. His blue eyes were red, as were his ears and face. Satoru is your guy, he can hide his emotions very, very well. He could feel that his world was crumbling beneath his feet but you would still see a cheerful smile perched on his face. Never once had you seen Satoru so weak, not until now. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks and he sobbed so sadly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Please forgive me. I'm not strong enough to see you slowly disappearing— I feel you slowly leaving, even though you're here with me. I'm gonna walk aimlessly if you leave. I'll never find a home anywhere and I'm scared. Please Y/n... come back to me, come back to us, please—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh darling..”

⠀⠀⠀⠀You wiped the tears away from Satoru's cheeks. “I'm here,” you whispered—your foreheads pressed together. Bringing your face closer until you could feel Satoru's soft lips touching yours. You could feel Satoru's wet cheeks against yours. You could also feel his breath still hitched because he was still sobbing a little. “You're an idiot, Satoru,” you whispered between kisses. Satoru tilted his head to deepen the kiss, “I know, baby, I'm sorry,” he whispered and stuck his tongue into your mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Oh how he missed this— your kiss, your sweet voice, your warm embrace, your skin on him, everything.

⠀⠀⠀⠀You broke the kiss when you felt the mattress behind you move. You turned around only to find Suguru sitting behind you with your back pressed against his stomach. His hands wrapped around your stomach as he kissed your shoulders. “Did you feel a lot better, baby?” he whispered to which you answered with a nod. “I'm sorry for the hard time I have given you guys for the past few days, I know there are a lot of things going on right now, but I just added to the burden for you guys, I—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Please don't. The one who should be sorry is not you," Suguru said while throwing Satoru a sharp glare. “I'm sorry, okay? I promise I'll be good to both of you," Satoru said, still covered in feelings of guilt. You and Suguru threw stones at the white-haired man who had now lowered his head and was sneering. “Just don't prank us with something like that again, okay?” Suguru said finally, softly. His wide hand stroked Satoru's head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The man raised his head—nodding quickly. “I promise, I'll never do something like that again. I don't want to lose both of you, I can't even imagine my life without both of you," he said. Even though Satoru is the oldest among the three of you, sometimes his attitude is still childish. You can't turn it on, you understand very well the reason why Satoru is the way he is now. Of course, he was annoying at times, but you didn't mind, and neither did Suguru. You both need Satoru's childlike attitude to turn a bad day into a better one with all his jokes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Good, you're a fast learner,” you tease him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“I love you both so much,” Satoru said. He kissed your and Suguru's foreheads in turn. “I love you too, pretty boy,” you said and smiled. Your finger moved to gently rub the corner of his slightly injured lips. “Not gonna lie tho, Suguru's kinda hot when he's punch you in the face,” you say—leaning into Suguru's chest, which makes the black-haired man chuckle. “Yeah? Satoru deserve it,” he said and kissed your cheek. The so-called just pouting. His finger drifted to touch the small wound on his lip.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Still hurt,” he said, lying of course.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Kiss it,” he ordered Suguru. “No,” Suguru pressed without waiting. “Oh please, man,” Satoru whined with his shoulders slumping. He shifted his gaze from Suguru to you. His blue eyes looked at you intently. Childishly he laid his head on your chest which you happily welcomed. Wrap your arms around his shoulders while rubbing him gently. “Oh my poor baby,” you laughed softly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Crybaby,” Suguru pouted.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh fuck you!” Satoru barked and wrapped his arms around your waist, making you chuckle. Suguru laughed softly. He leaned down to kiss the cut on Satoru's lips and kissed your forehead afterwards. His arms wide embraced you and Satoru who sat between his legs.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“I love you guys so much,” he whispered.

[pretending-is-detention]

Hiiii!

This is my first time doing this, but I have an idea for FF.

Can you do something where reader is like a raccoon, likes to sleep, eat, steals peoples food sometimes and then Hobie just thinks its adorable... except when reader steals his food and then when I think of Hobie getting his food stolen I think about that one tiktok "gIvE mE mA fOkKeN cHiPs!" I'll add the link but could you do something like that please? Would make my day 😭💀

Link: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMjk3y59F/

-✨️

Omg hi ✨anon! I love this prompt sm ❤️ thank you for requesting!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, spiderperson! Reader, cw food mention, FLUFF.

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Miguel's annoyed voice rings out around his large office, chastising an equally annoyed Hobie, hands on his hips, rolling his eyes at every word Miguel throws at him. Gwen stands next to Hobie with her arms crossed head turned to the side with a frown.

Hobie's the first person to spot you crawling on the ceiling ever so quietly and slowly. Your mask is off, he sees the tip of your tongue poking out your lips in concentration.

Your senses tingle, eyes shifting to the culprit. Hobie has the faintest smirk on his lips, raising his eyebrows slightly to signal you that you're still undetected by Miguel. You give him a wink as a thank you. Going back to your heist, a warm empanada sits on Miguel's desk, ready for the taking. You think food tastes better when it's snatched right from under their noses, moreso if it comes from your boss who's currently blowing a gasket at Hobie and Gwen.

You take it as revenge for yelling at them. Crawling soundlessly, hands and feet sticking effortlessly on the smooth ceiling, you aim your web shooter directly at the styrofoam.

Suddenly, Gwen sees you, a gasp escapes her lips. Miguel stops mid sentence, eyes following her line of sight.

"We got it!" Hobie pipes up before Miguel spots you with your webs sticking to his lunch. "What was our mistake again?" Bossman pinches the bridge of his nose, starting his rant again.

You sigh, relieved. Gwen gives you an apologetic smile, slyly hiding it from Miguel. You give her a thumbs up while pulling the empanada up to you. Once safely in your grasp, you give Hobie a flying kiss. A knowing look in your eyes, Hobie shakes his head in a miniscule movement.

You shake the styrofoam in your hand, taking Miguel's attention. He turns around lightning fast, already knowing who's behind him and what they currently have in their hands.

"You–!" He doesn't waste time chasing after you, especially that empanada was the last one from the cafeteria.

"Run!" Gwen yells, Hobie guffaws, doubling over in laughter.

You yelp, laughing like a maniac. Having multiple hiding places, it's safe to say that empanada was your prize.

—

Hobie stretches his aching arm, seeking your warmth, he finds Pavitr and Miles talking excitedly in the many hallways of the society.

Hobie opens his mouth to ask them where you are, before he could, Miles sighs, pointing up with his index finger.

"Ceiling"

"Thanks" Hobie jumps up, sticking to the ceiling, he slides off a loose panel. Peeking in, he sees you curled around a fluffy blanket, eyes closed, chest rising and falling.

You look so comfortable he doesn't want to disturb your little bubble of relaxation. Your senses have other ideas though, cracking your eyes open, you smile immediately after your sleepy vision clears, showing Hobie in all his glory.

"Hi" you say softly, yawning, hugging the blanket tighter.

"Hi yourself" Hobie wipes the gunk off your eye carefully with his pinky. "What'd you take now?"

"Peter" you say nonchalantly.

"What?" He asks with wide eyes, surely lego spiderman isn't tucked next to you, or else Miguel would definitely be pissed off without his best operative out on the field.

"Spider-Cat" sure enough, you lift the blanket, Spider-Cat sleeps soundly, curled around himself. "He looked tired so I asked him if he wanted to take a nap up here" whispering, you reach out for Hobie's hand. "Then I guess he looked so cozy I joined in"

Hobie takes your hand, squeezing it once. "Room for one more?"

You grin, nodding your head. "For you, always"

—

Hobie sits with the usual gang, eyes looking for your familiar suit. The crowded cafeteria makes it hard though, red and blues rush past his vision. His lunch half eaten, bag of chips unopened on his lunch tray.

Gwen throws a piece of french fry at Hobie's face, too distracted, he fails to block it, grease sticks to his cheek. Miles and Pavitr chuckle at his shiny skin.

"Arse" He wipes it with a grimace.

Miles and Pav laugh louder while Gwen joins in. They're not laughing at him anymore though, their eyes staring at you crouched down next to Hobie, hands slowly inching their way to his chips.

"Yoink!" You snatch it, already running away, giving yourself a head's start.

"Give me my fuckin' chips!" He yells after you, boots thumping against the floor as he runs after you with a smile.

[pretending-is-detention]

Can I request Hobie Brown to react to his friends telling him how his shy gn crush has been trying to confess to him for the whole week but keep getting interrupted by something like there's a mission that popped up when they're about to confess & they're losing hope for your fluffy Friday?

Thank you for the lovely request! ❤️ I may or may not have gotten overboard with it lol

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: The three times you try to confess to Hobie and the one time he did.

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, spiderperson! Reader, shy! Reader, cw blood, cw injury, FLUFF.

It's Fluffy Friday!

A continuation of this fic, could also be read as a standalone

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Gwen gives you a thumbs up from far away, hiding herself behind a column, with her encouraging nod, you make your way towards Hobie. He sits alone in the cafeteria, arm on the back of the bench, his food tray almost empty, munching away at his lunch.

It's now or never, you thought, hands shaking and heart racing for the inevitable confession. You've been crushing on him since you've joined the society, Gwen noticed of course since she's close to the both of you.

How could she not with your lingering glances and shaky voice everytime Hobie grazes your vision. You've been told that your shyness increases tenfold when you're talking to him. You're much worse when you two get partnered up for a mission, always oh so distracted when he fights an anomaly. His arms flexing to reach for the guitar on his back, a determined look on his face. It's not like you can see it through his mask, but you still imagine it (delusional). Well it always gets to you making you fumble while swinging on your web, almost hitting the side of a building.

Hobie spots you from the crowd of spandex clad reds and blues, a grin spreading on his chiseled face. He waves you over, the simple movement makes your stomach somersault. Oh you're so dead, buried six feet underground, rigor mortis spreading through your fingers.

"Hi?" You cringe internally at your greeting that sounded like a question.

"Where's your food?" he gestures towards the lack of food tray in your hand. "Don't tell me Rex is still up your ass about last time"

You laugh nervously. "No, we're good actually" hands tucked behind you, fiddling with your fingers. "And I already ate"

"Good," he finds your shyness endearing, eyes shining, a lopsided smile on his lips. "D'you want to sit down?"

"Okay" you softly say, too shy to sit down next to him so you sit across, the table providing a barrier between you.

An awkward silence falls, Hobie clears his throat in an effort to pop the bubble of awkwardness away.

"How's your dimension?" He makes small talk, trying to get you to talk again. Hobie likes hearing your voice, especially when you ramble on about your home or the shows you're currently watching.

"Good, beat the crap out of Morbius yesterday"

Hobie whistles, "Hope he didn't bite a chunk out of you, love"

You laugh, music to Hobie's ears. "nope–" suddenly remembering why you're here, you clam up, hands getting clammy. You find courage deep within you. "Hobie I need to tell–"

"Hey! Hobie! Ohh and Y/n!" Pavitr cheerfully greets you two, unintentionally interrupting your confession.

"Hi, Pav" waving shyly. "Hi, Miles" you notice him walking behind the energetic Pavitr.

"Hey, guys! We're not interrupting you or anything, right?" Miles asks, gaze moving from you to Hobie.

From far away Gwen facepalms, internally imagining wringing her friends' necks.

Hobie greets the two, clueless of your almost confession. "Sit down with us"

"Thanks!" Pav exclaims, he sits next to you while Miles sits on your other side. Trapping you.

Hobie tamps down his smile at your predicament, hiding it behind his drink.

