whump must flow

[mirrormirrormeme]

Nursed Back to Health shipping meme Comment with your character, preferences, preferred role, and any information you'd like to include. Your character has either been injured/sick and had to be taken in (possibly against their will) or has been the one to help somebody like the former. Through the mending process, the two characters in a thread have fallen in love - or at least grown closer and more affectionate. Reply to others. Thread.

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[motiontostrike]

[And I will very gladly accept! What's your preference on kicking things off?]

[wickedlittlethought]

[ And then I was struck by inspiration but if this doesn't work I'm very happy to go with something else! ]

The purchase of the penthouse known as "The Pinnacle" in the Woolworth building on Manhattan had been quite the coup, if Gwen's mother was to be believed, and when it came to such things she usually was.
It had taken a while to get the interiors satisfactory of course, but it wasn't as if they were in a hurry. New York wasn't Home after all, even if the family did frequently have reason to travel there for both business and pleasure.
For the moment, Gwen had the place to herself, quite by design. Lately she couldn't seem to stop herself from picking fights with the people around her, and her parents always got the worst of it. Things had started to get unbearably frosty, and she couldn't think of a better cure for it than simply removing herself.
She didn't know why she chafed so. It wasn't as if she had any reason to complain about anything. She was young, rich, beautiful, privileged beyond belief. Nothing was wrong, and somehow everything was anyway.
Meaning to gaze morosely out at the never sleeping city like some silver screen romantic heroine, she went to stand by one of the apartment's many windows, heaving a great sigh.
Well, she would have heaved a great sigh had she not more or less choked on air when someone climbed over the edge to the terrace wrapping around the first floor and then seemed to lose the ability to keep going, sinking down in what was either a slow faint or just a giving in to exhaustion.
Her first impulse was to scream, but she managed to supress it. The second was to call security, but she didn't do that either.
She studied the shape below, noting the curious way the person was dressed. All red, and with some sort of mask?
When she managed to spot the horns, the pieces fell into place. Daredevil. She had the bloody Daredevil on her front porch. Well, more or less.
A masked vigilante was exactly the sort of thing her parents absolutely did not approve of, and so naturally she had followed what news coverage there was of this mysterious individual with some interest. How could she not feel a little thrill at imagining being rescued by a dashing stranger on some dark night?
Well, it would appear that he was in need of rescuing now, and it would be a lie to say that that didn't carry with it a thrill of its own.
She rushed to the nearest terrace door, wrapping her arms around herself as a chilly blast of wind immediately swept over her when she stepped out, her feet bare and the rest of her clad in deceptively simple (and needlessly expensive) sweatpants combined with a t-shirt of the same variety.
She carefully approched the man, not entirely sure how to deal with the situation now that she had made the decision to step into it.
"Um... hello?"

[motiontostrike]

[This is fantastic! Thanks so much for getting it put together.]

It's not exactly the best time to be Daredevil.

Present situation notwithstanding, half the cops in the city are out to collar him, and the rest are risking their livelihoods each and every time they let him go. Even Spiderman's threatened to deliver him personally to the steps of the 10th precinct if he catches him out. And despite it all, the cries for help don't stop coming.

He knows what it's like to be on his own. Philosophically speaking, of course, but in the literal as well. There are plenty who'd say the latter is a prison of his own creation. That he pushes and pushes and pushes until no one in their right mind would ever want to stay. But Matt knows the truth: the only thing more dangerous than being him, is being with him. And he's determined not to seal anyone to that fate.

Which is why he's come here, to the undeveloped portion of the historic building. It's sat vacant for so long now he all but presumes he'll find it in the same state. And maybe if his head wasn't ringing and his nose wasn't so full of blood, he'd realize differently before he collapses. But Matt grips his cracked ribs and curls into a ball, diving under the surface of his own pain to steady his breathing. He's so deep in steadying his own thoughts he doesn't even hear the footsteps, but the voice jolts his attention back.

"Leave," he growls. "Turn around and go." Hard to sound threatening when he's struggling for air. And when he doesn't realize he's all but trying to insist the woman out of her own home.

[wickedlittlethought]

She probably should be more intimidated than she is by the situation, but somewhat paradoxically it actually sort of helps that he tries to make her go away. It gives her something to push against.

"Of course. I'll just go make myself a cup of tea while you pass out on my terrace, shall I?"

Her voice is bright and deceptively soft, and would be sweet as honey were it not for the thick layer of sarcasm coating it at the moment.

She walks closer to Matt and kneels next to him, not yet daring to actually touch him but determined to get him inside.

She smells of vanilla and roses from her shower products, the scent mingling with the laundry detergent in her clothing and the various notes that are just her own body. Perhaps Matt will find himself blessing his blocked nose now that she is closer.

"You're hurt. Come inside."