I'm attempting my first ever flufftober! These fics will feature many of the characters I've written for before... plus a few new ones! I hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful fall. 🧡
1. Anniversary - Eddie Munson x fem!reader
2. Pet Sitting - Bradley "Rooster" Bradley x reader
3. In Vino Veritas
Alt 14. “You kept this?” - Peter Parker x reader
4. Set in another time - Viking!Eddie Munson x Viking!reader
5. Early Morning Walks
Alt 19. First Dance - Carmy Berzatto x reader
6. Late Night Talks
Alt 13. Caught in the Rain - Clark Kent x reader
7. Moving Day - Peter Parker x reader
8. Cursed - Eddie Munson x reader
9. Coming Home - Raymond Smith x reader
10. Set up by Friends - Steve Harrington x reader
11. “Double or nothing?” - Johnny Storm x reader
12. Blizzard or Heatwave
Alt. 5 Only One Bed - Clark Kent x reader
13. Hosting a Holiday Event - Carmy Berzatto x reader
14. Stuck or Lost Together - Eddie Munson x reader
15. “This looks fun.” - “Not the word I would use, but okay.” - Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader
16. Pillows, Plushies, Piles of Blankets - Peter Parker x reader
17. Making or Buying a Costume - Johnny Storm x reader
18. “Is this seat taken?” - “That depends...”
Alt. 23 “I hate you.” “I love you too.” - John Walker x Thunderbolts!reader
19. Risky Rescue Mission - Clark Kent x journalist!reader
20. Fake Relationship - Eddie Munson x reader
21. Pumpkin Carving - Joaquin Torres x reader
22. Polar Opposites - Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader
23. Group Hug - Steve Harrington x reader
24. Letters - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x reader
25. Cold Hands - Johnny Storm x reader
26. Co-Parenting a Pet - Peter Parker x reader
27. Meeting in the Middle - Matt Murdock x reader
28. “Is that my hoodie?” - “... No?” - Clark Kent x reader
29. Book Shop AU/Library AU - Eddie Munson x reader
three-for-three y'all, the most active i've been on this site in MONTHS and i apologise for that, but i'm getting the ball rolling again. publishing old works and new works, across a range of fandoms, so hopefully y'all find a little something that floats your boat MWAH
Beneath the flickering glow of delicate chandeliers, you glanced around the room, holding tight to your flute of champagne to hide the way your hands trembled. Despite being Matt’s plus-one to this gala, which you were beginning to think was just an excuse for the city’s court officials to get together and flash their money about in the form of fine suits and sparkling jewellery, you’d been avoiding him all night.
It hadn’t been easy, considering he could just follow the distinct scent of your perfume merged with the scent of him, and be at your side in seconds. For the most part, you’d spent your time cowering in the bathroom, texting Karen to soothe your nerves, even though she’d only been a few feet away.
Karen <3, 7:26pm: Is everything okay? Where are you?
Tapping away at the screen, you’d sent off a quick message, giving away your pathetic hiding place. In a matter of seconds, the stunning blonde had slipped through the bathroom door like a shadow, wrapped in a dress of glimmering, black silk that clung to her body like a second skin.
“I fucked up,” you admitted, biting down on your tongue to keep a nervous giggle from slipping out. Karen frowned, placing her hands on your shoulders.
“Did you and Matt have a fight? Is that why he’s out there clenching his jaw so hard he looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel?”
Unable to contain your laugh, you hid your face in your hands as warmth crept up your cheeks. Chewing on a fingernail, you could barely look at Karen as you spoke.
“Not a fight… I may or may not have teased him to the point of cruelty before we got here.”
The sound of Matt’s shallow breaths, bordering on whines, echoed in your mind as you recalled the way he’d practically shattered like porcelain in your hands as you trailed sinful kisses down his neck and along his collarbones, whispering filthy promises against his flushed skin.
Tugging at his belt, you slipped your hand into his pants. His cock was heavy and hard in your hand, and Matt hissed through his teeth, hips bucking involuntarily, as you ran your thumb over the tip.
