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The relief coming over Matthew with Remy’s confirmation the food and Sazerac were actually good was bigger than he had expected it to be. Remy was genuinely happy, able to feel it coming off of him in beautifully light waves. It meant the world to him he was able to make him this happy. So many times his efforts were only met with anger and hostility but never with Remy. Remy was far too good to him.

"You're more than worth it, I promise." Squeezing the hand holding his, Matt could only wish he could have done more. "I'm sorry I couldn't get the pardon to be permanent. I tried but they wouldn't allow it." He had tried but it was shot down quickly and he immediately knew not to push the fact.

“There is a…thing with the trip is that I actually need to ask a favor from you.” Matthew pulled his hand away to poke at his food for a second, hating what he was about to ask for. “Would you be to call your friend Kurt about getting us there and back? I actually really hate asking for this but I don’t do well on planes with…my senses. It is a short plane ride but the cabin pressure and recycled air overwhelm my senses. I have to take something to make me sleep and I’ll be useless the rest of the day. You can always leave me at the hotel and go out on your own.”

Why did it feel so wrong to ask for this?

"It is probably wrong for me to ask." Remy was the only other person like him that he had ever met, whereas the Cajun had probably met countless others like them. He knew the in's and out's of being a mutant, where Matt simply knew how to hide who he actually was.

Matt could feel how happy Remy was, not a single word had to be said. It was a bright warmth beaming off of him, his heart faster with his excitement and when he could finally bring himself to speak, the joy laced in his words made all the work he did worth it. Made the freshly sewn up gash on his thigh not even an afterthought. He wished he could have made this possible sooner, that Felicia had come looking for him months ago. He would have gladly done it then, too.

His lips were captured in a kiss that had the whole world behind it, swearing for a moment he could feel everything Remy felt for him in it. Only when they broke for air did Matt smile and let his hands drop from cupping Remy's face to his hips, giving him one last quick kiss before stepping back.

"Yes, please eat. Let me hold onto my dignity a little longer because this time tomorrow night I have a feeling my cooking will never be able to compare." A small lighthearted chuckle as Matt moved to sit down, taking a sip of his scotch. "You're going to have to tell me how I did with Sazerac. I was tempted to try it but I don't know what one actually tastes like."

Picking up his fork, Matt poked at his food nervously, worry coming back over him about the food. "I washed all the clothes you left here and have them set aside in case you wanted to bring any of them. A small jump start on your packing. My bag is already packed and ready to go. I booked us a hotel - the Bourbon Orleans Hotel. Foggy said it looked really nice on the website. I hope I didn't make too many assumptions. I just...wanted everything to be perfect for you." Sightless eyes dropped at the omission while his fork still poked mindlessly at a piece of shrimp.

x x

#dramatisperscnae #muse: matthew - let the devil out - murdock

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Matt wasn't one to ignore what was being said to him by someone he cared about, even if it was something he didn't want to here. He would listen attentively and then not do what they asked. Not today though, he immediately tuned out the pleas and warnings, hearing them without actually hearing them. It was a necessary evil. He needed this. To go after Victor Creed the way he intended, he would have to do so without pause or second guessing.

"Repose-toi, mon amour." Matt flashed a warm smile and kissed the palm of Remy's hand. Another slip, admitting more of his feelings than he generally felt comfortable doing but with amount of drugs coursing through Remy's system, he doubted he would remember when he woke in the morning.

"Just give me a second." Leaning the cane against the side of the bed, the lawyer crossed the room in long strides to grab the stiff plastic chair and brought it over to the bedside, putting it down close enough so he could still hold Remy's hand. He sat back and scooted closer, quickly taking the other's hand back in his own to stroke his thumb over the back of it tenderly.

"See? I'm right back here and I'm not going anywhere, chere. Just close your eyes and get some rest, alright?" The fingers on his free hand itched to reach for his phone but Matt waited, wanting to wait until Remy was fully asleep before he went against his wishes. “You’re safe, I promise.”

And you’ll always be safe once Victor Creed is gone.

Remy’s hand followed his own to the bed railing and his chest tightened, the gentle physical reminder that he was alive. The nightmare he had been living for the past two weeks was simply only that; a nightmare and nothing more. Sightless brown eyes fell closed behind the red lensed sunglasses and focused on the touch, how comforting it was to feel it again. No different than feeling Remy’s heartbeat beneath his hand. Did Remy know the affect his touch was having on him?

