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bangaveragewhitewine · 1 year

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Hearts are wild creatures

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

Halloween, 1999

A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.

Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow

Word count: 6.4k

Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.

Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there.

Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!

Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here.

The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.

Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring.

Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted.

Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall.

After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub.

You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them.

Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.

Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’

His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper.

“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck.

Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night.

Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs.

“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.

It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers.

Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…”

You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home.

You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming.

Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you.

Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips.

Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees.

You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth.

“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes.

“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss.

Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,

Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy.

But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again.

All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet.

Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool.

“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?”

“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off.

“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…”

You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them.

Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips

Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday.

The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.

There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.

He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him.

The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’

Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.

Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply. An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing.

Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief.

Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth.

“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur.

Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.

Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver.

“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.

The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire.

“Back. Pass me that cushion?”

As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.

Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top.

He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip.

“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.”

He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers.

“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”

His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that.

“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.

Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him.

For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right.

“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.

“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”

Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss.

The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder.

“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck.

You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum.

Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different.

The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like

You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.

Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out.

“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap.

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.”

The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour.

Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough.

Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”

“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself.

You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass.

Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates.

Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good.

“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful.

There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?”

You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk.

That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body.

You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck.

“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too.

His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow.

Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck.

“But you’re so comfortable.”

Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you.

The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face.

“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you.

“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate.

He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids.

Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.

“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile.

“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July).

Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner.

Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night.

You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again.

You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze.

You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.

The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave.

“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight.

“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you.

You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest.

“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun.

“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose.

You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes).

Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.

Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve.

When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him.

“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up.

You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair.

Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face.

Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family.

Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table.

“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down.

“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume.

“Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?”

You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours).

“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.

“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.

“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”

Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.

As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation.

You glance back at the little tableau of Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle.

Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary.

“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.”

“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee.

“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?”

“On what, sweets?”

“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max).

“The nice stuff? Syrup?”

“Yeah! Sir-yup.”

“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”

“Um. Can I dip it?”

“In the syrup?”

“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”

“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”

“Teddy.”

You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.”

“Which one?”

“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.”

“That’s my girl.”

Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.”

“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now.

“Magic word?”

You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.

“Are you practising your magic for later?”

“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”

“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”

Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”

You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand.

“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task.

“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down.

“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is.

“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table.

“No tank you.”

You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.”

“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips.

Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week.

After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer.

“Glasses.”

“Getting them next, chef.”

“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.”

“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”

“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”

You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.

Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup.

“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first.

You smile to yourself and start plating up.

“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”

When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides.

“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.

“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.

“Can we do a-a spooky one?”

“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves.

“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face.

Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”

You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth.

“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.”

“No, it’s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.”

Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste. He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.

The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.

“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet.

He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s.

When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created.

“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face.

Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”

“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”

You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.

With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her.

You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls.

There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind.

You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep.

For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table.

What a treat.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #platonic stobin #platonic steddie #steve harrington fluff #bangaveragefics

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hyewka · 11 months

Note

Omg for your game beomgyu + hybrid ! Except he’s a bear hybrid since I don’t actually see it often despite him being a bear and though I love puppy hybrid gyu I want to see some bear gyu appreciation 😭🤭🤔

⭑ warnings; hybrid!au, switch!beomgyu, wolf!reader, mean femdom, dubcon, fwb, predator x prey, creampie, use of whore and bitch in demeaning ways, not proofread

⭑ send in a small prompt with the format of (member) + (nsfw prompt) and ill write you a small drabble!

you don't exactly know what the dumb cub's obsession with you comes from. you've never looked at him different than any other predator, and yet he has this weird big crush on you. does he know what's good for him or do all preys really just lack critical thinking?

"you're pretty," he babbles in answer of your question as you purposefully clamp down on his itty bitty thing. all it really has is girth. as expected of a bear.

"no duh. but i'm not the prettiest wolf out there so again, why do you like me so much?"

your eyes shoot open when beomgyu unexpectantly starts bucking his hips into your cunt, without permission. who the hell does he think he is?! you're about to curse him out, but as you lose your composure the faster he humps into your heat, he starts talking again.

"but y-you're the prettiest to me."

it's embarrassing how much those words have an effect on you. the heat that rushes up your cheeks is embarrassing, all of it is embarrassing, you're the one who's supposed to have him blushing and yet the dumb cub is the one having you so flustered. you manage to recover, quickly collecting yourself. you huff, taking it upon yourself to hold his wrists together over his head then using your right hand to trail under his shirt, pinching his nipples. that ought to teach him.

"ow! fuck! that hurt!" he shrieks, tears shooting to water his eyes.

"ill do it again if you act out little grizzly, sit there pliant or ill rip your little teddy ears off." he looks angry, frowning at you with his bottom lip stuck out like the baby he is, but really who is he to act like this? you're the one riding him and exerting all the effort while he sits against a tree. he should be grateful that you aren't a bigger bitch.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps it in as his frown transforms to ecstasy, mouth agape as his brows knit together and god, his facial expression really has you horny, hoping you could at least cum from this too.

then he rips it away from you. again.

"gonna cum, keep going you're sooogood at this--h-ha fuckkk"

you blink dumbfounded, does he really think you'll let his dirty litter in your belly? god what a dumbass.

almost immediately you stop and his glossy eyes fly open, he really looks like the most precious thing as he tries and fails to hump you. "no--no fuck!"

you tsk, letting go of his wrists and getting off his dick, dusting off your top. "hoped you'd last a little longer," you murmur pulling your panties up, indifferent to the fact that you just ruined an orgasm for him and he's squirming to try and get his high back with his hand. you could tell he's failing.

it's almost like a power trip leaving the bear on his ass, ruined to shreds against the tree, hiccuping and panting, legs still spread like a whore-- you're satisfied with your work if anything. so you didn't expect to be hurled with your back against the tree, everything going so fast and seemingly out of nowhere, the light switch terrifying with how dangerously close beomgyus face is to yours, with your wrists pinned.

"god you're such a bitch," he growls lowly, and you shiver, for the first time seeing his canines in a more predatory light. "want me to treat you like one? throw you around and give it to you rough like all the asshole predators?"

you don't let your weakness show, trying to bury down your fear. "let me go if you know what's good for you beomgyu." you warn trying to stare him down with the same intense look. it's not as effective as it usually is because he doesn't stop, tightening his hold.

"want me to use you as a body rag? thats what you want right? will that get you to treat me better than a fucking second class citizen? fuck your pussy and breed you with my cubs?"

with every word, it's like venom, your nose flaring, you're pissed. but yet the last bit stirs something deep in you, it's all confusing. why're you into this? you like toys you can control, not someone so unpredictable. who is he to think he could speak to you like that anyway? just because you haven't killed him the first chance you got and kept him around your circle he's acting out like he's better than you, like you've wronged him. you sneer at him.

"i could brush my knee against your dick and you'd buckle to your knees gyu, that's how weak you are. you wouldn't know a thing about fucking me like a bitch." you whisper, keeping the demeaning smile on your face, trying to ignore the feeling of his nails digging into your skin further and further, no doubt bruising.

you expect it, him attaching himself to you again. no matter how much you get a little mean, his lips still crash onto yours, rough and greedy and grossly passionate, like he's trying to convince you of something. it's different this time, he's not holding back, slipping his hand down your pants not wasting any time to rub at your clit, not waiting for any instructions and your body is reacting.