But then you’d pulled away, glancing at the clock as you stood, smoothing down your dress.
“We’ve got to go now, we can’t be late.”
Karen’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening, as her lips twisted into a knowing smile.
“Oh, honey, I can’t save you from this one,” the blonde held out her hand to you, red-painted nails gleaming at the end of her slender fingers, a silver bracelet dangling loosely at her wrist. “But I can guarantee a very, very good night is on the horizon.”
You grasped Karen’s hand, holding onto it as though it were a life-raft, and let her drag you back out into the glitz and glamour. Stumbling slightly, Karen pulled you to her side when you reached the table you’d been avoiding, she plucked her purse from the back of her chair. Matt was already facing you, head tilted slightly, red-tinted glasses hiding his sinfully beautiful eyes. A muscle flickered in his jaw and it sent a thrill through your body, sending a tendril of warmth straight to your core.
“I’m gonna call a cab, okay?” Karen was explaining to Matt and Foggy, “一just not feeling well.” You weren’t paying attention, not when Matt’s tongue had darted out to wet his lips and you somehow knew that he was doing it to taunt you, that he could somehow taste the change in your mood, in your body.
Matt stood slowly, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket, and grabbed his folded cane from the table. Adjusting his glasses, he came to your side, slipping his hand around your waist. “I can handle this, thanks, Karen. I’ll see you both at the office tomorrow.”
After bidding a few very important-looking people farewell, Matt led you outside. You flagged down a cab with a shaky hand, trying to keep your cool, even though the grip Matt had on your waist was burning through you. His hand brushed the curve of your ass as he helped you into the backseat and you swallowed a gasp.
The ride back to Matt’s apartment was fifteen minutes of torture. Your thighs had started to hurt from how hard you were pressing them together, and Matt… God, he just kept that insufferably smug smirk on his face the whole way, his hands innocently resting in his lap. You weren’t sure which was affecting you more; him touching you or him not touching you. Either way, you were practically squirming in the seat, staring out the window to try and distract yourself.
This was only the beginning of the payback, you were sure of it. But you still had a little trick up your sleeve, well, under your dress… Immediately, you tried to picture Matt’s reaction when he discovered your little secret; a gift, of sorts, for him, that you’d bought on whim last week. Chewing on your bottom lip, you bit back a grin.
Matt, sensing a change within you, the scent of your arousal heavier in the small space, so much so that it almost made his head spin, turned to you.
“What on earth are you thinking about, Angel?” His voice was a low rasp that set a flurry of hummingbirds free in your stomach.
“Oh, nothing. Just stuff.” Casually, you laid your hand over one of his where they laid in his lap, subtly brushing his crotch with your knuckles. Matt inhaled through gritted teeth, fighting the desire to pull you into his lap and have his way with you.
Only two more blocks, he thought, and then he could have you, taste you, fuck you. Ruin you.
But there was something you weren’t telling him, something you were hiding, and he was going to make it his mission to find out what it was.
Finally, finally, the cab pulled up outside the familiar apartment complex, and you practically threw yourself out of the car. Even though Matt could’ve taken the stairs by twos and been at his door in seconds, he took it slow, dragging it out even though it was killing him. But it was killing you, too, and the barely audible whines you let out everytime he paused to adjust his coat or brush a speck of dust off his pants made it all worth it. He couldn’t wait to have you under him, or on top of him; he didn’t particularly care. As long as he was deep inside you.
When the door came into view you almost sighed in relief, snagging the keys from Matt’s pocket before he had a chance to stop you. Unlocking the door, you kicked it open and tugged Matt inside, not caring if he thought you were desperate. You were desperate, and the second the door shut, you shoved Matt against it and your lips found his neck.
Placing a line of frenzied kisses along his jawline, down his throat, you tugged at his tie until it came loose in your hands. Wrapping your hand in the strip of dark fabric, you pulled him closer and leaned up to kiss his lips. But he pulled away.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s cute that you think you’re going to run this,” he whispered, nipping at your nose. “But after the stunt you pulled earlier? I don’t think so.”
