Athena

[ao3]

summary: by no means were you the best at patching Matt up after nights as Daredevil left him with its predictable marks, but you damn sure tried your hardest. Not that it mattered, when Matt would rather risk an ugly scar than let you work in focus. | gn!reader warnings: the obligatory taking care of a vigilante and said vigilante getting handsy after patrol fic! this is all in all incredibly fluffy and one of the sillier things I've written, however there are mentions of blood, and descriptions of open wounds and sutures. you're sewing Matt up, it's inevitable. a/n: I've been sick for the past two weeks, completely out of it and haven't been able to write or be online much, so please accept a simpler and shorter fic from me this go round! wc: 3,760

The smell of antiseptic still lingered, but you and Matt had fallen into routine within the warmth of his apartment, blanketed under the weary calm and cover of night. Suture in hand, you weren't exactly a stranger to stitching up the man before you anymore, but neither were you a nurse, or medically trained in any capacity outside of prescribing over the counter pain medication you now bought in bulk and the occasional bandage administration to paper cuts and small scrapes. 

You pride yourself in being a decent sewist, learning basic mending skills throughout your years for the small tears and such, but cotton or denim was still in a far different ballpark than living, feeling, skin and muscle. Why Matt had trusted you to not only learn the skill, but offer himself and his many, many, lacerations up to be your trial-by-fire was beyond you. Perhaps it had been because the first time the Devil had come back from a patrol with a cut just slightly too deep, you'd steadied your nerves and offered to try.

Azriel x reader fluff / domestic intimacy / teasing / hurt-comfort Tired of watching Azriel run himself into the ground, you storm into Rhys’s office and emotionally blackmail the High Lord into giving your mate a week off. Azriel returns home exhausted, suspicious, and entirely too amused by the chaos you caused for him.

Rhysand was already annoyed before you even slammed the office doors open.

The sound cracked through the river house loudly enough that Cassian glanced up from the couch with immediate interest, the sharpening stone stilling against the dagger in his hand while Amren sighed over her book like your entrance had personally ruined her morning.

Rhys merely leaned back in his chair with the slow patience of a male who already knew he was about to lose an argument.

“No,” you said immediately.

“Good morning to you too,” Rhys replied dryly.

“No,” you repeated, striding across the office. “You are not sending Azriel back out again.”

Cassian’s mouth twitched.

Rhys folded his hands atop the desk. “There are problems at the Illyrian camps that need handling.”

“That’s not true.”

One dark brow lifted.

“You just want to send your best warrior to glare at everyone until they remember how to behave.”

Amren snorted softly into her wineglass.

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is, unfortunately, part of handling the problem.”

“He’s exhausted.”

The amusement faded from his face then, if only slightly, because he knew it too.

Azriel had spent weeks flying between camps and borders and meetings, carrying half the Night Court on his shoulders with that same quiet endurance he carried everything else. He came home later now. Spoke less. Slept less. Even Cassian had started looking concerned.

And Azriel, of course, had said absolutely nothing about it.

“He would never ask for a break,” you continued, crossing your arms. “So I’m asking for him.”

Rhys exhaled slowly. “You know the timing is difficult.”

“Oh, spare me,” you said, throwing your arms in the air.

Cassian outright grinned now.

You pointed accusingly at Rhys. “You’ve worked him into the ground.”

“I have not—”

“You absolutely have.”

Rhys opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Cassian coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

“So,” you said sweetly, “you are giving him a week off.”

“A week,” Rhys repeated flatly.

“A full week.”

Rhys stared at you. “Do you know how much work he handles in a single day?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. “That’s exactly why I’m asking for seven of them.”

Amren smirked over the rim of her glass.

Rhys drummed his fingers once against the desk. “Do you realize the amount of chaos you’re asking me to deal with while you two disappear into domestic bliss?”

You leaned closer across the desk, crossing your arms with all the confidence of someone about to make a truly unreasonable offer.

“I’ll babysit Nyx for a week.”

For a moment, the entire room went silent before Cassian burst into laughter loud enough to echo off the walls.

Rhys blinked once at you. “You want to keep my son during your vacation?”

“No,” you said immediately, sounding genuinely horrified. “After.”

Cassian nearly slid off the couch laughing.

Rhys looked at you for another long second, like he genuinely could not decide whether to be offended or impressed. “You’re trying to barter childcare for my spymaster.”

“Yes.”

For a heartbeat, he simply blinked at you. Then laughter finally broke from him too, rich and disbelieving enough that even Amren looked mildly entertained now.

“You are unbelievable.”

You smiled sweetly. “And yet deeply persuasive.”

“You’re manipulative,” he informed you, though there was no real irritation left in his voice anymore.

“You raised me.”

“That is not remotely true.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “Close enough.”

Rhys shook his head slowly, still laughing under his breath as he leaned back into his chair. “Five days.”

“Seven.”

His eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re impossible.”

“You owe me.”

That finally made him pause.

Cassian’s grin sharpened instantly.

Rhys narrowed his eyes. “What favor?”

Your own smile turned positively wicked.

“Oh, don’t pretend you forgot.”

Rhys already looked wary enough that Cassian immediately sat up straighter, clearly sensing entertainment.

“You were sixteen,” you said casually, “and you broke one of your father’s study windows sneaking back in at night—”

Cassian barked a laugh.

“—so I told your father it was me.”

Rhys groaned loudly enough to throw his head back against the chair. “Mother save me.”

“You said you owed me.”

“I was a child!” Rhys snapped.

“And now you’re High Lord,” you replied smoothly. “Look how beautifully things worked out.”

Amren was openly smirking now.

Rhys threw up a hand in outrage. “You’ve been waiting years to use this against me.”

“Absolutely.”

“I should have let Uncle kill you for that window.”

“You cried. Like a big baby,” you snorted.

Cassian made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and choking.

Rhys looked deeply offended. “I was emotional.”

“You were throwing up from fear,” you said through a laugh.

Cassian collapsed back against the couch laughing hard enough that even Amren muttered, “Pathetic,” into her wineglass.

Rhys glared at all of you with the exhausted suffering of a male betrayed by his own court.

“You are all cruel.”

You smiled brightly. “I want Azriel home by tomorrow morning.”

Rhys held your gaze for another long moment before finally waving a hand in surrender.

“Fine.”

Victory surged through you so fast you nearly laughed.

“You’re the best cousin anyone’s ever had,” you declared proudly.

Rhys stared at you over the edge of his desk with the exhausted expression of a male who had ruled an entire court for centuries only to somehow still lose arguments to you specifically.

“I regret every moment of your existence.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No,” he admitted dryly after a beat, waving a dismissive hand toward the door. “Unfortunately.”

—

Snow drifted softly beyond the balcony the next morning while pale winter light spilled across the river house in silver ribbons.

You were halfway through making tea when shadows curled suddenly across the balcony doors.

Your heart leapt instantly.

Azriel had barely landed before you were moving toward him.

He only had enough time to straighten before you collided into him hard enough to rock him back a step, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck while cold air and cedar and night clung to him.

A soft laugh escaped him the moment you collided into him, warmer than you had heard in weeks.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you tightly against him like he could not quite get close enough fast enough.

Gods, you had missed him.

You clung tighter as his arms slid around you automatically, warm and solid and achingly familiar. His wings tucked close behind him while he buried his face briefly against your hair like merely breathing you in eased something inside him.

Then he kissed you.

Slowly at first, his mouth brushing yours softly before he did it again, deeper this time, exhaustion and relief and quiet longing all tangled together.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, one hand firm against your waist while his thumb traced absent circles there.

“What have you done this time?”

You blinked up at him innocently. “Nothing.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart, that face usually means Rhys is about to develop a headache.”

You gasped softly. “You wound me.”

“I know you,” he replied, warmth threading through his voice in a way that only made your grin worse.

“Rhys said you weren’t needed at the camps anymore,” you said quickly before he could continue interrogating you.

Azriel went still for half a second before one brow lifted slowly. “Oh, did he?”

The amusement in his voice deepened immediately, smooth and deeply skeptical now, but you ignored it completely and grabbed his hand before he could start asking dangerous questions.

“You have a week off.”

That finally made him stop moving altogether.

“A week,” he repeated carefully.

“A full week.”

Now he was openly suspicious, his shadows curling around your shoulders like they too were waiting for an explanation while he studied you with growing amusement.

“You managed to convince Rhysand to give me a full week off,” he said slowly, sounding like he was piecing together evidence at a crime scene, “and I’m supposed to believe you did absolutely nothing.”

“Yes.”

Azriel held your gaze for another long moment before the corner of his mouth finally curved.

“That’s deeply concerning.”

Rhys strode past moments later with a cup of coffee in hand, looking entirely too composed for someone who had been emotionally blackmailed less than twenty-four hours earlier.

“Good to see you home, brother,” he said smoothly as he passed. “Please enjoy your time off with your mate.”

You immediately shot him a warning look that very clearly said shut up.

Rhys’s mouth twitched.

“You’ve been working so hard,” he continued innocently to Azriel, entirely ignoring you now, “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”

Azriel looked between the two of you slowly, suspicion giving way to realization piece by piece.

Then he laughed.

The sound was low and warm and rare enough that your chest tightened painfully at hearing it again, especially when genuine amusement finally softened the exhaustion lingering beneath it.

“You threatened the High Lord for me?”

“I negotiated.”

Rhys snorted loudly into his coffee.

Azriel’s eyes gleamed as he pulled you closer against him, his hand settling more firmly at your waist while his shadows curled lazily around your shoulders like they were just as entertained as he was.

“Remind me,” he murmured near your mouth, “to thank you properly later.”

Behind you, Rhys gagged dramatically.

You didn’t even bother turning around. “Go away.”

Rhys left laughing under his breath, though not before throwing you one deeply entertained look over his shoulder.

The moment Rhys disappeared down the hallway, silence settled softly around the house again, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of Velaris waking beyond the windows.

Azriel was still watching you.

He didn’t look suspicious exactly. If anything, the quiet amusement lingering in his eyes was somehow worse, because it meant he already knew you had absolutely caused problems and was simply waiting for you to admit to them voluntarily.