—

Sweat slides under your mask, you cringe at how moist the cloth is but you continue on, flipping and swinging effortlessly in the training area. You dodge an incoming attack from Doc Ock's hologram, breathless, you web him up, pulling him down to the hard floor. He dissolves into a pile of pixels, making an eight bit video game dying sound.

Chuckling, you take off your sweaty mask, fresh air cooling you down. You jump when you hear clapping behind you, clutching your chest, you curse at your lack of spider senses. You couldn't believe your eyes that someone could be here this early. You would always train at this hour to avoid people watching you.

Hobie leans on the doorway with a proud smile. Clapping his hands like an audience who just watched the most amazing play ever.

"You're getting better" he saunters towards you, the act making you cover your sweaty and for sure messy face with your equally sweaty mask.

You place it over your face so quickly that the eyes don't match over yours, it looks wonky. Hobie smiles, eyes soft.

"Thanks" you fumble with the single word, voice muffled by the cloth.

He chuckles, hands hovering over your masked face. "Can I?" Asking for your permission to fix it for you.

Through your vision, you could only see half of his face, missing how he gazes at you fondly. You could only nod at his request.

Warm hands straighten up the mask for you, carefully pinching the cloth, avoiding your skin underneath. You couldn't breathe the entire time his hands were on you, completely frozen, heart practically bouncing all over your rib cage.

"There" with your mask fixed, Hobie gives your cheek a loving tap.

"Thank you" you gather your courage. "Hobie, I–"

Sirens wail around you, red lights flickering around the large room. Miguel's booming voice echoes out, calling for Hobie's team for an 'important mission' according to him.

He sighs at the interruption, "see you when I get back?"

"Mm-hmm, okay" he resists the urge to hug you goodbye.

—

That's it, you thought, frustrated at your failed attempts at confessing. You've tried, even fighting against your shyness. Stomping over to Hobie's dorm, you find his door tightly closed. Adrenaline still rushing through you from your recent mission, you clamp down your bout of shyness with a knuckled grip.

Before you could lose your courage, you raise your hand to knock. Metal suddenly slams to your face with a harsh thonk. Ears ringing, your hands fly over to your bleeding nose. White hot pain makes you fall to your knees.

"Fuck!" Hobie hears the crunch, eyes widening, he immediately moves to crouch next to you, guilt wracking his body, his hands instinctively trying to stop the bleeding. The added pressure makes you hiss, yelping, pushing away from him.

"Shit! I'm sorry! Fuck!" He watches as blood gushes out of your nose. Unable to stop the crimson falling on the pristine floors. He doesn't think his spidey senses could've warned him before the door could hit you, Hobie curses himself.

"Owww" You're dizzy, the hallway spinning, there's two (very worried) Hobies in front of you, his voice sounds like he's underwater, unable to hear him through it. Black dots dance in your vision before you fall unconscious.

—

With glazed over eyes, aching pain over the middle of your face, you squint through it, watching two figures talk in the doorway. Eyes adjusting the two blobs turn into your friends. Hobie chuckles at what Gwen said to him. He hides his face with his palm while Gwen rolls her eyes.

Still unable to hear them, you translate Gwen's actions to chastising Hobie. It's either that or she's completely exasperated, you think you heard the word Idiot uttered by Gwen.

You keep watch with half lidded eyes and a dry throat as Hobie nods with what you could make out as a cheerful smile. Your eyebrows knit at his blissful smile, why in the world is he grinning while you're laying in the clinic, pumped full of pain meds?

You probably groaned judging from the rumble in your throat, Hobie snaps his neck to look at you, smile turning into a frown when his eyes stare at the bloodied bandages around your nose. Gwen sighs in relief, pushing past Hobie to get to your cot.

"Hi, are you feeling okay?" Her voice gets clearer with every word yet it stays slightly muffled.

"Hmm" you could only hum because of your dry throat and the dull pain.

"You look a bit better?"

"Hmm" you hum angrily.

Gwen winces, "I'll get you some water, yeah?" You nod, eyes slowly blinking. "Hobie here will take care of you, away from any doors" she glares at the man beside her. Gwen leaves, leaving you all alone with him.

You tilt your head questioningly at Hobie.

He moves your blanket away from the edge so he could sit down next to you. You watch his precise movements.

"I hit you with my door"

"Mm-hmm" you hum that sounded like a 'duh'

"I'm sorry" he cringes seeing your bandaged nose again, hating that he hurt you. "Spider-Doctor said I broke your nose. I really am sorry" Guilt flashes on his face especially after what Gwen told him, confirming his thoughts.

Without missing a beat, you reach for his hand. Hobie looks at your intertwined hands with a faint smile, he squeezes it lightly.

Despite your scratchy throat, you open your mouth to talk. "Why were you smiling?" You're genuinely curious at what Gwen told him, is it a funny joke to help make him feel better? Maybe you can ask him to reiterate it, might make you feel better too.

Hobie chuckles, avoiding your face. Squinting, you can't believe your eyes, the Hobie Brown seems to be shy right in front of you.

Realization hits you, eyes widening, skin tugging when you talk, you ignore the pain. "Fuck"

"She told me why you were there" he backtracks "not like it's your fault why you got hit. It's completely mine"

You nod, heart monitor beeping loudly at your side.

Hobie laughs loudly at the sound, you join in after a second. Wincing when you laugh too hard.

Hobie leans towards you, taking your hand away from your nose, preventing you from worsening the injury. "You know what I think about it?" He softly says, face so close to yours, you could see your face in his eyes.

You shake your head, skin hot. You worry about his answer.

"I opened the door that hard because I realized what you were trying to tell me all this time even before Gwen told me"

Your heart leaps in your chest. Hobie holds your wrist tenderly.

"I slammed it open because I wanted you to tell me without interruption"

You exhale a breath you've been holding. "I like you"

Hobie beams down at you, chuckling softly. "I fancy you too and not because I broke your nose"

You roll his eyes at the joke, a giddy smile on your lips.

"What can I do to make you forgive me?" Hobie cups his hand around the shell of your ear gently.

You lean into his touch. "I can think of one" courage takes over, he knows exactly what you mean.

"Think you can handle it with your nose?"

"Nose is already healing" you lean up, Hobie helps you up with his hand under your nape. Gaze falling to your lips. "Thanks to spidey powers"

"Thank you enhanced healing" he says against your lips a second before he meets yours.

Guess getting your nose broken was well worth it.

[pretending-is-detention]

KINKTOBER - day 9

Roomates

Hobie Brown x fem!reader

Warning/s: smut, dry humping, masturbating, teasing

Being roomates with hobie, your best friend, should have been the funniest and best thing ever. Should have.

You had always wished for this, always. It made your heart skip a beat and your face skrunkle up into a way too excited smile — but you always thought it was because he was your best friend.

Spoiler alert, you were wrong.

After you two moved into one dorm (hobie used to say university dorm rules were ass, everyone needed their privacy) you soon came to a realization that unfortunately you should have not choosen each other to be roomates. The bedroom was one room with two beds. They both had a large space between each other, but you still had absolutely no privacy when it came to doing whatever you wanted in your space.

Good for you that hobie and you had a really good relationship, which meant he understood alot, like your cramps, your moodswings, your need for privacy (you also respected his), but there was barely a need for that since you always felt comfortable around him and he felt comfortable around you.

But you found yourself drifting away from the limits you had mentally set for you two and you finally realized that you liked hobie. Not in a platonic way. More in a way of wanting him to touch you all the time, to be the one to kiss you, the one to cuddle you, the one to have his head in between your thighs while you whined for him to fuck you.

Hobie was not doing any better than you. You might've been hornier than him, but you could hide it. Hobie on the other hand had to run around with god knows how many belts tied to his baggy jeans, skinny jeans were no option anymore.

The only time you could masturbate in peace was when hobie was gone, or in the other room. You had never done it when he was in the living room, but how was he supposed to hear you anyway?

So as you could feel the warm arousal between your thighs, you decided to settle yourself into your bed. You pulled your covers over your body, spreading your legs and shoving your hand into your panties. You felt so ashmed for this, it was embarassing — but you couldn't be around him without feeling horny or needy. You needed him.

You slowly started to rub your clit, circling it and arching your back slightly, you didn't notice the sounds you had let slip during this process. A small, needy whimper left your lips, but you didn't care, you needed your release so badly. The door was closed. Hobie wouldn't be able to hear you.

But oh, how wrong you were.

Hobie was in the other room, doing his own stuff as something suddenly caused him to halt. Your whimper.

Hobie's enhanced senses gave him the ability to hear alot more than other people, which included stuff that happend around the apartment, so when he heard your pretty little whimper, his breath got stuck in his throat.

He was confused, did you hurt yourself? Were you dreaming? Were you masturbating?

His questions quickly received an answer when he heard another whimper followed by a moan and a little squelching sound. Fuck. He bit his lip, you were masturbating and that in your shared bedroom; not that he was disgusted, he just found it extremely hard not to just burst into your room and fuck you by himself. But he couldn't. He sat down on the couch, turning off the TV and concentrating on you. Your pretty sighs everytime you felt more relieved, your muffled moans, he imagined the position you were in — and in any of these he could imagine the way you were struggling to keep your noises to yourself, your hand on your mouth while the other one worked on your clit.

He was self controlling, he didn't lack any self control. Well thats what he thought until he heard you whimper out his name.

"h-hobes.."

it wasn't loud at all, he was lucky of his abilities, but not so lucky when he felt his dick harden even more if that was possible.

You felt like a fucking pervert as you moaned out his name, but that worry quickly disappeared as you found your g-spot again.

Hobie could hear the way your fingers sped up their movements, the way your breathing quickened, the way the mattress started to creak. He knew you were close, but as the dickhead he was he thought, why not have some fun?

So right before you could reach your climax, he called out your name as if something had just burned down.

"Darlin'! C'mere quick, please! 'S important!"

You immediately stopped your movements, completely ruining your orgasm. You were so close, so close. Mentally groaning to yourself, you stood up with a huff, making hobie giggle slightly.

As you left the room to join your roomate, you saw him sitting on the couch with his guitar in his hands. "Gimme a hand, will ya luv?" And he could see through your mask, he could see the way your thighs clenched together, the way you needed a release as fast as possible, yet you were still here for him. If he could, he would've praised you right then and there because the moment he had lied eyes on you, he knew you were a whore for praise. You walked up to him, fighting the frown on your face.

"Need ya help wit' the guitar, can ya sit on my lap real quick? Y'gotta play while I try to find the righ' tune fo' it"

You had to gulp down a gasp as he asked you this, but being someone who loves to please others, you sat down on his lap and he shoved the guitar into yours, already trying to find the right tune for it as your fingers stroked over the guitar sites.

The position itself was comfortable but soon you could feel the leg you were sitting on starting to bounce, all that happening very slowly. "Can ya move y'r hands a bit furtha up, luv?" You did as he said, and soon you were bouncing on his thigh. You guessed he did this thing pure out of a habit as he snickered — and it was no problem for you.. well, until it did eventually develope into a problem for you.

You soon realized how good it felt, the way his bounces made your own pants rub against your clit, and not having fully calmed down from your almost-orgasm, you were close to experience one. You bit back your moans, but as the realization of where you were finally reached you, it was too late. You had came on his thigh, and there was no way wouldn't notice (if he didn't yet). Your whole body shuddered and shook, making him stop immediately and put the instrument to the side. He feigned innocence as his hands came up to your sides "'ey, wha's goin' on? You good?"

But the only thing you gave in response was a sob, a sob and a cry. Tears streamed down your face as you took in the scene more and more from second to second. He'll find out now. He'll be disgusted — he'll see the wet patch you formed on him, he will notice, maybe he already knows you came. He'll find you weird. This is it now, you have lost your best friend. And all that because you couldn't keep your horny thoughts away. Fuck.