"so wet." he sighs into the feeling of your pussy, squeezing in a second, then a third. "what a whore."

he's fast, he's experienced with his fingers, he knows exactly what you like and it's all your fault for instructing him this entire time. he always had a glint to his eyes, like he'd snap and take you himself. and you guess today was his last straw.

"fuck, beomgyu, i-i'm gonna cum.." it's humiliating, but your pussy clenches around his slender fingers, and you could hear him whimpering, like this gets him off too. even when he's the one in control, he's still as desperate.

suddenly, like your warning is the call he's been waiting for, he turns you back to have your body against the tree, and you know he wants to go along his promise to breed you. suddenly you feel the emptiness of his fingers, and you're about to complain before he takes both your wrists in his hand, having them behind your back, his dick proding your entrance. "ready bitch?"

"beomgyu i swear if you cum inside of me-"

he doesn't listen, of course he doesn't. your tits bounce with each and every thrust and you just hope to the gods that nobody finds you like this. he's totally gone savage, trying to drill his cock deep into your pussy, whispering all sorts of filthy words. if everything before wasn't a big whiplash this was it.

even when you orgasm around his dick, he isn't satisfied. "beomgyu-fuck! stop please it h-hurts-"

"im not stopping until i have your tummy filled. ill make you have my babies." he says with so much conviction, his breath staggering.

"for the last time we can't breed dumb cub!" is what you wish you could say but all you're capable of with the mush state of your mind is intelligible moans. he's as fast and ruthless, playing with your tits when he can, not missing a second to kiss all over your neck.

you've lost to beomgyu of all people, how humiliating.

note; I haven't read over this but hopefully it's okay, crossing my fingers 😭

#✶ ━━ rana ; answered #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #hybrid smut #🌷. rana thoughts

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aethertetsuya · 1 year

Text

DP x DC ❤️‍🩹

Let me put you out of you misery.

Here's the thing. Danny was already half dead for his entire existence. He was born at deaths door from the DNA of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul. His only saving grace was being dipped in the newly found pure Lazarus pit beneath St Peter's Basilica. However, it dried up immediately after he was dipped in it, making the witnesses believe he absorbed all of it into his body.

In the ironic twist of fate, Danny finds himself running TO the Fentons for protection from the GIW and Batman.

Growing up, he was found to be ordinary. Aside from his high intelligence and fast reflexes, he was found weak by League standards. So he found him once again at death's door.

On his last and rigged mission, he was expected to die, and everyone was sure he would. But he survived barely. But he also lost all his memories and was found by the Fentons.

Fast forward a few years, the portal accident awakens his dormant ghost half, and memories infront of his parents. The convention they planned on going was canceled at the last minute. They arrived home to walked in the lab filled with Danny's scream and the Portal openning on top of him. Moments later he was spat out the portal. White hair, gloves, and boots, and a Black Hazmat Suit. No one can speak about what just happened.

While checking up on Danny, he transformed back into a human. The Fentons were simply just glad that their boy is okay. Heartbeat. That means he's alive.

Fast forward again to a few months after Danny, witht he backing of his parents, cement himself as a protector of the town.

Damian finds out about his supposedly dead older brother being alive and wants to take him out because ... there can only be one blood son. He thinks.

The manipulative gremlin sides with the GIW and gets Bruce (only) to believe their shit.

Danny finds himself at the end of an ecto weapon barrel with Bruce at the other end, and Damian tells Bruce to pull the trigger.

In his moment of hesitation he was shot by the Fenton. "Get away from our Baby Boy you furry"

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #bruce wayne #jack fenton #maddie fenton #Good Fenton Parents #damian wayne #misguided Bruce and Damian Wayne

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kiiwiigii · 1 year

Text

Abandoned

Demetri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Going to Italy over spring break was not what you had in mind, but Bella said she needed you. Until she didn't anymore, leaving you in the hands of a handsome vampire, who happens to be your mate.

Warnings:

Angst

Bella and the Cullens suck. (Ha ha. I'm so funny.)

Word Count: 1500+

Requested?: Yes!

heya thanks for answering my earlier ask about requests! Could I please request a demetri x reader angsty with fluff where they meet in new moon as reader tags along with bella to help and demtri is drawn to her cause theyre mates and volturi agree to let bella go and be turned later if the reader stays and reader is hurt that edward, bella and even alice agree to it so quickly so she feels abandoned and demetri works to earn her trust and comforts her about it at a later date? (If its too much or you end up tweaking it thats okay!!) <3

A/N: What kind of Volturi fic writer would I didn't do this trope? And for once it's not Alec-centric. I love it! Also, this is gonna be a two-parter.

I hated flying with a burning passion. But Bella insisted that I go with her for emotional support. I almost snapped at her to take Jacob instead. Emotional support animals were free after all. She just needed the paperwork.

Unfortunately, I don't think a big-ass werewolf-slash-shapeshifter would go over well if they were to accidentally transform. Bella was lucky that I even had a passport. In the end, it was Alice who convinced me, definitely playing the loyalty card pretty heavily. If only I had known that loyalty was not extended to me.

Italy was beautiful, but between the sweet relief of landing, Alice stealing a car, and getting caught up in the whirlwind that was the St. Marcus festival, I had barely any time to take it all in. The city was awash with hundreds of people, their red cloaks swirling about as they danced and celebrated.

Bella was diving out the car, screaming Edward's name. I dove into the crowds to follow her, making my way through the throngs of red cloaks to find her. It didn't take long before I was hopelessly lost. What had Alice said? Edward was going to reveal himself. What exactly would happen if he did? That was one thing I had never managed to get out of Bella.

Would he just… spontaneously combust?

No. That made no sense, he never would have come to the Volturi for death if that happened.

But where was the best place to do it?

I looked around desperately before my eyes landed on the clock tower in the center of the square. There. That was the prefect place. I pushed through the crowds, yelling Bella's name at the top of my lungs.

Demetri

"BELLA!"

He turned at the sound, and his dead heart seemed to beat for just a moment. Her voice sounded like heaven. Demetri scanned the square, eyes searching, desperate with hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be who he thought she was.

"Bella!'

It was closer this time, and through a break in the crowds he saw her. Time seemed to slow down as he took in the sight of her. She was by the clock tower, her chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe, as if she had just run a long distance. And given the beads of sweat along her brow and the trickles that dripped down her tantalizing neck, she had.

She was stunning. Beautiful. And more than everything that he had ever hoped for.

The other girl in front of him, Bella, turned around in both alarm and relief.

"Bella," Edward said softly. "Relax. He won't harm her."

"Demetri?" Felix asked, voice heavy with confusion.

"Stay with our… guests, Felix."

Demetri was next to the girl in the blink of an eye, stepping into her line of sight a moment later. She jerked back in alarm before making eye contact with him. And it happened. His whole world seemed to turn upside down. He grinned. She was his.

"Hello, principessa." He lifted her warm hands to his cold lips, enjoying the subtle taste of her skin. "I am Demetri. I will escort you to your friends. If you will follow me."

She raised a disbelieving brow at him, taking him in before landing on his eyes. She gulped a little and nodded her head. He held out his arm for her to take, and after a moments hesitation, she did so.

Upon arriving at the alleyway in which the others stood, his mate let go and hugged Bella tightly.