You moved back toward the kitchen with deliberate innocence and reached for the kettle again, though you only got as far as touching the handle before shadows curled around your wrist, gentle and insistent.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Azriel stood a few feet away, snow still dusting the dark shoulders of his leathers while exhaustion lingered beneath the gold and green of his eyes despite the growing amusement there.

“What did Rhys bargain away?” he asked.

You snorted softly. “His dignity, mostly.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but he kept watching you in that steady, patient way that made lying to him feel almost impossible.

Almost.

You sighed dramatically before turning fully toward him. “Fine. I may have reminded him that he owed me a favor.”

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly. “A dangerous thing.”

“Very.”

“And what favor exactly did you use to convince the High Lord of the Night Court to part with his spymaster for an entire week?”

You grinned. “Classified.”

His shadows drifted curiously toward you, brushing around your ankles like smoke.

Azriel stepped closer then, slowly enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to.

You never did.

“How angry were you?” he asked quietly.

The humor faded from your face at the softness of the question.

You looked down briefly, fingers tugging absently at the sleeve of your sweater before muttering, “Pretty angry.”

Azriel said nothing after that, and you hated when he did this—this quiet patience, this unbearable way he simply waited until you gave him the truth willingly because he knew eventually you would.

“I know there are actual problems,” you admitted after a moment. “I know your job matters.”

“It does.”

“But Rhys keeps sending you because everyone listens when Azriel shadowsinger walks into a room looking murderous.”

A quiet exhale left him, not quite a laugh.

“And?”

“And I’m tired of everyone acting like you can endlessly carry things just because you don’t complain.”

The room fell quiet after that.

Outside, wind rattled softly against the balcony railings while Velaris carried on below, distant and glowing beneath the snow.

“You shouldn’t have spent your favor on me,” Azriel said at last, the quietness of his voice making your chest ache instantly.

There it was again.

Not embarrassment. Not annoyance.

Something far worse hidden carefully beneath restraint, wrapped so tightly into his composure most people mistook it for strength.

You crossed the remaining distance between you without hesitation.

“I’d spend worse things for you,” you replied softly.

Azriel’s hand tightened around yours so suddenly it almost hurt.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He simply looked at you with that terrible quiet intensity of his, like he still never quite knew what to do with being cared for so openly.

Then Azriel looked away first.

Your heart ached at the sight.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whispered.

Something flickered across his face, quick enough most people would have missed it entirely.

Not you.

Never you.

“I’m alright,” he said automatically.

You stared at him flatly. “You fell asleep standing up last week.”

“That happened one time.”

“Azriel.”

A pause stretched between you before he finally sighed.

“…Maybe twice.”

“You walked into the bedroom door yesterday.”

“It was dark,” he replied with complete seriousness.

“You are literally made of shadows.”

Another pause.

“...It was very dark.”

Despite yourself, you laughed, and the corner of Azriel’s mouth curved faintly at the sound.

Now that he was home, now that the constant tension of duty had loosened even slightly, you could finally see how exhausted he really was. His shoulders remained stiff beneath the leather of his clothes, his wings slower to settle behind him than usual while even his shadows drifted lazily around the room with a strange sluggish softness, like they were tired too.

When your fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, his eyes closed immediately, his body reacting before his mind could stop it, like gentleness itself had become permission to finally stop holding himself upright through sheer force of will.

That hurt more than anything else.

“You need food before you pass out,” you said quietly.

One eye opened slowly. “I’m not going to pass out.”

“You nearly fell asleep while kissing me on the balcony.”

“That could have been very romantic, my love.”

“It would have been if you weren’t swaying.”

A quiet laugh escaped him then, warm enough to make your chest tighten all over again.

Before he could argue further, you grabbed his hand and started dragging him toward the dining room.

Azriel followed immediately, not even pretending to resist.

Halfway down the hall, you stopped suddenly to grab a blanket abandoned over the back of a chair, and Azriel nearly walked directly into you before catching himself at the last second.

You turned slowly toward him.

“…Are you aware you’re following me around like a particularly dangerous housecat?”

“No,” he replied far too quickly.

“Liar.”

The corner of his mouth twitched while one of his shadows curled smugly around your wrist like it agreed with you entirely.

The dining room was already occupied when you entered, warm light spilling across the long table where Cassian lounged with enough food for six people spread before him, Nesta seated beside him with her coffee while Feyre bounced Nyx lightly on her knee near the far end of the table.

Rhys looked up first, and the moment his gaze landed on the two of you, a deeply entertained smirk spread across his face.

“Oh, this is fascinating.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Shut up.”

Cassian glanced between you and Azriel once before his own grin widened into something outright dangerous.

Azriel had stopped directly behind your chair, close enough that the front of his chest brushed your back when you pulled the seat out for yourself, one hand still loosely holding yours while the other rested absentmindedly against your waist.

He did not seem remotely aware he was doing it.

Cassian absolutely did.

“Did the bond break his survival instincts,” he mused aloud, “or has he always followed you around like that?”

Azriel gave him a flat stare.

Cassian only grinned wider. “You know she’s not going to disappear if you stop touching her for five minutes.”

As though realizing it only because it had been pointed out, Azriel’s hand shifted slightly against your waist, though he still didn’t move away.

You bit the inside of your cheek so you would not smile.

Rhys looked delighted by the entire thing. “Oh, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

“Rhys,” you warned.

Feyre was openly laughing now while Nesta hid a smirk behind the rim of her coffee mug.

Cassian leaned farther back in his chair, looking genuinely fascinated. “This is unbelievable. The terrifying shadowsinger returns from weeks of missions only to become—”

“If you finish that sentence,” Azriel interrupted calmly, “I’ll throw you into the Sidra.”

Cassian pointed triumphantly across the table. “See? He means it now because she’s here.”

Nyx giggled loudly at absolutely nothing.

Traitor.

Before the conversation could devolve further, you shoved a plate toward Azriel. “Eat.”

“I can serve myself,” he replied automatically.

“And yet you aren’t.”

Azriel looked down at the plate for a moment before glancing back at you, and then, to the visible horror of everyone at the table, obediently started eating.

The entire room went silent.

Cassian looked genuinely alarmed.

“Who are you,” he demanded, “and what have you done with our Azriel?”

You smirked quietly into your tea while Rhys leaned back in his chair with the air of someone suddenly remembering far too much childhood blackmail material.

“You know,” he mused lazily, “when we were children, she once chased me through the entire house with a fork because I made fun of her braid.”

“It was a very hurtful comment,” you replied.

“You chased me for twenty minutes.”

“And I’d do it again.” You threatened him with your fork.

Azriel glanced toward Rhys thoughtfully. “I believe that.”

Cassian barked a laugh while Rhys looked scandalized all over again.

“You’re encouraging her.”

“Oh, she doesn't need me at all,” Azriel replied smoothly.

You smiled sweetly at him.

Azriel’s hand settled absently against your thigh beneath the table. Not possessive, not deliberate, just there, like some instinct in him needed the reassurance of contact now that he was finally home.

Your heart softened at the feeling.

The conversation drifted around the table after that, easy and warm and mostly filled with Cassian complaining dramatically about training recruits while Nesta ignored him with the patience of a female who had heard this exact speech twenty times before.

Azriel barely spoke after that.

At first, you assumed he was simply listening while the conversation carried on around him, but then you started noticing the smaller things: the slight delay before he answered whenever someone spoke directly to him, the way his eyes kept drifting half shut whenever the conversation moved away from him for more than a minute, the way his thumb had gone completely still against your leg beneath the table.

Rhys noticed a second later, and you saw it happen in the subtle sharpening of his expression as amusement quietly gave way to assessment while he studied his brother more carefully.

Azriel blinked slowly once, then again, exhaustion finally beginning to win its battle against sheer stubbornness.

Without really thinking about it, your fingers slid gently into his hair and brushed the dark strands back from his forehead.

The reaction was immediate.

Azriel’s eyes closed completely beneath your touch, his body softening for the briefest moment like instinct had overtaken awareness before he could stop it.

Silence settled around the table.

Not awkward silence. Not dramatic silence. Just the sudden stillness of everyone realizing at the same moment how exhausted he truly was, because Azriel never relaxed like that around people and certainly never let himself look tired enough for anyone else to notice it.

Your fingers continued slowly through his hair while his breathing deepened almost imperceptibly beside you, his head tipping the slightest bit toward your touch before realization finally caught up to him.

His eyes opened immediately.

Embarrassment flickered briefly across his face, subtle enough most people would have missed it entirely.

You did not.

And judging by the expressions around the table, neither had anyone else.

Cassian was staring openly now while even Nesta’s expression had softened slightly. Rhys looked like someone had quietly punched him in the ribs.

“He’s exhausted,” you said flatly before anyone could speak, your tone making it very clear that you were not inviting commentary from anyone at this table.

Cassian’s expression lost all humor immediately.

Rhys leaned back slowly in his chair, guilt flickering briefly across his face before he masked it again, while Azriel looked vaguely like he wanted the floor beneath him to split open entirely.

So you squeezed his hand once beneath the table before saying with complete casualness, “Anyway. Bath.”

Feyre immediately choked on her tea.

Cassian looked delighted again within seconds.

Azriel blinked at you slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys actually laughed into his coffee while Cassian pointed dramatically across the table.

“See? Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”

“You’re all exhausting,” Azriel muttered, though the faint color still lingering high on his cheeks ruined any real intimidation.

Feyre smiled brightly. “You love us.”

Azriel looked at her for a long moment before replying in a perfectly deadpan voice, “…Debatable.”

Nyx giggled loudly from Feyre’s lap like he personally found Azriel hilarious.

You stood, taking Azriel’s hand before he could decide to pretend he was fine for another hour. He followed you from the dining room with very little resistance, though Cassian’s voice immediately trailed after you both.

“If she throws you in the bath fully clothed, blink twice.”

Azriel didn’t even bother turning around. “If she decides to kill me, no one here is stopping her anyway.”