You sobbed and sobbed, murmuring out little apologies and excuses until you heard his voice.

"Shh, 's okay"

"N-no it's not, I-"

"Don't care, wan' more o' it" and before you could even get his sentence into your head, he was grinding you on his thigh. You stumbled forward, grasping into his knee as your ass was full on view for him. "Fuck! H-hobie!"

"Yeah.. though' I was dead, eh? Could hear ya moanin' my name, bet even the neighbours heard" he lied, but it was funny making you all embarassed like that "y'like tha'? Imagining I'm the one thrustin' my fingers inside o' you? Tell me, sweetheart, were you whinin' 'cause ya couldn't find ya g-spot? Do you need me to do 'at fo' you?"

You nodded, already cockdumb as you were searching for another release. "Shit, haven't even properly touched ya and y're fucked out, whatdya think will happen if I'll stuff your likkle, pretty hole wit' my dick?" He pulled your ass extra back so you could feel his bulge. Fuck. He was big.

You whimpered, another warm feeling building up inside of you. "Lemme hear you sweetheart, lemme hear you moan my name, sound so good when you do 'at"

"Hmp.. hobes.. please m- gonna!"

His fingers went to your front, dipping down into your pants and circling your clit. You let out a sharp gasp at that, humping his thigh even faster, like an animal in heat.

"Good girl, cum all ov'r my thigh, hun"

And right to his cue, you came all over him, breathing heavily and falling into his chest.

You looked up only to find his smug, shit-eating grin, his eyes fixated on you.

"Up fo' anotha round, luv?"

And who were you to deny him after this was your dream for months?

Masterlist

[pretending-is-detention]

Hobie nurses you back to health.

Feat: the cats

Pairing: Hobie Brown x f!reader / Spider-Punk x f!reader

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, fluff, description of sickness, established relationship.

My Masterlist

A continuation of this fic but you don't need to read it to understand this one.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Carefully swinging from building to building, Hobie clutches the fragile bag in his hand, careful not to spill a drop of the precious chicken soup from your favourite deli.

Before he left for patrol in the morning, you already felt the sickness crawling in your throat, so much so you didn't kiss Hobie goodbye that morning, in case you got him sick. He didn't want to leave you alone at first, but you insisted that it's probably just hay fever. And you're not alone, you've got your three little gremlins with you to keep you company.

You know that the city needed Spider-Punk more than you needed your boyfriend. That's why Hobie's so adamant in taking care of you now that his patrol is over, and all seems to be quiet around the city. All his attention is now on you, and making you better.

Hobie finally reaches your flat, he perches himself on your fire escape, peeking through your dimly lit bedroom, he sees your folded form buried under a mountain of blankets. Your air purifier puffs out clouds directly at your contorted face. He hates seeing you like this, he should've taken a break in his patrol, if it weren't for this week's villain, he would've had the time to check up on you.

He feels bad leaving you alone in this state.

Hobie opens your window, a gust of much needed fresh air enters your room, an orange glow hits your face directly.

You groan in your bed when the late afternoon sun shines directly at your sensitive eyes; shielding yourself from the light, you turn around lifting the heavy blankets over your head.

Hobie lifts his mask over his head "Hey, I bought you chicken soup" he softly says in case your ears are also sensitive.

" 'm not hungry" your voice muffled by the blankets over your face.

Hobie looks at the discarded bottle of medicine, empty packets of paracetamol, and a moist rag next to your bed. But no dirty plates or glass near you, you haven't eaten anything since he left.

Hobie sits down next to you, before he settles down, he hears a hiss on top of your body.

Crowley opens his bright emerald eyes, the only thing that Hobie sees of the cat; with the dark blankets and dimly lit room, Crowley's fur perfectly camouflages on top of you. The little dark void stands up as if he's challenging Hobie.

"Oi, we're on the same side, I'm gonna take care of her" Hobie scolds the hell spawn.

Your arm reaches out of the mountain of blankets to pet Crowley, calming him down.

Hobie grabs the end of the blanket, pulling it down to see your face. He touches your forehead lightly to feel your temperature. You're hot, dangerously so, even with his glove he still feels the warmth.

"Fuck lovey, you're burning up" Hobie's voice echoes with concern.

"Hmm?" You look at him with your half lidded eyes. "Hey baby, when'd you get here?" You're delirious, you feel like your mouth's full of cotton, hot air comes out of your nose.

"Shit, we need to lower your temperature" he leaves the soup on top of your side table, tissues and bottles fall on the floor to make room for the warm soup.

He leaves briefly to go to your bathroom, filling up your bathtub with cold water. Crowley makes biscuits on your blanket covered chest.

Hobie comes back, seeing the scene in front of him he stops for a moment to take a mental picture of it. He rushes to you flipping your blankets away from you, Hobie sees in his peripheral that Crowley moved away before getting smacked in the face. That's definitely gonna bite him back, literally and figuratively. He'll apologize to him later, right now he needs to get you to your bathtub ASAP.

When the blankets are pulled away from you, a chill runs through you, a second later heat rushes throughout your body. You feel hot and cold at the same time. The fever clouds your mind; you mumble in Hobie's chest as he carries you.

Hobie carefully sits you down on the edge of the tub, he crouches down next to you with a wet rug in his hand. You can hear the loud rush of water behind you.

"Hnng" You cover your sensitive ears, Hobie sees your reaction, he quickly shuts off the tap, concern on his face.

He carefully holds your chin up so you're facing him. "This is gonna be cold, I'm sorry" he dabs the cloth on your forehead, testing your reaction.

You instinctively flinch away from the cold, "oww" Your joints cry out in pain, every muscle in your body protests against the cold rag. But you don't flinch away when he lays the cold rag against your collarbone.

"That's it, lovey, taking it like a champ"

Hobie opens a couple of buttons on your pajama shirt so he could wipe your chest. He hears a mewl from behind him, Crowley sits elegantly on your countertop, eyes judging Hobie.

Hobie looks over his shoulder, "yeah, yeah I'm being careful" He talks to your cat like he understands his meows.

Crowley answers with a louder meow "Yes, I will wipe behind her bloody ears, d' you think you could do any better?" Hobie raises the rag towards Crowley.

Crowley scrunches his nose at the rag, "I didn't think so" Hobie squares off with your cat, Hobie continues to carefully wipe your arms as Crowley stares daggers at his back.

You stare at Hobie curiously, in your state you have no idea if you're just imagining your boyfriend having an argument with your cat.

You hold on to Hobie's strong shoulder, getting his attention. "Are you fighting with Crowley?" You tilt your head questioningly.

Hobie smiles that you're finally aware of your surroundings, "There's my girl," he pecks your sweaty forehead. "He's being a little shit, that's why"

Your eyes widen "you can understand him?! Is that part of your spidey powers?" You shake his shoulder weakly.

"Love," He pinches the bridge of his nose "I don't even know how to answer that" he squeezes out the excess water from the rag to trickle down on your head.

"Ack! Hobie!" You glare daggers at him, mimicking what Crowley might look like behind him.

"Just a little bit of water," he wipes little droplets off your eye lids with his thumb. "How do you feel? Better, yeah?"

You drop your head on his shoulder with a thud, "tired" you sigh, snuggling further into the crook of his neck.

Hobie hugs you, he kisses the side of your head affectionately, rubbing your back he feels your fever sweat through your thin pajama shirt.

You cringe when you feel him tugging up at your drenched shirt, "I'm sorry, I'm such a mess" your voice vibrates against Hobie's skin.

"Don't be, this is nothing compared to what I've seen 'round pubs" he cradles your head, moving stray hairs away from your tacky skin. "I need to change you out of those clothes, yeah?"

"If you wanted to rip my clothes off, you should have said so" you teasingly said with your hoarse voice.

Hobie chuckles at your sense of humor, despite your sickness. "When you're better, I'll do just that"

Lifting your head away from his shoulder, you stare at him lovingly "I better get… better then" fumbling over your words. You give him your sickenly sweet smile.

After a change of clothes, a much needed toothbrush and change of linens; Hobie guides you back to bed, with Crowley following closely behind.

"Good, the soup's still hot"

Recognizing the packaging of the soup, you instantly perk up "Is that from Tom's deli?"

"Yeah, you should have seen old Tom's face when I came in as Spider-Punk" he sits down next to you as you prop yourself up to a sitting position.

"Did he look giddy?" You make grabbing hands towards the tupperware. You feel a little bit better, still feverish though.

"Giddy as a school girl, he even asked for a bloody selfie" Hobie opens the lid, the familiar savory smell wafts through your room, relaxing your muscles.

You giggle at the mental image, "did he get it? The picture with you?"

"Yeah, in exchange he didn't let me pay for it, even though I was shoving him money"

You imagine the entire interaction between the two, both being stubborn as they are, you would pay money to see it.

Hobie takes a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it carefully before he feeds it to you. You don't protest, even though you feel good enough to feed yourself. Hobie's being so sweet and sensitive you let it slide this time.

You haven't seen this side of him before, sure he's always sweet on you, but this? He's been so attentive to your needs and your pain, you can't help but love him even more. You never heard a single complaint or scolding for making him take care of you, just for that you're already thankful for. You feel his love shine through with every caress, and concerned look.

As you swallow the soup, you can't help when a sob breaks through, fat tears slide down your cheeks.

"Shit, was it still hot?" Crowley loudly meows at Hobie, as if to say: what did you do now? Hobie ignores the cat. "Love, are you okay? Where are you hurting?"

You shake your head, "nothing hurts, it's silly, I'm sorry" you wipe your tears with your sleeves as you avoid eye contact.

Hobie puts down the bowl on the nightstand to carefully cup your tear stained cheeks. "Hey, it's not silly, please tell me. Y'know you can tell me anything" his heart hurts with every tear you let out, "if you're not ready to tell me it's okay, just know I'm here, yeah?"

You finally look at him with a brave face, you exhale and finally let it go "I love you" you feel heat behind your eyes, the fever's crawling up again. "So much Hobie Brown, and it's not the fever talking. It's okay if you don't say it back, just wanted you to know"

Saying it loudly for the first time turns your arms and legs into jelly, the three words send shivers down your spine. And yet you stare at him directly, waiting for his reaction.

He feels slightly offended at your last comment, how dare you think he doesn't love you enough to not say it back to you. "You're a bloody idiot"

Your face falls, before you could think of the worst, he kisses you suddenly, it's messy and fast, your teeth clashing with his, you feel his lip ring against your lips. Pulling away first, breathlessness clings to you, if it wasn't for the flu affecting your lungs you would've lasted longer.

Hobie holds your face tenderly "Fuck you for ever thinking that I won't say it back," He swipes at the beads of sweat on your forehead, "Because I've said it a hundred times in my head. I love you" he kisses your tacky cheeks, "I love you," he pecks your nose, you chuckle at his kisses. "I love you," he kisses the corner of your eye "I love you, so fucking much" he confesses.

You let out a sigh of relief, holding the back of his neck as you guide him towards your shoulder, hugging him tightly you feel the roughness of his suit. He sighs into your hug, he feels a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. You wish you could hold him in your arms forever, protected and loved.

The other two cats trudge in your room nonchalantly. Hobie feels eyes on his back, he cranes his neck to look at Crowley.

Crowley stares at Hobie, he moves his tail from side to side before he curls against himself. While Crumpet and Teacup jump over to your nightstand to smell your soup.

