#sunshineyaps

matt murdock who doesn't really like talking all that much around you.

not that he doesn't love talking to you; he just prefers observing you more. likes sitting the the silence with you.

he likes listening to your eyes blinking, the little tune you hum as you type something on your laptop, the incessant tapping of your foot as you glare at the office printer.

the sound of your anklets, the smell of your strawberry shampoo mixed with the intense smell of sunscreen.

he likes it.

he loves it.

how your voice changes, the cadences and speeds. the tones and notes.

how expressive you can be.

he has it all memorized, really.

he finds peace in all of it-- in you.

he knows you can be stubborn, and fragile all in the same breath. like fading ink on crumbling paper.

he loves it.

he loves you.

and he can't say anything.

the words swirl on his tongue every day-- every moment he spends with you.

the feelings boil and froth in his chest, begging to break the dam.

and he almost says it that one night.

almost ruins your life, as you look up at him, the shoulder of your shirt sleeve slipping, eyes wide and trusting-- he could feel it all.

your drunken giggles, and slurring words.

and he pushes it back, and prays it doesn't come oozing out.

because you, with your breathy laugh, and gentle heart; you deserve the world and more.

everything good this world has to offer, it was all for you.

but he wasn't good.

far from it.

bloodying his hands, and mauling his soul every night.

so, he'll sit with you in the quiet instead.

Kobra Kid with anger issues that get specifically triggered when he sees people in need. Kobra Kid who has no patience for injustice, discrimination, or bullying. Kobra Kid who stands up and throws hands for his friends (and for anyone who needs it).

specifically college matt

matt murdock who wants to stop the yearning and longing and the fantasies.

matt murdock who wants to live your life with you. be a part of your world.

a life where he comes home to a buzzing light, and warm hands that patch him up, or hold him close.

a life with grocery lists, and stupid bickering.

a life of giggly nights, and soft mornings.

a life of actual, tangible, love.

and he knows he can't have that with you.

he can't do that to you.

so instead he tries to satiate his wants and his affection for you with your friendship.

he'll be grateful for your affection, even if it is just platonic.

and he'll watch you fall in love with someone else.

he'll watch you promise things and live the life he'd wanted with you, with someone else.

he'll watch you move on with your life and have excitement for a future that he'll never have with you.

the few quiet moments of his day, these quiet moments which aren't filled with blood or paper work, these quiet moments where he's on the brink of passing out.

his head a hazy, cotton filled ball of incomplete thoughts.

he'll struggle, and he'll ache.

he'll wonder.

if he and you ever really had a future like that?

if he and you could ever make it work?

if only he'd been brave enough...

would you be holding him right now?

would you dote on him, and clean up his wounds?

would you and him be planning date nights, and anniversary presents?

would you...

he knows it's bad for him, these thoughts.

but he'll let himself indulge in them when he's on the brink, exhaustion falling over his body like a thick, warm blanket.

and if he tries hard enough, he can smell you. he can hear your heartbeat. he can feel your soft arms curling around his scarred body.

your softness enveloping him.

just sharing this one experience of a life together.

whether it be in the back of a cab, your body curled close to his, head leaning on his shoulder as you hum along to the tune on the radio.

whether it be him coming home to you, just laying in your arms, head on your chest, the thump-thump of your heart is so loud up close he can feel it in his body; his own heart following the rhythm of yours.

whether it be early mornings spent tangled up in the sheets together, kisses and murmurs of five more minutes, which end up turning to a lot more.

whether it be walking home together, pinkies looped, or hands held; you describing the sky or talking about your day. him describing the sounds or talking about a case.

whether it be the quiet moments filled with nothing but the presence of the other; a silence that feels too precious to scare away, not exactly a fragile thing- far from it; just something precious, sweet, kind. something to keep close. something to love.

whether it be loud public outings, or boisterous friends; just knowing- just choosing, that this is it.

that you both choose this one person to be with you through the rest of your life; your only life as this version of you. that you both choose nothing but this.

that has to account for something.

and it does...

this love feels like warm hands, and gentle kisses.

this love feels like soft mornings, and late nights.

this love feels like blood soaked skin, and comforting hands.

And after all these years it comes out that the Killjoys never actually died in the SING mv, they were all turned, separated, and living in captivity the whole time.

I'M GOING TO KMS