Thinking About Jake Being All So Tough But Yells "EL GATOOO" In High Pitch Everytime He Sees A Cat/kitten

thinking about jake being all so tough but yells "EL GATOOO" in high pitch everytime he sees a cat/kitten on the streets

90 days // matt murdock x reader

summary: it takes 90 days for you to break the habit of loving a dead man.

warnings: angst with a happy ending, TW: severe depression and shutting down so please please please read with caution if you are sensitive to material like this, season 3 matt so i mean...fake dead, lol. some cute foggy and karen moments for our little hearts perhaps? who knows, this is a long one, my bad guise

masterlist || add yourself to my taglist

inspired by 90 days by p!nk (well not really but i got the idea while listening to this song)

day 1 when you'd found out, you were a mess. you'd fallen to your knees in the police station, screams laced in pain and agony leaving your mouth as you sobbed. foggy fell to his knees besides you, scooping you up in his arms as you pleaded with a god you didn't believe in to bring him back to you. you'd spent the following week screaming and crying and begging any higher power that possibly exists to bring him back. you screamed at them in a fit of rage, infuriated that they took him from you. foggy had stopped by the day before the funeral and found you sitting on the shower floor, the bathroom door wide open, still in your clothes in a borderline catatonic state, letting boiling hot water pour on top of you.

he'd panicked and shut off the water, grabbing your face and checking for any real damage as he did his best not to cry. but when your eyes met his, you'd just broke down, grasping at his arms. without question or contest, he'd climbed into the wet bathtub and held you and your sopping wet clothes close to him. cradling your head against his chest, softly shushing you as you sobbed.

"i know y/n. i know." he whimpered, a small hiccup leaving his mouth as he silently cried with you.

"where is he, fog? where's his body? he needs to come home" you cried, clutching tightly to foggy's arms.

"i don't know." he cried, sniffling softly as he brushed your wet hair our of your face.

your painful sobs broke foggy's heart more than he thought it could break. you were struggling to breath as you let out loud sobs, and foggy wasn't sure how to help you. but he held you, and he stayed. once your cries softened, he helped you out of the bathtub and left to bring you dry clothes and make you something warm to drink while you took off your wet clothes and dried off your body. he turned on the heater to make the apartment warmer so you wouldn't get sick, and he'd stayed with you when you held tightly to his hand after getting you into bed.

foggy stayed and he helped you as best he could. because he knew that if it were him, matt would've taken care of foggy's family like they were his own, so he owed it to matt to take care of the only family matt had left.

day 8 it was raining the day of matt's funeral. you thought it was fitting as you watched the love of your life be lowered into the ground. or rather, his empty casket.

foggy held your hand as tightly as he could, pulling you closely to his side. and you weren't sure if it was more comforting for him or for you, but regardless, you appreciated it and him. the rain was pattering loudly against the umbrella that foggy held above the two of you.

ever since the shower incident, you hadn't spoken a word. hadn't cried, you barely ate, you had taken a sabbatical, which your boss was happy to give to you, offering you as much time as you needed. you were a shell of a person. you felt empty at best. so as you watched the priest say a prayer over matt's descending casket, you just leaned your head on foggy's shoulder, not saying a single word, not shedding a single tear.

once the funeral was over, you sat at a table in josie's, staring blankly at the wine glass in front of you. giving a tight smile and a nod when anyone would come up to you and offer their condolences. foggy sat with you the whole night, holding your hand through it all, trying his best to talk you through things. but as much as you loved foggy, you weren't interested in his endless optimism at the moment.

day 14 you could always be found in you and matt's shared loft, either on the couch or in your bed, on matt's side, clinging to his pillow. sometimes, you found the energy to sit at the counter and stare at the wall. you had nothing left in you to give. foggy and karen worried heavily. every time they'd come to see you, you were thinner, your eyes more sunken in and dark. today when they walked in, you were in bed, hadn't showered or eaten in at least two days from what they could tell. so foggy and karen helped you out of bed and into the shower where they sat you in the bathtub and foggy went to bring you some of your favorite soup while karen washed your hair. you remained silent and catatonic as karen gently gently rinsed you off. she'd dried you off and helped you into new clean clothes and sat with you on the couch, softly brushing your hair.