"He's warming up to you" you sniff while caressing his cheek.

"He watched over you, while I was gone. Can't say the same thing to those two though" Hobie moves his head towards the couple sniffing at your food. "Oi bloody leeches, couldn't even bother watching over your sick mum, huh"

Teacup jumps at Hobie's raised voice, while Crumpet's paw wipes at her face. Hobie translates that action to being ashamed from his scolding.

"Yeah, you better be ashamed" Hobie glares at the two cats.

"Stop picking fights with them" you giggle.

He reluctantly pulls away from your warmth, "they deserve a scolding" Hobie grabs the bowl again "now let's get you up and running again, yeah?"

You nod, grinning ear to ear.

—

A few weeks later, with Hobie's help you're finally strong enough to go jogging again. After your run, you head towards Tom's deli to grab your usual. To your surprise, you see Spider-Punk and Tom's picture above the stove, Hobie holding your soup in his hand while his free arm hangs over Tom's shoulders,Tom widely smiles making a peace sign. Tom sees you staring at the picture, he skips over to you, telling the story behind the picture while he shows it off, pride coating his voice. Your smile gets bigger with every wild gesture he makes.

A/n: hope you liked it! And yes Crowley is named after Neil Gaiman's Crowley. As always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

[pretending-is-detention]

Pixel Play

Author’s Note: Request from @blueberry-soda57​ <3 Shout out to all my raccoons in the club, after finishing this I WILL be playing Maplestory, I kinda rushed it but everything i write can get multiple parts so :P Content Warnings: Pre-established relationship, suggestive, being a basement dweller. Not proofread (yet ill get to it in the morning)

Word Count: 1.3K

Hobie doesn’t like the word ‘Loser’ he feels that insults like that are always based in ableism, and as an autistic person (He’s sensory seeking) very wary of words rooted in ableist histories.

That being said he CHORTLES when you call yourself a ‘Loser Gamer’, he definitely sees why.

Keep reading

[pretending-is-detention]

rainbow

pairing: matt murdock x reader

summary: matt notices a shift in your emotions lately.

word count: 610

a/n: i wrote this during a difficult depression episode as a comfort piece for myself, but i thought some of y'all might need it too. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated.

optional song pairing: rainbow - kacey musgraves (very matty coded)

As soon as you stepped through the front door, Matt’s fingers carefully encircled around your wrist, pausing your absentminded descent into the foyer. You paused as you turned to look back at him, the action pulling you from the depths of the maze within your own head.

Without the shield of the crimson glasses, and in the safety of his own apartment, Matt wore his vulnerability on his face. There was evident concern etched onto his features, and though he wore a smile on his lips, it was twinged with uncertainty and unease. 

“You were quiet tonight.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can tell by the twitch of his lips he caught the slight spike in your heart's rhythm. 

“Sorry. It was a long day. I’m pretty tired.”

That wasn’t a lie, not one that he could detect anyway. You were tired. You were exhausted. But his heightened senses couldn’t distinguish the culprit of your weariness. 

Or so you thought.

“Sweetheart.”

There was a hint of desperation in Matt’s gentle tone, one that clued you in that he wasn’t simply letting his pet name for you roll off his tongue with ease because he liked the way it tasted. It was a warning bell, ringing loudly in your ears. It was a confession, that you both knew the truth that you were concealing. It was a glaring crack through your guilded and carefully crafted facade. 

It was defeat.

“I can feel it. That heaviness in your chest. I can hear it weighing in your voice. Why didn’t you tell me it was getting bad again?”

He wasn’t chastising you. The anguish was heavy in the timber of his voice, and the apprehension rang clear in his cadence. There was even a sliver of guilt that he hadn’t caught it earlier. 

The thought of adding to his ever growing list of worries made you feel like a burdensome liability. Matt was always trying so hard to fight everyone’s war for them, and you could tell he was upset that you were losing yours alone, and that he had been nowhere near the battlefield.

“Because I didn’t want it to be.”

The ache in your confession twisted you up inside, like a decaying tree’s roots being ripped from the carcass of the hollow trunk. The pain in your voice echoed onto Matt’s face, and as the angry sting of tears pierced the corners of your eyes, he pulled you into the refuge of his chest where you finally surrendered. 

You didn’t know why you felt the vacancy of a pit in your stomach lately. You couldn’t explain why your heart felt like it had been filled to the brim with cement, and was hanging in your ribcage by a thread that was dangerously close to snapping. You couldn’t pinpoint when the white noise in your brain had shifted into a violent storm of darkness that encapsulated you from the inside out. 

Things had been good lately…hadn’t they?

It had all happened so quickly, and by the time you yourself caught on, it was already spiraling out of control. 

You didn’t know what to do in the dark other than hide.

Until Matt came to find you. Until he brought you back, almost like a ray of sunlight piercing through the cloudiness of your life, brightening up everything with the colorful promises of patience and understanding. Of dedication and loyalty. Of nothing but pure, and raw love.

“I’m here, angel. I’m here. We’ll get through this together, okay? We always do, sweetheart. It’s just a storm, right? It’ll pass. It always does. Can’t have a rainbow without a little rain.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @desert-fern @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[pretending-is-detention]

Daddy Issues | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Inspired by this song.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: There are some scars from our childhoods that just won't heal, like daddy issues will somehow always affect our relationships, especially with men. It's the trauma that makes us afraid. Matt Murdock is a considerate boyfriend and he hardly ever raises his voice, so when he lets his anger out on you, he triggers something in you that you have never told him about.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of child abuse, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), childhood trauma, yelling, crying, small injury (reader cuts her finger), not proofread

A/n: This is entirely self-indulgent. I won't tell you why exactly, but let's just say today was not a good day and I needed to write this to feel better. It helped, for the most part. If you have/had a father who yells a lot and likes to blame you for everything, this is for you. But also basically everyone who's afraid of men yelling at you because you've been traumatized before. This has not been proofread or beta-d. It’s just a silly little comfort fic.

Tags: (people who answered the original idea and I think would enjoy this or asked to be tagged)

@igotanidea @lina-mar @redzie02 @hellskitchens-whore

[not my gif, credits to the owner mentioned under the gif]

In the heat of the moment, some people raise their voices. May it be a fight or a moment of excitement. When we get angry, we often resort to a louder volume and sometimes even verbal abuse. We say things we don’t mean. We wouldn’t be human if that didn’t happen sometimes, although most fights can be resolved by talking civilly. There is no point in screaming when talking like adults is a viable option that won’t hurt anyone. But it hardly ever happens, not when both parties are already worked up to the point of no return.

For you, there has not been a fight or discussion in your life that hasn’t resulted in a screaming match. Your parents often yelled at each other. You grew up like this, the voices of your fighting parents constantly in the back of your head until the day they divorced. And even after that, you figure you started hallucinating their fights whenever the world went quiet around you so you would have some noise in the back of your head.

Your father was the one who screamed the most. He yelled and scolded you whenever you didn’t act according to his standards or made even the smallest of mistakes, didn’t do something or just used the wrong tone with him, something that often didn’t sit right with him.

He always resorted to screaming. The context never really mattered, he just got louder, harsher and he used words that would confuse every kid and make their tiny brains overflow with the guilt they caused. And when you cried, he only waved it off because “there is no reason to cry, I’m just stating the facts”.

It traumatized you in a way many children who grew up in such families understand, and he made you believe that every man in your life has a reason to yell at you, to use you, to abuse you and constantly ask you for things even though you can’t possibly match up to all of their expectations.

You always expect to be yelled at by the men in your life. Even the smallest hint of the disappointment in someone’s voice makes you anxious and more often than not, you start to cry. It’s your defense mechanism. You’re fragile and you get scared easily. A switch gets flicked and you’re suddenly standing in the same house you grew up in, letting your father rain hell down on you because you were too scared to fight back.

The constant screaming made you scared of men, and it made you more careful with what you say or do around others. You tread carefully. You try to please and not to screw up too much, too scared of the consequences and possible negative reactions. In school, you used to do the same, always wanting to please the teachers and when they raised their voices, you often excused yourself and were left shaking and crying in the bathroom. 

Matt Murdock has always been a man with a heavy internal conflict, and that conflict resulted in anger issues and his ever-present catholic guilt. When you met him, he came across as attractive yet dominant, and that scared you a little until you talked for the first time in the middle of a cozy coffee shop and he showed how soft of a man he actually is. He keeps himself locked away and that might make him seem unapproachable, but he isn’t. He’s the kindest man you have ever met, and his heart is set right. Out of all the lovers you’ve had, he is truly the best and most considerate when it comes to your relationship.

He treats you like you’re the universe to him and when you fight, it’s more often bickering than it is an exchange of vulgarities and screams. He takes his anger out on punching bags, not you, and when he hurts someone, it’s often criminals who deserve his wrath. His life is complicated, but it’s easier with you in it. He feels alive, he’s told you, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world, so he always makes sure you’re taken care of and happy before he looks after himself.

There is, of course, the issue with his enhanced senses. He’s blind but his senses are enhanced to an extent that most blind people don’t have. You found out about that early on in your relationship, but there’s never been a doubt in your mind about the love you feel for him, so it was no hard choice to stay.

Though dating the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its collection of issues. More often than not you have to stitch him up or search him in dark alleys and trash cans because he keeps getting in trouble, and the worry often eats you alive. Still, you comfort him when he’s had a bad day, always, and you make him the spotlight of your life every time. In your mind, taking care of him comes first.

But Matt always gives back. It’s his Catholicism, you’re sure of that. He can’t take help. He has to be the one doing the work and moving mountains. He is God’s disciple and he feels responsible for his city and the people living in it. His blindness feels like a gift given to him by God to conquer all possible battles, and while you don’t really believe in God, you have accepted that part of him with open arms and more often than not join him in his faith because life with him is surely not the easiest.

When Matt Murdock feels overwhelmed, he tries not to show it. He’d rather lock himself away than burden you. He’d rather struggle on his own than put the people he loves in danger or hurt them with his personal struggles and the pain that consumes him.

Matt is patient and he doesn’t care if you screw up, even though you apologize profusely most of the time. He’s patient because we’re all human. We all screw up. That is the principle that he lives by and he makes you feel like you can be more of yourself around him. So after a year, there are no more reservations and you feel a lot more comfortable in your skin.

Until this day, he had never let his anger out on you, and he had never opened his mouth to yell at you in any way. Until that day.

He’s different when he comes home. He finds himself at his wit's end, and he has been ever since that godforsaken murder trial started. When he comes home, you don’t think much of his distance toward you, the denial of a proper kiss, and his grunts as he lowers himself on the couch instead of asking you about your day. You don’t think much until it all goes wrong, and you’re not even sure at what point it does or what you did to deserve this, but there has to be a reason because the man you’re seeing right now is not the Matt you usually get to see.

We all have bad days sometimes, others more often, but this seems deeper than just a bad day at the courthouse. This is not the face of an exhausted man after a long work day that just needs some kisses and maybe a blowjob, or to have sex with his girlfriend in all his dominant glory with aftercare to put the cherry on top. This is not Matt Murdock, this is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that comes through the front door, tosses his cane into a corner, and then just falls on the couch like a wet sack of potatoes, his fists clenched as if he is ready to explode any second.

You’ve been taught to tread carefully, so you do. You approach him only slowly because you are worried, you always are. Perhaps it’s the line of questioning that has him exploding in no time.

“You okay?” you ask.

He props his feet up on the living room table and huffs. “Fine,” he says.

“You don’t look fine. Did something happen?”

You’ve brought him a glass of water, which he takes with a curt nod. Something is bothering him, but he won’t talk to you.