With hand covering his own tightening and the uptick in Remy’s heartbeat, it sent a chill down Matt’s spine. The Cajun wasn't generally one to show fear, usually putting on a brave just as he himself did.

And suddenly there was a name. Victor Creed. Sabretooth. His mind turned off to everything else Remy was saying, only hearing the name of the man who nearly ended the one he loved. A deep seeded rage blanketed him until all he could think about was killing Victor Creed. His face remained entirely calm outside of his jaw going taut with a deep breath, having to physically force himself to remain calm.

“I…” Matt’s voice trailed off with trying to reel in his violent thoughts. He would have to text Karen to see if she could do some digging for him being it was the one thing she was actually good at. Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. At least this time it could possibly be put to good use. Behind the sunglasses, Matt blinked several times in trying to snap himself back into the moment and focus on the conversation he hadn't been listening to.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I would give anything to have been." That sounded reasonable to the situation. Hopefully it was enough to cover to the distant sound to his voice. The painkillers might work in his favor in more ways than one; maybe Remy wouldn't notice the tone in his voice and possibly it would make fall into deep sleep, enough so he could sneak away to take care of a few things.

"Here, listen to me; I need you to let go of my hand. I'm just going to go to the other side of the room to get a chair. I promise to stay here with you but I can't do it standing. I had some scotch earlier on an empty stomach, remember? When I thought you weren't real? It's starting to kick in so I really need to sit before I fall over." Matt gave a warm reassuring smile before bringing Remy's hand up to his lips to give it a kiss. The hospital lights accented the slight hollowness to his cheeks from the weight loss while the paleness to his skin was all that much more evident.

Victor Creed. It was a fight to keep his thoughts in the present.

"I'm just going to get the chair, alright?"

#dramatisperscnae #muse: matthew - let the devil out - murdock

[defectivexfragmented]

💋 for Clint from Spencer

SEND “💋” AND MY MUSE WILL SAY HOW SMOOCHABLE YOUR MUSE IS FROM 1-10

"Definitely a solid 9. Do that dominant thing you pulled on me the other day and you're a 10 gorgeous."

@ifyoucatchacriminal

#ifyoucatchacriminal #smoothable meme #musings: clint

[defectivexfragmented]

Remy’s hand followed his own to the bed railing and his chest tightened, the gentle physical reminder that he was alive. The nightmare he had been living for the past two weeks was simply only that; a nightmare and nothing more. Sightless brown eyes fell closed behind the red lensed sunglasses and focused on the touch, how comforting it was to feel it again. No different than feeling Remy’s heartbeat beneath his hand. Did Remy know the affect his touch was having on him?

With hand covering his own tightening and the uptick in Remy’s heartbeat, it sent a chill down Matt’s spine. The Cajun wasn't generally one to show fear, usually putting on a brave just as he himself did.

And suddenly there was a name. Victor Creed. Sabretooth. His mind turned off to everything else Remy was saying, only hearing the name of the man who nearly ended the one he loved. A deep seeded rage blanketed him until all he could think about was killing Victor Creed. His face remained entirely calm outside of his jaw going taut with a deep breath, having to physically force himself to remain calm.

“I…” Matt’s voice trailed off with trying to reel in his violent thoughts. He would have to text Karen to see if she could do some digging for him being it was the one thing she was actually good at. Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. At least this time it could possibly be put to good use. Behind the sunglasses, Matt blinked several times in trying to snap himself back into the moment and focus on the conversation he hadn't been listening to.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I would give anything to have been." That sounded reasonable to the situation. Hopefully it was enough to cover to the distant sound to his voice. The painkillers might work in his favor in more ways than one; maybe Remy wouldn't notice the tone in his voice and possibly it would make fall into deep sleep, enough so he could sneak away to take care of a few things.

"Here, listen to me; I need you to let go of my hand. I'm just going to go to the other side of the room to get a chair. I promise to stay here with you but I can't do it standing. I had some scotch earlier on an empty stomach, remember? When I thought you weren't real? It's starting to kick in so I really need to sit before I fall over." Matt gave a warm reassuring smile before bringing Remy's hand up to his lips to give it a kiss. The hospital lights accented the slight hollowness to his cheeks from the weight loss while the paleness to his skin was all that much more evident.

Victor Creed. It was a fight to keep his thoughts in the present.

"I'm just going to get the chair, alright?"