You might’ve whimpered, or groaned, or straight-up cried, if Matt hadn’t reached out and grabbed the straps of your dress. With the gentleness of a dove's feathers, he slid them down your arms, pushing the bodice down until you were bare from your stomach upwards, the tapered bodice clinging to your waist to keep the dress from pooling on the ground. You’d forgone a bra when you’d gotten dressed, and you were thankful for one less obstacle as Matt stepped closer, cupping one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple. A shiver rocketed down your spine and you sighed, caving in to the touch. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Matt walked away, passing through the living room and into the bedroom without another word.
Leaving your shoes by the door, you hiked up the skirts of your dress and followed him like a hound on a scent, not caring that the nylon stockings you wore snagged a little on the floorboards. Jesus Christ, you wanted him, and he knew it.
“Matty,” you whispered when you entered the room and found him by the window, haloed by orange light from the street below. He’d discarded his suit jacket and button-up, they were in a pile on the floor, and stood with his back to you. For a moment, you just watched him, gazing at the scars on his back, the way his muscles shifted with each breath he took. It was a sight you’d never get sick of; Matt Murdock, in all his rugged glory, despite the weight of guilt and shame he always seemed to carry, despite convincing himself that he wasn’t worth anything at all to anybody, was truly a beautiful man. A man that you loved more than you’d ever loved anybody before.
When he turned to face you, glasses gone, you gulped; in his hands, still, was his tie.
“Take off your dress” he said, footsteps silent as he approached you. You did as you were told without argument, shimmying the fabric down until it dropped to the floor in a puddle of soft silk and chiffon. He was close, so close that your bare chest brushed against his as you took a deep breath. Matt shuddered at the contact, his stern resolve slipping momentarily as the warmth of your body seeped into him.
“Give me your hands,” he leaned in to mutter in your ear, letting the tie dangle from his hands.
You were about to hold up your wrists, but you paused. It was time, this was the perfect moment to drop the bomb, to show him what you’d been hiding all night.
“Wait.”
Matt’s head dipped to the side, gaze fixed just to the left of you. Noticing the quickening pace of your heart, he cupped your chin in his hands, tilting your head upwards as though to inspect you. “What is it? You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you?” His lips quirked up into a smile. “That’s why you acted the way you did, you had a plan.”
As usual, Matt saw straight through you, but he still didn’t know exactly what was going on. For a few seconds longer, you’d have the upper hand.
With a gentleness comparable to moth's wings, you grabbed his wrists. Matt resisted for a moment as the balance of who, exactly, was in control shifted, but gave in. Stepping back a little to allow room to move, the backs of your legs hit the bed, and you placed Matt’s hands on your waist so he could feel the intricate lace and little ruffles that clung to your figure.
Immediately, his nimble fingers skirted along the fabric, feeling each clasp and detail, snapping the waistband against your skin a few times. “What is this,” he practically hissed, lowering to his knees to further inspect the unfamiliar lingerie. He pressed a few kisses to the ridges of lace, slowly moving his hands lower, lower, to where thin strips of elastic attached to delicate clasps that, in turn, held up the dainty nylon stockings you were wearing.
“It’s a garter belt. Got it made special, just for you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought to keep your breathing steady as Matt slipped his fingers beneath the belt to pull your underwear down your legs; a simple, black lace pair that paled in comparison to everything else. Matt had to unlatch the stockings to get them all the way down, but once they were off, he fixed the stockings again and stuffed your panties in his pocket.
“For me?” His voice soft as sin, and hands twice as gentle as he pushed you onto the bed and spread your thighs so he could kneel between them.
“Mhm,” was all you managed to get out as Matt leaned forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, grazing his teeth over it. Your next words came out in a harried gasp as Matt slid a hand all the way up your thigh, beneath the lace, and pressed his thumb to your clit. “That’s not even the─ oh fuck─ the best part.”