“Bad day at work?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m fine. I just want to forget that today ever happened.”

“You want some coffee?” you decide to ask instead.

“No,” he says.

His leg starts to bounce. It only does when he is agitated or overstimulated and is trying to deal with the world around him. 

“Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He sighs. “No.”

“We still have leftovers, maybe I could warm them up.”

His tone is harsher this time, “No!”

You blink, a little taken aback by the force in his voice and involuntarily, you start to shake.

“I just want to be alone,” he adds, softer this time. “Can you… you know what, I’m just gonna get changed.”

And like that, he is gone. He disappears into the bedroom and you’re left flabbergasted. You want to ask what’s wrong, but you’re scared. You’ve never been scared of him before. It’s not him, it’s his reaction, and so you retreat into the kitchen. 

Eventually, he comes out again, though he is still missing a shirt. “Have you seen my Columbia sweater?” he asks, the lights of the billboard reflecting off his marble skin. 

“It’s in the washer,” you tell him.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dirty. Matt, what is going on?” You place your mug down and look at him, eyes soft and full of concern.

He only rolls his. “I just want my sweater.” Grabbing the used shirt from the chair at the dinner table, he slips it on. It’s not the fabric he wanted and he tenses up, hating the new sensation already.

“Are you sure this is about your sweater? You’ve been on me ever since you got in.”

“Yes, because you keep asking useless questions.”

“Useless?” You scoff. “So my interest and worry for you are useless?” 

If there is one thing you have gotten good at it has to be defending yourself.

He brushes past you to get a beer from the fridge. “I told you, I’m fine.” He is good at brushing you off because he doesn’t like to admit when he feels weaker than usual.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Oh, my God, then stop fucking looking!”

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Everything.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“It’s not…” his chuckle is bitter. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna keep seeing problems where there are none, so talking to you makes no sense anyway.”

What did he just say? You are so confused and suddenly very angry that you forget you are holding a glass. You smash it down on the counter, and, as expected, it shatters into a million pieces. Most of them fall to the floor and right at his bare feet. His eyes darken.

Oh.

Now you are scared, and not in a way that resembles sexy foreplay. You are scared because he is turning into a stranger right before your eyes. Suddenly, all you can see is not your loving boyfriend Matt Murdock, you see the anger of both your father and your stepfather in his eyes and hear it in his voice and it instantly tells you, 'this is all your fault'.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t see…”

“One night,” he says. He moves out of the kitchen, trying not to step into the glass.

You follow him with wide eyes. “What’s that?” 

“One night,” he repeats his earlier statement. “That’s all I wanted. One fucking night where people don’t prod or- or want things from me. And what do you do? You keep talking and talking, and you don’t even care that I simply don’t want to talk.”

“Matt, that is not fair. I just wanted to-“ the tears start to prick in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ.” And that’s where your strength stops and you retreat into your shell – the next words out of his mouth come so loud, you could have sworn they echoed off the brick walls and shot straight into your eardrums. “For once in your life, stop fucking apologizing!” 

His hand lifts, mostly to underline his words, and with the bottle in his hand he is suddenly so close, your eyes squeeze shut at the gush of wind. You flinch, your entire body caving in on itself. It’s not even intentional, you can’t help it. You’ve been conditioned to expect the worst when someone raises their hand, and Matt has never done it before. 

He realizes what it looks like the second your heart jumps and your blood rushes loudly in his ear. He can smell your sweat, the tears, and the fear that surrounds you. It’s your pheromones that change and something lingers in the air that makes him stop and think, what did I just do? 

He has been so in his head and the city has been loud for hours, he lost most of his patience at the courthouse, and then you’re there all caring and lovely and he can’t help but tell himself he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you. He just wants quiet and to be alone while at the same time, all he wants is you, but it’s too much. It’s all too much.

And now, as you flinch away from him and his booming voice, he snaps back to reality and realizes he made a mistake. He’s never experienced you like this before, and it scares him. 

“Did you just…” he begins, his voice soft and barely above a whisper.

He hears you fall to your knees, the taste of salt thick in the air and your breath shakes with every intake. You bite your lip and you collect the shards, trying to clean up your mess as if he would hate you if you didn’t. You whisper a silent, “Sorry.” And then he hears it. You’re sobbing, you try not to but you are, and it is his fault.

“Did you think I was gonna hit you?” he asks, dreading the answer.

You sniffle, not answering.

You flinched, he heard it, and not because you were surprised. You are scared, he knows. 

He slowly approaches the kitchen. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“I just gotta clean this up,” you whimper and you brush the glass together with shaky hands. The tears are running down your cheeks in thick streams and your teeth have gnawed your bottom lip bloody, your throat dry with the denied sobs.

“I just gotta clean this up and then I can make you dinner or something. I don’t… I can fix this. I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.”

It’s your fault, you tell yourself. You pushed him. You deserve this. He worked hard the entire day and you annoyed him. He has every right to do this. In your head, at least. It makes all sense in your head while in reality, Matt has never been more shocked to read your body language than he is now.

He slowly kneels in front of you. “Answer me this,” he says, “did you flinch because you thought I was gonna hit you or because I yelled?”

You shrug, unable to look at him. One of the shards slides across your finger and you hiss, the smallest cut forming and causing blood to pool out of your skin. Still, you don’t stop. You need to clean this up before he gets even angrier at you. In your state, you don’t realize his voice has softened and he no longer stares at you with those blacked-out eyes. He looks sympathetic, almost, but most of all the guilt has spread throughout his features and his heart. He is aching to touch you, but you are scared and shaking and he doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he already has.

He had been so ignorant that he didn’t see the signs before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks again.

You wipe your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. It’s my fault,” you say. “I’ll clean this up, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Hey.”

“No, I gotta-”

“Stop.” His hand is on your arm then. “You cut yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s a mantra you’ve taught yourself to say in the hopes you could somehow fix this before it’s too late.

But it’s not too late. When you finally look up, he’s smiling softly, and his thumb is stroking over your skin in circles. 

“I’m sorry,” it’s his turn to say it. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. None of this is your fault. I was so caught up in my own shit, I… God, I would never hit you. I just- I didn’t think when I raised my hand. I didn’t think what it might look like to you. And I didn’t think when I yelled because I… in my head, I wasn’t thinking.”

Your facade cracks even more to the point you are seethrough and your defenses have fallen completely. You’re a snotty mess, shaking violently in his grasp. 

“I’m trying, I swear I’m trying to be better. Just don’t be angry with me,” your voice is bordering on helpless little sobs, your lips turned downward and God, you are shaking so badly, you haven’t done so since the last fight with your father when you were a teenager. 

Matt’s face softens even more, but there is a pain in there too. He takes a paper towel to wrap around your injured finger and he holds your hand, not sure if he is allowed to touch anywhere else, but he wants you to know he is here and he is going nowhere. He is neither mad nor is he going to break up with you. You try to tell yourself that, but it’s hard with the demon in your head whispering all those awful things into your ear, reminding you that everything bad that happens can only be your fault and that there is no use for you but to destroy and disappoint. But you don’t want to disappoint, you want him to be proud of you. You want him to hold you and tell you everything is alright. But you’re scared and you feel so stupidly guilty for something you can’t even put a finger on. Your bleeding finger.

“Angry with you?” he says. “No.” Matt chuckles, but it’s broken and almost whiny as he does so. “I’m not angry at you, bug. Of course not. I was just angry with the world. I was angry at everything else, but not you. I’m not angry at you. I couldn’t possibly be. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. I realize that now. And the glass…” he forces you away from the chaos gently, helping you stand up without hurting yourself further. “It’s just glass,” he tells you. “I’ll clean it up. There’s nothing bad about breaking something.”

“But the mess,” you say. 

“Fuck the mess. The whole apartment’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry! I can clean it. I can clean up, I promise. I just… I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“Stop apologizing, baby, please. The mess doesn’t matter. The apartment doesn’t matter, and the glass does not fucking matter. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything but try to help. I had no right to yell at you. And my hand… I would never hit you. Never.” He squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

You hiccup, whimpering when he pulls you away from the glass on the floor and pulls you into his arms. His chin rests on the crown of your head and you mold into him, the tears taking on new speed and wetting through his shirt. He strokes your back, not sure what else to do, and his lips find your temple. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, none of that.”

You cling tighter to him. 

He keeps asking himself the same question over and over again. “Who hurt you?” he asks. It’s a valid question. A fear like that doesn’t just stem from nothing. Something happened in the past to have traumatized you this badly. 

Your breathing eventually slows down, as do your tears, and you look up at him through swollen eyes. His white shirt is wet now, but he doesn’t care, he only hugs you back to his chest. “My father used to yell at me whenever I did something wrong,” you tell him, your voice muffled through his chest, but he understands every word. 

His grip tightens. “Did he hit you?”

“Sometimes, but… I remember that one time I forgot to clean up after myself and he just… he…” The lack of oxygen makes you shudder and you hiccup again, nails digging into his back. “I’m sorry, he just… yelled at me. Sometimes, he’d slap me, but only sometimes. He’d threaten most of the time, but he didn’t do it often. And I mean, I was a hard kid to raise, I-“

“No, don’t blame yourself,” he is quick to cut you off. “You were a kid.”

You shudder again. “Well, I… you know, he blamed me for the smallest of things, so I got used to apologizing and trying to please everyone, but I can’t always do that. I try to fix things, but it doesn’t always work. He used to yell at me every damn time and I just… I get scared. I don’t like it when people raise their voices. It makes me feel so guilty and now I even broke a glass. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have… you had a bad day, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like this. I swear I’m not a baby.”

You move away to rub your eyes. He grabs your face, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over your wet cheeks. The heat has pooled under the skin in an upset blush. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s okay to cry. If I’d known, baby, I…” Matt can only shake his head in disbelief.

He loves you more than anything and to see you hurting because of something another man did to you, a man who is supposed to protect you, makes him feel all kinds of things, but none of them positive. 

But his anger doesn’t matter. This is about you. He has to take care of you now, not himself, and definitely not your father. It’s just you on his mind.

You choke on nothing. “He told me I have no reason to cry because he’s just stating facts.”

Matt clicks his tongue. “No, don’t ever think that again. You have every right to cry when you feel the need to.”

“It makes me weak,” you say.

“Your father’s wrong. You’re the strongest person I know,” he says. “And the fact that he yelled at you and blamed you for things that were out of your control… no one has the right to treat you like that, not even your parents, and he should have never even thought about raising his hand against you. That’s abuse. I can’t believe- fuck! Do you understand that it wasn’t your fault? That he had no right to do that?”

“Yes, but… it happened. Maybe I deserved some of those slaps. I mean you… I- I don’t know. It happened, we can’t change it. And who knows, maybe he was right.”

“Stop it! That’s not true and you know it.”

“I know, but-“

“No buts, sweetheart. I would never raise my hand against you, I promise. I’m not like your father. No one should be like him. You deserve so much better.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you sniffle, “it was just instinct.”

“Shh,” Matt kisses you gently, “I know. It’s like me dodging punches in a fight. It’s a defense mechanism. Your father, I… you’ve never said anything. I would’ve never suspected this.”

“‘Cause I didn’t think it was important. This never happened before. You never yelled before.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You should have told me,” he says. “It’s important to me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I want you to feel comfortable around me, not scared.”

You nod. “And I am, really, it’s just… I thought I did something wrong.”