It was the third time Remy had asked the same question about him staying. Matt didn’t know how he didn’t realize it the second time, maybe it was the chaos of the night or him being so wrapped up in trying to defend himself from his own emotions. His hand being placed back over Remy’s heart brought his racing thoughts to a screeching halt and for a moment he was speechless, lips parted as if to speak but no sound came out.

How was he supposed to say anything when the heartbeat he had thought had ceased to exist was thrumming with life beneath his hand?

“Ugh…Remy, that is the third time you’ve asked me to stay and each time you’ve asked me I have assured you that I will stay.” Matt licked his lips, the feel of the heartbeat beneath his hand beginning to soften his sharp edges more than he liked. Part of him did not want to soften. He wanted his walls to stay up to protect him from the inevitable that was to come. They were tall and safe. Slowly, his hand began to pull back from its place on Remy’s chest to hold onto the bedside railing.

“What’s going on? I highly doubt you meant to planned to up in a coma with a broken leg.”

#dramatisperscnae #muse: matthew - let the devil out - murdock

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CHRIS EVANS as STEVE ROGERS AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR (2018) dir. The Russo Brothers

#musing: steve #~ queue and I remember Budapest very differently ~

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💋 "I like to think, on a scale of how kissable these lips are, that I'd fall on a solid 10. What do you think, Cap? Do these lips pass muster?" (Tony to Steve, mightiestxheroes)

SEND “💋” AND MY MUSE WILL SAY HOW SMOOCHABLE YOUR MUSE IS FROM 1-10

"With all the magazine articles I've seen about you with models and being a self declared playboy, I can only assume you must be a 10. I can't say from personal experience so I could be completely wrong. You could have paid off all those girls."

@mightiestxheroes

#smoochable meme #musings: steve

[defectivexfragmented]

SEND “💋” AND MY MUSE WILL SAY HOW SMOOCHABLE YOUR MUSE IS FROM 1-10

#please specify muse #please reblog from the source #this is open to everyone #it’s all for fun

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I would love a thread where Matt’s partner uses his enhanced senses to their advantage and teases the hell out of him while he is working from home, they are out on a date, or when they are at the store. He can smell their arousal and hear naughty whispers…and yet no one has teased him.

#wishlist

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#LOL

[defectivexfragmented]

SEND “💋” AND MY MUSE WILL SAY HOW SMOOCHABLE YOUR MUSE IS FROM 1-10

#please specify muse #please reblog from the source

[defectivexfragmented]

It was the third time Remy had asked the same question about him staying. Matt didn’t know how he didn’t realize it the second time, maybe it was the chaos of the night or him being so wrapped up in trying to defend himself from his own emotions. His hand being placed back over Remy’s heart brought his racing thoughts to a screeching halt and for a moment he was speechless, lips parted as if to speak but no sound came out.

How was he supposed to say anything when the heartbeat he had thought had ceased to exist was thrumming with life beneath his hand?

“Ugh…Remy, that is the third time you’ve asked me to stay and each time you’ve asked me I have assured you that I will stay.” Matt licked his lips, the feel of the heartbeat beneath his hand beginning to soften his sharp edges more than he liked. Part of him did not want to soften. He wanted his walls to stay up to protect him from the inevitable that was to come. They were tall and safe. Slowly, his hand began to pull back from its place on Remy’s chest to hold onto the bedside railing.

“What’s going on? I highly doubt you meant to planned to up in a coma with a broken leg.”

Getting Remy out of the back of the car was an obstacle to say the least, constantly worrying about him bumping his leg into the door or falling on it. It was the first time in the past hour Matt had felt an emotion other than anger, fear, and relief...and it was appreciated. A short reprieve from himself and his own mind. Once in the wheelchair, Remy grabbed his hand before Matt could even consider the thought of leaving, which he hadn't. The Cajun would probably have to be strapped down to the bed for him to even step out to use the bathroom or grab a coffee. He had no intention of pushing the subject either way, figuring Remy was simply doing what he needed to do at the moment to get through this. No different than what Matt was doing.

Matt gave the poor nurse an apologetic look after Remy gave her a small scare with glare and firm declaration, grateful when she didn’t argue it and began pushing him into the hospital to be checked back in.

