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fixitforever · 1 year

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hold them gently (these confessions) P.2

Summary: When she awakes, the world is different. Matt Murdock, however, is still the same grounding presence he's always been. And if he's a little protective of her, well... she isn't going to complain.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (she/her); fluff, pining, mystery, suspense.

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of violence/crime

Words: 4,035

Part 1 here

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"This is all so fucked."

Over the three minutes or so that she'd been awake, those were the clearest words she'd been able to make out. She was in bed, everything was soft, and there were people arguing in another room. Her eyes had yet to open. Unsure of what she'd see when they did, she elected to keep quiet and keep focusing. Whatever it took to shut it all out. Everything. Anything. Whatever wasn't happening now, her mind forced away into a box and buried it deeper than one would a time capsule.

"Foggy, keep your voice down."

It was harsher than she'd ever heard Karen speak in the year and change that she'd known her. She could guess the reason behind it, and she shoved that away too. A fortress. A lone island at sea. A long-lost and half-finished chapstick tube. Perhaps if she thought of all easily dismissed and forgotten things, the knowledge of what happened would become one with them.

"She can't hear me. She's out cold. Do you know why? Because Matt knocked her out. I found him, holding her. They were covered in blood and next to them was carnage, so don't tell me to keep my voice down, Karen!"

A violent door slam wrenched her eyes open. She heard footsteps. Bags clattering to the floor. A chair screeching against wood.

"She can hear you. She's awake. So, keep your voice down."

Her breath hitched before she corrected it hastily, not wanting any reminders of her earlier circumstances. The left side of her head throbbed painfully against a cool, damp cloth. Matt had placed it there. Her fingers were resting against something cool and plush. His sheets. His bed. His apartment.

He likes silk. Prefers it.

The panel door in her peripheral vision slid open quietly, her head following the motion until it was angled towards the entrance of the bedroom. The skin of her cheek brushed against the silk of the pillow.

It's not the one he sleeps on, or one that anybody sleeps on.

It was brand new — much like the outfit he was now wearing, and the absence of red glasses on the bridge of his nose. She'd never seen him in athleisure before.

Neither of them said anything. Then, with steps that fell harder than they should have, Karen brushed past him and hurriedly approached the bed. She tensed on instinct.

"Don't touch her!"

The blonde woman jumped — either in surprise or incredulity, she didn't know. She'd never heard the soft-spoken attorney raise his voice or use that tone. Whether she was imagining things or not, Karen's glower didn't seem to be entirely lost on Matt. However, no apology was issued. Awkwardness settled in for what she presumed would be a long stay.

Matthew shifted in place, at last gesturing for Karen to take a seat at the foot of the bed if she was inclined. She wasn't. But, nothing could deter her from continuing to skewer Matt with her gaze like he was a rotisserie chicken she'd throw to the dogs. He cleared his throat.

"I couldn't find your gloves, so I got you these."

The closer he stepped to the bed, the more she was seduced into a trance by the odd circumstances. It was not a long distance, but he traversed it differently than the way she was used to seeing him move. She told herself it was because of the familiarity of the space, even while she knew it was untrue. There were too many things happening. One at a time, before you're right back where you started.

Clutched delicately in Matt's left hand was a pair of blush pink gloves that she could guess the price of simply by looking. They were much longer than any of her normal pairs — opera gloves, they called them — and the texture of the fabric invited an eager touch on sight. Or it would have, if she didn't feel so strange with Karen watching their every move.

Sitting up slowly, she shuffled out from beneath the covers and gently caught the damp cloth before it fell into her lap.

"Um— "

"Here," Matt said, nimbly reaching forward and taking the cloth from her by its opposite end. The gesture left no doubt in her mind. He told Karen not to touch her. Growled it, almost. He got her new gloves. He was careful not to touch her himself.

It was both soothing and terrifying.

"Karen, would you give us some space, please?" Matt asked. He was a lot more polite this time, but Karen bristled at his words.

"Oh, you need space? Well Foggy and I need answers, Matt. A man showed up at our office covered in blood, and now he's— "

"Shut up."

The harsh command tensed the muscles of several people in the room.

"He's what?" she asked quietly.

Karen and Matt were engaged in a stand-off too intense to respond, both looking like they were holding back biting words. The blonde's hands were in tight fists by her side. Matt's jaw seemed in danger of breaking from the pressure he was applying.

"What happened to him?" she tried again, chaotic images swimming at the edge of her vision. They were ready to wander in and splatter the walls of her mind with every shade of red imaginable.

"He came to. Looked around. Then he took a pen, ran it through an eye and into his brain."

Everyone turned to Foggy as he came to stand in the doorway, hands in his pockets and expression severe yet unreadable. A moment barely went by before Matt was veering his head towards the blonde, raising an accusatory finger with a scowl.

"I told you to— "

"You've told me nothing, Matt! I watched a man kill himself on the floor of our office! The whole place smelled like the slaughterhouse my uncle used to take me to when I was twelve, but that wasn't pig's blood! It was a person's blood. Someone that died there. And you haven't told me anything besides 'shut up' and 'keep quiet' and 'we'll talk when she wakes up'. Well, now she's up. And I want answers!" Foggy raged at his friend.

The time capsule she tried so hard to bury sprang from the earth at breakneck speed, spilling all its contents in the process. Red came flooding back.

"He killed five people."

It was her turn to push all the air out of the room, and she could feel everyone's attention on her as she picked at the top of Matt's silk duvet cover. Her hands were clean, though she remembered them being bathed in crimson. She couldn't be sure if they'd been or not, flashes of someone else's fingers dancing around her mind.

"His name is — was… Arthur. Um, Arthur Gregsby. Before he showed up at the office, he hacked up five people over three hours. He cut them. Burned them. One of them, he drowned in a sink. Another, he lowered into a pool of acid. A third, he kept alive while he removed limbs. The other two he buried inside coffins that he filled with rats."

Nothing. No one had anything to add. She continued on shallow breath, eyes closed.

"The oldest was a seventy-two year old woman. Brown eyes. Gray hair. She had a… a wedding ring on." She'd already been missing a finger. She was going to miss more. "The youngest— "

"Sweetheart, stop," Matt implored.

"The youngest was a fifteen year old boy and I can still hear him screaming."

Endless seconds of shuffling preceded a firm closing of the thin panel separating the living and bedroom areas of Matt's apartment. The space fell silent for much longer than she was comfortable with, or maybe time flowed differently here — a place she'd always wanted to be, but not like this.

"Here."

His voice being so unexpectedly close managed to pull a startled gasp from her lips, but she suppressed it before it could devolve into a cry. Her eyes flew open as he placed the gloves he'd been holding on top of the duvet she was fiddling with. They were no longer pristine, ugly wrinkles scattered where he'd grasped them harshly. She traced the edge of one with a reluctant finger, unsure if feeling nothing was preferable to feeling what she was now. His surroundings calmed her. His sheets smelled like him. They were an extension of his body; a way for her to hold on to something stable.

"Have you called the police?" It was a wonder she could still find it in herself to ask, but looking at him while she spoke? That was an entirely different beast.