“Pray tell,” he muttered, more focused on drawing tight circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb, revelling in the noises he coaxed from you and the way you tried to clamp your thighs together. His mouth placed a trail of kisses from the underside of your breast, over your ribcage, until Matt was practically leaning into your lap, nipping at your hip as he pressed a finger into you, pumping slowly. You were so wet for him, practically dripping, and Matt nearly groaned at the feeling.
“It’s the same colour─ Jesus Christ─”
“He won’t save you from this,” Matt absentmindedly chimed in, but you barely heard it.
“─same colour as your suit. I asked to have it made like that specifically, a garter belt and a lace bralette. Had to compare colour swatches and everything.” Unable to stop yourself from rambling, barely able to string two coherent thoughts together because Matt had slipped a second finger inside you, you bit down on your knuckle to shut yourself up.
At the same time, Matt’s head whipped up, unsure if he heard you right. “Really, Angel?”
So you could focus, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to suck the wetness off them as though that wouldn’t be equally as distracting. Cupping his jaw in your hands, you pulled his face toward you and pressed your lips to his. Matt’s tongue instantly swiped at the seam of your lips and you opened for him.
“Mhm,” you murmured against his lips. “Got my own little Daredevil suit, but you’re the only one I wear it for. I’ve been saving it for tonight.”
In Matt’s mind, everything clicked into place. That’s why you’d teased him so much earlier, leaving him achingly, embarrassingly hard, so he’d be wound up and flustered so you could reveal this, this magnificence, and he’d be completely at your mercy.
“Oh, you devilish thing,” he growled, slowly climbing onto the bed to allow you time to shuffle back. And then he was on top of you, straddling your hips but careful not to put his entire weight on you, his thighs strained against the tightness of his perfectly tailored pants. With Matt’s arms on either side of your head, his silver crucifix dangling only an inch from your lips, you were caged in. Matt was everywhere.
“I fell for your wicked, wicked games,” he was saying, and then he’d rolled to the side, hauling you with him, until you were on top. “So play them.”
The full meaning of words didn’t hit you until he held out his hand, tie hanging limply from his fingers. You hadn’t been brave enough before when Matt had looked ready to ruin you, and you’d been more than happy to sit back and let him, but part of you had wanted to call the shots. Now he was stepping back to let you take the reins. And the way he gripped your hips, slowly guiding you back-and-forth so you could feel the evidence of just how badly he wanted you pressing up against your bare core, it was driving you mad.
The same confidence you’d had that afternoon, when you’d had Matt melting like butter in your hands, returned with a vengeance. Grinning, you grabbed the tie.
“Give me your hands, Matthew.”
He loved it when you said his name like that, and he did exactly as he was told.
“Good boy,” you whispered as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his wrists, securing it with a knot tight enough that he shouldn’t be able to get out of it easily. Without needing to be asked, Matt lifted his hands above his head and kept them there.
Leaning down, you captured his lips in a searing kiss that set your thundering, and from the way Matt smirked against your lips, he could hear it loud and clear. Pulling back to catch your breath, you began your descent, leaving a smattering of hickeys from his jaw to his chest, making sure to kiss each scar you came across, then shuffled back, continuing down his torso until you got to the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
Matt’s chest was heaving and you’d barely touched him, so when you undid his belt and tugged his pants down his legs, he knew he was done for. And when you palmed him through his boxers before taking those off, too? His heart damn-near stopped beating. No matter how many times he’d take you to bed, he never got over the adrenaline rush, the overwhelming surge of lust that overtook him, consumed him.
Spitting into your palm, and then letting a bead drip from between your lips onto the head of Matt’s cock, you pumped him a few times before taking him into your mouth. Matt moaned loudly, head pressed back into the pillows, and his back arched at the warmth of your mouth, the way your throat constricted around his cock as you swallowed.
“Fucking hell.” He wanted nothing more than to cup the back of your neck and guide your movements, but he kept his hands above your head because he knew if he moved them that you’d stop. The muscles in his thighs twitched beneath your hands and you squeezed them, digging your nails into the corded flesh. If you had to pick a favourite body part of Matt’s, you would choose his thighs in a heartbeat. They were just so thick and warm and, God, you’d lost count of how many times you’d gotten yourself off on them, Matt spurring you on with filthy words, because he’d had work to do and couldn’t give you his full attention. And you especially loved that he always wore tight pants specifically tailored to his exact measurements.