Only when Remy was back in the hospital bed and hooked up to an array of monitors along with an IV did the lawyer finally feel himself begin to breathe again, a weight suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He stood beside the bed with his cane out, resting in front of him while the nurse finished her work and left, though not without shooting the two of them a look that made it clear she was not pleased with him being there.

“You’re not getting out of that bed again until the doctor says you can. And don’t give the doctor or nurses anymore attitude, I’m breaking the rules by being here. I can always go home and come back in the morning during visiting hours. It’s a short cab ride. Not a big deal.” Matt spoke softly, still standing next to the bed. “Have the painkillers kicked in yet?”

#dramatisperscnae #muse: matthew - let the devil out - murdock #I’m sorry it’s so short

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source: rogue & gambit (2023) #2, written by stephanie phillips and illustrated by carlos gómez.

#omg i love them so much

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"You're rude." Grumbling, Clint reached to grab the mini trash can and set it down between his splayed legs. It was the perfect spot in case he was sick while also still able to keep a wary eye on the winter soldier. Hopefully the fact Barnes thought he was about to be sick would continue to keep him at a safe distance. No one was that desperate to kidnap someone to be willing to step into the line of fire of a drunken man. His stomach twisted and churned against his will but somehow he managed to keep everything down. Though he didn’t know just how much longer it would last.

Money wasn’t exactly an object to him. He had a sizable nest egg from his time with SHIELD and then there was the income from the apartment he had inherited. But every time he used an atm to take out cash or used his debit card, Natasha or Tony would be hot on his tail. ATM’s would only allow him to withdraw so much at a time and going into a bank would reveal his identity, again bringing the rest of the Avengers down on him. Having extra cash on hand would solve some of his problems.

“How much money are we talkin’?” Groaning, Clint sat with his elbows on the thin edges on the small trashcan with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, hands holding his head above it just in case. “I’m just sayin’ it better be a good amount if I’m gonna have to put up with your cheerful ass with whatever we’re doin’ on this so called mission of yours.”

He knew he didn’t have much of a choice at this point; Natasha was less than half a day behind him and he was far too drunk to drive, let alone walk in a somewhat straight line in a pathetic getaway attempt

The first moment he got the chance, when Natasha wasn’t watching him like a damn hawk - he did not miss the irony there, he ran. As far and as fast as he could manage. Using every trick he knew to throw the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. off of his scent, taking only what was absolutely necessary to survive, which was mainly several changes of clothes and his bow. It was the one thing he couldn’t leave behind, the only thing that helped stave off the panic attacks. He didn’t trust himself after what Loki did to his mind, how could he ask anyone else to?

Two years. For two years, Clint somehow managed to avoid being caught while making his way up and down the California coast, staying in an almost constant state of drunk while doing so. Being drunk was the only thing now that kept the panic attacks and nightmares at bay. Kept him from feeling Loki’s presence as if he was standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder, just waiting to whisper orders into his ear again. Kept the image of Phil Coulson lying dead out of his mind.

Another gulp of his beer. The burner cell phone on the bar countertop pinged as the screen lit up.

[text]: Clint, it’s time to come home. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. Please.

Nat. It had been three months since she last texted him. But in her defense, he  had also gone through four burner cell phones in that time just to try to throw her off. Somehow she caught up to him again. A heavy sigh and he finished off the beer, threw down a twenty on the countertop for the bartender, scooped up his cell then reluctantly slid off the bar stool. His legs felt disconnected underneath his weight, as if they were only receiving half of the signals from his brain. He stumbled a bit but  righted himself, relieved to find himself in such a blissed out state of numb. This was exactly where he wanted to live, detached and anesthetized to the world. The television on the wall in the corner of the bar suddenly picked at his wound, a reporter bringing up an old story of the missing Avenger.

At first when he disappeared, it was all over the news. “The Missing Avenger”, with his face plastered right next to the headline. It was everywhere. He didn’t know how no one spotted him the first six months. Though over the past two years, the story had become less popular and in poor taste, most now believing he was dead. Except for Nat, apparently. It would have been for the best if  everyone thought he was dead because it was how he felt. For what he did…There were somethings that should just stay dead but every once in awhile, some news station brings up the past about how he was still missing despite the Avengers’ efforts to find him.

Somehow Clint found himself in the parking lot of the shit hole motel he had been staying at for the past week. Or at least, he thought it was a week. It could have been longer. Another ping from his phone but this time he didn’t bother to look at it. Instead he let it slid from his fingers and into the gutter, watching it bounce slightly before falling between the metal grate and into the sewer. Let Nat chase that for awhile.