"i know it's hard. and it's okay to be depressed, but we're worried about you. i don't...i don't think you're okay, y/n. i think...i think you need some help." she sighs as she pulls the brush through your hair.

you don't say anything, you just sit there. you knew she was right. you did need help. and you were never against getting help. but you had no energy to get out of the house and go talk about your feelings. you didn't want to talk. you didn't want to do anything.

when foggy came back, he had multiple bags of food in his hands. each containing your favorite soups and foods from different take out places. they'd sat with you on the couch, making sure that you'd at least eat a little bit of the food foggy had brought you. and you did. you ate until you couldn't bring yourself to grab the spoon anymore. after a while, karen had gone home and foggy sat next to you in bed, and you'd laid you head on his lap, laying in silence as he softly pet your head.

"i know karen already talked to you, but you need help y/n. i'm so worried about you. i...i can't lose you too. you don't have to talk when you get there. i'll set everything up, and drive you there and pick you up. all of it just...please. you need help." foggy pleads.

you lay there for a moment, bringing the blanket further up your arms.

"okay" you squeak out.

foggy swore in that moment, he'd never heard a sound more beautiful than when you'd spoke.

day 35 after some time, the antidepressants and the therapy started to help and you started to speak again. and then you started to go out. you started small. first it was the corner store, then it was the supermarket, then it was target, and suddenly you found yourself back at work. your coworkers offered you as much support as they could, but remained at a distance, not wanting to feel like they were pushing you. the first week or two of work was difficult. you kept hoping you'd come home and he'd be in the living room. and coming back to an empty home that used to be shared did more damage than you thought it would.

"you want to sell it?" karen asks, furrowing her eyebrows

"yeah" you mumbled, poking at the pasta on your plate.

"why?"

"i just...i can't do it anymore, karen. it feels like i'm living in a tomb. i have to move on. i have to get better." you sighed, putting your fork down and picking up your drink.

"don't." she shakes her head.

"don't?"

"you should move out. move on. be happy. but don't sell it. i'll pay the bills. just please, don't. not yet at least." she pleads, reaching across the table and grabbing your hand.

you pause, contemplating it for a moment, and then you nod.

"okay."

day 53 you'd found a beautiful apartment not too far from your workplace. the neighborhood was nice, mostly families. it took you a little while to adjust, but eventually, you did. your routine began to look a little more normal. and every sunday night, karen and foggy would come over for dinner and you did your best to move on and be happy. you were sure that at some point, you wouldn't be pretending anymore, and that you'd actually be happy.

you were right.

you were slowly reverting back to the social butterfly that you used to be. of course you missed matt. everyday you did. but you'd accepted that he wasn't coming back, no matter how much groveling and praying and begging you did. he was gone. and all you had left was the memory. and you had learned to be okay with that.

of course every now and then you'd find yourself stopping by the loft and sitting in front of his closet, leaving the doors open and breathing him in. finding comfort in the lingering glimpses you'd catch of him. you were sure that there wouldn't be a day that goes by where you didn't think of him, miss him. he was the love of your life. and he always would be.

but you also knew that at some point, you had to let him go.

day 76 you regularly visited his grave. keeping the stone clean and adorning his final resting place with beautiful fragrant flowers. a piece of you hoped that if they smelled strong enough, he could smell them even in the afterlife.

most times you went, foggy came with you. foggy did his best to stick by you, to support you and your choices, and you two had leaned on each other a lot through your grieving processes. you both had attempted to cling to the pieces of matt that he'd left in you both. and you'd found peace in each other.