"Foggy did. We both gave statements. They'll be wanting yours as well. I told them you passed out from shock." She breathed out. "Which… isn't a lie, is it?"

The way he asked. So sure of what he was saying. A tinge of sorrow colored his voice.

"You were scared almost to dea—"

The gloves were put on at lightning speed, and she was pulling on Matt's hand with even greater desperation as the images threatened to come back. Her motion chipped at his equilibrium, and he fell next to her with a small huff of surprise. His hands came up to grip her biceps, thumbs soothing the covered skin with gentle rubs. His face betrayed little other than a general anxiety, but it was his eyes that told her something of what he was hiding inside. They fell somewhere below her own gaze, murky with unshed tears.

"No. I wasn't scared. I'm scared now. Before, all I could feel was what he felt. Matt, I know how this is going to sound. And I know you have no reason to believe this, but— "

"Hey — stop for a second. We don't need to talk about this now. You're hurt. Why don't you rest for a while and we can take it slow?"

His words gave her pause, the throbbing at her temple making itself known once more. It had taken him pointing it out for her to even notice. It also made her think he didn't believe a word of what she said. Of course. He thought the blow to her head must’ve been the cause of all this. That she was making things up. The realization spiked her adrenaline.

Matt's hands tightened on her arms.

"I trust you. Completely. Please don't think I don't. But your heart almost stopped while you were in my arms just a few hours ago, and I think we both need some time to recover from that."

The creases that gathered at his eyes in the ensuing quiet made her lips tremble. She swallowed around a painful lump that threatened to cut off her air.

"I don't want to be alone."

If it sounded pathetic, she didn't care. It was only by virtue of his firm hold and steady presence that she remained anchored in the now. The briefest, smallest smile pulled his lips upwards.

"C'mere. I've got you,"

She went into him mindlessly, hiding her face in the collar of his hoodie as his arms enveloped her whole. A quick flash of hope blossomed in her chest as her cheek brushed his for a split second. I've got you.

She knew it was a promise.

Nearly five hours later, her feet at last swung over the edge of the bed in search of a shower. She was mostly clean; Matt had seen to it that the places she'd been grabbed were thoroughly cleansed and disinfected when he brought her to his house. She was lucky the man hadn't dug his nails in, what with the copious amounts of blood drenching every inch of his body. Still, a shower was what her body told her it needed, and Matt was quick to encourage it, leaving out a pair of sweats and an old Columbia hoodie that she guessed he'd chosen due to its smaller size. He'd filled out since then.

Now that her brain was starting to mellow out from the frenzy, it was getting easier to ask questions. Questions like how the man had made it all the way to Hell's Kitchen and into a law office without anyone noticing him. She couldn't remember everything. She barely knew what happened after Matt arrived and pulled him away from her. The sparse glimpses of places and times that she got when the man grabbed her were considerably drowned out by everything else he had experienced that day. Many other questions lingered just below the surface.

However, just because she could ask herself reasonable questions, it didn't mean there were answers at the ready for when Foggy inevitably started digging into her. He was still waiting in Matt's living room, whereas Karen had left hours ago when Matt announced their paralegal was going to be taking a nap. Point made. Non-negotiable. No inquiries until she rested. She couldn't sleep, but the timeout helped all the same, with Matt floating nearby and offering food along with grounding touches.

It was nice — being looked after with such care. If the situation had been different, she might've even gone as far as to say that she felt protected. The illusion was strong enough to warm her from the inside out. While Matt's intentions seemed very real, whatever protection he could offer her would only ever extend to the physical world. There was no fighting the demons or men drenched in blood inside her mind. But, the shower helped.

It helped until she closed her eyes and saw bruised hands grabbing at an electric saw as if they were her own. The buzzing in her ears blasted off so suddenly that she tripped and fell backwards, hitting the shower wall and creating a definitive ache in her shoulder. Moments later, as she shakily got up, a knock sounded at the door.

"Are you alright?" Matt's voice, though muffled by the shower and the bathroom room, allowed his concern to run clear.

"I fell. I'm — I'm ok," she called out, shaking the sound of bones cracking from her brain.

She quickly wrapped up the rest of the shower, despite a desire to wait for the water to run cold. Gloves back in place, she was tying the elastic of the sweats as tight as it would go when another flash burrowed itself behind her eyes. A rope that was being used to lower not one, but two caskets, slipped and chafed the hands of the man holding it. The thud of wood on damp soil preceded a muffled scream.

When she snapped out of it, the thin piece of string at her waistband was so tightly wrapped around her index finger that it was starting to turn the skin a different color. Her palms burned. She avoided her reflection in the mirror and left the bathroom before she could stare into the empty sink any longer, feeling the tingle of another flash like roiling ants beneath her skin.

Matt wasn't far away. He stood just at the end of the long hallway leading to his living room, holding two drinks. His gaze lingered in her general direction as he held an orange mug out to her, offering it with a careful smile. Traversing the small distance between them, she grasped it gently, mumbling what she hoped was a solid enough 'thank you' in return. If her voice shook, he made no mention of it.

Her grateful inhale of the cinnamon notes in the cocoa was abruptly soured by a voice laced with sarcasm.

"I ask you if you have hot chocolate every time I come over, and every time, you say no. Did you manifest it just for her?"

"No. I bought it."

Matt's blunt reply stirred a weak chuckle, but the other half of Nelson & Murdock was not amused. Standing behind the couch, Foggy fixed them both with a mildly threatening scowl. He seemed more tired than usual, hands anxiously kneading the back of the sofa like a disgruntled cat. She watched as Matt approached his friend and silently held out the other mug. Foggy's scowl deepened falsely. He was melting on the spot, yet trying to act tough.

"What, no mini marshmallows for me?"

She gazed down into her own cup. Pink and white fluffs filled it to the brim, nearly overflowing.

"You don’t like marshmallows," Matt replied, still holding the drink out.

"Well, I want some," his friend retorted stubbornly, glare intensifying.

She couldn't handle this.

"Here," she mumbled, quickly pacing over to them. Removing a glove by trapping it between her teeth, she gently shooed some of the fluffs into Foggy's mug, careful to avoid Matt's fingers at the edge of the rim.

It was quiet. Foggy took turns narrowing his eyes at both of them, until finally, blessedly, he accepted Matt's offering.

"I want you to know — if she wasn't here, I'd be yelling at you," Foggy declared.

"Well, in that case, please stay," Matt said, angling his head towards her with the hint of a smile. It shouldn't have made her go as soft as the treats in her cup, but combined with the words he uttered, it made for a light fluttering of her stomach.

She was used to this sort of interaction from the two law partners, but her being talked about in this manner, as if she were to be given special treatment — that was relatively new. Foggy and Matt were both wonderful to work with, and while she felt they all shared a closeness exceeding their professional relationship, today was likely to have changed all that. Over a year of diligently trying to fit in, to be normal, to make a new life for herself doing good things… it was all going to crumble sooner or later.