His smile is soft when he leans in to kiss you again, tasting the tears on your lips. “You didn’t. I let my anger out on you for no reason. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again, I promise,” and he dives right back in. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing in his arms as his lips move against yours with sweet precision, making you feel lightheaded. He scared you, that much is true, but it was neither you nor his fault and you realize that now, safe in his arms as he proves his devotion to you with a single breath into your mouth. With his gentle touch around your waist he promises never to hurt you, never to let his anger out on you again, and he promises that he will drive himself to hell personally if he ever scares you like that again because he couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if he broke your heart or triggered the trauma you brought into the relationship from your broken childhood, and he promises that he will never leave you, never put you second and always hold you when times get hard because people screw up, bad things happen, and you might be at fault sometimes, but so is he and there is no reason to be put down for being human. He wants to teach you that, he wants to help you heal yourself, and you have never felt more in love than at that moment, losing yourself in his lips, eyes and arms.

He breaks the kiss, moving on to your forehead. “If there is anything else I need to know,” he breathes hotly against your already heated skin, and the exhaustion slowly starts to seep into your bones as the shakes and tension subside from your bones, “please tell me before I make another mistake that might trigger you.”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head. “There is not much else. My childhood wasn’t the best, but that’s okay,” you say. 

He brushes his knuckles over your cheekbone. “Bad enough. Promise you’ll tell me if something else might come up?” He resembles a puppy as he tries to meet your eyes, but he fails miserably.

So you promise him, “Okay.”

“Can you forgive me for yelling?”

Your tears have finally come to a halt. “Yes,” you say. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes fall on the mess on the kitchen floor again and you go to grab the broom. Matt’s arm around your frame stop you and he gently pushes you out of the kitchen. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Put a bandaid on your finger and then go lie down. I’ll deal with it.”

“No, I broke it. Please, Matt, let me do this.”

“Not everything is your fault, sweetheart. Besides, you already cut yourself once and with how you’re shaking, the next time you accidentally cut yourself I’m sure you’re gonna cause more damage.”

“But I-”

“Go to bed,” he insists, “I’ll be there in a second and then we’ll cuddle so you know I’m serious when I say that I love you more than life itself.”

The weight and guilt fall off your heart. “I love you,” you tell him. “More than life itself, too.”

It’s not a lie. If there is anything or anyone you love, it’s him, and you’ve never been this in love with anyone before. It’s sickening to the point it hurts, but the pain is sweet and it’s all worth it because with Matt, you can be yourself. 

The past matters just a little less with someone who loves you right by your side, and he would never give up on you like everyone else did before him. 

[pretending-is-detention]

without you

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: made myself hurt with this one tbh. I'll think about a part 2 if enough are interested, but I'll warn you - it won't be a happy ending lmao. Enjoy the angst-fest loves! x

Summary: You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

Word count: 2.1kish

Warnings: ANGST. ANGST ANGST ANGST. i got sad af writing this. i don't even know what to put in the warnings. the events of infinity war & endgame, brief mention of the avengers, severe and utter fucking heartbreak, i would lose my fucking mind coming home after an apparent 5 years and finding the love of my life *******, lots of anxiety/panic, severe panic attack, passing out. no hate to karen here - she's a fucking babe.

-

It happens within a blink.

One moment there’s no one, and the next, an older woman is suddenly standing in your way and you can’t help the brief twitch of annoyance that she’s there. You have a meeting, you have groceries to get… you can’t just play chicken with a stranger on the pavement all afternoon.

She freezes, like many others you notice, and your frown deepens, confusion starting to take over the irritation. They all look at you, but not just you.

Time seemingly comes to a momentary freeze and you just don’t understand. Why is she looking at you like that?

The next minute—panic.

There’s a rush.

People scramble for their phones, they run. Cars swerve and there’s chaos. There are people crying, people start screaming, but there’s also awe, laughter. People embrace strangers. You know they’re strangers by the way they look around in complete bewilderment in the arms of the other, seemingly just as confused as you.

Five years.

Why do you keep hearing ‘five years’? Why are shop fronts different? What the hell has happened? 

“You’re… you’re all back,” the woman utters, tears starting to build along her lash line.

Back?

You feel it in the pit of your stomach, a sick feeling of dread slowly building until it feels like it sticks uncomfortably in your throat. Something happened. You don’t know what, you don’t know how, all you know is that you need to go home immediately.

It’s halfway back to the apartment, after passing things that weren’t there previously, shops that you had passed just hours before now different, and your phone simply refusing to connect for unknown reasons, that you break into a panicked run.

You want home, you want somewhere familiar.

Matt left for work the same time as you—would the new mayhem taking over the streets bring him home to you? Maybe he’d already be waiting, sensing the frenzy before you?

The view of your building is a welcome relief, and you slow as you reach the door, heart pounding in your chest as you take the stairs as quickly as possible. The apartment is unlocked, and you berate yourself for forgetting to lock up earlier, but Matt’s cane resting by the door turns your inward irritation to understanding.

He’s home. He got here before you. He must be waiting, maybe he’d have answers—

“Matty?” you call, “do you have any idea what’s—”

A clatter, a sweep of air, and then he’s on you.

He’s curled around you before you can even finish, his arms so tight and constricting you struggle to take in a full breath. He’s talking, muttering incoherent words into the skin of your throat and all you can do is stand there, mind whirling in a maddening rush, not even able to lift your arms to return his embrace due to his restrictive hold.

“You’re here,” he breathes, almost disbelieving, “you’re here. I didn’t want to have hope but—God, I—”

“Matt, I’m so confused,” you breathe, unsure of why tears are starting to gloss your eyes or why your heart suddenly feels like it’s beating in the back of your throat, “what’s going on? It’s crazy out there, I don’t know wh—”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you. God, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long, I didn’t think I’d ever—” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence and a few more panicked kisses press into the side of your throat.

He’s crying.

You feel the wetness of his tears smear over your skin and it’s enough to bring your own falling heavily from your eyes. What is he talking about? You saw him this morning, only mere hours ago. You made breakfast, you kissed him goodbye like every other day, nothing had been different. 

“Matt,” you whimper, “what the hell is going on?”

—

Five years. You were gone for five years. Just one day—poof. Out of existence, never to be seen again. The city had been clouded by dust, remnants of those also taken disappearing with the autumn breeze. So many people just lost. You don’t remember any of it.

There was no pain, no suffering. You had no recollection of the time lost at all, and yet for Matt it had been years.

Years since he had touched you, kissed you, felt you. He tells you that he looked for you for weeks, months. Even went to the damn Avengers—or what was left of them—and found out what had happened. He’d been distraught, falling into a deep, dark pit of despair and heartbreak from the sudden loss of you.

You cry for him, for the time you’d lost together.

Nothing could ever make up for it. Sure, you’re here now, but could you ever truly make up for the loss of time? What had he gone through during your absence?

The two of you don’t part for what feels like hours.

Matt clings to you, inhaling you deeply and kissing whatever inch of skin he could reach. He doesn’t pull away to answer your questions, instead letting the low rumble of his voice melt through the fabric of your shirt and flooding warmth along your shoulder.

His hands still roam over you, almost as if they’re retracing your dips and curves to remind himself of how you felt when you disappeared five years ago. You catch his fingers with a sweet flutter in your chest, lifting his hand to press a tender kiss to the back of it when the smooth feel of metal catches your attention.

It’s a simple gold band, fit snug around the fourth finger of his left hand and you rub your finger over the shiny surface of it in curiosity. He wasn't wearing a ring this morning...

A ring. 

A wedding ring.

You feel sick.

He senses the moment you realise it, picking up on the sudden quicken of your heartbeat and the clammy sting of sweat that builds along the back of your neck.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as you stare at the smooth gold band in shock, feeling as if the room had suddenly gotten ten times smaller. He starts to shift, his fingers quickly flipping to wrap around your wrists to keep you from moving away.

“Let me explain—”

“You… are—are you married?”

“Sweetheart, please—”

You hurriedly stand, wrenching your hands from his and stumbling on your quick step back as he advances after you. He’s married? How can he be married?

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he just slid the ring you both picked out onto his finger when you disappeared in an effort to keep your memory fresh… but with the shine of guilt starting to seep into his features, you fear it’s not as sentimental as you hope.

Panic consumes you. Your eyes flitter around the room, your ears filling with a dull ring that drowns out whatever words fall from his lips as he cautiously steps after you.

It’s your apartment, but it’s… it’s not.

You start to notice the little things you had missed upon coming home so quickly. That throw over the back of the couch isn’t yours. The coffee mug next to Matt’s on the kitchen counter isn’t yours. Your trinkets aren’t lingering on the shelves where you’d placed them. Your shoes aren’t thrown by the door. Your photo with Matt isn’t in its usual spot on the wall.

Instead, another picture hangs there.

Bile burns the back of your throat. Your heart thunders away in your ears. You know what it is, you can see the general feel of it and who stands within the frame through blurry eyes, but you simply can’t accept it.

It’s morbid curiosity that makes you take those few steps towards it, a part of you screaming to not look, to turn away before it really hammers that final nail into the coffin and fucking destroys you. Maybe your mind needs to truly see it in order to make sense of it… but no. It only makes you more confused, more distressed.

What the fuck?

Oxygen is impossible. You can’t fucking breathe. You can’t—

“Sweetheart—”

It’s a wedding photo.

Matt’s wedding photo.

Matt and Karen’s wedding photo.

“Oh my god,” you whimper brokenly, clutching a hand to your chest in an effort to keep yourself together. You press where you feel the rapid beat of your heart, half wondering if you’d be able to feel the break of the frantic organ under your palm.

The room starts to spin.

This morning you’d woken up with an apartment and a fiancé, and now, only a few hours later, you have nothing. How can you have nothing? The apartment is home to you—you left your pyjamas on the floor of the bathroom this morning. You had your coffee at the counter. The love you feel for Matt is present as it always had been, there in the centre of your entire being, so sweet and consuming and yet, his love for you had seemingly vanished.

Disintegrated, along with your body apparently five years ago. Maybe with a clearer head, you’d come to understand that five years is a long time and it’s understandable that he had to move on at some point, but in the moment you feel nothing but hurt—rage.

Matt’s hands are frantic on your body, grabbing at your arms and keeping you from falling to the floor as a sob tears its way out of your chest. You can hear him try to soothe you, hear his worry that your heart is erratic and you just need to breathe.

Breathe, sweetheart—please, breathe.

You can’t. You simply can’t.

Oxygen isn’t coming as easily as it should. Your lungs burn. You’re shaking, unable to stop the tremble taking over your body as you choke on your tears. They burn your skin, painting your cheeks with the bitterness of your heartbreak and they just won’t stop. 

He supports you as you sink towards the floor, legs no longer having the strength to hold you up. He goes down with you, hands cradling your head to his chest and you can’t find it in you to push him away and escape his touch.

It’s Matt. Your Matt. 

You shouldn’t want to shrug him off. You shouldn’t feel guilty at his touch. He’s your Matt, has been for the eighteen months you’ve been together. It was meant to be you in that frame, swimming in white with a smile stretched along your lips, Matt dressed to the nines in an immaculate tux and his ever present red shades beside you.

But it’s not. It’s… it’s Karen.

It’s not you, there’s no trace of you anywhere to be seen. Had you been that forgettable? Foggy’s there, Marci a step behind holding a beautiful little girl with ribbons in her hair. They had a baby? You’ve missed so much.

You start weeping for the life you’d missed out on, for the chances and opportunities of growing older with them and the sweet potential you had had with Matt.

Gone.

All of it, just—gone.

Where would you be now had your soul not been chosen? Married? Promoted? A godmother to the sweet little angel cradled in Marci’s arms? 