"i like it short like this." you smiled, spinning around in the barbers chair next to foggy as he looked nervously between you and the mirror.

"you think so?" he asked, scrunching his eyebrows.

"i do. it looks good. you look very clean cut. but in a good way" you nodded, a small smile on your lips as you brought your coffee up to your lips, taking a sip.

"good good." he breathes out nervously as the barber brushes the fine piece of hairs away.

you and foggy leave the barber, walking along the street and as you toss your coffee away, foggy just smiles at you.

"you look better." he notes, making your chest swell with pride.

"thank you. it took a while, but...i'm getting there and for now, i'm okay." you smile.

and for the first time in a long time, you weren't lying when you told foggy you were fine.

day 90 you were stood inside of matt's apartment for the first time in a very long time. you breathed in the air, the surrounding smells were still the same despite karen only coming occasionally. you stood there in silence, just looking, when suddenly the door slams open, making you jump.

"matt!"

you furrow your eyeborws as karen storms in, foggy in tow.

"what the hell is going on?" you ask, looking as karen searched the apartment.

"did you know?" she asked, turning towards you.

"know what? foggy, what's going on?"

foggy sighs, his entire demeanor falling, his shoulder drooping as he walked over to grab your hands.

"let's sit down, yeah?" he says, grabbing your arms and seating you on the couch.

"foggy please, what's going on? why is karen looking for matt? he's dead the last time i checked." you chuckled nervously, the nerves bundling in your stomach.

foggy paused, his mouth opening and closing.

"no...he's not."

you suck in a breath and your chest starts to tighten. you just smile, shaking your head.

"that's not funny, fog."

"i wish this was a cruel joke. i do. but it's not. he's alive. he came and saw me last night. told me that we were in danger because fisk is out now." he explained, petting your head and keeping hold of your hand.

you didn't know how to react, so you sat there, a blank stare on your face, your moth fallen slightly open, and a single tear falling down your face.

"a-alive?" you whimpered.

foggy quickly wiped the tears from your face and nodded.

"yeah. alive."

"w-why would he do that?"

"exactly! why would he let us think he was dead!?" karen shouted making you wince.

you sat there trying to process as foggy said that the matt who came to see him wasn't the same matt that we knew, that something was wrong, missing.

"i have to go home." you breathed out, just standing up from the couch and walking out the door.

you couldn't handle any of it. so when you got home, you sat on your floor, and you cried.

day 92 you were stood with foggy, smiling and talking with everyone as foggy campaigned. foggy had his hand placed on the small of your back as you took a photo together in front of the banner. as he announced he'd be there to answer any questions, foggy's gaze shifted to a man walking in.

"i got a few." he asked, taking slow steps towards you two.

"like...what's the secret ingredient in your world famous nelson's sub?"

"a uh, soft robiola."

"mmm...perfect. team at work is gonna love that. uh. give me six."

"oh, theo can help you, actually. he's at the counter." you smiled, shifting your weight slightly to create a window to theo.

"is there anything else?" foggy asks.

"yeah, when was the last time you or ms. y/l/n saw matt murdock?"

"who're you?" foggy asked, standing up taller.

the man said nothing, just held up his badge. and your stomach dropped, causing you to lose your balance. foggy grabbed your arms, stabilizing you.

what the hell have you done, matt

day 105 foggy and karen tried to keep you out of everything going on at the request of matt. despite what matt had done, he did it because he loved you. he did it to protect you. and foggy and karen just wanted to shield you from more hurt.

but they weren't there to stop him from climbing into your window the evening after he'd finally defeated fisk.

you were stood in your kitchen, humming along to the song on the radio.

"hi."

you jumped and let out a yelp, dropping the knife on the ground and turning around to see matt stood on your living room, a somber look on his face.

