Drips and drabbles
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Summary
His first time was…it was like seeing colour again.
[OR: Matt Murdock’s first time.]
Series
- Part 1 of Drips and drabbles
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Summary
She steps into her shoes, wraps her coat around her shoulders. She grabs the rubbish on her way, the two pink lines wrapped in paper, at the bottom of the pile.
[OR: Elektra gets pregnant and takes the only decision she can.]
Please heed the tags.
Series
- Part 2 of Drips and drabbles
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Summary
"Would you wait for me? After?"
Matt blinks. His head is heavy on Foggy's lap, resting there like it has always belonged. It's created an excruciatingly numb little patch of heat on his right thigh. From where his hands are resting on Matt's neck, Foggy can feel Matt's pulse lazy against his thumb, gentle, like the finger-plucking of an acoustic guitar. Foggy would rather die than move an inch.
"After?"
"After we die."
[OR: Finally together, Foggy worries his time with Matt will never be enough.]
Series
- Part 3 of Drips and drabbles
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Summary
Happiness has a smell. The damp Kitchen streets after the rain and the sticky-warmth of Foggy's fingers burning against his neck. Fleeting buzzing of bright neon-lights in the drunken quiet of sleepy streets. The lazy flutter of Foggy's pulse on the underside of his wrist. His laughter bubbling up from what seems like the center of his soul, a crack in his core, spilling into the streets like marbles, to a joke Matt forgot to pay attention to. He feels his grin stretch taut across his face nonetheless, basking in the happiness that he was always taught was so forbidden, one he still struggles to hold on to, like it has the semi-intangible quality of a ghost.
[OR: A night out in Hell's Kitchen where Matt wishes he could be brave.]
Series
- Part 4 of Drips and drabbles
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Summary
"Holy shit Matt."
Foggy knows he shouldn't be swearing, not right now, in what feels like the biggest moment of his life and like he is living it as a spectator right above his own body at the same time. He's survived so much, too much some may say - finding out the love of his life is a vigilante and actually getting shot should be enough for anyone, really. Yet neither time did he feel like he was cradling an atomic blast with his bare hands.
[OR: Our avocados have a baby.]
Series
- Part 5 of Drips and drabbles