As if in sync with her morose thoughts, Foggy took a seat at Matt's kitchen table and set his mug down with a resounding thud. She jerked involuntarily, gnawing on her bottom lip. She was right. It was all crashing down.

Then, a deep sigh almost deflated Foggy's entire being as a mumbled apology somewhat relaxed her shoulders. She watched him curiously, fingers tightening around the mug and lips itching for a sip she was too scared to take, even if it would calm her nerves.

"Look… this is a mess. I think we all know that, so no beating around the bush. Whatever this is with you, I need to know. I'm sorry these are the circumstances we're in, but you need to tell us right now— "

"She doesn't need to do anything, Foggy," Matt interrupted. It was strange to see him move as he was, almost shielding her from his friend's view, but she chalked it up to his uncanny sense of coordination. She again had a feeling it wasn't quite the whole truth, but more pressing matters were at hand.

"Look, Matt. I know what she means to you. I get it. But we both heard what we heard, alright? She knew that man's name. What he did. In an abundance of detail. He killed five people, according to her, and then himself! I think we're past skirting around the fact that there's something going on here!"

I know what she means to you.

For some reason, those were the only words her mind could accept and focus on as Matt reeled a court-worthy reply at his friend. In the background of her attention, they kept exchanging arguments.

What did she mean to him? What had Foggy meant by that? He and Matt were the best of friends. They'd known each other for over a decade. Friends knew things about each other — deep, intimate secrets. To hear Foggy make mention of what felt like one of Matt's secrets, especially when it involved her, was a dizzying experience under present conditions. He'd been undeniably protective of her since she woke up.

And… and before, even. The more she thought about it, the faster memories started trickling back. When he came into the office and ripped the man away from her, beating him into the ground like he'd done it a million times before. His motions were precise, calculated. It was not an act of self-defense, erratic and driven by emotion. It was practiced. Second nature, almost. He knew how to fight. He was doing it now, albeit verbally. She knew where he got the practice for his oral sparring; he was a marvel to witness in court. But the relentless assault of his fists was learned too, and she once again pushed away knowledge that lingered at the edge of her consciousness.

She wasn't going to be the cause of their row. Whatever became of their friendship and of her future at the firm, she wouldn't be the culprit for broken relationships again.

"It's called tactile cognition," she spoke over them both, a small crack in her voice that she quickly cleared away. The room went abruptly quiet. She forced herself to speak before she lost the nerve. "It's… an ability. I was born with it. When I touch things, I see a whole… history of them. Where they came from. How they were made. Who handled them. And when I touch people…" she paused, trailing off in the hope that it might help her gather enough courage. She wouldn't look at either of the men whose attention was fixed on her.

"When I touch people, I see everything they've seen. I know what they've thought, what they've done, where they've been. I feel everything they feel. It's uncontrollable and overwhelming. That's why I need these," she explained, holding up her free hand to call attention to the gloves she was starting to sweat in. It was more for Foggy's benefit. She knew Matt had likely figured it out from before. He got her this pair, after all.

Foggy blew out what sounded like an incredulous scoff, but still she didn't look up. Silence stretched on for what felt like hours. It was broken by the most unlikely statement.

"Great, now there's two of you," Foggy muttered.

That made her head snap from its downward position and straight to the blonde, who was instead looking at the other man and cringing away from him. With good reason, too, because Matt was almost snarling at him in the next second.

"Foggy!"

"Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry, I just thought… You know, since we're all sharing— "

"It's not yours to share!"

"You said you were gonna tell her anyway— "

"Yes, me. I was going to, not you!"

"Well, you took your sweet time with it and look where we are!"

That seemed to make Foggy's mouth clamp shut, eyes going wide as if disbelieving of what he'd just said. As proof that her judgment was correct, a moment later he was parting his lips to speak again, brows pulling together in an apologetic grimace.

"Before you go all Catholic-guilt on me, I only meant that we could've all been in the know with each other and today would've gone a lot smoother."

The gaps in knowledge had become unbearable. No one was saying anything about what she'd just confessed to. Both attorneys seemed more concerned with a piece of information that hadn't been shared.

"In the know about what?" she finally asked, eyeing them both carefully. Matt had gone entirely stiff, as though someone encased him in an ice block to capture the world's most accurate portrayal of rageful fear. Fearful rage? Those were definitely the two most prominent emotions on his face, though which of them took precedence was still a mystery. His jaw was once again locked up, either to hold words in or to prepare to launch them with exceptional precision. He didn't get to do either.

"Matt's Daredevil."

With an exasperated sigh, the blonde threw his hands up, eyes rolling into the back of his head as if he knew what was coming. Another row picked up swiftly.

She looked between the two men with light apprehension, mouth drying up the longer it stayed open. Well. Her secret certainly didn't seem all that noteworthy anymore.

-to be continued-

A/N: Aaaah I'm so sorry but I wrote too many words again so I had to break up part 2 into two chapters. I'll post the last one a few hours after this one and it's going to be (finally) what everything's been leading up to. Thank you for sticking around!

Tags: @dielgonacoffee @sunflowersandsapphires @thespiderthatbitme @whourish @theetherealbloom

I know I said no tag list but since I broke it up again I figured it would be fair to let people know when the next part is up. If you'd like to be removed from the list, please let me know. Also, the strikethrough means I couldn't tag you. Thank you to those who reblogged/commented on the last one, I appreciate you and I hope you enjoy this one :) If anyone else would like to be tagged for the final part, all you have to do is reblog this one. Please don't ask to be tagged if you don't even interact with the story.

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fixitforever · 1 year

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hold them gently (these confessions)

Summary: Matt has ways of experiencing the world around him beyond an ordinary person’s capacity. What he comes to find, as he struggles with them, is that Nelson & Murdock’s new paralegal also has a way of seeing more than what's in front of her.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (she/her); fluff, pining, mystery, suspense.

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of violence/crime

Words: 6,429

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The gloves were a mystery.

Out of winter and into a brief spring New York went, yet the mellow rustle of fabric against everything she touched did not fade. In all fairness, Matt had known even during the cold months that wearing a pair of satin gloves indoors was unusual. He and Foggy were no longer struggling to pay the bills at their law practice, and they hadn't been for nearly two years. The office was toasty warm and temperature-controlled, courtesy of the sophisticated heating system his partner insisted on purchasing last September. It was not an issue of climate.

His friend wanted to ask about them — had tried to ask, in fact, when Matt stopped him with a gentle but firm hand on the blonde's shoulder. It wasn't any of their business, and perhaps Matt was more sensitive to others' quirks and peculiarities, but Foggy showed his kind side too when he later apologized to their new associate.

She made an interesting addition to their firm.

Matt was no stranger to people's unconscious tells that they were dishonest; with each beat of their heart that skipped, and every uneven tempo their fingers drummed on his desk as they talked, he was unequivocally clued in to which of their potential clients were untrustworthy. The truth in itself, however, remained a matter of discovery.