"what're you doing here?" you ask, your voice harsh and cold.

matt let out a breath, feeling his way across your apartment, closer to you. he could hear your heartbeat accelerating. and as angry as you were, and as much as you wanted to hit him and scream at him, which you would, you wanted more to just hold him.

you'd had time to come to terms with the fact that matt was alive. you were still angry, unbelievably so, but you'd guessed that one of the gods you'd prayed to had finally listened.

"can we talk?" he asked, leaning on your kitchen island across from you.

you stood there, staring at him, tears prickling your eyes.

"now you want to talk? after i screamed and cried and spent thousands of dollars at a mental health facility and on antidepressants? after i buried you into the fucking ground!" you cried, taking a step towards him and hitting his chest.

"y/n i-"

"i wanted to die, matt! i didn't want to live anymore! your death broke me and it was all for nothing!" you yelled as you threw punches into his chest like he was a punching bag.

and at some point, you were just hitting him as you yelled and cried. tears were running down matt's face and he eventually grabbed your hands, stopping you, and pulling you into his arms.

"i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." he whispered into your hair and he held you tightly against his chest.

"you're not here. you're not real." you cried in denial of the man holding you in his arms, and he shook his head.

"i'm real. and i'm here, baby. i'm here and i'm not going anywhere." he breathe out, entangling a hand into your hair and clinging to your body like you'd wither away soon.

you cried and breathed him in, letting any guard you'd previously put up fall. your knees buckled and matt gently kneeled, sitting on the ground as he held you. you clung to his shirt and you both cried. matt pressed soft and gentle kisses into your hairline.

you'd eventually cried yourself out and you were just sitting on the kitchen floor with matt, your half cooked dinner now cold and sitting on the stove. your wine on the counter now warm. matt's fingers combing through your hair. you'd sat in silence until your phone rang out. you just stood up without a word, silencing your phone and grabbing the pill case on your counter. you stared at it, and matt stared at you. he stood up, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking his head into your neck.

"i'm sorry."

"i know."

you quickly took the pills before shutting the case and just leaning on the counter, letting matt hold you some more.

to be quite honest, you weren't sure what to feel. you weren't sure if you should be angry still or if you should just enjoy that fact that the love of your life was in fact, not dead. but for now, you just wanted to be with him.

you grabbed his hands, unwrapping them and intertwining one of your hands as you walked over to your bedroom. you'd changed into a sleep shirt and without having to say anything, matt had taken off his shirt and pants and crawled into bed with you. you laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, confirming that he was alive, that he was here.

"i promise, i'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. if you'll let me." he said softly

"please don't leave again." you whimpered.

"never. i promise." matt tightened his arms around you and you looked up, placing a hand on his cheek.

you scooted up and leaned your forehead on his, your noses touching.

"i'll stay for as long as you let me. and even after that." he said, softly confessing to you.

you just look into his eyes, your hand on his cheek, and you lean in slowly. matt's arm moves up and he gently places his hand on your jaw before meeting you halfway, pressing his lips on yours. he could heart your heart quite literally skip a beat, and you let your hand move into his hair.

you pulled away and gently pushed the hair out of his face.

"i can't handle it again. i'm serious. i can't."

he just nodded, and held you close to him as you both drifted to sleep. and for the first time since his death, you slept through the night without any nightmares.

and when you woke up every day after that, he was still there, like he promised he would be.

taglist:

@luvr-bunnyy @glowstick-lesbian @anothersworld @mrbillymontgomery @inas-thing @fuck-goes-on @eddiemvnsonss @nia_um @multibishh @takeyour-pants-off @afootnoteinyourhappiness

love is a mixtape

author note: HIIII!!! i think like one person follows me on here and they made a really nice comment about a previous fic i had posted literally months ago, so thank u for that!

that fic didn’t end up working out and i deleted it because i wasn’t happy with the way it was written. uni is way too stressful for me at the moment, and i know i’m only setting myself up for failure by forcing myself to write.

this is something i started a couple nights ago. it hasn’t been proofread by anyone other than me so let me know if there are any errors at all. tysm.

summary: you’ve just started to unpack at matt’s apartment, but moving day get’s interesting when you find an old mixtape boxed up with your books.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff and domesticity, sexual references, swearing, alcohol consumption.