"You're alright." She breathed, her perfect voice hushed.

"I'm alright, Y/N."

"Good to have you back." It was Jane. "Aro has been wondering what has been taking so long. Let us continue."

He put a hand on his mates back, urging her forward silently.

Demetri found that he no longer cared what would happen with Cullen and his human, not so long as his mate stayed.

I was a moron.

Despite the seriously fucked up and dangerous situation that Bella had somehow pulled me into, I couldn’t help but blush as I felt this stranger's hand on my lower back.

'Demetri. His name is Demetri, Y/N.'

The gesture felt oddly warm and comforting. He felt oddly warm and comforting.

And I liked it. But also I didn't like it. He was making me feel all funny and I honestly didn't know what to do about it.

I glanced back at him, only to find him already looking at me, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He gave me a small smile and I turned back around, blushing harder. I liked that smile. A lot. I shook my head, following behind Edward and Bella, doing my best to not trip.

I had bigger things to worry about. Such as getting out of this situation alive. Alice had neglected to tell me much of anything, and I had only caught snippets of her conversation with Bella on the plane. All I knew was that the Volturi laid down the law, and they were not to be fucked with. I suddenly wished I had paid more attention instead of worrying about the death trap that was called a plane.

I grabbed Alice's hand, my anxiety spiking. She gave my hand a small squeeze, sending me another smile. But something was off. She wouldn't look me in the eye. In fact I couldn't recall her looking me in the eye since we had boarded the plane to Italy. And outside of his initial surprise to see me, neither had Edward. I frowned at the sudden realization, slowing down a moment and pulling my hand from hers. Demetri slowed down as well, gently pressing on my back for me to continue, but I stayed rooted in the spot.

"What are you hiding?" My voice cracked. "What did you see?"

Alice looked back at me, surprised.

"Now is not the time, Y/N." Demetri's lips brushed against my ear.

I really liked the way he said my name.

"Indeed." Jane turned around, her face blank.

Demetri tensed, angling himself so that I was out of Jane's eyesight.

"Do not worry, Demetri. I have no intent to harm your mate... As long as she keeps up."

She was so blasé about the whole thing that it took a minute for me to register what she said. Mate? I had a mate? Mates were a thing?

Demetri hissed at her and everyone edged away from the two of them, looking at Demetri as if he were a dead man. Jane just smiled.

"Let us continue. Demetri, do keep your human in line."

I wondered if my brain had just stopped working at that point because I would have normally said something back, but I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything. Demetri turned back around, looking at me as one would a spooked animal. And I was pretty close to a spooked animal. I was starting to hyperventilate, and I definitely wanted to run, but I couldn't get my legs to work.

"Y/N." He reached out, clasping both of my arms lightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way, but we really must keep going."

I nodded, numb. Alice knew. How long had she known? And Edward hadn't bothered to say a damn thing to me either. Why? They couldn't bother to prepare me for this? I have a fucking mate. That's not something you can just shove under the rug. And Jane. Fucking Jane-

Demetri's hand slid into my own, the coolness of his skin breaking me out of my haze just enough to keep moving forward. I could feel myself beginning to shut down and disassociate, auto-pilot taking over. I could feel his thumb rubbing circles softly on the palm of my hand and decided to focus on that instead.

Jane pushed the heavy double doors in front of us open.

My brain refused to shut off, memories of the last 24 hours replaying repeatedly in my head.

Bella had been released under two conditions:

She was to be turned within the year.

I was to stay here, to be with my mate.

I didn't have a choice, not that it really mattered, because I would have given myself up in a heartbeat for Bella. But they had taken the deal with barely a thought. Even Bella. That's when I realized that she knew. She had known the whole time. And Alice. I kept thinking about how she had worked so hard to convince me to come. To be Bella's emotional support. I wasn't there to be her emotional support. I was there to be traded, like some dog. And it hurt.

I had lost everything.

My friends. My home. My family.

I would never see my mother again. My father had passed a little over a year ago to cancer, so my mother and I were already in the practice of mourning. But my mom, not only had she lost my dad, but now she would think I was dead too. How would she cope?

How was I going to cope? How could I ever trust anyone again? Bella and the Cullens had taken advantage of me. Of my love. My loyalty.

I wouldn't let it happen again. Never.

{Masterlist} // {Request Guidelines}

Taglist: @alecvolturi @lack-lust-3r @pawspurpaw @pooka167 @rosedpetal

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#demetri volturi x reader #demetri volturi #volturi #fanfic #reader insert #twilight

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yanderestarangel · 6 months

Note

Just heat me out, step!big brother Kuai Liang x ftm reader. Where Kuai Liang buys a kimono that is too small on the curves of his step!brother and they end up fucking 🥴 `'yes inspired by your J.ai bot.

- 🍓

Urghh I just love this concept lol. This was my favorite bot.

TW: ftm reader, fingering, eat out, shibari, afab anatomy, praise, stepincest, dark smut, use of powers, squirt.

The fabric of the kimono accentuated your curves beautifully, your thighs were creamy and soft while your breasts spilled out of the garment's horizontal neckline ─ you were practically naked and it was Kuai Liang's fault

But after using his voice so many times to show you the results, you decided to go out and show him how it had looked on you, even though you were practically naked in the eyes of anyone there. As you enter the room, Kuai Liang can't help but swallow hard, his gaze lingering on the sight of your skin and curves peeking out from the kimono. His breathing becomes slightly ragged, his eyes locking onto your pussy teasingly exposed beneath the fabric, the thin material barely hiding the enticing view.

"Wrong number indeed," he murmurs, trying to regain his composure. He steps closer to you, reaching out to adjust the collar of the garment, his fingers brushing against your neck briefly before he straightens it out. "Let's find a better fit," he suggests, biting his lip to hide his arousal. He guides you over to his closet, searching for another gi that might suit you better.

"Maybe something more, covered?..." His brows furrow as he rifles through the selection, his mind racing with thoughts of how seductive you look in the current outfit. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but imagine running his fingers along your exposed skin, tasting your tender flesh.

"But you still look lovely, little prince."

You lightly joked that you looked like Jessica Rabbit due to the red color of your short kimono ─ Kuai Liang on the other hand can't help but laugh softly, his laughter rumbling through his chest. He stands behind you, resting his head on your delicate shoulder, his grip gentle yet firm on your breasts. The sensation of his breath against your skin tickles slightly, his eyes never leaving the reflection of the two of you. "Jessica Rabbit reincarnated as a prince... quite the transformation," he chuckles, enjoying the feeling of your curves in his hands. His grip tightens ever so slightly, giving a gentle squeeze before releasing you.

"However..." His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, his erection pressing against your ass as he speaks. "...my prince looks rather... enticing." He whispers the last word into your ear, his breath warming your earlobe as he leans in closer, his intention clear despite his calm tone. You saw his look at you in the mirror in front of both of you, as he with his warm, warm hands traced your body and lifted the thin fabric of your robes, exposing your naked body to him ─ A smile played on your step brother's lips, as you felt him get hotter, practically the comfortable heat of his muscles engulfing you. The pyromancer took some spare strings from his closet, some new ones that were used for his future Lin Kuei training, but now he had other plans for such an object.