“Noted,” Cassian called back. “I’ll start planning your funeral.”

You rolled your eyes, though Azriel’s fingers tightened briefly around yours, faint amusement flickering down the bond before fading again by the time you reached the sitting room.

Without another word, you reached for the siphons strapped across his chest.

Azriel glanced down at you, one brow lifting slightly as your fingers immediately started working at the leather buckles. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Disarming you.”

“I’m not a threat.”

“You are, the second someone mentions work.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he stayed perfectly still while you unbuckled the straps one by one. After a moment, Azriel finally let his arms loosen fully at his sides in silent permission, watching you quietly the entire time.

The siphons glimmered softly as you placed them onto the nearby table beside Truth-Teller.

The second your fingers wrapped around the dagger, his shadows recoiled dramatically like you had personally offended every single one of them.

“Don’t start,” you warned.

One immediately curled possessively around the hilt anyway.

You narrowed your eyes at it. “Oh, so now you care about workplace safety.”

Azriel huffed a tired laugh, low and warm enough that your chest tightened at hearing it again.

You carried the dagger toward the mantel and placed it high enough that he would actually have to make an effort to retrieve it later before turning back toward him with narrowed eyes.

“Upstairs.”

Azriel immediately looked suspicious. “Why do I feel like I should be concerned?”

“Because you should be.”

One of his shadows vanished down the hallway ahead of you both without hesitation, like it had already decided whatever you were planning was an excellent idea.

You pointed after it triumphantly. “See? Even they agree with me.”

A dangerous glint entered Azriel’s tired eyes then, low and warm enough to send heat curling through your stomach despite yourself.

“If your plan involves getting me out of these leathers,” Azriel murmured as he stepped closer, his voice dropping lower while his gaze dragged slowly over your face, “you could have simply climbed into my lap and asked, sweetheart.”

The look in his eyes nearly undid you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much that voice affected you.

So you rolled your eyes with as much dignity as possible while pushing firmly at his chest toward the staircase.

“Move,” you ordered, even as your face betrayed you completely.

Azriel barely resisted, which honestly worried you more than if he had.

Usually, he would at least pretend to argue.

Instead, he only shot you a slow, lazy grin that said he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you before allowing you to shove him toward the staircase without further complaint.

His shadows curled lazily around your ankles as you led him upstairs, one occasionally nudging against your heel like it wanted you to hurry up and put their ridiculous male to bed already.

The bathroom slowly filled with steam while you rummaged through cabinets gathering oils, salves, and clean cloths. Behind you, leather hit the floor piece by piece until the room finally fell quiet.

When you turned around, your chest tightened.

Bruises mottled his ribs in deep violet and yellow while thin cuts crossed his shoulders and abdomen, half-healed already thanks to fae healing but still fresh enough to tell their story clearly. His wings hung lower than usual too, not badly injured, only overused in the way muscles looked after being pushed far beyond exhaustion.

Azriel noticed your expression immediately.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said.

“That sentence should be carved onto your grave someday.”

A quiet snort escaped him, though his eyes stayed fixed on you as you crossed the room again, watching the anger flicker briefly across your face before gentleness replaced it entirely.

Your fingers brushed lightly across one of the cuts near his shoulder, the touch so careful it almost hurt to look at.

Azriel inhaled softly at once, his eyes lowering to your face while that familiar look crossed his expression again, the one that always seemed caught somewhere between tenderness and disbelief, as though he knew your softness by heart by now and still could not quite understand how it belonged to him.

You guided him toward the bath with surprising ease for someone handling the Night Court’s deadliest male, and the second he sank into the steaming water, a low exhale escaped him so involuntarily it almost sounded startled, like relief itself had caught him off guard.

“There he is,” you murmured softly.

Azriel opened one eye slightly. “Who?”

“The male I threatened a High Lord for.”

A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he let his head fall back against the edge of the bath again.

You knelt beside the tub and began gently washing blood from his skin while silence settled comfortably around you, warm and intimate beneath drifting steam and candlelight.

Azriel watched you the entire time, not speaking, just looking at you with that same quiet intensity that always made your chest ache, like some part of him still could not fully understand how someone could love him this gently and mean it.

Your fingers eventually slid through his damp hair, combing the dark strands back from his forehead while tension slowly left him piece by piece beneath your touch.

“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re allowed to rest before you collapse.”

“Mmm.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “Use your words, sweetheart,” you teased softly, stealing one of his own favorite lines.

Even exhausted, Azriel cracked one eye open just enough to give you a knowing look, desire flickered low beneath your ribs.

Then, after a small pause, he finally muttered, “I know.”

Something in your chest twisted painfully at the admission.

You moved behind him then, carefully lifting one wing enough to inspect it properly, and Azriel tensed instantly beneath your hands with pure instinct.

Your fingers stilled immediately.

“It’s okay,” you whispered softly.

The tension slowly eased.

Wing membranes shimmered darkly beneath the candlelight, tiny tears and strain visible along the strongest parts from too many hours spent flying without proper rest. Your fingers moved gently while you spread healing salve carefully across the damaged skin, and Azriel’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath, eyes sliding shut again.

The sound that escaped him when your nails lightly scratched near the base of his wing was dangerously close to a groan.

You froze instantly.

Azriel’s eyes opened at once, heat flashing there despite the exhaustion weighing them down.

“That,” he said hoarsely, “is unfair.”

A slow smile curved across your mouth. “Oh? The terrifying shadowsinger finally has a weakness?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes slightly, though the effect was ruined entirely by the way his wings had twitched beneath your hands.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Maybe,” you admitted lightly before dragging your nails along the sensitive spot again just to watch his breathing hitch.

Azriel swore softly under his breath.

Your smile widened immediately. “Gods, you’re easy.”

His shadows stirred restlessly around the room while Azriel looked back at you over his shoulder, his expression equal parts exhausted and heated.

“You are enjoying this far too much.”

“You make it very enjoyable.”

A rough laugh escaped him then, low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You’re cruel.”

“And yet,” you murmured while smoothing more salve carefully across his wing, “you’re still sitting very still for me.”

That earned you another one of those dangerous looks, slower this time, heavier somehow despite how tired he clearly was.

“Love,” Azriel warned softly, “if I wasn’t half asleep already, this conversation would be going very differently.”

Heat climbed immediately into your face, which only seemed to amuse him more.

Barely.

Because a moment later his eyes drifted shut again almost helplessly, exhaustion finally dragging him under faster than he could fight it.

Your heart cracked quietly at the sight.

So you kept tending his wings while snow drifted softly beyond the windows and the rest of the world faded farther and farther away.

At some point, your wrist began to ache from holding his wing at the careful angle you needed, and you shifted your grip so slightly you barely noticed it yourself.

Azriel noticed anyway.

His eyes opened halfway, heavy and unfocused, but his hand still found your wrist beneath the steam. He drew it gently away from his wing and pressed his mouth to the inside of it, a slow, absent kiss that felt more instinct than thought.

“You’re straining your wrist baby” he murmured.

You blinked at him. “Azriel.”

His eyes were already drifting shut again.

“I’m allowed to take care of you too.”

“You’re barely conscious.”

A faint hum escaped him. “Didn’t stop me noticing.”

The words were so soft, so entirely him, that you had to swallow around the ache rising in your throat before carefully returning your hand to his wing.

“Ridiculous male,” you whispered.

His mouth curved faintly, but a breath later he was gone again, sinking deeper beneath exhaustion as your fingers continued their slow, careful work.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

Eventually, you realized Azriel had gone completely still.

You leaned slightly around his shoulder and found him asleep.

Actually asleep.

Your throat tightened instantly.

Even then, even unconscious, his brows faintly furrowed when you shifted beside him, like some stubborn part of him still resisted rest on instinct alone.

Gently, you brushed damp hair from his forehead.

“Finally,” you whispered.

Azriel slept through drying off only halfway gracefully and absolutely refused to fully wake when you guided him toward bed afterward. He leaned heavily into you the entire time, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist while his wings dragged tiredly behind him.

“You’re bossy,” he murmured sleepily against your shoulder.

“You love it.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes still closed. “Unfortunately.”

You laughed softly as he collapsed face-first onto the mattress moments later, wings spreading across nearly half the bed while one arm immediately reached toward where you stood beside him, like even half asleep he was still searching for you automatically.

Beautiful male.

You only meant to grab an extra blanket from the nearby chair, but the second you stepped away, Azriel made a quiet dissatisfied sound in his sleep and reached blindly across the bed after you, brows pulling together faintly when he found empty sheets instead.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Alright, alright,” you whispered, climbing back beside him immediately.

The moment you settled beneath the blankets, instinct took over completely.

Azriel moved toward you at once, one powerful arm wrapping tightly around your waist before dragging you flush against his chest with surprising strength for someone barely awake. His face buried automatically against your throat while his hand spread across your back, fingertips flexing once against your spine like he needed to physically reassure himself you were there.

Even asleep, he kept pulling you closer.

One leg tangled with yours beneath the blankets while his wings shifted instinctively around the bed, curling slightly toward your side like they, too, were trying to keep you near.

The bond between you pulsed warm and drowsy beneath your skin while snow drifted quietly beyond the windows.

Then, already half asleep again, Azriel pressed a slow kiss against the sensitive spot beneath your jaw before murmuring softly against your throat, “You make me forget I’m tired.”

The words hit like a bruise straight to the heart.

You turned carefully within his arms just enough to press a kiss against his temple.

“Good,” you whispered.

A sleepy hum vibrated against your skin while his fingers slowly traced once along your spine, more instinct than conscious movement now.

Then, voice low and rough with exhaustion, Azriel brushed his mouth slowly against your throat before murmuring against your skin—

“Tomorrow,” he promised softly, “I’m going to pin you beneath me and remind you what happens when you spend an entire evening teasing my wings, sweetheart.”

---

a/n : this piece was so fucking funny to write because i’ve had this exact vision of exhausted azriel for MONTHS 🤭

i don’t know if they’ll become a full series necessarily, but i definitely want to keep writing little glimpses of them because their dynamic has completely taken over my brain at this point.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA JOIN THE TAGLIST 💙

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

Captain Price had been expecting many things when Ghost informed him he was getting married.