When his cock was well and truly wet, and Matt was a hopeless, panting mess, you moved back up his body and straddled him. Dragging your core up his length, letting out a shattered breath as your clit brushed against the rounded tip, you braced your hands against his scarred chest. Then you reached down and lined up Matt’s cock at your entrance and sunk down onto him. A bolt of pleasure raced up your spine when he was fully sheathed inside you, and the stretch that you’d never get used to had your thighs clenching around his hips.
A strawberry-red flush dusted across Matt’s chest and crept up his neck, throat bobbing as he tried not to cum right then and there.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted, veins in his neck tensing. “So fucking good, oh God.”
When you started rocking your hips, the sounds that came out of his mouth brought a devilish grin to your face. He was a whimpering mess, and it was so pathetic the way he squirmed, trying so hard to leave his hands up, but it was so… hot.
In the glow of the neon lights from the billboards outside, he looked purely heavenly.
Meanwhile, Matt was losing his fucking mind. Your pussy was so tight around him and he just wanted to touch you, grab your waist, your ass, and pound into you. But he was trying so hard to be good and he loved the way you had taken control. But Jesus Christ, he hadn’t realised how badly he needed to touch you, to hold you during sex, until you’d taken that privilege away. A broken whimper slipped past his lips.
“Oh, Matty, what’s wrong?” you crooned, enunciating your words with a roll of your hips that pushed his cock deeper, making you see stars. Leaning down until your chest was pressed flat against Matt’s, you nipped at his earlobe. “Is it too much for you, poor baby…”
Matt pressed his head back into the mattress, breathing hard through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were still held obediently above his head, but his wrists strained against the fabric of his tie. A bead of sweat slipped down his neck and, in the heat of the moment, you licked it away, dragging your tongue up the hollow of Matt’s throat.
“Not enough─ oh God─ please, sweetheart, I need more.” Matt squirmed, bucking his hips to try and get more friction, chasing a high you’d yet to allow him to have. Cruelly, you evaded his movements, lifting off him slightly every time he tried to thrust up into you.
“Nuh-uh,” you tutted, gripping his chin, turning his head to the side so you could place another hickey to the underside of his jaw, digging your teeth in a little just to make him wince. “But I might reconsider if you beg for it again.”
Matt wasn’t even going to try and resist, he didn’t want to play that damn cat-and-mouse game. So he begged. And begged.
“Please, sweetheart. Fuck, I just need to touch you. Let me touch you, please.”
And though you told yourself you weren’t going to cave, that you were going to toy with him a little longer, just for the fun of it, you crumbled before he’d even said a word. You practically ripped the tie off his hands, tossing it in a ball into the corner to be found tomorrow.
Matt didn’t waste a second, his hands instantly on your ass, guiding each gyration of your hips, doubling the already steady pace you’d set. Then they moved to the straps of the garter belt, snapping the elastic against your skin, and you moaned a little at the zing of pain. He panted and moaned, chasing his pleasure, using one hand to rub your clit to make sure you found your own. And when he sat up, one hand on your back, pressing you closer, and the other at your waist, he thrust into you, deeper and deeper. The bed creaked with each movement, but you were too busy clinging to Matt, face pressed into his neck as you fervently rocked your hips to meet each of his thrusts, to even notice.
Shattered moans and whines dripped from your lips like flower petals, and it was all Matt could hear; he’d zoned everything else out until all his senses were filled up with you, you, you. He didn’t care about anything else.
“Matty, I’m so close, fuck, I’m so close,” your voice was a breathless rasp.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Keep going. Just like that. Oh God.”
“Fuck, Angel.”
“Just like that, Matty, just like that.”
