amaze amaze amaze

Robby had always been a good friend to you. You had pulled him up off the ground more times than you could count and he had always done the same for you. But this was new and uncharted.

Dana and her husband were throwing a Fourth of July party at their house which was how you ended up sitting at the edge of a pool, legs dangling in the water as you nursed a beer. It happened often lately that your world tended to warp and narrow until you could only see him and that was definitely the case today as you watched him swim by you.

Although he hadn't said it, you knew he was self conscious of his body. Trying to distract you when you reached for the light switch after he'd taken off his shirt. Redirecting your hands when they lingered too long on the soft flesh of his middle. But today, he didn't seem to think about it much at all as he swam shirtless in the pool, smiling and joking with colleagues.

It took him a while before he noticed you, but once he had, he excused himself from the conversation and swam for you. He settled between your legs, rested his hands gently on your ankles.

"Come swim with me?" He asked sweetly, playful grin on his face.

The stares and giggles from your colleagues weren't lost on you as his fingers ghosted over your skin beneath the water.

"You're standing too close," You said softly and took a sip from your beer.

He largely ignored your words, kept his hands wrapped around your ankles, "It's hot, get in the water."

"Michael." You said sharply, something you only called him when you were chastising him.

But still, it did not deter him. He plucked your beer from your hand before gripping your hips and lifting you up and into the pool.

"People are staring," You said as calmly as you could, hands on his shoulders. Despite the scrutiny, you couldn't bear to pull away from him.

"We're friends," He said, but his eyes traveled down to your chest and lingered more than was appropriate, "Everyone knows we're friends."

"Right," You said, "And you'll be driving me home tonight?"

"Of course," He said, smirking, "What are friends for?"

That night, after Robby had made you come so hard there were tears in your eyes, you laid on his chest in the dark, his fingers lightly massaging your scalp.

The high from your orgasm combined with being tipsy off beer from earlier had you feeling brave, "Will you stay the night?"

He hummed, "'Course."

"And not leave before I wake up?"

He was quiet for a few moments, "You want me to stay? In the morning?"

"If… If you wanted."

You felt him pull away slightly from you and felt momentarily rejected until the light turned on. He'd pulled away from you to fumble with the lamp on your bedside table.

With the light illuminating the room you could see the fear in his eyes and in turn, you were frightened.

"You know that I… Greatly value our friendship," He said slowly and you felt the heat climb up your neck.

Humiliated, you stopped him, "Forget it," You rolled out of the bed and headed for the shower, "I think you should go, actually."

"Oh, come on," He pleaded, following after you, "Don't do that."

You reached behind the shower curtain to start the water, "No, you're right—"

"Right about what?" He snapped, "You didn't let me finish my thought."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, so you weren't about to clarify that we're just friends and it should stay that way, that staying until the morning, having coffee and breakfast together is too intimate for your liking?"

He scoffed and shook his head, "Do you disagree?"

Oh, it stung. Granted, you understood. You didn't want to lose him either, didn't want to be just another woman he got tired of, that he decided wasn't worth his effort. It was better to keep each other at a respectable distance.

"No," You said, swallowing thickly, "Which is why I think we should stop doing this."

He mouth opened in a silent O, brow furrowed for a moment as he processed what you said, "You mean…" He said slowly, "Completely?"

"Yes," You said without looking at him as you climbed into the shower, "The boundaries are getting too blurry, it's probably for the best to just… cut it off."

You pulled the curtain shut and hoped he'd simply leave, but he pulled the curtain aside, "Is that what you want?"

You sighed, "Robby—"

"I'm just confused we were having a good night and because I said I don't want be around in the morning, now we can't do any of it?"

He seemed almost panicked as he spoke and you frowned, "Why are you getting so worked up?"

"I'm not," He huffed, "I just—I—I really like spending time with you like this, I just—"

"You just what?" You threw up your hands, exasperated, "Don't like it enough to look at me in the light of the morning? I mean, Christ, Robby how do you think that makes me feel?"

He sighed, "That's not how I meant it."

"How else could I have possibly taken it?" You pulled the shower curtain closed again, "Please, just, go home, Robby."

He stood there for a few more moments before you heard him walk away. A few minutes later you heard the sound of your front door opening and closing and exhaled heavily.

Tried again and again as you finished your shower and got ready for bed to convince yourself you'd done the right thing.

You didn't want to lose him as a friend.

So why did it feel like you'd lost him anyway?

The next few days at work were painfully stilted. Robby reaching for casual touches only to pull back at the last minute. No playful banter during quiet moments, but a man who refused to be in the same space as you.

"What's up with you and Robby?" Jack asked, barely looking up from his computer until he felt your blistering stare on his back.

"What?" He said, finally straightening, "The two of you were awful cozy on the Fourth. You didn't think anyone'd notice?"

You locked your jaw and turned away from him, watched Robby longingly across the way instead as he pulled on a pair of gloves and spoke to a patient.

"Do you think he's capable of a healthy relationship?" You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

You were too afraid to look at him, but the silence was enough to suggest you'd surprised him.

There was a slow exhale at your side, "I don't know. Maybe. If it was the right person."

Your eyes burned and you tore them away from him, turning to the computer to resume charting. Obviously, you weren't the right person or he would've stayed until morning.

"Hey," Jack said, leaning over your monitor. He waited patiently for you to meet his eyes, "For what it's worth, if I were to hedge my bets on who could make an honest man out of Michael Robinavitch, it would be you."

You shook your head dismissively, "Do you make it a habit to bet on losing dogs?"

He chuckled and squeezed your shoulder as he passed, "Chin up, kid. He'll come around."