A security risk.

A secret intelligence operative.

Perhaps some terrifying woman who looked as though she could snap a man’s neck with her bare hands.

What he had not expected was you.

The first warning sign should have been the fact that Simon seemed nervous.

Not anxious.

Not worried.

Nervous.

Price had known the man for years and could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen him genuinely uncertain.

Yet there Ghost stood near the entrance of the base, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring toward the parking lot as though preparing for combat.

Soap noticed it too. "Sir,” he muttered quietly beside Price, watching Ghost with narrowed eyes. “Is he… pacing?”

Price blinked.

Ghost was, in fact, pacing.

Very slightly.

Like an agitated panther.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Price murmured.

Gaz looked between them. “Should we be concerned?”

“Terrified,” Soap answered.

Before anyone could speculate further, a vehicle rolled through the gates after being checked and if

The moment Ghost spotted it, he stopped moving entirely.

The transformation was subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed.But the men who worked beside him every day saw it immediately.

His shoulders relaxed.

The tension disappeared from his posture.

Something softened.

The truck parked, the driver’s door opened, and then you appeared.

You were much shorter than they’d expected.You practically had to hop down from the vehicle. A large tote bag swung from one shoulder while a drink carrier balanced precariously in your hands.

The first thing you did was smile.

Not a polite smile.

Not the carefully practiced smile people gave soldiers.

A genuine one.

The kind that immediately reached your eyes.

“Oh my God,” you said, spotting Simon across the lot. Your face lit up so brightly it almost seemed impossible. “There he is!”

Then, to the absolute horror of the Task Force, you jogged toward Ghost.

Ghost.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

The terrifying bastard responsible for half the nightmares on base.

Placing the drinks carefully down, you practically launched yourself at him.

Soap actually choked.

Price nearly dropped his cigar.

Gaz made a strangled noise.

Ghost caught you effortlessly.

One arm wrapped around your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a horrifying second, the entire task force expected him to set you down.

Instead he simply kept holding you.

You grinned at him.

He stared down at you.

And somehow that terrifying skull-masked soldier looked completely helpless.

“There you are,” you said, cupping his face between your hands without a shred of fear. “I missed you.”

Ghost’s gloved hand settled against your back.“Was gone four days.”

“I know.”

“You called me twenty-three times.”

“I did~.” You seemed proud over that.

Then Ghost leaned down slightly as your fingers curled under his mask. "I missed you too.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Soap looked physically ill.

Price rubbed his face.

Gaz looked like he was questioning reality itself.

Ghost finally glanced toward them and then immediately the softness vanished as the intimidating stare returned, the lethal presence returned and the entire base suddenly felt colder.

“Stop starin’,” he growled.

You turned around immediately. “Oh!”

The smile returned.

“Oh! These are your friends!”

Friends.

Price would later swear he saw Soap’s soul leave his body.

You carefully handed Ghost your drink carrier before marching directly toward them. “Hi!” you announced. “I’m Simon’s wife.”

The three men simply stared.

You waited.

Still smiling.

Finally Price recovered first.

He stepped forward and offered a hand. “Captain Price.”

You shook it enthusiastically. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Simon talks about you all the time.”

Price nearly laughed because Simon talked about nobody.

Yet judging by the look Ghost was giving him, apparently he talked about Price.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

You moved on before he could ask questions. “You must be Soap.”

Soap blinked. “Uh… aye.”

“Oh my gosh, your mohawk is real.”

Soap frowned. “Did Simon tell you about my mohawk?”

“No.” You tilted your head. “I just wasn’t sure if it was a hairstyle or a military cryptid situation.”

There was a moment of silence then Gaz burst out laughing.

Soap looked offended.

Price looked amused.

Ghost sighed heavily.

You pointed immediately. “And you’re Gaz!”

Gaz smiled. “That’s me.”

“Simon says you’re the normal one.”

The laughter doubled.

Soap wheezed.

Price nearly choked on his cigar.

Gaz looked deeply offended.

Ghost turned away completely.

Which only confirmed he had absolutely said it.The next hour somehow became even stranger because you chatted with everyone effortlessly.

You remembered names.

Asked questions.

Laughed easily.

Within minutes it felt less like meeting Ghost’s wife and more like meeting a friend they’d somehow known for years.

Price noticed something else too.

Every few minutes Simon checked on you.

Not obviously.

Most people would never notice.

But Price did.

A glance.

A shift closer.

A hand briefly touching your shoulder.

Tiny little confirmations that you were still there.

Still safe.

Still smiling.

And every single time you smiled back at him.

Like it was automatic.

Like you understood something about him nobody else ever had.

The realization hit Price unexpectedly.

For years they’d all assumed Ghost preferred being alone.

Preferred distance.

Preferred isolation.

But watching Simon follow you around the base like a silent shadow made the truth painfully obvious.

The man had never wanted to be alone. He’d simply never had someone worth coming home to.

The final nail in the coffin of everyone’s sanity came later that afternoon.

You’d spent hours traveling, jet lag was catching up with you.

One minute you were sitting beside Simon during a briefing.

The next, your head slowly tipped sideways then landed directly on his shoulder and stayed there.

Asleep.

Completely asleep.

Price paused mid-sentence.

The room went silent.

Nobody moved.

Nobody dared to breathe.

Ghost looked down.

Adjusted slightly.

Then carefully pulled his jacket over you like a blanket. His hand rested protectively against your arm. The gesture was so gentle it felt impossible coming from him.

Price exchanged a glance with Soap.

Soap looked devastated.

Gaz looked emotional.

Ghost noticed them staring as his eyes narrowed immediately. “Dare either of you.”

Nobody dared.

And that was the day Task Force 141 met the one person on Earth more dangerous than Ghost himself.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you', but... he does give you three squeezes whenever he’s near.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you', but... he knows you like the back of his hand. He knows your favourite things, how you like your tea, the temperature of your showers, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He knows everything there is to know about you.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you', but... he smiles like an idiot whenever you look his way. He could be having the worst day known to man, exhausted and fed up but the moment his eyes meet yours, he melts. Sometimes it’s almost hard to believe he’s such an intimidating soldier when he turns to mush around you.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you', but... he talks about you whenever he can. He speaks fondly of you when he’s away on missions with the guys and he gushes about you to his Mum. It doesn’t matter what the topic of conversation is because he can always find a way to link it back to you. Simply put, you’re always on his mind. He absolutely loves when his Mum asks how you’re doing, because then he can just talk till the cows come home.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you', but... he does hold you with so much love and care. Every kiss conveys so much emotion, every touch is sweet as he clings to you like you’re his lifeline. Loves the way you feel when you take his cock, like you were made for him. He craves the feeling of your nails across his skin, your kisses along his marred skin, your lips as they wrap around his cock. But he adores it most when you look at him so sweetly as he washes your hair. Smooth hands and unspoken words through each other’s eyes as you hold each other under the warm water.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you', but... he worships you like you’re his own personal religion. You’re the only semblance of divinity that he thinks he’ll ever come close to, what with the blood on his hands. One of those hands being the one that his wedding ring sits on. The ring that he kisses every time he’s about to do something dangerous, praying that he’ll return to his sweet angel that waits for him at home, his home.

Simon doesn't say 'I love you' because he doesn’t need to. He’s a firm believer that actions speak louder than words and he sure as hell shows you every day how much he loves you.

“Don’t need stupid words to tell me how I’m supposed to be feeling.” he mumbles against your chest as the two of you lay intertwined. “They’d never compete with the feeling in my chest- in my heart. The love I have for you takes over every fibre of my being, it’s consuming.” he continues as he brings your hand to his heartbeat.

On your first mission you almost screamed at the giant falcon ripping a soldier to shreds, or a wolf tackling another down into the ground. 

They were shifters, and no one had thought to tell you that.

Regardless, you’ve been doing your best to try and fit in as one of the only humans around. It was the first time in months you’ve had actual weekends and evenings to just sit back and exist, not chasing after one lead or the other non stop. Recently you’ve watched plenty of movies, picked up a hobby or two, and even went on a few lunch dates with the sergeants. You feel like you’re getting closer by the day— and it makes you a lot more confident too.

It’s midday, a weekend, and you sit in front of your dresser in your quarters, ready to sort it out after being moved to the task force’s wing. You had shoved it in before just for the past few days, but now you actually had to deal with it. With a sigh you pull out the last pair of trousers, tossing them into their own pile before looking at the sight of all your clothes spread out. Maybe you should put them on hangers in your cupboard instead..

You stand, heading to grab some only to hear soft scratching behind you. There’s nothing in the room though, and you even glance around the side of your bed, finding nothing in the slightest. So when you bring your freshly folded trousers to the drawer, you’re surprised to see fur sticking out the back. Confused, you crane your head down, trying to get a peek, only for light eyes to shine in the dark, paired with the white and brown streaked fur. A cat?!

You were currently hiding behind a fucking bush, and you're so screwed. Even with the very slippery and dangerous floor you made, they’re still faster than you, and now you’re realizing your spray bottle has stopped working, something you knew would happen when you didn't dilute the bleach, it was a risk you were willing to take, you just didn't think it would happen so soon. If even one person spots you, you’re fucked and they all know your injured and outside, you can only make it so far. So you have to make a dangerous decision. 

Every single nurse and doctor in that building is about to be coming out to find you, and chances are most of them aren't actually medical professionals rather trained soldiers, it's stupid, but you're probably safest inside the building. Not to mention it's probably the first place the guys will look for you. So very carefully you peer through the bush, right now they're still stumbling on the floor, but it won't be long until someone makes it through. You made a run towards the back of the hospital, you hid behind some trash bins and they started coming out of the building yelling for you. You tried to keep your breathing even, all of your injuries were hurting and your legs were killing you from the short run. 