Everything came to an intense point as Matt groaned into your neck, spilling inside you, and that sensation on top of everything else pushed you straight over the edge. You cried out his name, voice breaking, and your thighs clenched so hard around his waist that you were sure it must have hurt. And then, just for a moment, you blacked out.
You hadn’t realised your body was spasming, limbs trembling, until you came to and heard Matt whispering to you, stroking your back as he held you close.
Later that night, well, early the next morning, after you’d spent a good half-hour in the shower together, exchanging sleepy kisses under the hot water, you were wrapped in the sheets with Matt. Neither of you had bothered with clothes, and a seed of a thought was already planted in your mind of just how you’d wake Matt up. But for now, you struggled to keep your eyes open.
You were tracing idle circles on Matt’s sternum, your head resting on his shoulder, when he said something you weren’t expecting at all.
“I love the way you fuck me.”
You almost choked on your own tongue, tilting your head to look up at him.
“Matthew Michael Murdock, such naughty words from that pretty mouth of yours.” You leaned up to press a kiss to that pretty mouth, tasting the faint mint of toothpaste on his tongue.
“I’m serious, sweetheart.”
“And what is it about the way I fuck you that you love so much, huh?”
“All of it, obviously, but you always know just what to say and do, and all your little surprises, and the sounds you make. It drives me crazy. I can never stop thinking about you.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, good.”
Silence fell once more, only to be broken a few minutes later when you thought Matt had fallen asleep.
“Is it bad that I want to be inside you again already?”
You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your throat. “Do not make me kick you out of this bed, Matthew. I need to sleep.”
“Fine,” he huffed, rolling onto his side to snuggle you closer. “But I’m not going to work tomorrow. I’m staying here, in this bed, with you.”
“You have to go to work, you’ve got that big case, remember?”
“But─”
“If you go, I’ll be sure to visit you on your lunch break and send Karen and Foggy on a food run at that Chinese place a few blocks away so they’ll be gone for a while…”
“Fine, I’ll go.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “But only if you promise to wear that garter belt again.”
Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings/tags: drunk Reader, humor, terrible flirtatious comments, and lots of appreciation for the Ass of Hell's Kitchen
Summary: A night out takes an amusing turn when you accidentally and drunkenly catcall the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
a/n: This little one shot is brought to you thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team who not only inspired the idea, but helped create some of the flirtatious banter. I just couldn't resist the idea of catcalling the Devil in the black suit, okay? Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
Pushing open the door of Alchemy, you stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. The sweltering heat of Hell’s Kitchen greeted you, the humidity mixing with the sticky sweat already coating your skin and adding another uncomfortable layer of dampness. But it still felt far more refreshing outside in the humid evening air than it did inside the busy bar with countless other sweaty bodies packed together. The usual buzz of the city at night was even welcoming in comparison to the loud music that had been steadily aggravating the pounding in your head for the past twenty minutes.
Walking unsteadily in your heels, you turned to the right and made your way over towards the corner of the building and away from Alchemy's main doors and thumping music. One of your hands reached up as you stumble-walked, grabbing at the neck of your dress and peeling it off of your wet skin to allow some air to flow inside and cool your heated body. You’d spent a good portion of your evening drunkenly dancing with your friends as you celebrated Elise’s birthday tonight, which was why you'd decided to wait for your Uber outside of the bar–so you could catch your breath before heading home.
As you neared the alley, your ankle unexpectedly twisted when your heel caught in a crack along the sidewalk. A surprised gasp slipped past your lips as you began falling forward face-first towards the pavement. Your hand released the neck of your dress and instinctively flew out to your side, your palm landing against the brick of the building just in time to awkwardly catch yourself. Struggling to steady your inebriated self, you stayed bent in half as the pavement swirled beneath your black heels.
Once the spinning had finally stopped, you threw your other hand out and began to desperately claw your way back upright with both hands along the brick. Limping forward, you leant up against the side of the bar and tried to ease the pressure off your now sore ankle. With a low groan you attempted to find a comfortable position against the brick, supporting your weight more fully along the wall and resigning yourself to waiting right here for your Uber. Internally you cursed yourself for wearing such tall heels and drinking as much as you had tonight–hopefully you hadn’t actually injured your ankle. You’d probably be regretting your decisions in the morning, especially since you still had to go into work.