"For someone with an angel face like yours, my little brother know how to manipulate situations. An innocent little face that hides a mischievous little devil." he muses, his voice low and husky as he ties the ropes in various knots, preparing them for whatever comes next.

"Don't worry, little angel, I won't hurt you." With that promise, he begins tying the rope around your wrists, ensuring they're snug but comfortable. If you're nervous, he'll reassure you all the while, his focus solely on ensuring your comfort and pleasure. He finishes passing the brown lines all over your body, placing emphasis on leaving your thighs wide open and exposing your pussy for his gaze. As he brings you to the bed, he doesn't waste any time, diving straight into pleasuring you. His tongue flicks out, immediately finding your clit, sending electric shocks through your body as he lavishes attention on it. He watches your reaction, pleased to see you tremble and drip for him. This surprises him, but it only fuels his desire further.

"You're so wet... so responsive..." he mumbles against your folds, his erection throbbing painfully in his pants. He kisses your clit again, then sucks it gently into his mouth before releasing it. "Such a naughty little boy you are, opening that pretty pussy and letting your step brother use you." He chuckles, teasing your entrance with his tongue, exploring every inch of your folds. The fire ninja relishes the sight of your trembles and whimpers, your breasts swaying gracefully despite being restrained. He smirks, captivated by your reactions to his touch.

He removes his fingers from your dripping pussy, causing you to whimper in protest. But as he pulls you onto his lap and spreads your legs, your protests turn into moans of pleasure as he begins to lavish attention on your sensitive clit.

"Good boys deserve to be rewarded." he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. His fingers continue to tease and stroke your clit, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of kisses and hickeys along your neck. He revels in your squirming beneath his touch, the way your body reacts to his every move. Your step older brother's fingers continue their sweet torture ─ his other hand caressing and squeezing your breasts, his touch demanding and gentle all at once.

You feel a heat in your core, made even worse by the shibari ropes on your body ─ He knew what was coming next simply by the way you pathetically begged him to make you cum, a request to which the tattooed man gladly complied. "you're going to give me a fucking squirt aren't you little brother?" He mocked as he used his powers and slightly heated the tip of his fingers, putting perfect pressure on your sensitive spot. You felt your vision cloud as you screamed his name and threw your head back finding his chest, he saw the transparent liquid come out of your pussy and stain the floor making him giving you kisses along your sweaty neck while he still held onto the ropes that bound you.

"good boy... you were my good boy."

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freemilkshakesposts · 2 months

Text

Bathing In The Rain

⚠️Warning ⚠️: Sexual content (18+) MDNI

Levi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: A Marley soldier and the captain of the Survey Corps, a love deemed forbidden, a passion that you once believed to be genuine—a lie, a fabrication, an illusion. How could you not have seen it for what it was? Yet, perhaps, when you encounter Levi beneath the rain's relentless downpour, the true essence of your relationship will be unveiled. In other words...outdoor smut in the rain.

The night unfurled in a wild dance of grey and silver, the heavens erupting in a primal deluge to drench the world below. Rain descended in relentless sheets, soaking everything in its path, an unstoppable force of nature. Thunder roared in the distance, a feral, beastly echo shattering the fragile stillness. But in this world, peace is an illusion. There is no such thing. There must always be chaos to balance the order, a perpetual disruption to maintain the façade of equilibrium.

Levi stood outside bathed in the raw splendour of the nocturnal storm, surrendering himself entirely to it.

The rain was merciless, each drop a sharp lance of cold against his skin, like arrows piercing St. Sebastian. But while Sebastian’s torment was divine, Levi's was an earthly baptism by storm.

The stinging rain was his punishment, embedding into his flesh, each droplet tracing his face with a crystalline touch. It slipped down his form like ghostly caresses, drenching his uniform, transforming the fabric into a darker, richer shade, while his dark hair clung to his forehead.

Yet, amidst the sting and the chill, there was a purity to the moment—a delicate, immaculate tableau. He stood in solitary watch, consumed by the storm’s relentless embrace.

"Levi," a voice called out, shattering the serenity of the moment, its barely audible murmur struggling against the storm's fury. "We need to talk."

He pivoted towards the voice, the rain continuing its onslaught, each drop slicing into his skin with the precision of tiny, cold blades. His gaze shifted, a nearly imperceptible softening in his eyes as he took in your disheveled state.

Your hair, plastered against your face in limp, damp strands, resembled wet seaweed. The drenched fabric of your shirt adhered to your form like a second skin, highlighting the curves of your breasts. Harsh creases marred your long, black coat, revealing the frailty of your soaked clothing underneath. You were utterly drenched, the rain's relentless, unyielding assault rendering you a sodden, vulnerable figure in the storm.

As you approached him, heavy droplets cascaded down your cheeks, blending seamlessly with the tears you fought to mask.

"Why did you come out here? Shit, look at you, completely soaked." His voice was low, edged with a chilling steel. "You might as well come inside to dry off; can't have you catching a cold." His grip tightened on your wet, cold shoulder, steering you towards the entrance with an unsettling calm.

You shoved him back instantly, your hand pressing firmly against his chest, eliciting a shuddered gasp from his throat.

“N-no,” you stammer, the quiver in your voice betraying the fortress of your resolve. You gasped internally, catching a glimpse of his eyes—eyes ablaze with a malevolent inferno, scorching your skin with their crimson heat. The raw power of his gaze almost consumes you, drawing you into submission. But then the cold rain, relentless and unforgiving, lashes at your face, a brutal reminder of the grim necessity of this act. Fuck it. You've bled and suffered, lost everything on this deranged quest for him, for this twisted mirage.

Drawing a deep breath, you force the truth up from the depths of your being. "Our whole relationship was nothing but a lie."

Levi's eyes narrowed, the rain beating down on his furrowed brow. "What are you talking about?"

It all became clear. The pieces had fallen into place: his sudden interest, the probing questions—questions you’d never answer to anyone else—and the frequent absences. Your heart tightened with the realisation that the man you had come to love had seen you as nothing more than a tool.

"You know exactly what I mean," you hiss, taking a deliberate step closer. "All this time, you've been using me, haven't you? Gathering intel, manipulating events—whatever fits your agenda. I'm nothing but a pawn for the Corps, a worthless rag for you just to squeeze dry for information on Marley."

The rain fell harder, each droplet crashing against the ground with such force it felt as though the world itself was convulsing, on the verge of disintegration, crumbling into a void.

Levi's gaze wavered, a flicker of something-guilt, regret?-crossing his features.

"I did what I had to do," he replied, his voice betraying a slight tremor as he struggled to maintain a veneer of control. "For the sake of humanity. For the mission."

You shook your head, the rain blending with your tears, searing your eyes with an almost exquisite agony. "Was any of it real then?" You asked, your voice trembling. "The nights we spent talking, the moments we shared...did your ever care for me, or was it all just a part of your elaborate scheme?"

The silence that followed was a deafening void, punctuated only by the storm's unyielding wrath. Rain hit against the trees with relentless brutality, flooding their limbs in a cascade of ruin, submerging the leaves in an unforgiving torrent. The once-refined petals of fragile blooms wept in mournful surrender, their fragile beauty annihilated, petal by petal.

Levi stepped forward, his hand extending to brush against your faintly reddened cheek. The chill of the air clung to his touch, an icy whisper that sent a shudder rippling through you, urging you to instinctively draw back.