(around) 2.2k words

“Well, well well. Just look at what we have here.” You chide, turning the old CD over in your hands, the cover in two broken pieces and coated in a thin sheen of dust. The penmanship is thick and wonky, uppercase letters written in smudged black sharpie. You read in an exaggerated accent, “Boston Beats” and hear Matt’s groan from over the kitchen counter.

You’re unpacking the second last box of books and records at his apartment when the familiar disc makes an appearance, reflecting rainbows on the walls as you inspect it for scratches. It was a last-minute gift given to you by the boys when you graduated, and just about the best present anyone could manage to afford while drowning in student loans.

“I remember paying Foggy in pepperoni pizza just to make that for me. It took him a week, and to this day I still don’t know if he took longer just so I would buy him more food or if the Columbia library computers were actually that slow.” Matt recollected, looking fondly towards you, brain flooding with memories of late nights and shoebox dormitories.

If you squinted hard enough, you could imagine his freshly shaven face and black rectangular sunglasses from college. You would proofread each other’s assignments aloud, bursting with pure joy every time Matt or Foggy got a ninety-something score. The mental picture was enough to make your skin buzz.

“It was a very sweet idea.” The admittance is genuine, and you see Matt’s dimple appear briefly before he turns away and drains the rest of his beer.

“Eh, it’s the thought that counts.” He dismisses it and reaches into the fridge for another two green bottles, carrying them between his fingers and joining you in the living room.

Your back is pressed up against the coffee table and you’re sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the hardwood floor, at the epicentre of a paperback-vinyl-dust-bunny-explosion. You rummage even further into the box looking for the speaker system that you know you packed.

Once upon a time, you could recite the tracklist in perfect order, having listened to it religiously for the 6 months you were away interning in Boston. It was the soundtrack for heartbreak, new friends, missed buses and the coldest winter in Massachusetts on record, but holding it in your hand now, those memories couldn’t feel any further away.

“I prohibit you from playing that CD.” Matt is glaring all-knowingly, having fully anticipated your antics. You gasp in mock horror.

“Matt, I don’t think you understand. This is comedy gold that I am holding in my hands.” You plead jokingly. “It’s honestly cute that you think I won’t be playing this on repeat for the next week.” A piece of plastic flies off into the bedroom when you shake the case a little too enthusiastically, and you stand up to put it in the bin before someone (definitely you) steps on it.

“If you truly love me you will never let that mixtape see the light of day ever again.”

“Don’t you dare use our relationship as an ultimatum Matthew Murdock!”

“What was that? Did you mean an ‘alltomato’?” He quips, referencing your linguistic blunder from just a few months ago, a mistake he often teases you about.

“Stop making fun of meeeeee.” You protest, covering your head with your arms in embarrassment. “I will not stand for this behaviour. You forget that I have all the power here!” He is reminded once again of the corner you’ve backed him into, eyes rolling up to the roof as he nods his head in understanding. You bend over to pick up the small plastic shard, eyeing it between pointed fingers.

While investigating the jagged edges, your vision refocuses on the unmade bed before you, silk sheets drooping limply over Matt’s side of the mattress (damn blanket hog). It’s not your best plan of attack, and you certainly don’t expect it to work, but a proposal formulates nonetheless. Matt Murdock may be a man of honour, but he is also just that, a man.

“Oh, Matty. I have a suggestion.” You drop the plastic on the bedside table to quite possibly injure yourself on later. The floorboards begin to creek slightly under the weight of your careful footsteps.

Sneaking up from behind, you tousle his messy hair and slide your hands down the length of both of his arms. Your chin rests on the back of the couch now, lips poised by the side of his head.