Reaching up, you ran the back of your hand across your forehead in an attempt to remove some of the sweat that had accumulated there. But just as you’d begun to lower your hand back to your side, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Your head turned in the direction of it, your vision spinning momentarily before everything came back into focus. Though the second your brain managed to make sense of the black blur on the rooftop, your mouth fell open. Because there on the roof just above you was the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
“There’s no way I’m this drunk,” you muttered to yourself.
You watched as the dark figure crouched down low on the corner of the building, his body hunched like a gargoyle overlooking the street below. He was only a few floors above you and seemingly searching for something with the way his head was scanning the street below as it moved back and forth in sharp movements. With his back turned towards you while he was lowered in a crouch, you had been left with a perfect view of his backside under the city lights. Whether it was due to how absolutely glorious the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s ass looked in his black pants while you were almost directly beneath him, or due to the handful of shots and cocktails you’d recently drank down, you’d suddenly loosed a long, low whistle out into the night.
Immediately the Devil’s head snapped over his shoulder the second you’d whistled. Eyes growing wide in shock, your body straightened against the wall behind you instantly. You hadn’t even realized you’d just catcalled the Devil until you’d actually done it. And now he was crouched atop the roof and staring right down at you.
For a long time you stood there locking eyes with the masked man–or so you assumed, considering you couldn’t see his eyes beneath the black on his face. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, yet a tension had quickly formed in the air.
Until a peel of laughter bubbled right up out of your mouth.
The Devil’s head tilted sharply to the side as the sound echoed through the alley beside you. You threw a hand up to cover your mouth, trying to stifle the noise, but somehow that only made you laugh harder. Because no one would believe you about this later. But your laughter fell short when the Devil rose to his full height on the rooftop, spinning around to face you with a fluid grace that had made your head spin in return. Biting down on your lip, you fought back another round of laughter as tears began to form in your eyes. You’d only managed to reduce your amusement at the situation to barely restrained giggles before he spoke.
“Something wrong?” the deep voice called out.
You shook your head quickly, the Devil briefly blurring into three Devils above you. Throwing your hand up into the air, you sent him a single thumb’s up. “No!” you answered, stifling another giggle. “Everything’s fine, Devil. Just–just appreciating the view.”
His head cocked to the side even further, the sight reminding you of a dog. Another giggle slipped out of you before you could stop it. Though you once more bit down on your lip when the vigilante began to expertly climb his way down the side of the building. Openly admiring his body as you readjusted your position against the wall–which was currently still single-handedly keeping you upright at the moment–you watched as he easily made his way from the roof to the alley. If it hadn’t been for the curious, pleased smile that was clearly spread across his lips when he came to stand just a few feet away, you might’ve felt nervous that he’d suddenly taken as much of an interest in you as you had in him.
“Appreciating the view?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you replied. “Your ass.”
The Devil’s lips twitched at your bold honesty and you bit back another giggle. This whole situation was so unbelievable it was actually absurdly hilarious.
“So you’re saying that you interrupted me solely just to whistle at my ass?” the Devil inquired. “Did I hear that right?”
Pushing away from the wall, you stumbled forward a step, squaring your shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes–or where you thought they were. “Yeah. Couldn’t exactly resist,” you answered, your words slurring a bit as you spoke. “You’re carryin’ an entire bakery’s worth of devil’s food cake back there.”
You wildly waved a hand towards the Devil’s lower half, sloppily gesturing towards his ass. His head once more tilted curiously to the side, the grin on his lips growing even wider in clear amusement.
“Devil’s food cake?” he questioned.
“Y’know,” you said, waggling your eyebrows suggestively at him. “‘Cause of all that–that cake you got back there. Wouldn’t mind a piece, personally.”
A huff of laughter slipped past the Devil’s lips and you brightened at the sound as it registered in your intoxicated ears. His positive reaction was only going to encourage you now.