It took longer than he was willing to admit, along with falling down several times along the way, but he managed to make it to his room, struggling with the key to the point where it was borderline embarrassing before finally making it inside. He unceremoniously fell face first onto the bed and closed his blurry eyes. Did he remember to close the door behind him? To lock it? There was a resolve that he needed to get up and check it, yet his body refused to agree with him. The heavy call of sleep was too demanding to deny, wholeheartedly giving into it as he allowed himself to be lulled to sleep.

@vvaywardangel

#vvolfstare #muse: clint - the human disaster - barton #alcoholism tw #~ queue and i remember budapest very differently ~

[defectivexfragmented]

In all his right mind, Clint didn’t know if Brock received his text message. The Commander could have been on a mission with his phone off or he was sent to a location with no cell service. There was the possibility his phone was broken. Dropped on his way to a training session with Rollins or maybe in another fight with Davis. Or there was the more damning idea that the text had been seen but Brock did not care enough to bother coming for him.

It took a minute for the recognition to kick in; the archer staring blankly at him for a long quiet moment with the length of belt still between his teeth and the tips of the pliers buried in his calf. He swore he had locked the door before he set up the space on the bed. Maybe that was the fever. Was it possible he was hot enough to be at the point of hallucinating?

“Brock?” Jumbling the name, the belt fell from between his lips with the realization Brock was actually standing there at the bedside. “You here?! You came?!” An odd mixture of disbelief and relief laced his tone while being written across his face at the same time, a smile curling his eerie pale lips. Blood tipped pliers dropped his trembling hands with the unsure motion of reaching out to grab the Commander’s arm with a weak squeeze, as if to physically confirm he was standing there.

He wanted to dive off the bed and wrap his arms around him, though he was sure he didn't have the strength to do so. The infection wrecking utter havoc on his body and part of him it was going too far, his lack of a spleen making it harder for his body to fight back. It's what pushed him to do the drastic. To try to remove the source of the infection from his leg with a questionable pair of pliers and a bottle of booze.

“There’s something in the wound on my leg. I-I was trying to get it out with,” A short pause to pick up the pliers again off of the blood splattered towel and held them out for Brock with a pleading look in his eyes. “It’s making me sick…whatever is in the wound is making me sick and I need to get it out. If you can't, I can do it myself. I just need to get it out. Now.”

The text had contained only one word and a set of coordinates before his phone died but Clint hoped it would be enough for Brock to know what a dire situation he must be in for him to have sent it in the first place. His mission had gone horribly wrong. He knew it was his fault, not paying attention to his surroundings when he had his target in his sights. Sharp teeth bit down into his calf, his grip on the string of the bow loosened and the arrow released as his leg was ripped out from beneath him and he was dragged backwards into the jungle brush, down a small embankment into a river.

Even after Clint still managed to catch up and put an arrow through his target, limping his way back to the closest town with a motel. The Congo wasn't the safest of countries to visit and with a particular "general" now removed from his position of power by an arrow, the civil unrest was high. He'd have to wait a few days for the public to calm down before trying to leave the country, not wanting to risk getting caught at the airport. But with how quickly the fever set in, it quickly became apparent he wasn't going to get out on his own. A phone call to Coulson proved to be fruitless, finding himself shocked and hurt to hear he was on his own.

Clint gave it a day before he broke and texted Brock; help and the coordinates. Or at least, he thought it had been a day. He wasn't sure exactly. Sleeping off the fever wasn't helping and with his phone dead, it was easy to lose track of time.

Waiting was no longer an option. His fever was far too high despite the Tylenol he had taken, though there had only been a few travel packets at the bottom of his bag and he went through them quickly. Blonde hair was soaked in sweat and matted down from his forehead, his skin pale and clammy even with the chills that racked his body. His calf was swollen, red, and worryingly hot to the touch, little red lines radiating out from the largest of the wounds while pus built up. Then there was the pain. There was something buried inside that wound in particular, he was sure of it. The few other small holes left behind by the crocodile's teeth were steadily becoming infected as well but nothing compared the largest wound.

In his fever induced desperation, Clint decided it would best to remove whatever was in the wound as quickly as possible. There was no knowing if Brock would reach him in time. He didn't even know if the strike commander received the text. There was always the chance the strike team had been sent away on assignment. Or that Brock came to his senses and didn't think Clint was worth the trouble.