Not to her. She always seemed to know things Matt could not divine with all the strength of his combined senses, because he was not a mind reader. He wondered if she was. In a world of strangeness and larger-than-life abilities, something like that would not be entirely out of place. He doubted it, given her calm pulse when Foggy, taking a more subtle route than usual, suggested it as a joke over drinks at Josie's. She denied it with a small laugh, yet said no more on the subject. How she'd known where to find the key evidence to their latest case was still a fascinating puzzle, though not one that would be solved by guessing games. But, he knew in his heart, the gloves were a part of it.

She never took them off. As April made itself known, the signature friction of paper and satin continued playing on in the background of the office, its soothing presence always inviting a degree of relaxation for him. He used to tell himself it was the sound alone, and not the person creating it, that lay at the center of the calm. As much as he depended on it, his hearing could sometimes lead him astray. Matt's focus was not a monolith; more often than not, it resembled a carefully put together Jenga tower. He could still function without all the starting pieces; what he couldn't do was pretend they weren't there. He missed Foggy's quiet sighs and coffee sips when he worked from home, he missed Karen's strong heartbeat when a challenging case presented itself and made her brain spin with possibilities — he even missed his own baseline noises whenever he got trapped inside his mind so tightly that he went deathly still for minutes on end. Whenever that happened, a soft rustling of satin always brought him out of it without fail.

She hadn't missed a day of work thus far. Despite Foggy's pleas and Karen's quiet insistence, she remained the first to arrive and was usually the last to leave. And although Matt agreed with their intentions and preferred it if she took a break as well, he was also… familiar with this brand of stubbornness. He didn't know precisely what it was, but he was certain that work ethic did not suffice as an explanation.

Still, he would be lying if he pretended not to enjoy her constant presence at the office. Growing used to it over the fourteen months she'd been with them, Matt would also say there was something different about how she fit into the world around him. Some people had a way of standing out by making themselves as loud and bright as possible. He didn't have to have use of his vision to tell that Karen and Foggy brightened up any room they walked into, attracting the curious gaze of both friend and foe. Others, however, blended in so much that they inadvertently stood out. Quietly making themselves as small as possible, they excelled at doing something the other type of people could never imagine: being invisible. The jury was still out on which category she best fit into, but Matt was not an impartial man. Especially when it came to her.

If he felt a sort of kinship with the shy paralegal, that was his cross to bear. No amount of prodding from Foggy or side-eye he could feel in his bones from Karen would loosen his lips with regard to the late nights they spent in each other's company. There was nothing to say — nothing scandalous anyway — but it still felt too private to mention to either of his friends. Matt wasn't in the habit of revealing information, even innocuous bits and pieces that were told to him in confidence. He wasn't as good a lawyer as he'd like to be, but he was a steadfast friend. At least now that Foggy and Karen had taught him several lessons in teamwork.

He couldn't help feeling like he and she made their own private team: always in agreement, one way or another. Parsing over case files, they both pointed out things the others missed. Listening to Foggy read his opening statements, they both interjected with similar suggestions. Interviewing clients, in particular, made for exceptional synchronicity between them. She followed his line of questioning without issue, and though Matt prided himself on being observant beyond normal bounds, there were things she picked up on that he struggled to understand the origin of. They took their coffee the same way, and they both ate at Nonna's for their weekend specials. Mind reading theory dismissed, other options didn't hesitate to make themselves at home during downtime.

Maybe she's your long lost twin, Foggy had joked one exasperating afternoon. Matt had been complaining to his friend about their latest client — how everything about the woman made his skin crawl with the itch to tell her to find another firm who'd represent her. She was a confessed murderer, and worst of all an unrepentant one. Butchering her husband sparked no guilt in her chest, and her heart remained at ease when telling the attorneys about her crime. Matt left the interview straight for Josie's that evening, and several drinks later his skin had barely stopped bristling at her crude descriptions of what she'd done.

At least, that's what he thought was the cause of his distress, and not their colleague's insistence that Nelson & Murdock not abandon her case. The way she pleaded with Matt outside the police station, a gloved hand on his arm and panicked voice almost begging, nearly made the lawyer see her differently. Why would she plead for a cold-blooded killer? Unknown. Not at the time, anyway. It wasn't until the trial began and a hired gun tried to murder their client that everything came to light. Her husband had been a sex trafficker for the better part of a decade, working his way through the ranks without her knowledge. The night she found out was the same night that one of his victims killed him.

He'd kept her in a soundproofed room beneath their garage — his personal playground. That was enough for fifty-five year old Maura Sanders to make a resolute decision. Hiding the circumstances of her husband's murder had been an effort to ensure that the young woman who put an end to his crimes wouldn't be punished. It was also a way of trying to protect her from the trafficking ring's vengeance. She had to disappear.

Maura, it turned out, was a devout Catholic. Sleeping in the same bed with a monster and caring for his home while he did what he did inflicted a guilt so deep that prison would be nothing compared to the knowledge she now lived with. Her heart was not weighed down by the lie she sought to protect, and taking on the sentence for a crime she didn't commit hardly scared her. She had learned the hard way that there were worse fates out there.

Now you know what it feels like to have someone beg you to go against every instinct you've ever had, Foggy drunkenly joked the night after Court was adjourned. Assassination attempts tended to slow cases down right before they expedited them. There was cause for celebration.

Matt grumbled something about talking to him later before exiting the crowded bar, ears trained on the rapid heartbeat of their elusive associate who'd left moments prior. He'd known something was wrong by the way her fingers trembled over her phone's screen. He could recognize a panic attack by more than sound, and at the time all the signs were pointing to her needing help, yet when he rounded the corner into an alleyway to find her desperately trying to pacify a young girl, Matt's world was once again warped by false impressions.

He'd known who the young girl was on instinct. The only missing piece in Maura's story.

Witness protection was not hard to obtain for Emily Durant, but what had been more than difficult was explaining how Nelson & Murdock's paralegal encountered the nineteen year old who killed the man that made her life a living torture. Telling a judge that their associate offered up her home to the girl was out of the question, even if the murder had been in self-defense. Luckily for them, Emily was willing to lie. She was willing to do a lot more for the person who, in her words, got her her life back.

They never really spoke about it. Not in detail. She refused to tell him anything, and even offered her resignation if the lawyer felt like he could not accept her unwillingness to reveal how she knew what she knew.

Although it frustrated Matt to no end, understanding where she came from was effortless. They both knew things others didn't, and neither of them could explain it, for reasons he suspected weren't entirely different from one another's. He figured he was the only one of the pair to stalk around on rooftops, but it made them no less alike. No less bonded over things they hid in shadows.

Her determination to help people at significant personal cost was impossible to argue with, should he want to avoid the label of hypocrite. It made him equal parts curious and soft — nearly the right blend to entice him into honesty about his own secrets.

He almost came clean once. That Christmas, in fact — their first one together as they shared a meal before the firm broke for the holidays. It was a night that still lingered close to the surface of his memory, her voice vulnerable while she tried her best to explain without really revealing anything. Maybe she was afraid of what they'd all think. He didn't want her to feel like she had to hide, especially when his other friends were already in the know about him and thus more than open to the possibility of another addition to their weird little family. But he didn't want to overstep. He didn't want to use his own secret as a bargaining chip, either. It felt cowardly to try and coax her into revealing information she wasn't ready to share. Or maybe, somewhere not as deep inside as it should have been, a sense of intimacy formed in Matt's mind from being the sole keeper of this peculiarity she had. The only one she trusted even partially with her… gift.