You waited, not even daring to look out until all the noise had quieted down. When you finial did you could spot a bunch of people searching for you, even in the fucking distance you could see little figures in scrubs, some of the people were still searching near the hospital though, which meant you needed to get inside fast. You stood up slightly, both your legs and head immediately started hurting, you took a deep breath, watching the people closest to you before running to the back of the hospital, you kept running until you saw a door. You swung it open before closing it as quietly as possible. You were going to take a moment to breathe when you heard someone nearby.

So you fled into the nearest room and their voices quickly faded, you wasted no time, you needed to be in your room when the guys came looking for you, if you were late then you'd be screwed. You started just running through the halls, doing your best to keep your breaths and steps quiet, occasionally ducking into random rooms if it sounded like someone was too close. Thankfully it wasn't long before you saw a stair case, without thinking you ran up it, and all the running got to you, the stitches on your stomach started came out. You froze in a mixture of panic and pain, you dropped to the floor and practically had to crawl to the nearest room while holding in your tears. 

The first room was a small bathroom, which is great because as soon as you made it to the toilet you vomited straight into it. You found some towels and wrapped it around your torso as the stitches came more undone and the blood started spilling. You splashed some cold water on your face, trying your best to not throw up again. Before you left you tried retracing your steps when you first escaped. When you left the bathroom you opted to simply walk, you would pass out if you kept running, you couldn't risk that. Although all that left your head as soon as you started recognizing where you were. 

You ran into your original hospital room. You only took a second to breath before you were clearing the room. Then you moved the small dresser in front of the door, you locked it and turned off all the lights. Finally you allowed yourself to sit down, you took off your shirt to fully assess the damage, the towel was covered in blood by now. The stitches were half out and your blood was steadily coming out, which didn't help your nausea. You looked away, doing your best to not throw up again then you reached over to grab some more towels, wrapping them around your torso. You froze as you heard something near the window, who was crazy enough to scale the whole fucking building instead of just coming inside? You didn't even bother moving, if it was the enemy you would simply accept death. Your face softened when you saw those familiar brown eyes, of course Simon would be crazy enough to scale a building, only for you.

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Summary - Feyre was a High Lady. Nesta was a Valkyrie. Elain was a Seer.

And she was the sister the Cauldron ruined and forgot.

Invisible in a family of legends, haunted by nightmares no one noticed, she learned to stay quiet... to expect nothing.

Except Azriel noticed. The Shadowsinger who never spoke too much saw everything—her pain, her loneliness... and the bond between them she didn't even know existed.

When the world decides she is the easiest one to break—Azriel will make them suffer for it.

Tags - slow burn, mating bond, emotional hurt/comfort, healing, angst

Somehow you were the only one not wearing anything. You were sandwiched between them as their hands roamed your body, kissing as they practically worshipped you. You rested your head back on Simon's shoulder while he sloppily kissed down your neck, Johnny was on his knees in front of you, one hand on your waist the other squeezing your thigh. “Please, more” your voice came out soft and breathless, you felt both of them still before their hands squeezed tighter.

Johnny moved first, he stepped back, slowly taking off his clothes giving you a nice view. While you were distracted staring at Johnny, Simon's hand moved down, spreading you open. You whimpered, legs slightly shaking at the sudden unexpected touch. Johnny came closer, smiling at your reaction, he pushed you directly against Simon and kissed you hard, you took a moment but then you wrapped your hands around his neck. The kiss only stopped when Simon picked you up from behind, he carried you from the living room to the bedroom, he sat on the bed right behind you. Instinctively you closed your legs, but Johnny got onto the bed and pushed them open while ‘tsking’ at you. Simons hand moved lower spreading your folds open again, you could see Johnny desire as he stared at you “damn bonnie, soaked for us” Simon slower dragged a finger through your folds “fuck, yer drenched” you could feel his dick hardening behind you even through his pants. 

Johnny pushed your legs back, holding them there as he got on his knees. He kissed down your thighs, getting so close to where you needed him, but never touching. You rolled your head back trying to squirm in their grip, Simon leaned down and said “you ‘ave to ask for what you want luv” he said it while pressing kisses to your neck “S-soap, please” he stopped his kisses to ask “please what bonnie” you tried to squirm again “I want more please, please” you looked down at him with pleading eyes. How could he say no when you looked so damn needy, he made his way back over to your clit, placing his tongue flat against it before licking, you moaned out while your hips bucked slightly.

His kissing and licking was ruthless, even with their hands holding you down you were still squirming, already feeling sensitive down there. Jonny placed one finger at your entrance making you clench around nothing, he laughed directly on your clit, sending little vibrations over you which only made you moan louder gripping onto the sheets. He slowly pushed his finger in you, pumping slowly a few times “gods, Soap please” he added another finger and only gave you a second to adjust before he was picking up his pace. This time he loosened his grip on your hips, letting you grind against his mouth and fingers. You were a wet moaning mess, he could hear the way your moans got higher and louder, his tongue got harsher and he moved his fingers faster. You clawed at Simon's pants as you came, Johnny didn't stop the whole time, lapping up your cum.

Simon only waited a moment before he was getting up, Johnny placed a wet kiss on your lips “taste delicious bonnie” he said before sitting behind you. Unlike Johnny, Simon quickly took off his clothes, still you stared as he took them off and his hard dick sprang out. He pushed your legs up as he got between your legs, he pumped his dick twice before he slowly slid into you, you moaned, back arching off the bed but Johnny's grip on your tits held you back. Simon's first few thrusts were slow, he stared at your face as you moaned out, he stared at Johnny groping and squeezing your tits, then he stared down at where you two connected as he picked up his pace. Unlike Johnny he didn't just start ramming into, he took his time slowly getting up to speed, making you feel every thick inch of him. Still by the end you were a moaning blabbering mess “ugh Ghost, so-so full” he chuckled at your slurred words. 

He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, leaning forward to not hurt you, resulting in him hitting deeper in you “oh fuck” you almost screamed as you squeezed him hard, Simon just groaned, bucking his hips into you. His fingers found your clit, rubbing rapid circles trying to get you to clench him like that again. It didn't take long for you to come again, screaming out his name while his thrust didn't stop, he pushed all the way into you as he came. After a moment he pulled out with a wet noise. He chuckled seeing the mess you two had made, but Johnny was already getting up ready for his next turn.

It had officially been 3 months since you and Simon had moved in together, and honestly, he was a pretty good roommate. You didn't really have anything to complain about. He was quiet when you slept, cleaned up after himself, and even did small things for you. They weren't huge. Things like getting down your mug when he got home after a long day so you didn't have to fight with the cabinets when you got up, or leaving the book he just finished on the counter for you to read next.

The small things put a smile on your face. They made a fuzzy feeling blossom in your tummy and turn your cheeks a soft shade of pink.

That didn't matter, though. He was your roommate, your lieutenant. This was temporary, and those thoughts were unprofessional.

The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.

You rolled over in bed and smacked it, dragging yourself up and throwing on a big sweatshirt. It was almost summer, but it was still freezing in the mornings for some god awful reason.

You gently padded down the hall, careful not to make too much noise just in case Simon was home. You knew he came home early in the morning because he worked nights, but some nights he was at work longer than others.

You walked into the kitchen and opened the curtains to the window right above the sink. The sun was bright, filling the space with a welcoming glow. Sun rays scattered across the hardwood floor and danced across the counter tops. You flicked on the water heater and reached up to get your favorite mug out of the cabinet. It was chipped slightly and worn out, but you loved it. Soap had given it to you after your first mission. He said you looked so tired that you needed four cups of coffee, so he let you keep the mug for whenever you needed it. You set it down on the counter and watched as the water started to boil.

Once the water had finished, you poured it into the mug. Steam curled up as you dipped the tea bag in and added three scoops of sugar and a teaspoon of honey. You picked up the mug and took a sip, swallowing and taking a deep breath. It was peaceful, really. The only sort of peace you got in your life with the job you had. You turned around to head out of the kitchen, and you were faced with a tall figure looming in the doorway. It's skull face watching you with dead eyes. You squealed, stumbling back. The cup of tea in your hand fell to the floor, the mug shattering and hot water splashing across the ground.

Your shoulders relaxed when you realized it was just Simon. You let your hand fall from where it was covering your heart and took a breath. "Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me Simon," The dead eyes that you had taken note of before looked more tired the closer you got. It's like you could see the stories and baggage they had seen. You could get lost just looking at them if you let yourself.

He blinked slowly and spoke quietly. A contrast to what had just happened. "Didn' mean to scare ya, doll, just saw you were up. Wanted to…check in." His shoulders were tight. You could tell something had happened at work, but you didn't say anything yet. He never spoke about anything personal ever, so what was the point of bringing it up right now? "oh…" You nodded. The glass on the floor around you forgotten for a moment. "'m fine…Just getting ready for work. I slept in…again," You let out a huff that slightly passed as a laugh. You were about to step out of his way. To grab a towel to clean up the glass, or maybe a broom, but he quickly stopped you.

"No. Don't move. You don't have shoes on..." He moved forward, the glass crunching under his boots like gravel on an unfinished road. He bends down just enough to wrap one arm around your hips and hoist you up over his shoulder. You let out a little gasp as he lifts you off the ground. His shoulder is warm and firm, grounding almost. You try to hold yourself up as he carries you out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Simon," you giggle out, surprised that he would pick you up. You both had never had any sort of physical contact before, so this was new. "What on earth are you doing?" you laugh, wiggling around and attempting not to fall. Even though you know he would never drop you.

He sets you down in the living room, his hand lingering on your hip a little longer than necessary. "I'll clean it up, you can go get ready for work…And 'm sorry 'bout your mug..I know it was a fan favorite…" He mumbled the last part, his hands finding their usual spot in his pockets.

"Oh, It's okay!! I can get soap to find me a new one somewhere, I'm sure." You smile up at him, trying to ignore your heart that's going a million miles a minute. You wished that his mask was off so you could see his face, and maybe you could see his smile again.

He nodded at you and turned away, heading back to the kitchen. "Wait..Si," you start. "Are you okay? Did something happen at work?"

He stops and looks over his shoulder at you. "'m fine, love, jus' a busy day."