“Sweetheart, come back to me,” Matt’s voice cuts through your despair, low and soft in your ear and you cling to him tighter, “breathe. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I-I’ve lost so much,” you choke out, hiding your tear stricken face in his throat and desperately trying to get ahold of your body jerking with each difficult inhale and broken exhale, “and I didn’t even know—”

You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything when you apparently ‘returned’. It’s all so haunting and overwhelming and so fucking confusing. 

He stills smells the same, feels the same, despite all these years. You cling to him, desperate for comfort in the moment of your utter heartbreak, but it doesn’t work like it used to and that only makes your pain increase tenfold. His hold feels wrong now. His hold isn’t for you anymore. He has a wife.

You still don’t understand. You can’t comprehend the fact that he’s married, that the arms that hold you are now meant for someone else. They were yours this morning. It’s not possible. You had him this morning; you felt him this morning, you kissed him—

“Sweetheart,” he’s urgent now, manoeuvring you in his hold until you sit in front of him, your back pressed up against his chest and his arms tight around your torso, “breathe with me. Feel my chest, listen to me and follow—in… and out. Come on—”

You pay attention to the exaggerated feel of him breathing against your back, focusing on every expansion of his chest and attempting to match the pace of your inhales. It doesn’t work. Your heart still thunders away against your ribs, your mind still runs fucking wild, and your eyes threaten to roll back from the rush of it all.

“Stay with me,” he begs, but his voice starts to sink to the back of your mind, taken over by the high pitched ring sounding in your ears.

It’s not long until black fully engulfs your vision, and Matt’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear, frantic and terrified. Maybe you'll find peace in the darkness.

-

matty tags: @javier-pena, @dihra-vesa, @a-reader-and-a-writer, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @acourtofsnakes, @mstgsmy66, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @withasideofmeg, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @fangirl-316, @xoxabs88xox, @federleichtefreiheit, @lavenderluna10, @mindidjarin. @stardustingold, @androah, @itwasthereaminuteago, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @h-hxgirl, @Unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @celestinemuse, @chaoticemz, @alexxavicry, @mylifeispainandiloveit, @cran-berry-vodka, @nishi-reads, @mandocrasis, @lawfulgranola, @ew-erin, @fuckoffbard, @spaceserialkiller, @captain-jebi

[pretending-is-detention]

A Matter of Opinion

Pairing: Matt Murdock x femReader

Word Count: 2,800

Summary: A tale of disagreements, egging each other on, and a general disregard of the other’s opinion.

Trigger warning: So much fluff it might as well be cotton candy

Masterlist

Keep reading

[pretending-is-detention]

i had an idea for matt but idk if it was good but reader who is matt’s neighbor and she always drops stuff off for him like a new first aid kit and food because she knows he’s daredevil and matt has no idea who does it till he catches her one day

like super fluffy

hi nonnie!

I actually LOVED this idea and thought it was super cute, so thank you so much for requesting it! 💘

warning: slight angst, cavity inducing fluff word count: 2.7k

care packages

The first time it happened, Matt hadn’t thought much of it. He simply thought he’d placed an order that he had forgotten about, tossed the package containing a first aid kit and other items into his bathroom, and called it a day. Ever since taking down Fisk, the caseload at Nelson and Murdock had nearly quadrupled, and all the remaining crime lords in Hell’s Kitchen were competing for the vacant throne. Needless to say, Matt hadn’t been sleeping more than usual, and if you asked him what day it was, he probably couldn’t even tell you.

But then it happened again. And again. And again. And again.

Every couple of weeks, a new package arrived at Matt’s door, and the contents varied with each box. Some of them contained first aid kits, bottles of ibuprofen, other over the counter medications, ice packs, epsom salts, and various other supplies. Other times there were carefully packaged homemade dishes and freshly baked treats. Foggy and Karen both swore it wasn’t them, and even inspected the packages on Matt’s behalf. There wasn’t ever a note left, or anything written on the boxes, so none of them could figure out where they were coming from. Foggy lit up like a child on Christmas morning every time Matt entered the office with a new batch of goodies, and Matt couldn’t deny how nice it was to have a break from all the takeout. Whoever was leaving the packages was an excellent cook, and an incredibly skilled baker, but not knowing who was leaving the packages or why was driving Matt absolutely insane. 

Between both of his hectic lives, he didn’t have much time to investigate where the packages were coming from. He had asked his neighbors on a whim if they had seen anything, but they didn’t have a clue either. On the rare occasion when Matt did have an off day, he camped out on his couch in anticipation, hoping the next care package would arrive while he was home. 

But it never did. 

Karen had suggested leaving his business card taped to his front door, making the argument that it had his name and phone number on it in case whoever it was felt brave enough to contact him. But Matt was hesitant, because he wasn’t sure if the person leaving the care packages was leaving them for him, or for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and the latter made him nervous. He had no idea if they had made the connection, and he didn’t want to make it for them. 

For two months, Matt drove himself completely crazy trying to solve the mystery. 

By some miracle, or the grace of God, Matt was home at a normal time one Thursday evening. He was in the kitchen loosening his tie and reaching for a beer in the fridge when he smelled it. A familiar scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that had been infused with cinnamon and nutmeg. The exact same chocolate chip cookies that had been left in front of his door four times in the past two months. The ones Foggy had dubbed, “crack cookies”. They were, in his defense, highly addictive.

Matt instantly froze, focusing solely on the sound of light footsteps approaching his door from the side of the hallway by the stairwell. The person’s heartbeat was steady, and they were humming softly to themselves as they bent down to place the package directly in front of Matt’s door. Matt abruptly slammed his fridge shut, racing towards his front door to fling it open like a madman, nearly tearing it off the hinges in the process and earning a shocked gasp from you as you were still knelt in front of his door.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, noting the sharp uptick in rhythm of your heart rate as you stared wide eyed up at him, fingers gripping tightly onto the sides of the container. For a moment, neither of you said anything, until the scent of cortisol creeping into your bloodstream snapped Matt back into focus.

“Are…are you the person that’s been leaving these?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you swallowed thickly as you gave a slight nod of your head.

“I…um…yeah.”

Your voice was timid and quiet as it came out, and there was something familiar about it. There was also something incredibly familiar about your scent, but Matt couldn’t quite place it. Your heart was thundering loudly in Matt’s ears, and he could hear the anxiety in every shuddering breath you took in. As his tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips, he slowly extended his hand out towards you.

“Do you…will you come in?”

Glancing between Matt’s outstretched hand and the dish in your own, you stared up at him silently for a moment. It suddenly occurred to him that his reaction might have made you more tense than the fact that you had been caught, and he pulled his lips into a gentle half smile.

“I’m not upset. I just…want to talk to you, if that’s alright?”

His words seem to put you at ease, and you carefully placed your hand into his own, allowing him to pull you up to your feet. Matt liked how soft your hand felt in his own, and he reluctantly let go to step back to grant you space, gesturing for you to come inside. After closing his door, he followed you cautiously into his living room, tuning all of his senses into you as you turned around to face him while still clutching the dish in your hands. There was something recognizable about you, but Matt for the life of him couldn’t place what it was.

“Um…I guess the obvious first question is…why you’re leaving all these care packages?”

Matt kept his voice even and gentle, not wanting you for a second to think that he was upset. As far as he could tell, you were leaving them with genuine intentions, and while that warmed his heart, he still wanted to know why. He caught the way you trapped your bottom lip between your teeth and tilted your head to stare down at the dish in your hands, taking in a deep, shaky breath before answering.

“Because you saved my life.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly in surprise, cocking his head to the side slightly as he took a step closer towards you and fixed his gaze in your direction with an expression of confusion. 

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve represented you-”

“You were wearing a different suit.”

Matt’s entire body instantly went rigid. You did know who he was. Panic started to rise in his chest, and his brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with some kind of lie or excuse to protect his identity.

“I…I don’t…I t-think you must have me confused with someone else-”

“Those men didn’t just want to rob me. They wanted to hurt me. They followed me home from that bar and pulled me into that alley. If you…hadn’t shown up when you did, they probably would’ve killed me, or left me there after they did what they really wanted to. I…I’m honestly not sure which would’ve been worse.”

Matt stilled hearing the way your voice trembled, tasting the fear that built in the corners of your eyes as the memory sent a shiver cascading down your spine. Suddenly it all clicked into place. That’s why he remembered you. He recognized your voice because he remembered hearing your frenzied cries for help from the rooftop. He recalled the scent of you lingering beneath his nose while he held you comfortingly to his chest as you gripped onto his shoulders, begging him not to leave you alone in the dark. After taking care of the men that had attacked you, he’d waited with you until the cops came, doing his best to keep you calm and reassuring you that you were safe. 

Your name tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself.

“Y/N.”

He remembers asking for it that night. He remembers repeating it back to you soothingly, enjoying the way it tasted on his tongue while wiping your tears away with his gloved fingers. He remembers the sweet melody of your voice as you thanked him endlessly, and the way you struggled to let go of his hand once the police arrived and he had to disappear into the darkness.

He noted the way your lips tugged into the faintest of smiles as you nodded.

“You remembered.”

Matt had wanted to find you, as himself, to offer you legal representation if you wanted to build a case. But with things being so hectic lately, he never got the chance. Another wave of confusion settled over his features when he took another step forward towards you. 

“Wait, but how did you-”

“I live in this building. I saw you on the roof about a week later.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly at your words, giving a slight nod of his head to encourage you to continue. 

“I was up there kinda late one night. There was a lunar eclipse that was supposed to be visible at a certain time, and I wanted to see it. I saw you. You disappeared through that door on the roof, and I thought it just went to a stairwell, but none of the stairwells I found led to that same door. I kinda put it together that it only led to your apartment…and it wasn’t that hard to figure out which one was yours from there.”

“So…you didn’t…know that I was-”

“No. I didn’t know who you were, not really. I never saw you again after that. I just…you looked like you were hurt that night. I wanted to do something…something to help you. I felt like I owed you.”

Matt pursed his lips as he shook his head quickly, letting a dry chuckle escape his mouth.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life.”

Matt paused at the sincerity in your voice, noticing that it came out a lot firmer as you spoke those words. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides as you let out a soft sigh, turning around to place the dish of cookies on his coffee table.

“Look, I’m sorry if I…I freaked you out or anything. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to do something nice for you since you saved me. I figured you probably go through a lot of first aid kits and don’t have much time to cook with your busy night job.”

Matt chuckled softly as a light smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, placing his hands on his hips as he followed your movements.

“That’s an understatement. Can I…can I ask…why you didn’t say anything? I mean, you never knock or leave a note or anything.”

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and shrugged lightly as you fiddled with a ring around your finger.

“I told you, I didn’t wanna freak you out. I’m sure you wear the mask for a reason. I…wanted to respect your privacy. Look, you don’t owe me anything, certainly not an explanation. You don’t have to tell me anything at all, and I would never tell anyone about this, I swear.”

The steady, strong rhythm of your heartbeat had Matt’s chest swelling with gratitude. He knew you were telling the truth. 

“I believe you.”

There was a faint smile pulling at your lips as you stared at him, and Matt desperately wanted to know what you saw, and what you were thinking. He didn’t think it was a coincidence someone like you had fallen into his lap. He didn’t believe in coincidences. But he did believe in divine intervention. What were the odds of him saving your life, being your neighbor, and the recipient of your unwavering kindness and genuine understanding? 

“I…I’m not a doctor, or a medical professional by any means, but I do know my way around a first aid kit. I’m also a horrible insomniac, so I’m usually awake at ungodly hours throughout the night. If you ever…need…or want any help, I just live a floor down. I’m in 5C.”