They'd been talking for the better part of an hour. No mention of work-related issues had even once been made, and the more at home she made herself in his apartment, the more he sank into the couch with wistful sighs he tried concealing. It was easy. Soothing. She was a balm to his frayed nerves from an overworked December at the same time that she lit up all his interest for the most obscure things. He could've listened to her explain the intricacies of mummification for the rest of the night, just as long as she kept talking to him the way she did. He was content. At ease. Almost peaceful, with the smell of Christmas dinner wafting around the place and facilitating ludicrous fantasies. Like how he'd like it if she were to come around more often.

"Don't eat that," she warned him suddenly, right as he was about to bring the fork to his lips and take a first bite of the crispy duck breast. He froze mid-motion, curiously angling his head in her direction as she got up from his couch.

"What is it?" he asked with a hint of amusement, though her demeanor had shifted from its previous carefree state.

"Just, uh…" she trailed off as she gently pried the takeout box from Matt's hands, shuffling to his kitchenette and promptly dumping both their meals into the trash.

"What's wrong?" he tried again, waiting patiently for her to come up with her usual almost-answers. He knew what this was. She sensed something that none of his abilities could pick up on. He heard her shift from one leg to the other as a frustrated sigh built up in her chest.

"It's… complicated. I just think, for our safety, it's best if we order something else. And maybe for other people's safety, we put in a call to the food health inspector," she finally said.

He was momentarily stunned into silence. His nose had told him nothing about the food they were going to consume. In fact, it smelled pretty good to him. The restaurant was new on the block, but nothing had alerted him to contamination when he went to pick up their pre-ordered food.

He was taking too long to answer, thinking of all the possibilities, and apparently she took that as a sign that perhaps she should not have said anything. When Matt heard her walking to the door, he called out in a panic that was more acute than expected.

"Please don't go. Whatever this is that… you feel you have to keep to yourself - Know that I'm not judging you. I could never do that. However you know what you know, it's safe with me."

You are safe with me, he'd wanted to say. He clipped his words at the last second, and the breath that got trapped in his lungs left as soon as she took a step back towards the couch. It was only the howling wind and swirling snow hitting the outside of his apartment complex that colored the world for a few moments while her heart slowed down. She hesitated before taking back her seat, though Matt couldn't be sure if she was, maybe, an inch of two closer than she'd been before. Her breathing slowed along with her pulse. She sighed inaudibly —and then a soft, muted pull of fabric crackled like thunder in his ear. His heart jumped in its cage.

"I'm… sure you've noticed. You usually pick up on so many things. Foggy's asked once or twice about them. My, uh — my gloves."

Matt listened intently, his small nod of encouragement drawing another sigh from her.

"If I didn't have these, I couldn't get out of bed. At all."

Her admission, spoken the way one confessed to a haunting dream, left the air between them heavier than it had been since the last time they saw Maura and Emily. Uncertainty lingered, but it didn't come from him. It was all of her anxiety that dug at the little space that separated them. He wanted it gone.

"You don't have to say more, if you don't want to. But if you do, please don't be scared. If anyone knows what it's like to need more than others do just to function, it's me. I promise."

The telltale sound of teeth biting into soft flesh betrayed her unease.

"It's not more. It's less," she said quietly, a strange damper twisting her usual tone.

"What do you mean?" Matt questioned, shifting briefly to open himself up more. He was always aware of how his body language translated to others, but most of all to her. She picked up on so many things, like she'd only just praised him for doing.

His efforts paid off as she started to relax into the conversation.

"I need less. I wish I could have… less. It's all so much, all the time. Input, I mean. When I touch things… It's overwhelming. These gloves take some of that away."

It sounded like something he could have said any day of the week since the accident. She didn't need to clarify something as effortless for him to understand as chaos, even if he didn't know all the details. Still, there was one thing he felt he wanted to say. To let her know she was not misunderstood, and most certainly not alone. Her statement echoed: the gloves took some of that away.

"But not everything."

A small, regretful noise bubbled out of her throat, and the next time she spoke, Matt could almost smell the fear biting at her neck and making the hands she always kept hidden clasp together with unease.

"No… Not everything."

In the four months since, they found themselves growing even closer than before. Or, at least, Matt did — though he was pretty sure it was reciprocal. He might've been a little rough around the edges, but he wasn't obtuse. They'd grown to a different level of trust since Christmas, and it showed in the way Foggy sulked around the office.

"I never see you anymore, Matt! It's Nelson and Murdock, and I am not open to sharing."

"Sharing?" Matt scoffed, incredulous.

"Yes! Sharing! As in, she gets ninety-five percent of your attention and I get scraps."

He laughed copiously as he poured his second coffee of the day, before the faint aroma of D'Elio's reached him and made his hands pause.

"Well, you'll be interested to know she's bringing us coffee, and that she got you your favorite egg sandwich from Hippolyta. So, maybe feel a little bad for talking about her behind her back," he jabbed with a smile.

"And what'd she get you? Birthday cake?" Foggy mocked, stalking back to his office.

"Nothing," Matt answered honestly.

Foggy's eyes cast a brilliant glower that singed him through his suit.

"It's because you're going to lunch together, isn't it?"

Matt's grin told the blonde everything he needed to know.

"When the divorce papers are slid under your door, then you'll be sorry, Murdock."

His raucous laugh almost startled the paralegal into dropping all the coffees as soon as she stepped through the door.

It felt good. It was nice. Strange, even - how people were clamoring for his company and attention. Matt wasn't used to being missed, and he definitely wasn't used to being fought over. Well, maybe fighting wasn't quite what was happening; Foggy was being territorial, as Karen graciously explained, and Matt wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the concept. It was just that Foggy normally did that whenever he felt like his best friend was becoming romantically involved with one individual or another. And that wasn't the case here.

It wasn't.

So what, if he'd been letting himself slip up more and more often in her presence, showing he was capable of things even sighted people couldn't do? So what, if he pulled her out of the way of falling construction equipment as they were leaving the office two weeks ago? That was non-negotiable and unavoidable. He wasn't going to let her get hurt to keep his secret.

What was not so unavoidable, perhaps, was pulling her under an awning right before the skies opened up violently and unexpectedly one night, his coat secured around her shoulders.

He also didn't have to call her from the office to tell her to get out of the cab she'd just taken to the Courthouse using an excuse that he'd forgotten some documents. He could smell the liquor on the driver's breath from inside the building. It was faint and likely from the night before, but still. He didn't want to risk it. He wasn't willing to risk anything when it came to her.

And if there were vague hints she might've been catching on, he wasn't going to complain. He wasn't going to grumble about how she sensed his mood changes when he came into the office after a shitty night as the Devil, because she always knew when he needed to be left alone and when he needed a distraction. He wasn't going to be mad at the way she took care to filter through potential clients each morning and send the ones who'd be an assault on his senses into Foggy's office first.