“If you give this here ‘Boston Beats’ a chance, I’ll wear the valentines set to bed tonight.” You whisper teasingly, adjusting the hem of his t-shirt, playing ever-so-slightly with the band of his sweatpants. He inhales sharply and catches your wrist with deadly dexterity.

If dressing up all in silk isn’t reward enough for the ensuing hilarity, you don’t know whether to be surprised or disappointed, for a number of reasons.

His ‘tch’ing is enough to make you second guess yourself, but within seconds he points an apathetic finger at the last remaining box of clutter from the old apartment.

“At the very bottom, underneath the wooden jewellery case.” He sinks into the couch. “That’s where you’ll find your CD player.”

You pinch his cheek lovingly and saunter back towards your pile of junk, wearing the widest smile you can manage.

You were seconds away from placing the disc in the tray when Matt interrupted.

“I think I need to set some ground rules first.”

“Always with the lawyer talk.” You hang your head dejectedly but await his demands.

“Number one, we will listen to three songs.”

“What do you take me for?! A dunce? Five songs. At the least.” He launches a couch cushion over the coffee table. It bounces off your shoulder and knocks awry the classics section of the bookshelf, the area you spent the last thirty minutes organising. Knowing it was only a warning toss, you laugh but quickly cover it up with a gasp.

“Four?” He innocently offers. God, he may as well be pouting his lips and twirling his hair.

“Deal.”

“Number two, it stays in the trunk- with my suit!- until I decide what to do with it.”

“It can’t be thrown out! It’s a relic, Matthew. Imagine what Foggy would say if you got rid of his hours of hard work!”

“I’m not going to throw it out,” He reasons, shrugging his shoulders in earnest. “I just don’t remember what’s on it and I’d rather not be made of fun every day for the rest of my life because twenty-something-year-old-me decided that Lovefool was the epitome of romance.”

“Oh, made fun of? You mean like you do to me?”

“Exactly!” He grins.

The summer breeze is swept up from the street and in through the window, fresh air and soft amber light engulfing the room. Five years ago, making this move would’ve plagued your thoughts and given you debilitating anxiety, keeping you awake for nights on end just to contemplate the logistics of it all. Today, you managed ten boxes and zero meltdowns in one day. Just to be around someone as resilient as Matt; someone who isn’t discouraged by stupid setbacks and instead offers simple solutions to each of the silly issues you encounter - makes it enjoyable to complete even the most tedious tasks.

It’s easy to see why the most famous tragedies are all built around love. You can’t believe you went so long without it, without him.

“Okay! I agree, with all your stupid conditions. Can we begin now?” He almost seems sad to see the banter and flirtatious disses disappear, having half-expected your light-hearted arguments never to end. He smiles nevertheless and nods for you to press play.

“Deep breaths Matthew.”

He stands up just as the dreamy guitars of Friday I’m In Love kick in and your mouth widens into a teasing smile. You think he might get all dramatic on you again but he just shakes his head and looks down into his lap. What would he say if he could see you stumbling around the living room with all the grace of a baby giraffe?

“Isn’t this just wonderful!?” You sigh in adoration, swaying back and forth with your dance partner.

“I hate you so much right now.” Matt begrudgingly chuckles and slips his arms through yours, which are pressed sassily into your hips.

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You let nothing but the music come between the two of you. Toe to toe and chest to chin. Your heart is sent into overdrive when he presses a light kiss onto the crown of your head. To this day, Matt still severely underestimates the effect he has on you. The slightest touch makes you dizzy with infatuation.

“You know I had multiple copies of this CD? One for the car, one for my Discman and this one right here. It stayed at home. All the time. I slept with it under my pillow.” You were playing now with the crucifix Maggie gave him, tracing the ridges of the cross over the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re lying.”

“You of all people know that’s not true.” Tapping the left side of his chest.

The next song started. Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want.

“Why so many?”