Then he was gone. You heard glass being swept up as you walked down the hall. You had to get to work, and he did have to sleep at some point. You felt bad that he had to clean all of that up when he was already so tired, but fighting with Simon Riley is a losing game.

You hopped in the shower, and by the time you were out, dressed, and ready for work, he was fast asleep. His bedroom door closed, and mask sitting on the hallway table.

….

Something Nice

sugardaddy!matt x artist!reader

author's notes: so i'm undecided if i want to release or even finish this entire slow burn series but i love these two. this scene gets referenced at some point in the main story that i'm still working on but can be read as a standalone. this is my first fic >⩊<

warnings: none, just fluff. established relationship. AFAB reader, some smooching, older Matt needs a warning for being yummy

wc: 795

𓂃۶ৎ

Cardamom.

Rose.

Brown sugar.

Matt.

Characters included: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, Roach, Nikolai, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria, Keegan, Konig, Nikto, Krueger, Graves, Farah, Hadir, Alex, Laswell, Makarov

Characters included: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, Roach, Nikolai, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria, Keegan, Konig, Nikto, Krueger, Graves, Farah, Hadir, Alex, Laswell, Makarov

gn reader warnings: none

hunter hears your tiptoeing from farther than you think. nothing gets past him, but it’s not like he was asleep anyway. he always waits until you’re by his side, even though he looks passed out with his forearm draped over his eyes and his chest rising and falling peacefully. you slip under the covers and snuggle into his side. his hand comes down from his face and slowly rubs your back, squeezing a bit to pull you closer. “finally,” he rasps and kisses your forehead softly, letting his lips linger on your skin.

tech stays up until ungodly hours. he glances up from his datapad when you shut the door quietly and ask, “still up?” stifling a yawn with the back of your hand. “waiting for you,” he answers simply, turning his gaze away to rest his things on the nightstand beside him. he startles as he looks back at you, eyes wide in realization of how close you got. you giggle and take his goggles off, kissing him with a gentle pressure that he deepens when his eyes flutter shut and his hand comes around to cradle the back of your head.

wrecker sleeps like a rock that snores. he stirs just slightly when you slide into bed and throw your leg over his side. he mumbles something under his breath, a sleepy gibberish of words that causes you to stroke his face and whisper, “shh…” to soothe him back into the dreams chasing him tonight. he suddenly turns toward you with a slow groan rumbling through his chest and wraps his arms around your figure, nuzzling himself into you. even in his sleep he protects you, his embrace tight and warm.

crosshair has been laying awake for a while, staring up at the ceiling. he sighs and turns over to face the door. but when you do come through, his eyes squeeze shut to pretend he wasn’t waiting. you crawl into bed beside him, your nose touching his as you whisper, “i know you’re awake…” and his eyebrows twitch in response. he exhales softly and pulls you into his chest. you feel his strong, slightly quickening heartbeat against your cheek. “took you long enough,” he mutters into your hair.

echo is on the other side of the bedroom door when you open it, standing with a worried scrunch in his eyebrows. “sorry…” you apologize quietly and shut the door behind you. he shakes his head. “i was just about to come find you,” he tells you honestly. “good thing i’m right on time,” you tease and kiss him on the cheek, moving toward the bed, but you’re suddenly scooped up in his arms as he holds you close, walking both of you forward. “you mean you’re late,” he scolds, kissing your temple.

wolffe is used to being independent—alone, even. that is, until, you came into his life. now, he struggles to fall asleep without you, tossing and turning in discomfort as he wonders where the hell you could be at this hour instead of warming his bed. he sits up with a disgruntled sigh, and you find him at the edge of the bed. he folds his arms over his chest and peers at you, but you speak first, already expecting his annoyance. “i know—i know—i’m sorry…” you step between his legs and cup his face, kissing him softly, “don’t be mad…” his hands come around your waist to pull you into his embrace, and you fall back into the bed together as he murmurs, “don’t let it happen again.”

fox has a petty side. it’s technically how you know he cares. his back is turned to you on his side of the bed as if he wants to send a message of his hurt feelings without actually admitting them. you wrap your arms around him, spooning him gently. he’s completely still as you kiss his backside and whisper, “hey…” in his ear but when he doesn’t say anything, you assume he’s sleeping and pull away a bit, prompting him to drop the act and turn over to lock you into a tight hug. you open your mouth again, but he knows you better than you think and grunts, “not. a. word.”

cody is half-asleep as he stretches his arm out at your proximity, inviting you into the nook of his embrace without opening his eyes. you rest yourself against his chest, both of you falling into your nightly routine without pause even if it took longer than he expected. “getting too busy for me, huh?” he mumbles in a drowsy tone, pressing his nose into your temple with a soft inhale. “never,” you whisper back, leaning up to kiss him on the chin, trailing your lips along his jawline. he smiles a bit. “go to sleep.”

mayday considers himself a patient man. he didn’t think something as trivial as waiting for you to come back to bed would get him almost antsy, disturbing his usually calm, unbothered attitude. you’re surprised to see him awake when he turns over on his side toward you, his messy dark hair falling over his eyes a bit. “c’mere…” he opens the covers for you and envelopes your body into a warm hug, kissing the top of your head. “nice of you to finally join me,” he teases quietly, his voice hoarse with sleep.

rex keeps switching between trying to fall asleep without you to considering if he should bring you to bed. he flops back on his pillow with a sigh, scrubbing his hands down his face slowly. he wonders what’s taking you so long, finally perking up like a needy puppy waiting for its family to come home when you tiptoe inside. “sorry…” you tell him softly as you climb in next to him. he wraps his arms around you and rolls your bodies over, spooning you in a protective embrace. he kisses your ear. “don’t apologize.”

fives opens his eyes when you reach the bed with a slow smile spreading across his expression. he extends an arm to yank you into bed. you land on his chest, and he hugs your body on top of his as he teases, “since when do you watch me sleep?” you roll your eyes, propping yourself up to look down at him, the tips of your noses brushing affectionately. “i wasn’t watching you, dumbass.” he raises his eyebrows and rolls your bodies over, caging you into the bed with a playful kiss. “yeah, right…”

kix fusses over your sleep schedule because according to him, “someone has to do it.” he climbs out of bed, rubbing his eyes before taking your hands in his with a gentle squeeze. “everything okay?” he asks, tired but still finding the energy to worry about you. “mhm,” you nod and pull him back into bed, this time with you. he struggles to keep his eyes open as he adjusts the blankets over your figure, making sure you’re snug and warm. he kisses your forehead and whispers, “just sleep in tomorrow, yeah?”

jesse dozed off while waiting for you, mouth wide open and snoring, but he jolts awake when you finally slip into bed. “huh—what—oh…” his arms are raised slightly before falling around your body, hugging you. he buries his face into your hair, a mix of kissing you and inhaling your scent. “you fell asleep without me?” you tease him, not actually mad but finding it funny when he stammers, “i…uh…no…” he shakes his head, sliding his nose down your temple to whisper in your ear, “i was just resting my eyes…”

hardcase looks asleep in the crazy way he takes up the whole bed with his limbs spread out, tangled in the sheets. you try to crawl into your side of the bed without disturbing him, squealing when his hand flattens on the small of your back and pulls you down against his chest. he makes a low “mmh” sound under his breath. “what took you so long…” he mumbles, rolling your bodies over so that his face is in the crook of your neck. you don’t even bother answering because you know he’s fallen back asleep.

gregor waits for you to get comfortable under the covers before locking you down with a leg over your side. he relaxes into your body with a soft exhale. “mm—missed you…” he mumbles under his breath and presses slow, wet kisses to your cheek. you squirm in his hold, laughing breathlessly as you tell him, “gregor, c’mon, that tickles…” but he kisses you until he falls back asleep again, his lips going slack against your skin, slightly curved into the ghost of the smile he gives you whenever he’s awake.

howzer lays on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow and his hair swept over his eyes. your side of the bed dips when you sit and hover over him, caressing his forehead as you brush some waves away to get a better look at his face. you startle upon seeing him blink his eyes open, the corners of them crinkling slightly with a smile. his arm shoots out to pull you down, and he rolls over onto his back just in time to kiss you, wrapping you up in a warm embrace that sends tingles down your spine. “gotcha…”

emerie often comes to bed later than you with her workaholic tendencies, so she’s not used to being on the other side of this. she keeps the lamp on the nightstand on as she sits up and reads something to pass the time, her eyes pulling down. you find her fallen asleep just like this, gently taking off her glasses and putting her stuff to the side with a quick kiss to her forehead. “em…let’s go to bed…” you whisper. she snuggles into you in her sleep, sighing softly like she’s relieved you’re here.

soft boyfriend matt murdock headcanons ! ✶⋆.˚

𖥔 loves cooking for you. long day at work? the smell of your favourite pasta greets you when you get home, matt smiling as he greets you from behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands extremely distracting as he chops garlic for the sauce.

𖥔 loves pet names. sweetheart, darling, honey, pretty girl. drives you insane with them. especially when he's all condescending with it, looking down at you with that fuckass smirk.

𖥔 big physical touch guy. clinging to you any chance he can get. holds onto your arm in public instead of using his cane or his senses, just so he can relax for a bit and focus only on you. (andthenheendsuptrippingonthetiniestrock)

𖥔 obsessed with anything involving your hands in his hair. will rest his head in your lap, talking about his day, voice tapering off into quieter, softer mumbles as your touch soothes him. especially with his heightened senses, the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair, your nails lightly scratching lines down his scalp, is absolute heaven.

when he's too wired from his vigilante duties, restless and unable to relax enough to sleep, you pull his head into your lap, or on your chest, scratching lines down his scalp and the nape of his neck, until he's a puddle, knocking out in seconds.

𖥔 old-fashioned gentleman. extravagant bouquets, holding doors for you, giving you the booth seat, holding your bags, and god forbid you try to pay for anything at all. whether it's a fancy dinner or even just a pretzel at the mall, his card's out before you can open your wallet.

𖥔 when you didn't know about his secret identity, he would hang around on your fire escape after a hard day. honing his hearing in on just you, your heartbeat, your breathing, the way you mumble to yourself whilst cooking, or the soft humming as you clean. he knows its creepy, borderline stalker-ish, but it helps calm him far too much to stop. he's selfish like that.