“I…thank you. And thank you for all of the care packages.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

Matt felt his cheeks heat up at the candor in your voice. He didn’t get thanked often for what he did every night, not that the praise was his main motivator, but they were still two words he didn’t hear all that much. The people he took down certainly weren’t thanking him for sending them to prison, and sometimes the people he saved were in too much shock to speak, or he had to take off before he got caught by the cops. But something about the way the gentle inflection of your voice dripped into his ears like honey had warmth spreading throughout his entire body. He took another careful step towards you, extending his hand once again for you to take as his lips parted into a tender smile.

“Matthew. My name is Matthew.”

His heart started to beat a little faster feeling the way your mouth pulled into a smile of your own, reveling in the feeling of your soft hand slipping into his once again, fingers delicately curling around the bottom of his palm.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matthew. Officially.”

Matt keened at the way his name sounded falling from your lips, and he gave your hand a faint squeeze.

“It’s nice to meet you officially as well, Y/N.”

He didn’t miss the way your heart jumped slightly when he repeated your name, or the fact that neither one of you seemed to want to let go of the other’s hand.

“You know, my partner is going to be beyond excited that I’ve finally found the person responsible for those amazing cookies.”

Matt’s chest expanded with pride feeling the rise in temperature across your cheeks, lips parting slightly as your soft giggle hit his ears.

“Nice of you to share, Matthew.”

A wider smile tugged across his lips hearing you say his name again. He lightly stroked his thumb across your knuckle as he shrugged.

“I thought at first one of them was doing it, but neither of them are as good of a cook or a baker. You’re a hit in our office, by the way.”

“I am?”

“They ask me everyday if I’ve gotten a new care package. Obviously the edible ones are their favorite.”

Another soft giggle slipped past your stretched lips, and Matt found himself inching closer to the sound as heat spread down your neck and across your chest.

“They…they know, too?”

“They do.”

“Well, then they’re just as deserving.”

Matt found himself completely in awe of you, wondering how he had managed to find an angel when he walked the path of the Devil. 

“Can I…can I take you to dinner? To say thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me-”

“I want to. You’ve provided me with a ton of dinners lately. I’d like to treat you to one.”

Matt angled his head to the side slightly as he listened to your heart’s tempo increase, enjoying the way you delicately tightened your hold on his hand as you took in a shaky breath.

“Well, how can I refuse my savior?”

“You can’t. It’s against the law actually.”

A large grin spread across your mouth at Matt’s playful tone, peering up at him with curiosity.

“Are you a lawyer, Matthew?”

“I am.”

An incredulous giggle escaped your mouth as your brows knit together in the center of your forehead.

“So, wait…lawyer by day, vigilante by night? How does that work, exactly?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”

Matt chuckled softly as you giggled, resisting the urge to reach his hand up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear like he had done the first night he met you. 

“So, Friday night?”

“You know where to find me.”

“I do, now.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[pretending-is-detention]

"don't go." you whispered, emotion clawing up your throat as you ghosted your fingers over adam's shoulder.

he looked at you, half his face still buried in the pillows. "what do you mean? i'm right here."

tears burned your eyes as you brought your hand up to brush his hair off his forehead. "i just...i don't want you to go."

he frowned at you then, finally understanding what you were talking about.

"i'm not going anywhere, i promise." he said quietly, reaching out and pulling you against him. "i'm here, okay?"

"okay."

[pretending-is-detention]

Free G3 Monster High Episodes (to be continued)

SEASON 1

1. The Monstering or you can watch it here (for those who may not have access to the Nick website)

2. Food Fight or you can watch it here (for those who may not have access to the YouTube channel)

3. Unfinished Brain-ness or you can watch it here (for those who may not have access to the YouTube channel)

4. Case of the Moondays

5. Portrait of a Monster or you can watch it here

6. Witch Hitch or you can watch it here

7. Part of the Pack  or you can watch it here

8. That Thing You Deuce or you can watch it here

9. Werewolf Weekend or you can watch it here

10. Paw-zzle Pieces or you can watch it here

11. Nightmare Nightmore or you can watch it here

12. Out of Step

13. Pyramid Scheme or you can watch it here

14. What’s Up, Watzie? or you can watch it here

15. So Familiar or you can watch it here

16. Crushed or you can watch it here

17. Over Bro-tective or you can watch it here

[pretending-is-detention]

no, walt would not hold jesse's hand in the recovery room after he got top surgery. but mike ehrmantraut would.

[pretending-is-detention]

I Heard Love is Blind (Matt Murdock x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: Soooo sorry this took so long. I’ve taken the last week off from writing to travel for the holidays. As for this fic, I’m well aware that this isn’t how visual impairment typically works but being that I’m writing in a universe where superheroes exist, I’m asking y’all to suspend your beliefs for a few minutes. The end of this fic was just a little fun idea that I had as I was writing it. It's short and sweet (around 1.3k words). I hope y’all enjoy!

Request: Hello! So, the reader is becomes blind because of a disease or something... whatever... and she in hospital room with matt with her, then doctor comes and tells them she cannot be able to see ever again. She doesn't want to cry while matt is there because she thinks he can be offended or something, but she cannot help herself and matt tries to comfort her? What do you say?

Summary: Matt helps you sort through your feelings after you have an accident and lose your sight. You struggle with opening up to him fully because you don’t want to hurt him.

(Warnings: female!reader, references to (but no detail of) an accident, newly visually impaired reader, angst, soft!matty, protective!matty, references to a possible female daredevil towards the end)

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was an accident, really, but the overwhelming feeling of dread hadn’t left your system since you’d been hoisted into the ambulance that brought you to the hospital. Matt was right behind you, of course, arriving at the E.R. entrance at the same time you did, lurking in the corner of the hospital room as doctor after doctor examined you.

You couldn’t help but jump when a new set of hands began to poke and prod around your eyes. You couldn’t see them, hadn’t been able to see anything since the accident, and they didn’t announce themselves. Or maybe they did, and you weren’t listening. You didn’t know. The world around you had become a blur of noises, an overwhelming rush of sensory overload that you were too exhausted to try and figure out.

Your name had been murmured by countless doctors, but your ability to respond was muted by the pounding of your heart in your ears. A firm, warm hand rested on your shoulder, and Matt’s cologne wafted into your nose. The outside world once again became background noise as Matt lightly squeezed your shoulder. You had the sudden urge to giggle at how backwards this predicament was. Normally, it was you grounding him when the noise became too much to bear. Now, he was fulfilling your position – providing a distraction to focus on until everything – the world, it’s chaos – settled.

“No pupillary response.” One doctor muttered in a melancholy, but professional tone. The scribble of a pen on paper sent goosebumps down your spine.  

When the words “possible permanent blindness” passed through hushed whispers around the room, you didn’t flinch, all too aware of the blind man you’d fallen in love with sensing your every move. Your lack of reaction was cause for concern from everyone in the room, most of all Matt, who hadn’t uttered a word since the accident.

“Can she have a second?” He murmured softly, ushering the nurses and doctors out of the room faster than should’ve been possible. He always did have a way of making people do what he wanted them to do, though you didn’t think he was aware of the effect he had on people. Not completely, at least.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in your ears, and you got the sense that every bad feeling you’d been ignoring since this began was about to force its way out of you. Matt’s sigh as he sat down next to you snapped you out of it, and you blinked away the tears that had begun forming.

It wasn’t fair to cry over this in front of him. You shouldn’t be mourning the loss of something he had lived without since he was a kid. Not in front of him, at least.

“You’re handling all this remarkably well. Better than I did.”

Matt didn’t say this with malice or malcontent. Rather, an astute observation on his part. Almost entirely lawyerly if you had to pinpoint his tone.

“You were nine, Matt, and we don’t know that it’s permanent.” You muttered, the first words you’d spoken since you’d lost the ability to see.

“Still.” You felt him shrug. You reached out your hand, feeling around the sheets until your fingers met the skin of his wrist. He didn’t miss a beat, intertwining his fingers with yours as soon as your skin met his. He lifted your hand, planting a small kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re allowed to be upset about this.” He mumbled against your hand. “I can feel the energy in you. Let it out, sweetheart.”

“Matty, I can’t just– It’s not fair to you that I– It wouldn’t be right.” You groaned, blinking back the fresh wave of tears trying to force their way out of your eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Even if it’s not permanent, this is still a big change for you. You’re allowed to mourn this.”

A few tears escaped as he spoke, and the only thing keeping you from furiously wiping them away was Matt’s hand, already there, softly stroking your cheek as you tried your hardest not to fall apart in his hands.

“What if it is?” You mumbled, sniffling.

“What if it’s what?” He asked, ghosting over your eyelids with his thumb.

“What if it’s permanent, Matty?” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Furious tears cascaded down your face, and you let out an ugly sob as you revealed the horrible thoughts you’d been trying so hard to hide.

Matt allowed you to sob into his chest, cradling you against him as he rested his cheek on the top of your head. His dress shirt, the one you loved so much, the one he wore to work today because you wanted to see him in it, was soaked with tears before he finally spoke.

“It’s not fair that you’re going through this, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could change it. But I know you can handle it, okay? You’re strong enough to do this, and you’ll have help. We’ll figure it out, baby.”

You nodded into his chest, unable to form a coherent sentence in response.

“Sweet girl,” Matt cooed, kissing your hair, “You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me, ever, okay? I know it’s frustrating – trust me, I know better than anyone what you’re going through right now – but it does get easier. I promise.”

You wiped the tears from your face, careful to avoid your eyes. Goosebumps bristled on the back of your neck when the sound of a car horn loudly echoed in your ears. You couldn’t keep your hands from clamping over the sides of your head in response.

“The world is so loud, Matt. I don’t know how you handle it all the time.”

Matt lifted your hand to his face so you could feel the indents of his cheek as he smiled.

“You get used to the noises after a while. They become a sort of…white noise, I guess you could call it. Is the beeping of the heart monitor bothering you?”

“No, it’s the cars. This city is so loud.”

Matt stiffened, tightening his grip on your hand.

“What do you mean?” He asked, breathing into your palm.

 Another loud honk blared in your head, and you couldn’t stop your body from cringing into a ball.

“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that.” You mumbled, shaking your head to try and rid the echo of the horns from your ears.

“No, I can hear it. How are you hearing it? We’re on the 18th floor.”

“What?”

It was your turn to stiffen. You didn’t quite understand the curiosity in Matt’s tone. You weren’t entirely sure you believed what he might be implying. You cocked your head to the side, mimicking the thing you’d seen Matt do a million times when he was trying to follow a specific noise, and focused your attention on Matt.

He was at least a foot away from you now, pacing across the floor. You couldn’t figure out how you knew he was pacing. You focused on the way his shoes tapped on the linoleum floor, the way his hands fiddled with his cane, tightening and untightening in a rhythmic dance, the way his heart was pounding in his chest, even though there was no possible way you could actually be hearing his heartbeat from this far away.

“Matty…” You murmured, lifting your hand from its place in your lap and reaching towards him.

“Yes, dove?” He asked, clearing his throat. He was closer to you now, and for the first time since your vision had gone, you weren’t surprised when his hand grasped yours. It was eerie, knowing where he was even though you couldn’t physically see him in front of you.

“What’s going on?” You asked, tightening your grip on his hand. He reached his other hand towards you, brushing his knuckles across your cheekbone in a soothing motion.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we’re going to figure it out, okay?” You nodded, leaning your head into his hand. “Okay, Matty.”

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