“Because I was scared I’d lose it. Scared of losing you.” It hurt to reminisce, knowing that only a couple months after you had left, you and Matt called it quits, stopped calling at the end of the workday and communicated through Foggy; only when necessary.

“That was around the time I put on the mask.” The music suddenly felt far sadder than it should. “I was so angry that I let you go. I should have followed you to Boston- made sure that stupid things like distance didn’t get in the way. We could have been different.” “You’re a New Yorker through and through Matt. Hell’s Kitchen is your forever home.” You pushed a little further into his chest. Skin-to-skin contact doesn’t cut it in the intimacy of the moment.

“I would’ve followed you.” He insisted again.

“I know. I know you would’ve.”

The song ends suddenly, and in the silence, Matt grunts out “God, I was a miserable fuck back then. Is there anything above 80 beats per minute on this thing?”

He’s spoken too soon. The funky bassline of Deee-Lite’s Groove Is in the Heart ensues.

You and Matt just about double over in ugly, stomach-clutching laughter, the mood from moments before sliced clean out of the air. The both of you catch your breath just in time to sing along,

I couldn’t ask for another!

“Why did you want us to listen to this?”

“Because you and Foggy made it!”

“Foggy should be charged as an accessory to murder. My eardrums being the victim.”

“Oh shut up.” You swat him away and take a sip of your beer, warm now from the heat of the apartment. “If you ask me, this is the most romantic thing ever made.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah I don’t get all the fuss about poetry and paintings and wine. Give me a ‘Boston Beats’ mixtape any day and I’ll get my priorities straight.”

“You always know what to say to make a guy swoon.”

“I try.” You smirk and he kisses you on the lips for the first time that night. “Only one more song left now, are you ready to make it count?”

“I’m ready for this to be over. Not trying to be rude, but I actually have a meeting at 8pm just through those doors over there.” He made a loose gesture to the bed.

“I’m sure she won’t mind if you’re a couple minutes late.”

“I certainly will.” For a minute he’s silent. He contemplates the move, trying to assess through your touch if now is the moment.

The disc skips slightly.

You play along, give him a look through hooded eyes that you hope can will him to bridge the gap, maybe even transcend the boundaries of sight.

Outside, the sun is sinking further into the Manhattan skyline. The music isn’t the only thing you can hear anymore. There is also laughter outside and the click-clack of high heels on the pavement.

Your breathing is so shallow that you think you might implode, body aching for his touch now that he is selfish enough to be so far away from you.

The movements are so quick that all you can do is follow his lead. You step backwards, him over the pillow from earlier. You navigate the sofa and legs of the coffee table all while staring up at him, surroundings darkening as you make it through the sliding door entrance to your room.

The only thing you can hear is your heart thumping; blood rushing wildly - as you tug Matt’s sweatpants down.

17 notes View Post

mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

HES TOO PRECIOUS FOR THIS WORLD 😭😭😭

can we all once again give a round of applause for Steven? because not enough people are talking about this:

Steven found out that everything, literally EVERYTHING about his life was a lie. that he was made up by someone else, to be used as a “stress ball”, that he was forced to believe he had a mother who loved him when she actually hated him.

can you IMAGINE being told that? that everything you know is a lie? that you only exist because of the trauma someone else went through? that everything that makes you who you are was specifically constructed as a coping mechanism?

and yet when learning the truth of why, Steven chose empathy. he comforted Marc, told him exactly what he needed to hear: “it wasn’t your fault.” and saved him not once but twice from the damned souls. yes, he punched him before, albeit justifiably as he didn’t yet know the whole truth, but he fixed that mistake. he could’ve chosen to ignore Marc’s suffering, to continue being upset and angry at him. yet he chose to be what he was born for: be Marc’s protector. but this time, of his own accord. he chose to comfort him, he chose to save him, not because he simply had to due to circumstances, but because it was the right thing to do.

Steven Grant, you are too good for this chaotic multiverse.