A bent wire clothes hanger, needle nose pliers, a lighter, two bottles of cheap bourbon, a leather belt,as many clean towels he get could from the front desk of the motel, and bowl of questionable water were his tools. How hard could it be?

The rope was rinsed before being tied off right below the knee. A few mouthfuls of bourbon and Clint moved to clean the pliers and wire hanger with the liquor in an attempt to sterilize them. Another mouthful...and then one more for good measure. The belt was placed between his teeth so he could push through the pain and keep working. He took a deep shaky breath before pouring some of liquor over the wound, doing his best to stifle the scream at the intense pain.

Blood and pus were splattered over the white towels the archer had spread out over the bed beneath him, wiping the sweat off of his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. His hands weren't steady, the fever causing them to be weak and tremble. But he had no other choice, situating himself carefully on the bed so he would have the most light and easiest access to the wound on the back of his calf. Teeth bite down hard into the piece of leather as he plunged the pliers into the wound.

@crossxxbones

#crossxxbones #muse: clint - the human disaster - barton #injury tw #~ queue and i remember budapest very differently ~

[defectivexfragmented]

how am I supposed to write with him staring at me like this?!

#ooc

[defectivexfragmented]

Getting Remy out of the back of the car was an obstacle to say the least, constantly worrying about him bumping his leg into the door or falling on it. It was the first time in the past hour Matt had felt an emotion other than anger, fear, and relief...and it was appreciated. A short reprieve from himself and his own mind. Once in the wheelchair, Remy grabbed his hand before Matt could even consider the thought of leaving, which he hadn't. The Cajun would probably have to be strapped down to the bed for him to even step out to use the bathroom or grab a coffee. He had no intention of pushing the subject either way, figuring Remy was simply doing what he needed to do at the moment to get through this. No different than what Matt was doing.

Matt gave the poor nurse an apologetic look after Remy gave her a small scare with glare and firm declaration, grateful when she didn’t argue it and began pushing him into the hospital to be checked back in.

Only when Remy was back in the hospital bed and hooked up to an array of monitors along with an IV did the lawyer finally feel himself begin to breathe again, a weight suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He stood beside the bed with his cane out, resting in front of him while the nurse finished her work and left, though not without shooting the two of them a look that made it clear she was not pleased with him being there.

“You’re not getting out of that bed again until the doctor says you can. And don’t give the doctor or nurses anymore attitude, I’m breaking the rules by being here. I can always go home and come back in the morning during visiting hours. It’s a short cab ride. Not a big deal.” Matt spoke softly, still standing next to the bed. “Have the painkillers kicked in yet?”

Every step was agonizing to listen to, able to hear the broken bone groaning with each move Remy made. The sound made Matt cringe inwardly but he said nothing, only doing his best to keep as much of Remy's weight off of the injured leg. There was a brief moment of reprieve when they finally reached the street but it was quickly dashed with their rideshare arriving, his heart sinking with the realization the injured Cajun still needed to get inside the car.

Matt didn't even notice how tight Remy's arm was around his shoulders until the rideshare started to head for the hospital. It is in a moment of calm, his brow pinching in the middle with how only an hour before he thought he would never feel the man's embrace again. Hear the gentle yet fiery thrum of his heartbeat or the velvety smoothness of his voice. Feel the way his body came alive when Remy used his abilities near him. How everything would suddenly be right in the world when he kissed him.

"Hm?" Snapping out of his thoughts, his head tilted slightly to the side curiously, trying to recall what had been asked of him since his mind had been elsewhere. "Ugh, yeah...I was planning on staying with you. Make sure you remained in bed this time." He tried to tease but his voice was soft and detached, as if he was still somewhere far away.

In reality, he was just trying to keep his head above water and not allow himself to be overrun by his emotions when Remy still needed his help.

The rest of the car ride Matthew was silent and uninvolved, but he didn't pull away from half embrace, simply content to sit there with the arm around him. He fought against his emotions and found himself grateful when they finally arrived, wasting no time in climbing out of the car with a firm "wait there". Keeping a hand on the trunk, he rounded the car to the side to Remy's door and opened it, holding out a hand to help him out.

"Take your time. We're in no rush."

#dramatisperscnae #muse: matthew - let the devil out - murdock

[defectivexfragmented]

Angry Matt Murdock I am on my knees for you 🛐