He certainly didn't utter a word of complaint when she berated the cashier at Pio's for trying to give him back a twenty dollar bill when he was supposed to get a fifty as change. Matt had known about it as soon as he was handed the cash. The man's heart pounded inside his chest and there was a faint trace of perspiration on the bill. What Matt hadn't known was how quickly — and thoroughly — she'd come to his defense.

"Matt," she complained as he pulled her outside the shop, more than content to have an excuse for holding her hand.

"Come on, it isn't worth it," he told her, putting his wallet away and struggling to hide his smile.

"It is to me. You should've let me talk to him."

"You did. I don't think he'll ever try something like that again," he reassured her gently, failing to conceal his amusement.

"How do you know he won't?"

Because I heard his heart stop when you said his mother would be ashamed of him, he thought.

"I just have a feeling. I'm pretty good at reading people," was what he instead said.

Her sigh filled the air with the scent of mango gum drops, a favorite of hers that Matt recently learned was only available at this particular bodega.

"Yeah, I know you are. But still — "

"Why does it bother you so much?" he interrupted, unable to hold back. He wanted to know. He needed he know if it was just —

"It's not pity, if that's what you think. It's not about the money, either. I mean, the firm's doing pretty good," she tried to joke, though it felt more like stalling to Matt. A small snort tickled his throat.

"Is this your subtle way of asking for a raise?" he teased.

"What? No!" she balked, stammering. Then, noticing his shit-eating grin, she lightly pinched the hand she'd just been holding before letting go. Matt barely managed to hide a pout, listening to her shuffle from one foot to the other while she gathered her words. He liked how mindful she always was with what she said, even if he hoped she'd be a little more relaxed around him.

"His name's Damian. It's his store. He did pretty well with it the first couple of years, but lately gangs have been hitting it up more and more. They steal, they break stuff. The insurance company won't pay out unless he upgrades his contract, even though theft and vandalism were supposed to be included. He doesn't have the money to sue them, and…"

A deep sigh, one that sagged the shoulders, broke her line of thought. She picked at her coat's lining in a nervous habit.

"Things have been getting tough. I know people get desperate. I know it's a bad situation and he can't cover the bills anymore. I just hate it when people give in to their worst impulses because they don't see a way out."

So that's what it was. It had nothing to do with himself, and yet he felt as though she was speaking about someone he used to be not too long ago. Her knowing so much about the man, though — that intrigued Matt. He had a feeling it came back to her unusual level of insight.

"Are you friends with him?"

Her heart, strong and steady a moment ago, gave a stutter he felt guilty for noticing. He wasn't trying to listen. He'd become so accustomed to the sound that it was almost second nature to pick out inconsistencies in it.

"No. Um, no. I'm not. I was just — I was at the store once when two guys came in with guns. They asked for my bag after they robbed the register, but Damian pushed me behind him. That's... how I knew. He wasn't going to let someone else get robbed. Which is why - "

"Why you were disappointed he'd try to steal," Matt concluded.

Her quiet hum confirmed his assumption, and the subsequent friction of satin told him she was wringing her hands in distress.

"I don't want to judge him. I don't know what it's like to be in his situation. I just wish this city wouldn't turn people into the worst versions of themselves all the time."

Yeah. Matt knew. He knew more about that than most, he imagined.

Maybe you should tell her, Foggy innocently suggested during one overdue happy hour last week. It left Matt stunned and a little prickly, because his friend knew the rules: don't ever talk about nightly activities in public. He was about to reprimand Foggy when the blonde slapped a hand on his back. Or are you scared she doesn't like you back?

Relieved that it wasn't what he thought — at the same time that it made him bristle even worse — Matt quickly turned the inquiry back on him, redirecting the conversation to Marci and her pregnancy. At the mention of his fiancée, the attorney went pallid as a moment of silence washed over them both. Then, mimicking a tornado, Foggy grabbed his briefcase and phone off the table, muttering under his breath about ice cream and caramel popcorn and murder. He promised Matt he'd pay him back for the drinks if he was still alive tomorrow, then dashed out of the bar without his coat.

And there Matt stood, jaw clenched and fingers twitching around his scotch glass, until howling laughter from the corner of the room straightened his spine and stiffened all muscles. He left a hundred dollar note on the bartop for Josie and wordlessly made his way back out into the night, the lightly chilled air of early April casting a film over his entire face. It served to bring down the heat in cheeks that were much too tingly for the amount of alcohol ingested. It also called forward a memory of his mind's only occupant at the time and her characteristically cool touch, courtesy of the satin that always enveloped her fingers.

Are you scared she doesn't like you back?

His best friend's words lingered unpleasantly as he walked back to his apartment, the extra coat on his arm providing more warmth than he was comfortable with in his state. And what state was that? Scared shitless that Foggy was right?

He liked her.

When it all happened was an even bigger mystery than those gloves. Of course he couldn't pinpoint a particular moment — that would've required presence of mind and a willingness to admit that his heart was pulling in an obvious direction. But he could, at the very least, think back on all the times he'd found himself wishing he knew what her skin felt like and relent to the truth: he was falling into something else. Entertaining a thought far beyond the realm of friendship or professionalism, and doing it as often as he did, had to yield some concession. He had to stop lying to himself.

He really, truly liked her.

As a person, and as a friend, he had no doubts and no remarks to make. She was wonderful. Easy to be around. Considerate. Strong. As… more, he didn't know where to begin.

His better angels told him that any attempt at more was inappropriate and wrong. The little devil on his shoulder wanted to tell her everything and ask that she stay.

He was her boss. It hadn't stopped him before — all those years ago with Karen — and he was lucky to have fixed that relationship, but the notion still gave him pause as he weighed it in his cluttered mind. He couldn't be the one to say something, given the position of authority he occupied. Although they were already much closer than their professional relation dictated they remain, he wouldn't infringe upon the ultimate taboo again. Don't date your employee.

It was nice, for a while, to imagine himself a moral man. When necessary, he could pretend with relative ease that his senses took in only that which was essential for painting a broad image of his surroundings and the people in them. But that wasn't why he knew the reason she liked to sip on hot cocoa during defense-building sessions for tricky cases. He could smell the stress on her from the next room over. He knew how emotionally involved she got with each narrative, because she understood that beyond the courtroom system of winning and losing, someone's life was at stake. Sugar was her preferred balm in upsetting circumstances.

-And she is yours, the devil by his ear whispered. No more dancing around each other. No more almost-confessions.

-You just think any woman you get along with wants more, said another, much quieter, voice.

-That last barrier between you, gone. Honesty. Trust, the devil continued in a vibrating baritone.

-She doesn't deserve your bullshit, the angel revolted.

-There you go again, deciding what others do or don't deserve. It's her choice. Let her make it.

-Let her get killed by being close to you?, the devil's adversary countered.

-She's already close to you. If someone wanted to hurt you through her, they already could. Why not be more than you are now?

The angel fumbled in its response as Matt's apartment building came into view, but the silence did not last. A wicked tongue poked out from between sharp teeth.