"I never meant to hurt you," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the storm, tenderly tracing the contours of your face. "But this world... it doesn't allow for love. Not for people like us."

His words sliced through your chest like a precision-honed blade, extracting the vibrant, pulsing crimson of your heart until only void remains.

He's correct.

In this world, all that is beautiful is inevitably marred, unable to endure the unforgiving verities of our existence. This brutal equilibrium.

But inside, a primal urge festers—to be selfish, one last time. Selfish enough to annihilate that equilibrium. That's what you crave, what you deem necessary: obliterate the balance, reclaim and preserve that elusive beauty once more.

Without hesitation, you surged forward, seizing his cold, wind-battered face, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, punishing kiss.

He matched your intensity, his arms ensnaring you, yanking you closer.

The rain, now a relentless deluge, crashed over you, submerging your entwined forms on the sodden earth, both of you consumed by the downpour.

Your lips clashed, battled, and devoured each other with a ferocity so violent it was as if you were each other's last meal, a sacrificial communion.

You broke the kiss, gasping for breath, your eyes searching his. "Tell me this is real," you pleaded. "Tell me it wasn't all a lie."

Levi’s eyes softened, and for the first time you saw the man behind the soldier, the vulnerable soul beneath the hardened exterior. "This," he said, his voice quivering ever so slightly as his icy hands gripped yours, "this is real."

From those words something fractured deep within you, the final vestige of restraint, utterly incinerated.

Your shaky fingers wrestled with the buttons of his shirt, the rain turning the simple act into a battle against the elements. Frustration built within you, but Levi was there, his hands guiding yours with unspoken urgency, and soon his shirt lay discarded on the slick ground. In a swift motion, Levi began to yank the long coat from your shoulders. His hands slid beneath your own shirt, tearing at the buttons and pushing the fabric away, leaving you exposed to the relentless storm. As the cold air hit your skin, he shoved you against the wall, the icy stone biting into your back—a brutal contrast to the searing heat of his form.

His fingers began to glide along the curve of your spine with a soft touch, each touch a stroke of reverent artistry, like a painter spellbound by the sublime beauty of their subject, consumed by an all-encompassing need to possess it. As your body arched into his touch, the warmth of his mouth followed, tracing a burning path down your neck towards your chest. His lips found your left nipple, sucking gently, drawing soft gasps from you as his hand moved to massage your other breast, kneading it tenderly with each rhythmic pulse of his thumb.

It was clear that all semblance of propriety was swept away in the torrent.

He tore his mouth from your left nipple, lips now seeking yours again with an almost predatory hunger. The kiss that followed was desperate, devouring-his lips demanding, yours eager. It was a collision of mouths, breath mingling in a frantic exchange.

Your hands wandered without grace, pulling him closer, as if to meld into one being. A low groan escaped you, lost in the wet heat of the kiss, as his tongue probed beneath your teeth, slipping past your lips with audacious confidence. Fingers gripped your hips, digging in with a fierce possessiveness, as if this moment were the last chance to claim you. But then, he withdrew from the kiss, leaving only a thin, glistening strand of saliva bridging the distance between you both.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me,” he implored, his voice now laden with a desperate yearning that mirrored his pleading gaze.

This time you reassured him: an immediate breathless "Yes" slipping from your lips.

Levi suddenly swept you off the wall, causing you to gasp as he effortlessly spun you around, laying you gently on the damp grass. The cold ground stole the searing heat from your body, turning it into mist as you gazed up at the dark sky, breathless and captivated.

He moved to hover above you, his presence a cocoon of warmth that drew you inescapably into his orbit. Levi's eyes were dark and enigmatic, locking onto yours with a fierce intensity, a hunger that shattered any illusion of restraint. It was almost frightening, yet you couldn't deny that he was the very essence of seduction incarnate.

Rain clung to his lashes, falling onto your face like tiny, cool kisses. You were utterly enveloped by him, the sensation of wet mud against your skin fading into insignificance. In that moment, nothing existed but Levi.

His lips resumed their journey across your skin, each kiss upon your collarbone a jolt that stirred a ravenous need within. The cool droplets of water clinging to your flesh starkly contrasted with the searing heat of Levi's kisses, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. As his mouth wandered downward across your chest, his hands gripped your hips, steadying you. He knelt before you, his lips charting a slow, torturous path to the edge of your abdomen, lingering tantalizingly close to that aching desire that you yearned for him to sate.

"You look beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

His hands found the waistband of your trousers, seizing them and stripping them away with deliberate slowness, savouring the anticipation in the air. With the same fervent urgency, he tore away your black knickers, now damp with a delicate sheen, casting them aside to join the scattered remnants of your clothing.

He seized your thighs with a firm grasp, prying them apart.

"Already so wet for me," he murmured, the words seeming to reverberate off the tender skin of your inner thighs, as his thumb traced a lazy circle around your clit, the wetness amplifying in your ears.

His lips trailed a path down to your exposed core, each touch worshipful.

As his mouth closed around your swollen clit, a delicate gasp escaped your lips, the sensation verging on the unbearable. His tongue teased and flicked, coaxing moans from deep within, as his hands pressed your thighs back, exposing you completely to him.

You didn't care if anyone caught you; the thought of exposure was as thrilling as it was irrelevant. Your own comrades witnessing you submit to Captain Levi? It didn’t matter. This felt right—inevitably, perfectly right.

Within mere seconds, another moan tore from your lips, your hips arching instinctively toward his face as he administered a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on torment. His touch was a maddening interplay of fierce and gentle, each caress sending electric jolts through your every nerve. Your hands, almost of their own volition, ensnared his dark hair, fingers tracing the starkness of his undercut.

The swiftness of your approaching climax was both disconcerting and shameful like a delicate thread stretched to its breaking point, teetering on the edge of an inevitable rupture.

Then, the sudden warmth of his mouth vanished entirely, leaving behind an emptiness, a fullness that dissolved into nothingness.

An immediate chill settled over you, the void left by his absence creating a gaping abyss. It seemed to siphon away the invisible warmth that had enveloped and protected you from the rain, intensifying the bite of the night air against your exposed skin. Cold raindrops began to pelt your body with an unforgiving rhythm.

"Levi..." you murmured, a plaintive note edging your voice.

He drew his face from your thighs, returning it to yours, and gently placed a single finger upon your lips. His expression had taken on a wholly illicit quality. His lips were smeared with the glistening evidence of your desire, the damp sheen of your arousal staining them.

"I don't want you to cum like this. I want us to be selfish together. One more time. Will you allow me that?"

To be selfish. One more time. The notion, steeped in cruelty, dances on the edge of immorality—a siren call to greed. To be so selfish as to betray Marley, to find pleasure even with the enemy. Yet, how could one deny him now? His eyes, frantic with desperation, and the rain draping his skin in a luminous veil. He appeared insatiable. And, of course, you craved your own release... that sharp, intoxicating crescendo of pleasure only he could provide, a singular, forbidden ecstasy no one else could replicate.

You quickly nodded, finding yourself unable to form words, as your body instinctively leaned towards him again. Your legs parted with a kind of silent urgency, beckoning him closer.

Levi's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he observed your needy demeanour. He began unzipping his trousers, revealing his ardent desire, pulsing with the anticipation of being freed from its confines by the allure of your blossoming beauty.