It went like this for weeks and still, he could barely look you in the eyes.

Until finally, he followed after you as you began walking home from work.

"Is this how it's gonna be from now on?"

You looked at him frowning, "What are you talking about? You've been the one avoiding me."

He scoffed, "I thought that was what you wanted."

You huffed in frustration, "What I wanted was for you to stay in the morning."

Abruptly, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path so that you barrelled straight into his chest.

"Why does this feel like a breakup?" He asked, his voice small and breathless as if he were afraid of the answer.

You looked up into his face for the first time in weeks and you simmered under the heat of his gaze.

You shook your head, "I don't know." Consciously or unconsciously, you tilted your face towards his. He was close enough that you could smell the nicotine gum on his breath.

He exhaled slowly, eyes darting rapidly from your mouth to your eyes and back again.

"Say we're still just friends," He murmured, "Lie to me."

Your heart hammered in your chest. Be brave it seemed to say, ricochetting rapidly against your ribs.

"I don't wanna lie anymore." You said softly, barely a whisper.

He stared at your face for a few moments before bringing his hands up to cradle your face. Your eyelids fluttered closed at his gentle touch, the callouses of his fingers soft on your cheeks.

"Neither do I," He said against your lips before kissing you, his cadence fevered and frenzied.

You groaned, partially in surprise and partially in pleasure as he licked into your mouth, your hands knotting themselves in his scrub top.

After what felt like ages, but was actually probably moments, he pulled away, both of you breathless.

"Can I… Take you home?" He asked.

"Will you stay in the morning?"

He nodded eagerly, "Think I might wanna stay forever, if you'll let me."

but being retired doesn't erase his ability to hear all the things still happening around the city, though. now that he has something to lose, he gets more and more strung up with it over time. more difficult to reason with. gradually becoming even more controlling, demanding where were you, why didn't you call, why didn't you tell me where you were going, and telling you to be more careful (because he isn't exactly cleaning up the streets anymore - this is left unsaid), barring you from staying out too late with your friends, even telling you not to act like a child when you inevitably "call him out" for being "controlling." he scoffs at that one, which seems to be your favorite word to throw around lately. controlling. is it truly "controlling" if he does know exactly how dangerous it is out there? does he really deserve such a reductive title, and from someone who claims to love him, no less?

maybe he can't trust you enough to want to take care of yourself, either. after all, you're in the spring of your life—he was that age once, and he'd had the recklessness to show for it then, too.

it's only downhill from there as matt, as you put it, starts to lose his marbles (omg that deranged, absent look he has sometimes that's reminiscent of his confession in s1e1—jack murdock's face going 'flat and cold' before beating people in cold blood) thinking of you possibly pulling away and leaving. as i see it, there's a lot of possibilities that could happen, but chief among them:

one, the slow burn c/o matt murdock: matt at his most insidious, charismatic, paternalistic. keeping you inside the apartment as much as he can. it's a bit of a workaround to keep you happy staying in there at first though—he can only take so much back-and-forths of saccharine wheedling and hostile insults from you before he eventually concedes and lets you out, teaching you a lesson the hard way by letting you get a bit rattled and scared from a little mugging or a 'stalker case' he definitely has nothing to do with. of course, he's sure to (anonymously) come to your rescue before you get seriously hurt—just enough for you to finally see that he is right, it's a dangerous world out there, and your actions have consequences. it's nicer, instead, to come home straight to someone who worries about you, who provides for you, who you can always rely on to be there and have dinner at the ready. you were in over your head to think that you could handle being safe on your own.

and it's funny—you don't even realize that you've stopped fighting until one day you think of leaving, and the thought of walking out that door without telling him already feels wrong. akin to the feeling of the start of a fever; nauseating. how could you have once wanted nothing more than to leave?

two, the crude, brute strength way, c/o letting the devil out, where instead of being docile, reader's headstrong and actively struggling trying to resist these disgusting, controlling fucking rules and behaviour. that's alright though, it just leaves him no choice but to subdue you and muscle you into submission. it doesn't matter what it takes; he's handled a lot worse than you; bigger, more relentless rogues. no, dealing with you is comparable to child's play, a lot more simple: you'll end up chained to his grimy closet if you're being bad, and then later on by his bed, if you're being good. —and if you're being really bad, then don't worry! you've got months of bed rest to heal that broken ankle he's given you to incapacitate you. and there's only so much he can do to convince even himself that he doesn't want you struggling so you won't get hurt—no, he does want you to struggle, to kick and scream and hurt him if you really want. that way, he can do the same to you, and you'll know he's enjoying it. the panicked rush of blood to the head and arteries as you thrash and scratch and bite him trying to get away, his pulse spiking vividly with fury and yours with fear as you writhe under his weight, his hands binding your wrists behind your back. it's the most alive he's felt since he stopped going out, and it's better than any hit. those deafening twin heartbeats—his and yours—make everything feel so alive, like nothing's been before, so intolerably erotic.

in any case, no other word can more aptly describe him than toxic, having bought into it so completely and too far gone now no matter how plainly wrong it already is. unjustifiable. he's never one to do anything halfheartedly though, good deed or otherwise. :DD

and when confronted with the question: why are you doing this? there are only two answers to be given, reminiscent of what he's already confessed to before : because it's for your own good. / and because i enjoy it.

you didn't have to clock me with the hyperindependent reader with abandonment issues, ffs /silly

I also broke each of my ankles so far, soooo, I feel like this is truly personalised /silly. hit me up if you need help with describing that from experience <33

but I am genuinely slobbering like a dog and clawing at your door with a dead bird between my teeth, waiting patiently for the delight of being let in (and seeing your work!)