-You know I'm right. And you know you won't push her away even for her safety. She means too much to you now.

He took the steps one at a time, a strange unease settling at the base of his throat the longer he listened. No flaws in the line of reasoning could be found, or perhaps he didn't want to find any. Morality was a footnote on the poster of his yearning, the already small font stretching off the page, unreadable.

-I wonder if mango gum drops might taste differently from an alternate source.

Matt slammed the door shut, banishing the vibrating echo. In the quietude of his apartment, the same bruising chasm waited to envelop him once he acknowledged how empty the space between the walls felt. There wasn't much to do. Sleep, work and work again, only with his fists this time. If his hands weren't handling case files or broken limbs, they were often twitching at his side with exceptional subtlety. He knew what he wanted — what he needed — too well to still deceive himself, especially once past the age of thirty.

It could've been the blissful peace of his most destructive enemies residing in maximum security prisons, or maybe the signs of good changes to come for Hell's Kitchen, but he'd been taking it easier lately. There was still work to do, but it didn't weigh him down like it used to when Fisk was countering his every move and wreaking terror on the city. The truth was… he no longer passed out from exhaustion once he was home. In those minutes that preceded being overtaken by sleep, his mind had time to wander.

And it was always thinking about one thing.

Did he not owe it to himself to find out if it was something they could both have?

It was early morning on a gloomy Friday before Easter as Matt climbed the steps to their second floor office, nostrils flaring at the smell of fresh paint that must've been only hours old. He could tell it was going to trigger a headache in the late afternoon, but the thought of it didn't bother him too much. There were other things pulling at his attention.

It was, like they said, now or never. Neither Foggy nor Karen were going to be coming around the office today, their schedules having been hijacked by their significant others. Interesting — maybe even poignant. Apropos. A divine nudge in the right direction. Matt thought they were subtly telling him to get his shit together and finally ask their colleague on a date. He didn’t plan on doing anything of the sort. But. They were going to be by themselves today, and he was going to finally give it up. No more secrets, at least on his part. If he truly wanted a shot at more, it was going to have to come from her, and she was owed all the pieces before that came around. All of him, laid out for her to decide.

His legs were suddenly heavier. There was trepidation in his chest and breath, and if his hands started sweating he was going to scream. A defense attorney with a vigilante habit, and he was about as composed as a high school freshman with a crush. He could feel the tendrils of pain starting to wrap around his forehead.

They barely took hold. A shout echoed off the walls, reverberating around the hallway straight from the second floor. Her voice. Only a moment passed, and then a forceful exhale left his mouth as he took the steps two at a time, arriving within seconds. He pushed the door open with such force it nearly swung back.

There was a man here, and there was blood. He could hardly smell anything else now that he'd stepped inside, and he likely would've caught it sooner, if not for the paint in the hallway and his wayward thoughts.

He was drenched in crimson. He stood over her. He was touching her. Her pleas for him to let go were all Matt knew when he sprang into action, forgetting about everything and letting his fists speak for him. The goal wasn't getting him away from her. That was achieved by the force of his body slamming into the man's weak side, where Matt could hear broken bone fragments digging into flesh. The goal was subduing him. Punishing him. Making him one with the floor for coming in here and threatening the peace. Entering her space. Touching her —

"Matt, stop!" a terrified voice shrieked. "S-stop! He didn't — He's — He…"

His fist came down onto the man's face, shattering his right cheekbone, but the cries that left the stranger's mouth were not ones of pain. They rang in Matt's ears like war cries and funeral laments strung together. He was begging for something, but in Matt's enraged stupor, he couldn't find it in himself to stop.

A weight clattered to the parquet floor somewhere outside his field of reach. His body ran cold all throughout as the final blow he delivered to the man made the room quiet, when it shouldn't have. He could hear the man's breathing. He could hear his own. There was no third pair of lungs drawing breath.

He scrambled to his feet in a gasping panic, catching his side on the sharp desk corner Foggy always complained about. Arms spread out, he was back on the floor with a thundering heart, pulling the unresponsive frame of his associate close. His friend. His maybe-more.

"B-breathe… Breathe! Please, please breathe…"

There was no moment, as his bloodied hands touched her face, when he registered that he was finally getting the answer to a question he'd had for the better part of a year. What her skin felt like didn't matter, because he couldn't hear any air fill her chest. A second passed where his paralysis delayed him from laying her down and starting first aid — a second where he called out to God and the Devil alike, and anyone who would help him. Help her. As he ran his trembling fingers over her face, lips mumbling curses and prayers in the same breath, it felt like his heart was going to stop in his chest from fear.

"Please, sweetie… Pl-"

Her lips opened in a horrific scream. She shot forward and out of his arms before he could react, though she didn't get far. He heard her every limb shake even harder than his hands as she stumbled back into his chest, face crumbling against his dress shirt and lips puffing large gulps of air that shot right through his nerves. Matt's arms immediately came up to hold her — shield her — but a whispered plea gave him pause.

"N-no. Don't — Don't touch. I can't. I can't take it. Please, I — I can't do this. Please…" she begged nonsensically.

His ears flooded with her galloping heart.

"Knock me out."

Matt's eyes opened to their widest, darting around aimlessly as his mind struggled to process what she was saying. What she was asking. He couldn't do it.

"What? What are you saying, sweetheart?" he mumbled into her hair, arms hanging uselessly by his sides as he fought with himself not to touch her. Not to calm her in the only way he knew.

"I keep seeing them. I feel them — it's so much. Please, it's too much. Matt—" His name left her mouth in a contorted whine, hands coming up to twist into the fabric of his blazer with barely any strength. "Help me, please…"

The taste of copper burned his tongue with each breath he took through his mouth, senses counting one, two, three, four, five.

The blood of five different people coated her arms and hands where the man had grabbed her. A thought broke through the chaos of the moment as Matt realized her hands were absent their usual coverings, laid bare against his clothes as they twitched and trembled uncontrollably.

"Your gloves — Where are your gloves, sweetie?" he asked, instinct alone guiding him in the right direction.

No answer came. With his senses trained on every inch of her body as they were, it shouldn't have shocked him when her blood pressure suddenly plunged, taking whatever bit of strength she had left right with it. She was going limp in his hold with every passing second, heart dangerously slowing down as she gasped in terror. He had only moments to act, her words viciously on repeat inside his head. His window to help her was closing.

When her heart skipped too long a beat, the next thing he knew were his arms obeying her plea. He knocked her out.

-to be continued-

A/N: The second and final part is finished and ready to post tomorrow, I just want to space the two chapters out since this is over 10K words.

As always, your thoughts and comments are much appreciated and I rely on them in order to decide whether to post more writing. Let me know what you thought of the story and please note there isn't a tag list for this. It's going to be up tomorrow and you'll find it on my Masterlist if need be.

I still block serial likers who never comment/reblog, so if that bothers you, move on/block me/don't interact with my stuff. Thanks.