"So tight..." He grunted, his determination palpable as he fought to penetrate the walls of your defenses, striving to reach that sacred, long-abandoned sanctuary within you-a place where he once found peace but had neglected in the name of duty and humanity, as he had so conveniently excused himself.

How much he lamented his neglect; in this moment, all he wanted was to shower you with the love you deserved, a desperate attempt to redeem himself and reclaim what was lost.

When he finally entered you, it was not mere pleasure that consumed him; it was something far more profound. His eyes dilated, and the veins in his neck pulsed beneath the pale strech of skin. This act was not a simple indulgence in physical desire; it was a dark, sacramental rite, a pursuit of redemption. To the unknowing observer, it might have seemed a mere spectacle, a cunning performance crafted to ensnare your affection and pry information from your lips. But you knew Levi too well.

The pounding rain formed a cacophony in your ears, drowning out everything but the sensation of Levi-his touch, his breath, each gasp and moan. Every thrust was a fervent prayer, a plea for more,as he surged into you with an exquisite ferocity. His movements were deliberate, forceful, each one reaching deep, pressing against the tender boundary of your cervix. His hands traced a delicate path across your skin- stomach, chest, face-a whisper of tenderness against the merciless rhythm of his thrusts. It was an intoxicating equilibrium, and you relished every moment of it.

"I'm sorry..." Levi purred into your ear, a groan lacing with his words.

Those words pushed you over the edge, sending you to your peak. The rain seemed to intensify, as if it were a baptism, washing away every ounce of the past, pain and betrayal. Your cry pierced the air, your nails digging ruthlessly into the wet earth, your body responding, convulsing around him. Levi was right there with you, his grip on your hips tightening, his breath a scorching whisper against your ear. In that moment, all restraints disintegrated, and his seed flooded into you, filling your garden. The long-barren soil of your existence was finally rejuvenated, and the once-withered flowers of your soul exploded into vivid, riotous bloom.

You both collapsed onto the grass, utterly spent, each breath ragged. Levi's head rested against your chest, his breaths shallow and feverish, their warmth searing your skin.

Glancing up at the dark sky, where menacing clouds hang like an impending judgment, fear is absent. Instead, a surge of life more vibrant than ever before courses through your veins.

Levi's restless shift upon your chest caught your attention, his head lifting languidly from its repose. Then, as if the storm itself were holding its breath, the silence was ruptured by his murmur: "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice scarcely rising above the tempest's roar. "For everything." In response, you extended your index finger tracing the contours of his face with deliberate tenderness, guiding from the curve of his cheek to the rigid edge of his sharp jawline. You lingered there, gently massaging the tip of his chin with your thumb.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," you whispered, your gaze heavy with somber intensity. "In this world, beauty and duty must always be in balance. What we share is beauty—rare and fragile. But duty remains, unyielding. I am a Marleyan soldier, and you are the captain of the Survey Corps. To disrupt this equilibrium continually carries profound consequences."

You sighed deeply, the weight of your decision pressing heavily on the air. "Yet we are all permitted one indulgence to disrupt this fragile equilibrium, one fleeting moment of self-gratification. I have elected to be selfish with you now, to forsake duty for this transient beauty. I chose you. But forgiveness, that would mean succumbing to the chaos that inevitably follows. I want you safe... for if we transgress, we unravel the equilibrium."

Levi remained silent, his eyes steadfastly locked onto yours, yet you could discern the unspoken acceptance of these truths within his mind. He nestled his face against your chest once more sighing into it, his arms encircling your form, drawing his body ever closer, as if seeking to fuse his very body with yours.

Both of you knew this brief peace was destined to shatter, as inevitable as a raindrop meeting the earth. Yet, for now, you chose to remain entwined, savouring the warmth of your bodies pressed together. Even the rain, once a curse, now felt like a gentle caress.

As your fingers traced the sharp lines of Levi’s undercut while he slept against your chest, you understood this was the moment—the singular truth you craved, the only reality you sought to possess.

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annabelle-creart · 2 months

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Life of Rescue Bots x Sweet Tooth

The children:

Little reminder that my calculations are wrong and Sissi and CeCe are 2 years older than supposed when Elsie and Camille are those ages, that means they’re supposed to be: Sissi a Newborn and CeCe two years old, but, well, it’s easier to make a little children than babies :v

And yes, I was temptated before I start again with the routine (I DONT WANT TO RETURN TO NORMAL CLASSES, SAVE ME FROM THIS LIFE)

But here we are, these are Elsie Rubio the bunny, the youngest child of the Rubio’s, CeCe the ferret, Doc Greene and Prof. Baranova’s little girl, Camille the crow, the hybrid that appears with Charlie at the first part of my fanfic, and Sissi (Elizabeth) the red fox, as you read in the third part, Kade and Hayley’s first child

Due to the lot of time that passed from the great crumble and the third part, it’s normal that the kids are bigger, Elsie was the first hybrid baby to born on Griffin Rock from residents that lived there before the apocalypse, two years later after the Great crumble, then, CeCe was born a lot of time later, but still is the second to born from parents that were residents before the crumble or the sick, and then Sissi

Elsie is like a little princess but it’s also a little messy, as the first one to born as hybrid in the island, she received some hostile comments, but that was so much ago that she don’t remember, so, she dedicates her time into playing with other kids and playing the flute with her mom

CeCe is still a genius, her big hair don’t let the rest see her ears, but has a really good ear, she’s always running and is as hyperactive as a ferret, and definitely a menace to society if she wasn’t enough polite

Camille is shy, prefers to sit in silence watching the rest play, but also enjoys science and medicine, he even dreams into being a doctor some day, he can’t talk because of his voice, but can mimic lots of sounds and knows sign language, also, he can’t fly yet but is learning

Sissi is an enigma, because know you see her as little and shy, maybe untrusting, but wait for two years more and you will see the most dangerous menace for all Griffin Rock, because she likes to bite and loves to make jokes (Kade’s fault, all the karma is finally falling on him) and is also too curious and prefer mud than normal baths, nobody knows how she ended up as rescuer when she grow up, but everyone said the same of Hector (Heatwave) when he was a teen

I don’t have a lot to share about them, because what it’s not about the crumble you would probably know, so, meh, in compensation, I made these

That’s all, good night

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kiunlo · 10 months

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My comms have been updated! **Paypal only**

Prices have gone up to fit the amount of progress I've made with my art skill! I currently have no commissions that I'm doing at the moment so I thought now it was the perfect time to update my prices and also put some better images in the post :3

Before you ask, no, I unfortunately I do not have any other paying options as Cashapp and Venmo are not available in Australia :( Also have no idea how to set up a stripe account for Kofi (which would allow ppl to pay via credit card). I’m really sorry for the inconvenience!

There are now multiple ways for people to contact me if they want to commission me! You can DM me here on tumblr, you can send me message over on Discord @ kiunlo / Kiunlo#3756, OR if you don't have any type of social media/don't want to make an account, I also now have a google form that you can fill out as well! Also please ensure you have a reference image of the person or thing or creature you want me to draw! 💗 More details below on what I will/will not draw.

What I will draw:

OCs

Canon characters

Mecha (ex: transformers)

Furry/Anthro

Mild blood/gore

Ship art (including oc x canon, canon x canon, oc x oc)

Backgrounds

What I won't draw:

Real life people without consent (with consent is completely fine!)