𖥔 wins you prizes at arcades. need to toss a ring onto a bottle for that massive plushie? suddenly, he doesn't care about pretending to be a helpless blind man. he asks the vendor to clap in the general direction, pretends to miss the first couple of times, and then lands it effortlessly, smiling at your delighted giggles and the vendor's confusion. (ikthisisntsuperrealisticbutshhhhh)

𖥔 loves showing you off. matt is a smug bastard who loves showcasing what's his. an arm constantly around your waist at bars, practically daring anyone to look in your general direction. introducing you as his partner with that smug smirk of his. bringing you to events, showing you off in the pretty silk dress he got you.

spidey! reader x some of my favorite marvel men

GAMBIT … REMY LEBEAU

everything hurt.

your suit was torn in several spots, the symbolic webbing ripped open to reveal bloodied skin. the window sill of the mansion was slick, the rain doing little to help your case. thunder struck in time with your soft bang against the edge, knocking the window open. you slid inside, quietly latching the lock behind you.

lightning flashed, illuminating the room. you pried the mask off your head, hair bouncing free as you breathed deeply. your wounds ached, and you grimaced when a particularly harsh throb wracked your ribs. you leaned against the wall, grateful for the dark that encased the room.

remy was out for the night, you were certain. he’d left you a note, saying he and the guys went to a gaming hall. you’d smiled fondly at the tiny heart he left next to his name.

you stumbled into the bathroom, blood smearing along the walls and the counter. the toothbrush cup fell over, spilling onto the floor. you went down next, your shaking arms barely able to hold yourself up.

before you could even think of picking them up, lights flicked on as the floors creaked.

“chère?”

you reached for the door, throwing your limp body against it. remy’s shadow appeared from under the door, his knuckles tapping against the wood, “did i wake ya up? y’alright?”

“m’fine, remy,” you shakily spoke, biting back a wince as your fingers dipped into the wound. you felt the hard casing of the bullet. “can’t lie t’remy, mon ami. let him in, please.” your nails grazed the bullet, a quiet grunt leaving your lips at the ache.

your brows knit together when the door you rested on began to rattle. it warmed, and you quickly scooted away when you saw the purple flecks of kinetic energy swirling around the doorknob. “remy—!”

it opened.

and there he was.

dressed casually—in one of those crop tops he adored and jeans—like he didn’t bankrupt other gamblers and win every game of poker. his crimson hair was fluffy.

“where’s your coat?” you asked with a gentle frown. it was cold outside, didn’t he wear one?

“you bleedin’ on our floor ‘n askin’ about some coat?” he knelt next to you, necklaces clinking as he tore his gloves off. you watched him tug the first aid kit from the cabinet, flicking it open and getting to work. remy was uncharacteristically quiet, which worried you deeply. he hadn’t acknowledged the suit you wore, nor gloated about the sheer amount he’d won tonight.

you grimaced when the bullet clinked on the tile, feeling your enhanced regeneration tingle through your cells. “i knew,” remy spoke, resting a comforting hand on your thigh, “‘bout de…spider thing. did’ya think i wouldn’t notice?”

you looked away, silent and ashamed.

“m’not mad at ya, chère. not even a lil,” he soothed, clasping a firm hand under your jaw and guiding your face back to his, “just wish ya told remy sooner. he didn’t wanna see ya like t’is before ya told him.”

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling the skin of the wound close. remy stared down at it, dual-colored eyes swirled with confusion. “i heal over time,” you explained, “gunshots take longer, usually.” he shook his head with a fond grin, as if the thought of your wounds taking longer to heal would quell his worries.

remy’s eyes were molten, swirling with sparks of purple and admiration. it was quiet, his thumb simply sweeping over your cheek as your healing tingled your cells. “how much did you win?” you asked after a while, allowing him to scoop you up and carry you to the bedroom. “i’m offended, chère. ‘course i won lots,” he smirked lazily, “wan’ somethin’? remy’ll get it for ya.”

“my suit kinda needs repairs,” you sheepishly admitted, and he laughed. “mm. dunno ‘bout supportin’ such…dangerous endeavors..” he got you comfortably in bed, joining you quickly, and tucked you close. remy was always warm. you buried your face in his chest, hiding from his blazing eyes upon your next words, “and i wanted to go shopping for a dress for emma’s event..”

“ooh, now dat—remy’s got plenty,” his lips pressed against your head, “oughta let me see ev’ryone of ‘em. touch, too. tha’s requirement. needa see if the…quality is worth de price.”

you smiled and giggled, keeping your warm face hidden from him, “required, huh? you sure it’s just to test the fabric quality?”

“guilty as charged,” he mused, dragging his fingers along your spine, “close ‘dem eyes, chère. sleep f’remy.”

you hummed softly, the ache in your bones fading as remy’s touch soothed them. outside, sirens still blared and criminals still ran rampant—but right now? you were simply remy’s.

DAREDEVIL … MATTHEW MURDOCK

you’d learned how to circle matt.

adapted to his schedules, shifted around mishaps, smiled through painful throbs of bruises—you’d perfected it.

until you seen him out.

you were perched on a balcony, fingers barely grazing the iron safety bars. it was 3am, and matt was usually asleep at this time. home from a long day of court, and tonight, he mentioned going out to drink with foggy and karen. he was home at midnight—why was he out now?

you quietly leapt across buildings, pausing every time he paused, moving when he moved. his cane tapped lightly against the concrete, the familiar clicks making your heart rate slow.

then, a hand shot from the darkness.

matt was yanked into an alley, and you launched into action. you watched as the man threw matt to the ground, and before matt could retaliate, you were there. your fist collided with the thug’s face, webs zipping! out. your foot landed on his shoulder, launching yourself and him up as you threw punch after punch and kick after kick. the webs clung to him, pinning his struggling and bruised frame against the brick wall.

your feet touched the pavement, kneeling in front of a winded matt.

“sir, sir, are you alright?”

“i knew it,” he breathed, smiling in that utterly pleased way of his. you tried to subdue your increasing heart rate, handing him his cane, “knew what?” matt’s head tilted knowingly, hands drifting forward to grip your waist.

“i’m not a fool, sweetheart. i know your heartbeat,” matt leaned up, and you had to look away from him, “it got faster. you’re nervous. i know your footsteps—your breaths.” matt pushed himself off the ground, and you slid his cane in his hand. he took a step towards you, lips still pulled into that infuriating smile of his. you tried to pull away quickly, but he caught your wrist, “i know your touch, your hands. even if they’re covered.”

“did you plan this or something?” you embarrassedly asked, keeping your eyes averted as he tugged you closer. his lips curled up further, and you groaned in disdain, “matt!”

“don’t be like that,” he cooed, “i was getting tired of you tiptoeing around it. so, i gave you a reason to tell me.” your head thumped against his chest, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. he swayed you lightly, chin propped atop your head. he smelled like warm sheets and the candle on the nightstand.

“go home, please.”

“come with me,” he countered, bringing both arms around you. his fingers traced the webbing of your suit, trailing around the spider design on your back. “i can’t,” you muttered, tensing when one of his hands dragged up your arm. his fingertips grazed along your mask, and you clasped his wrist tightly, “matt…”

“just for a minute, baby,” he whispered, “please?” you hesitated, nodding briefly. matt lifted your mask over your nose, and you felt his breath tickle your lips.

then, you felt his softness.

matt’s hands held your face, his shoulders dropping in utter bliss. you backed him into the wall, smiling into the kiss. you broke apart, foreheads resting together.

your lips parted to speak—

“hey, can you let me down please? i need to go to the doctor!”

your head jerked up, and matt laughed:

“foggy?!”

SPIDERMAN … PETER PARKER

it was hard being new york’s third spidey.

you usually stayed under the radar, cleaning up when peter or miles couldn’t—but there was one tiny issue.

they had no idea it was you.

peter was at grad school for the majority of the day—miles surely contemplating his existence in high school—so you had opportune time to be spidey during the day. they’d tried to contact you, of course, but you’d made it a point to avoid them at all costs.

right now, you were perched on a rooftop, eyes skimming across the city as you held a large icee in your hand. you sipped casually, flinching when your comms began to ring. your fingers pressed against your ear, a soft hum leaving your lips.

“hi, honey,” you greeted, “what’s up?”

peter didn’t answer.

“peter?”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“tell you what?” you calmly asked, keeping your voice level despite the panic creeping up your spine. peter sighed, displeased, “delmar’s pickle sub was on sale an hour ago.”

“oh,” you laughed, relieved, “i’m sorry, i didn’t know it was.” peter groaned childishly, and you vaguely heard the bustling sounds of the cafeteria. “are you with miles?”

“yeah. gonna take him to get some actual food for his final week,” you heard him call him over, and then you heard his voice, “hey, pete’s taking me to get actual food. do you wanna go?”

your lips parted to agree, but a loud screech and explosions sounded nearby. you heard the phone rustle, “what was that? baby?”

“nothing—i gotta go, have fun!”

you swiftly hung up, ignoring the way peter called you back instantly. you tugged your mask back on, tossing your empty icee cup in a trashcan as you swung to the scene. you landed atop a streetlight, frowning when you saw a group of men holding women hostage.

their massive guns waved haphazardly, and you teasingly called out, “got a license for those?”

“it’s the spider!”

“which one?!”

you catapulted yourself at them, web bombs flying from your palms. the sticky threads flawlessly coiled around them, pinning them in one webbed up cluster. “huh. that was easy,” you shrugged, walking over to the women.

“hi,” you whispered, “anyone hurt?”

they shook their heads as you gently guided them away. you flinched when a sharp pain pierced your side. you glanced down, spotting an unfamiliar object. the dart’s contents were glowing purple, and your body broke into shivers upon its dispersal into your bloodstream.

“haha! it worked!” the cluster cheered.

you shot a web, barely able to swing properly. you crash landed on a nearby roof, curling up into a ball as your body shook. you were freezing despite the boiling hot weather.