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fixitforever · 2 years

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Tom Hiddleston as Loki in MCU/Marvel

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fixitforever · 2 years

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#I just think ✨they✨

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fixitforever · 2 years

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#He’s a pilot

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fixitforever · 2 years

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bonus: imagine if yelena does the secret whistle to call fanny

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fixitforever · 2 years

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Losing her broke him (part 2)

A/N: I didn’t proof read this, so I’m sorry if there are mistakes in it. Also sorry that it took forever to write the next part

Part 1

“You and Loki have been spending a lot of time together.” Frigga states as she walks through the garden with Y/N. Her eyes trained on the princess next to her as she tries to determine if her suspicions about Y/N and her son are correct. The queen smiles when she sees a slight blush appear on Y/N’s cheeks.

“He’s very pleasant company.” Y/N tries to sound casual, but she’s well aware that her feelings for Loki are no longer casual. She has definitely developed a crush, that is slowly but surely growing into something more.

Frigga simply hums in response and stays silent as they stroll through the garden. A smile on her lips as her mind drifts back to when she saw Y/N and Loki in the library earlier that week. Loki was animatedly telling her about one of his favourite books and Y/N was watching him with such fondness. Frigga hasn’t seen anyone look at her son like that before. Most women look at him in awe of his looks and his power, but Frigga can tell that Y/N sees beyond that. Y/N sees what lies beneath the surface and it warms Frigga’s heart to see her son open up a bit more each day.

On top of that she has also never seen her son look at anyone the way he looks at Y/N. His eyes are usually guarded, he hides his true feelings behind a mask of indifference, but when he’s with Y/N his eyes carry a warmth that Frigga hasn’t seen in them since he was a young boy. Frigga believes that with a little time the two will love each other more that they’ve ever loved anyone before.

When the women return to the palace they see Loki hurry out of the dining room. He could no longer listen to his father and brother as they discussed the advantages of a marriage between Thor and Y/N.

Y/N frowns as she watches him hurry down the hall. “Loki?” She calls out, wondering what could have upset him. When he hears her voice he instantly stops walking, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s not sure he wants to see her right now, he’s afraid he’ll say something he wishes to keep to himself.

Frigga watches as Y/N walks towards her son’s tense frame. “What’s wrong?” The princess asks once she’s standing next to him. “Did something happen?” Her voice sounds soft and after a short moment of hesitation she carefully places her hand on his arm.

The gentle touch finally causes Loki to look at her. Warmth spreads through his chest when he sees the concern in her eyes. “It’s nothing.” He forces a smile on his face. “I’m perfectly fine.” He adds as he straightens his back in an attempt to look more convincing.

He’s taken aback by the look of hurt that flashes across Y/N’s face, surely his words couldn’t have upset her? “If you don’t wish to talk about it, that’s fine.” Y/N says as she removes her hand from his arm. “But I don’t appreciate being lied to, Loki.” She adds and Loki looks down in shame. He might be able to deceive others with a fake smile and reassuring words, but in the past few weeks Y/N has learned to see through it. She can tell when he’s lying and she’s rather pleased that he never lied to her, well until now that is.

Y/N is about to walk away when Loki’s hand reaches out for hers. “My apologies.” He mutters as he laces his fingers through hers. He has only done that once before, when they were sitting next to each other in the library. They were both reading a book and simply enjoying each other’s company. He kept stealing glances at her as he gathered up the courage to take her hand in his. He was fairly certain that she wouldn’t reject him, but there was still a possibility that she would. It took him twenty minutes but eventually he gently placed his hand on top of her free one. He had held his breath in fear of her rejection as she looked up from her book, but she gave him a warm smile and his hand a soft squeeze before she continued to read.

When she turns back to him and her eyes meet his, Y/N can tell he is sincere and the look on her face softens as she notices a hint of sadness in his eyes. “What’s wrong, Loki?” She asks again, softly squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but at least tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”

A sad smile appears on Loki’s face. He feels something flutter in his stomach as she looks at him with so much care and it hurts to think that he will have to watch his brother court her. “You’ve already made me feel better, Y/N.” He tells her. “You always do.” He adds as he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

*****

“Good morning, princess Y/N.” Thor’s voice pulls Y/N’s attention away from the book she was reading. She’s somewhat surprised to see Thor in the garden, in the months that she has been here she hasn’t seen him in there once. “It’s a fine day to enjoy the gardens.”

“Good morning, your majesty. It certainly is.” She sends him a polite smile and closes her book, preparing herself for the conversation Thor seems eager to start. Conversations with Thor are much more formal than the once she has with Loki mainly because they still use each other’s titles when addressing the other. “Would you like to join me?” She asks as she gestures to the empty spot next to her on the bench.

“I would, thank you.” Thor smiles before he sits down next to her. “I have proposition for you.” He decides to dive right into the subject, seeing no reason why this should go down badly. “Father and I have spoken about it a great deal and I believe you will find it very agreeable as well.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, she has no clue where Thor could be going with this but she has a feeling it won’t be as agreeable as he believes. “What proposition would that be, your majesty?” She asks cautiously.

Thor looks at her for a moment. She certainly has the looks of a queen, she knows the rules of the court and she’s smart enough to offer him counsel should he ever need it. He doesn’t love her, but marriage between royals is hardly ever about love and he might learn to love her when they spend more time together. “I am to be king of Asgard when my father is no longer able or willing to fulfil his role and I will need a strong queen by my side when that day comes.” He starts and Y/N’s eyes widen as she realises where this is going. “It could be beneficial for both our kingdoms if we were to get married.”

The princess looks away from Thor and into the garden as she processes his words. He’s not wrong, both Asgard and Domino would benefit from an alliance between the two kingdoms. Not to mention the fact that her position as queen of Domino would be much stronger if she had a king by her side, and she believes Asgard would benefit from having a queen that would temper Thor’s urge to prove himself through war.

All things considered it’s not a bad proposition if she looks at it objectively, but she can’t just look at it like that. She may be a princess and next in line for the throne, but she’s also a woman with feelings and her heart aches as she thinks about the Asgardian prince she wishes was sitting next to her right now.

“Princess Y/N?” It’s Thor’s voice that breaks her out of her thoughts. “Are you alright?” He asks and as he takes in the expression on her face it dawns on him for the first time that she might not want to marry him. Overly confident in himself as always, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of rejection but it looks like the conversation might be headed in that direction.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Y/N forces a smile as she turns her head to face him again.“It’s a very agreeable proposition, your majesty, but I’m afraid I have to say no.” Even if she will have to marry for an alliance of some kind, she could never marry Thor. Marrying Thor would mean seeing Loki all the time and spending all her day wondering what would have happened if she had the guts to turn Thor down, so she has to say to say no.

It makes her feel bad to see Thor’s face fall when the words leave her mouth, but she is making the right decision for both of them. Thor deserves a wife that will love him and she can’t do that, at least not in the way a wife should love her husband. “It would be beneficial for Asgard and Domino, but I don’t believe we will make each other happy Thor.” She says softly, dropping his title for the first time as she gently places her hand over his. “You deserve to have someone by your side who loves you and who you can love in return, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to offer you that.”

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