Nsfw

Intense gore

Inc*st/pseudo-inc*st or p*do stuff

Anything that’s racist/homophobic/transphobic/ableist etc.

I'm allowed to deny a commission for any reason if I believe I'm not able to do it or it makes me uncomfortable, and I do not need to tell you the reason why if I don't want to.

#ash's personal tag #my art #commissions #commissions open #artists on tumblr

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ofskysanddragonsandstars · 5 months

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Just another TFA x TFP crossover idea...

I know almost every long lasting transformers fan has done this, but here is my hot take.

So we know TFA takes place in the 2050s, and TFP fans assume TFP takes place in the 2010s when it was released. So instead of alternate dimensions, what about futuristic AU/reincarnation AU? Granted a LOT of the characters are different, so adjustments are going to have to be made, so bare with me.

Let's start with the war.

TFP ends with Optimus Prime sacrificing himself so that Cybertron can produce life with the Allspark, and with the Allspark returned, Cybertron is habitable again, and Megatron leaves, thus ending the war, which I will now refer to as the Great War. It is up to Team Prime to start rebuilding Cybertron. And naturally, they look to Ultra Magnus.

As bots return to Cybertron, both Autobot and Decepticon have a lot of animosity towards each other. Afterall, this war lasted centuries. But with one leader dead and the other AWOL, they have to figure out how to coexist. But it is easy to fall back on old habits, so a council is but back in place, and unfortunately, it is most autobots. Once the decepticons heard that Megatron is still alive but off world, some decide to leave and find him. Some decide to remain and try to fix Cybertron for the better. So the council promotes mostly Autobots to positions of power, thus leaving out bigger decepticons starting the warframe fear. As for the protoforms, the council creates molds for new sparks, thinking hey, the war is over, why do we need fighters? We need bots who can fix things (construction), laborers, teachers, and so Cybertron starts to use the frase "cogs in the machine". Oops, here comes functionalism.

But those closest to Optimus Prime? The ones who fought with him and followed him because of what he stood for? The ones who were put on a pedestal for their actions on earth with Prime even though they don't care for any recognition? They notice it immediately. And they hate what Cybertron is becoming. But it is hard to do anything since they just finished a war. Rebuilding is at the top of the list, not idealism. But wasn't that what the whole war was about? Rising above your station, having opportunities, abolish the caste system, and no bot is better than the other. Well, Primus has a plan for that. Primus is frustrated with their children. They keep making the same mistakes, forcing them to choose a Prime. And their last Prime had to sacrifice his life for Primus and all Cybertronians. Well, if the children want to redo their past mistakes, might as well send back their latest Prime. But Primus and the Allspark can only create sparklings, not full bots. So, Primus and the Allspark places the spark of Optimus Prime in a protoform sparkling. We will get to that later.

So, we have a Cybertron that is rebuilding back its bad habits, Team Prime struggling to stop it, and decepticons leaving (of course that will come back to haunt us).

Now onto the Autobots.

Ultra Magnus, the right hand man of Optimus Prime, is naturally looked at for leadership. But he never wanted to the # 1. He truly believes in the ideas of Orion Pax, before he was Optimus Prime. But his understanding of legality and chain of command make him the perfect candidate to lead Cybertron towards order. But after his time on Earth, he has learned that maybe the most strict policies are not the best solutions. However, the council insists and public pressure wants a strong leader, so how can he say no? The only thing he can do is refuse the title of Primacy. He will not take on that mantle. He knows the type of bot who deserves Primehood, and it is not him. But the council needs some title, so why not use his name? Magnus means "big, large, great" - nomitive conjugation - (Latin nerd, I know), so why not use his name as a title? Thus, the title of Magnu begins to be synonymous with "ruler". Ultra Magnus finds this to be a slap in the faceplates. But at least they stopped inisting on Prime. So, with great reluctance (please laugh at that joke) he accepts the position. As to what exactly his position means, well, the council wants to appease the public yet remain in control. The council will surely write up the specifics later. But, I mentioned it before, Ultra Magnus knows the Law, so he takes it into his own servos. He writes up his own limitations and abilities, he just needs the council to sign off. They don't hurry to sign it. This is the beginning of Ultra Magnus' problems.

Ratchet will probably be the easiest to crossover. Both TFA and TFP characterize him as an old medic that has fought in the war from the beginning. After Predacons Rising, he shuffles back and forth from Earth and Cybertron. But Earth hasn't faced decepticon attacks in years so Fowler isn't around much anymore (and the man had a long career in the Army and as a special agent - it's time for him to retire), the Earth kids eventually grow up, so they don't need him anymore. As much as it pains him (even though he will never admit it), he returns back to Cybertron for good and sets up a clinic for war vets. Probably with Knockout. Which many autobots don't like. That's a problem. But as the oldest friend of Orion Pax, he lashes out against the council and their policies, which unfortunately causes him to be blacklisted further. His reputation as a war hero plummets. He almost wants to laugh at the similarities from before the Great War.

Bumblebee is going to be the hardest. In TFP, he has a character arc of young scout to experienced warrior. Yet in TFA, he is a young Elite Guard wash out and a comedic. Well, the only answer I can currently think of is memory wipe. But let me backtrack. Bumblebee technically killed Megatron in TFP, and news of that travels across autobot channels before Predacons Rising, thus before Unicron revives Megatron. So, autobots that begin to return to Cybertron consider Bumblebee as the hero who ended the Great War. But Ultra Magnus is orderly, so he keeps the autobot channel updated with Megatron being revived but AWOL. But communication can be tricky galaxies apart, so some autobots don't get the full message. Unfortunately, the council capitalizes on that, and since Ultra Magnus won't accept Primehood, maybe the scout who served under Optimus Prime for so long will. And if Bumblebee accepts the council's wishes, perhaps he will remain under their watchful optics. But the new warrior looked up to Optimus, no way can he take his mentor/father-figure's place. And Smokescreen is Bumblebee's friend, one who turned down the Matrix of Leadership when it was freely offered. This angers the council. With functionalism getting in place yet Team Prime against it, they need someone from Team Prime to endorse functionalism. And what better bot than the scout who ended the war. With using a similar science from the cortical psychic patch, they wipe his memory of earth, his friends, and serving with Optimus Prime. How do they get that science? Well, TFA Shockwave was the spy Longarm in the council. More on that later. There is going to be a lot of repercussions for that.