“spidey?” the voice was warbled, but you recognized the familiar red and blue suit, accompanied by the black and red one. you tried to move, to hide from him, but his hand carefully moved you on your back.

“hey, hey, what happened?”

you shook your head, fingers grazing the rooftop’s edge. you were in agony. cold, hot, boiling, freezing, shivering, paralyzed.

“you need fresh air,” miles worriedly said, his hands nearing the hem of your mask. you weakly slapped them away, and he looked at peter for guidance.

“we promise we’ll keep your secret,” peter comfortingly said, “we can help you.”

“i don’t want it,” you heaved, mustering up enough courage to toss yourself off the edge. your body freefell, but your webs missed their landing—

a hand coiled around your wrist, your body dangling against the wall. you tiredly looked up, spotting peter upside down in front of you. he was stuck to the wall, one hand next to your head as the other held you up by your wrist.

“i tried to give you openings, but i seriously can’t take it anymore,” peter reached for your mask, yanking it up and off before you could react, “baby, please. we need to get you to the hospital.”

your mind was rendered to nothing but mush.

you could only hum and grumble, and you grimaced when he swept you up. your vision went dark, all you felt was his arms.

when you woke, he was staring at you with an intensity and a sadness you hadn’t seen since aunt may.

“pete?” you tiredly whispered. he didn’t speak, his knee bouncing rapidly, “are you mad?”

“i’d be a hypocrite if i were mad,” he sighed, shifting from his seat and sitting next to you on the bed. his fingers traced along your cheek, a weak smile on his lips.

“you could’ve told me.”

you didn’t answer to that, lifting your hand to cup his. his warmth permeated the cold of your skin. you shrugged softly, and he laughed as he pressed his lips to yours. “mm. i guess i didn’t tell you either, huh?”

“no, you didn’t,” you mused, “i found out because you left your mask in—“

“you promised not to talk about that!”

WOLVERINE … LOGAN HOWLETT

“she’s not herself—logan!” charles shouted, turning in his wheelchair in an attempt to stop him.

“i don’t give a damn,” he snarled, spinning on his heel, “she’s mine. some fish-bowl headed lunatic ain’t takin’ her from me.” ororo stood instantly, grabbing her jacket and following him out. he briefly shot her a look of gratitude and utter respect, to which she nodded once.

storm always had his back.

the jet rumbled as it zipped through the air, and its screens displayed you in the city. mysterio hovered near you, the sky dim as the people’s symbol of hope ebbed away. “get me as close as you can,” logan grumbled to scott, who didn’t respond with one of his usual remarks.

he understood the gravity of the situation.

you, the girl who swung with webs through new york city, hands outstretched to whoever needed help—a child who fell off their bike, a man kicking a vending machine that took his money, the elderly woman who needs help crossing the hectic street—you were there.

now, you were suspended midair, body lifeless as mysterio’s control seeped into your mind. citizens cried and begged, their fingertips barely able to reach you.

“ah, the x-men,” mysterio cooed, “come to save a fellow hero?”

the jet landed harshly, and logan leapt out. he stormed closer, feeling the soft breeze of ororo’s aura behind him. jean and scott joined them, their eyes blazing with rage.

“where did you take them?” scott shouted. mysterio’s arms stretched wide, “allow me to show you.”

the city faded to black.

bodies were thrown and tossed about, and logan seen you. your suit was shredded to pieces, your mask completely gone. your eyes were black, tears staining your cheeks. blood coated your skin as you stood atop a pile of bodies.

how long had you been here?

what were you seeing?

he turned around, tensing when he realized that he was the only one here. logan sprinted toward you, and your eyes jerked to him. you jumped, webs slinging out to stop him. webs cocooned him in seconds.

your fingertips dug into his face, “sick joke, mysterio. using him against me.”

“bub—“

“stop talking,” you seethed, fresh tears filling your eyes, “i will break your neck.” logan’s claws slid free, slicing through the webs and shoving you against the ground. his hand pressed against your throat—a warning. “listen to me,” his tone was firm, eyes dark with anger, “yer stuck in an illusion. he threw me in here w’you.”

“you’re—lying!” your knee dug harshly into his stomach, but he didn’t move. logan’s claws dug into the asphalt, solidifying his posture, “i ain’t lyin’, stubborn thing. it’s logan,” he stressed, eyes flicking all over your injuries, “look.”

he cautiously raised a hand, reaching for the neck of his white shirt and tugging the collar down. a thin chain with a ring looped onto it—the stupid matching rings you’d bought as a peace treaty after a big argument. you faltered in your fight, hand lifting to further pull the shirt down—

“now yer just pushin’ it.”

then he felt your fingertips brush along a scar.

one that very little knew was there.

the scar that you’d given him for moments like these, moments that needed proof and grounding. logan relaxed, leaning back and pulling you up with him. you traced the tiny X with care, and he frowned when tears filled your eyes. “c’mon, sweets. don’t cry.”

your palms roughly swiped at your eyes, your breaths growing scarce, and his hands easily found your wrists, “stop. breathe.”

you cried apologies, falling into his arms. logan sighed, standing up with you secure in his hold. he rubbed your back as he walked through the domain, ears tuned into finding his comrades.

when he reconnected with the group, ororo greeted you with a soft smile. you stayed in his arms, eyes forcefully averted from the carnage you’d unleashed in here. logan wasn’t worried about getting stuck in the domain, he knew they’d find their way out eventually.

but right now, he had you—his darling spider—in his arms, and you needed him.

HUMAN TORCH … JOHNNY STORM

you’d broken your arm in an intense fight with sandman. you remembered the sick crack, the way your forearm was angled incorrectly as you sheepishly showed it to the emergency room workers. you hadn’t been able to reset the bone, so it had begun to heal like that. the doctors, pitifully, had to re-break the bone just to fix it.

it healed a week ago.

johnny still hadn’t stopped pampering you.

he refused to “hand you over” to peter when the city called, he refused to let you do literally anything. tonight, peter had messaged you, desperate for help on an intel-related task. johnny was sleeping, and so, you’d taken the opportunity.

you quietly snuck out of the bedroom, suit zipped up and ready to go. herbie appeared at the end of the hallway, his little head tilting curiously. you knelt in front of him, gently rubbing his head, “i’ll be back soon, herbie. don’t worry.”

“johnny?” he beeped quietly.

“sleeping. if he’s up before i leave, tell him i went shopping. wait, no don’t tell him that, he’ll be upset,” you considered a proper response, sighing as you shook your head and came up empty, “just tell him i’m helping pete.”

herbie beeped, nodding. he nuzzled into your hand, and you smiled warmly. “bye, be good.”

he followed you to the balcony, watching you closely as you leapt off it. the sky was blanketed with stars as you zipped through the city, landing calmly on the appointed building. peter appeared from around the corner, waving as he landed. “hey, thanks for coming. did johnny let you go easy?”

“i didn’t wake him up,” you admitted, “didn’t feel like arguing and wasting time.” peter hummed knowingly, perching next to you and pointing at the condemned factory.

“kraven’s got stuff in there. need to know all about it.”

“easy,” you mused.

it was in fact, not easy.

you and peter breathed heavily behind cover, bullet wounds coating the two of you. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, wincing at a throb of pain. “uh-huh,” you mockingly replied, flinching when a bullet embedded the wall next to you.

you silently contemplated what to do—

you were cornered, blood dripping from nearly every part of your body. peter was in a similar shape, wounded and exhausted. you groaned, your head thumping against the wood crate, “use the signal.”

“seriously? johnny’s gonna kill us…”

“i’d rather die to him than these guys, pete. just do it.”

peter visibly accepted his fate, thumb pressing against the line of webbing that alerted the fantastic four. within seconds, your comms rang. you pressed your ear against your shoulder, too tired to raise your hands.

“that better not have anything to do with you.”

“i don’t know how to tell you this,” you laughed weakly, “but it kind of has everything to do with me.”

johnny didn’t speak, comms shutting off. peter met your masked eyes, “how bad?”

“he’s dead silent,” you solemnly said.

“shit.”

the glass erupted into shards, and you flinched when rapid gunshots fired. a bright orange glow encased the room, and you vaguely heard the soft thrumming of sue’s barrier.

loud footsteps sounded to your left, and you saw ben standing over the two of you.

“hey,” you and peter greeted casually, as if the two of you weren’t staining the floor red. johnny landed next to ben, expression utterly displeased and furious. he knelt next to you, sending a nasty stare towards peter as he scooped you up.

“i’m sorry, man!” peter shouted as johnny walked away. he didn’t say a word as he ignited into flames and shot off towards the hospital.

“stupid, stupid,” he muttered, “i’m gonna sell out everything he loves.”

“johnny—“

“you scared me, baby,” he admitted, “woke up to the signal going off, you not in my arms.”

you murmured an apology, doing your best to withstand the heat he emitted. your suit was fireproof, courtesy of reed, but some places were torn. “do you wanna know how long i’m keeping you to myself now?”

you sighed, eyes closing as you accepted the inevitable.

“how long, johnny?”

“three months.”

generous, you thought amusedly.

“you’re also prohibited from communicating with peter for a good year.”

the doctors made quick work of you, and you assured them your healing would take care of what they couldn’t quickly fix. they had other people to help, people that couldn’t self-sustain.

now, you were in bed with johnny.

he had you wrapped in his arms, tightly. “are you gonna hold me like this the whole three months?” you softly asked, tapping your fingers on his back to the rhythm of the song he’d chosen.

“if i have to. i’ll hold you in the shower, at dinnertime, while you get ready,” he listed off, eyes sparkling with mischief. you smiled, cuddling closer to him. he kissed your head, gently pulling you away so he can reach the rest of your face. he peppered kisses on your skin, pausing before he reached your lips.

his blue eyes swirled with worry and love, and you nodded.

he kissed you sweetly, embers flickering in his hair. you separated with a shy laugh, and he embraced you again.

“seriously, don’t scare me like that again. especially don’t just…leave.”

“would you have let me go help pete?”

“no. duh—but that’s not the point!”