Smokescreen is the new rebellious teenager in TFP. His character arc goes from hot head that is unsure of his place in the galaxy to a steady bot with a close friendship with Bumblebee. There is a foil with Alpha Trion both being a mentor to Orion Pax and Smokescreen and both working in the Archives. And Cybertron needs to remember its history. Smokescreen becomes the new Head Archivist, following after Alpha Trion. He could keep with the Elite Guard, perhaps one day truly becoming a Prime, but after Predacons Rising, he knows that there needs to be another path. And who else knows the Archives better than him? He is no Orion Pax - or an archivist - but watching over Alpha Trion makes a mech learn a thing or two. Surprising everyone but Bumblebee, he starts to rebuild the Archives. He takes reports from returning bots, both autobot and decepticon, and organizes it. Returning bots also bring recovered treasures that Alpha Trion shipped off world during the Great War. Thankfully, he remembers where they went. He gets so caught up in restoring the Archives that, like Orion Pax, he notices re-occurring problems from before the Great War, but it is too late to stop it. The best thing he can do is publish every document to a public platform, no matter which faction it came from, so that bots can resist the council. But the public is tired from the Great War, it is too soon to read documents about it. And Sparklings are shielded from those documents, caretakers claiming it is too violent. But what is violent about a critical analysis of the caste system written by a gladiator? Exactly the fact that it was written by a gladiator turned tyrant. He is threatened with removal of his position by the council. Afterall, they happen to like their elite status and have no interest in giving that up. And he knows that if he is removed, the council will fill his position with a bot that will promote council propaganda. The honorific of Prime is no longer so significant nor synonymous with Primus and the 13 due to the council trying to justify Ultra Magnus as the leader, even though he is under their thumbs, and wanting to keep authoritarian government, bestowing bots who graduate council specific requirements at an academy the title of Prime, and it frustrates Smokescreen. He considers it a disgrace to Optimus Prime. But he stays quiet, yet secretly, when he sees a young bot interested in the Great War and before, he shows them the truth. Slowly yet surely, young bots start to question what the Great War was even for.

Arcee TFP and TFA actually have a lot in common for backgrounds. In TFA, she was a teacher and an intelligence officer, and in TFP episode "Sick Minds" she makes an offhand comment about knowing how to do research. I headcanon that before the Great War, Arcee was in an analytical job, and since I'm crossing over with TFA, she could also at one point have been a teacher. Perhaps the equivalent of a grad student while teaching? With rebuilding Cybertron, she brings back those skills and starts some sort of intelligence organization. Perhaps it is in correspondence with Smokescreen and the Archive. She is also a great mentor to Smokescreen and she easily takes leadership role in the field when necessary. Arcee is the one who finds out Bee's memory gets wiped. She is quick to anger - as we see in her interactions with Starscream and Arachnid - and demands the council to return Bumblebee's memories. This does not go as planned, and the council retaliates and she goes into a comatose state, bringing us into TFA. But she has friends, and they notice her absence.

This brings in the Wreckers. With Cybertron going backwards, Bulkhead returns to construction. At first, he doesn't mind. Afterall, he has the knowledge for it, and in Predacons Rising, he currently is all they have. Unfortunately, this comes to haunt him as it allows the council to make a case for functionalism. All that fighting, wasted. Bulkhead never gets the chance to be something new. Until Wheeljack reaches out. With his knowledge in engineering, Wheeljack becomes the chief engineer on cybertron. Meaning that he is in charge of building space bridges, figuring out planetary weapons systems, communication technology, space travel, ect. Meaning, he figures out what happened to Arcee. And Project Omega. Wheeljack has learned that going solo isn't always the best move. But he keeps things Wrecker style. Since he knows the council listens in on his new communication network, he reaches out to Bulkhead and Ultra Magnus on the old Wrecker channel. It is time to bring the band back together. Or so they think. The rescue mission of Arcee fails, Bulkhead's memory is also wiped, and Ultra Magnus forced into a deeper corner of the council. They try to wipe Wheeljack's memory, but he is the chief engineer who suffered torture under a cortical psychic patch, he is able to retain his memories, but hides that fact. Even Ultra Magnus thinks his memory has been wiped. Wheeljack keeps a low radar with the council and remains the chief engineer. But he is rebellious, so he informs Ratchet.

So, to sum up our main characters: 2 have lost their memory, 1 is comatose, 2 are in political peril, 1 is undercover, 1 is disgraced, and 1 is dead.

Now we get to the plot of this AU.

Ratchet is disgraced by the council and autobots don't like that he works with a decepticon, former or not. His ability to do anything is greatly hindered. But he is still a medic with a valid practicing license and naturally, Sparklings need check ups. Enter the revival AU. Ratchet never thought his deceased friend and leader would ever return, but science is indisputable and he is very good at medicine and he patched up the Prime hundreds of times. He knows Optimus' spark signature when he sees it. How is it possible? Well, Ratchet never considered himself religious, but after battling Unicron and seeing a revived Megatron, perhaps religion has some merit. And Spark signatures are unique to individuals. There are no accounts of repeat spark signatures. The only logical explanation is this is the work of Primus. But Ratchet has no love of the council, so with the help of Knockout, they meet with Ultra Magnus secretly. So, only those 3 know Optimus has returned. But he is only a sparkling, and hasn't Optimus sacrificed enough? So, Optimus is returned to his caretaker to live a life free of his past hardship. Like Optimus Prime said before he entered the Well, it is up to them to rebuild Cybertron for the better. If only they could do some serious changes.

So, little Optimus grows up in a Cybertron rebuilding and no one talking about the Great War. All he has is the propaganda the council gives out. So why would he need to go to the Archives to learn? He has his teachers and he knows his function will be to put out fires or haul things due to his size, even though a part of him desires to be an Elite Guard. He eventually joins the academy and here we have TFA fully kick in. He befriends Elita-1 and Sentinel the same, catches the attention of Ultra Magnus the same way (or so he thinks. The mech is the leader of Cybertron, of course he has his ways to keep tabs on the former Prime) gets kicked out after losing Elita-1 (or so he thinks - Ultra Magnus wants him away from the council, so kicking him out was the best he could do), yet Ultra Magnus, with the help of Wheeljack, pulls a few strings to get Optimus' crew. Team Prime is almost back together. Afterall, it's not like the council wants Ratchet on the planet, and how would they know it is the very same Optimus?

The TFA plot mainly stays the same, except the Allspark is a little different. Here, the Allspark was supposedly returned to the Well. How it gets into space, I am still working that out. I might have to bring in TFA lore for this, intertwining it with the return of the decepticons and Megatron. But Ratchet has a fit when they find it ("Optimus sacrificed his life so that relic would return to the Well! And this is the thanks he gets?) he almost is glad when it gets shattered into pieces. But the Allspark also terrifies him after seeing his friend give his life for it. Ratchet does his best to keep Optimus away from the Allspark, even though Primus seems to find a way for Optimus to keep interacting with it.

Now this is getting long, so I'm going to end it here. But there is still a lot more to cover in this AU! Specifically the Decepticons. And how does Bumblebee and Bulkhead get their memories back? Wheeljack? Does Ultra Magnus tell Wheeljack of Optimus' true identity when he helps put his crew together on Teletran-1? How does Ultra Magnus change from being a kind SIC to the strict military leader of Cybertron? Does he get redeemed? Or is he the example of a tragic tale of political bargaining? What happens to Smokescreen? Do the TFP kids meet Sari Sumdac? Do they meet the autobots in Detroit, or does Ratchet warn them to keep their distance? What changes happen with Sentinel's and Optimus' friendship once his former life is revealed? When happens when Optimus learns the truth?

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shiorimakibawrites · 5 months

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Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

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

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @beezusvreeland , @indestructeible , @what-i-call-men , @reblog-reblog666 , @flynnethenerd , @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment , @yarrystyleeza , @bellaxgiornata Also posted on AO3

June 8: Attempting to fix the tags along with tagging those I missed after temporarily misplacing my tag list.

Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a few minutes . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he was unlucky . . .

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a frustrated whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or even just my fingers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agreed,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

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

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

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

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

“Bye.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt might actually be in hell.

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

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

It was torture. Pure torture.

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

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

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

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

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

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

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

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

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

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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