“Are you… flirting with me?” he asked incredulously. “Because you do realize who I am, right?”
“Wouldn’t be the worst guy I’ve hit on tonight,” you replied with a shrug.
The Devil laughed, shaking his head as his attention dropped down towards his boots. A grin lingered along his lips, something almost bashful. But your focus openly shifted back down to the profile of his ass, your eyes appreciating the way the dark fabric stretched over him.
“Y’know it’s my friend’s birthday tonight,” you told him, swaying unsteadily on the sidewalk. “Didn’t realize you were the one bringin’ the cake.”
A snort of laughter met your comment, your smile growing wide as you watched the Devil’s head rise back up. He was smirking now, something mischievous in the way his mouth had twisted beneath the hard line of his mask.
Grinning back at him, your right hand cupped around your mouth as you leaned forward towards him. “But maybe you can let me blow out the candle,” you drunkenly half-whispered.
He shook his head at you, but the mischievous twist of his lips remained beneath the black fabric of his mask. “You're a bold drunk, aren't you?” he asked.
“Maybe,” you mumbled back, your eyes fixing along his lips. Without even thinking, you blurted next, “Wouldn’t mind climbing you like a building.”
Another surprised snort of amusement fell out of him as he shook his head at you once more. “You’re full of so many terrible lines,” he teased back with a chuckle. “You do realize that, right?”
“Oh I’ve got plenty more,” you assured him with a nod, exaggeratingly waving a dismissive hand in the air between you both. “Don’t you worry. Could totally do this all night.”
“Oh really?” he asked. “Is that right? Because I certainly can make time for this.”
Your hand stopped flapping in the air between you both, a single finger raising up. “Okay, wait,” you amended. “I have an Uber coming. So maybe not all night, but probably a few more minutes.”
“Mmm,” he hummed out, his smile briefly slipping. “Shame because this is turning out to be the most fun I’ve had so far in the mask.”
“Wanna make it more fun?” you asked, grinning suggestively at him.
The Devil’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he tried to bite back his growing smile. Something warm heated you, starting at the base of your skull and trickling down to your toes. Your eyes focused back on his mouth as your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You'd only been jokingly flirting, but now…
“Hate to be the voice of reason here,” the Devil began, “but I don't sleep with intoxicated women that I meet in alleys. I much prefer sober consent.”
“What a pity,” you mumbled, face contorting into a pout. “Never would've thought the Devil was a gentleman .”
“I'm full of surprises,” he teased.
You hummed thoughtfully in response, taking a step into the alley towards him and stumbling a little in your heels. Ignoring the growing throbbing of your ankle, you focused on the thrill of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen actually letting you flirt with him. You wanted to enjoy every minute of it, even if you probably wouldn't remember this moment too clearly in the morning.
“Anyone tell you you’ve got a pretty mouth?” you asked him.
The Devil shook his head, his smile returning. “No. Can't say the criminals I meet are too fond of passing out compliments when I'm hitting them,” he replied.
“Well you do ,” you assured him. “You really, really do .” Eyes narrowing at the plush lips of his still quirked into a smile, you studied the shape of them amongst the faint bit of dark stubble. “Reminds me of my boss. Now that's a mouth I'd love to do things with,” you drunkenly confessed. “But see,” you continued, pointing a firm finger at the Devil’s chest, “ he’s an asshole. Not fun like you.”
The Devil’s head tilted to the side again, his grin growing into a smirk. “Oh he is, is he?” he asked.
“Yes,” you answered. “Great ass, huge asshole. I’m–I’m sure there’s a stick shoved in there somewhere.”
The Devil barked out a laugh into the night as you reached into your purse and pulled out your phone. Squinting as the bright light assaulted your eyes, you saw that your Uber was mere minutes away. You loosed a disappointed sigh.
“Your ride almost here?” the Devil asked.
“Unfortunately,” you answered, returning your phone to your purse. “Unless you wanna be my ride tonight?”
Zipping your purse back up, you heard the Devil let out another laugh. Your smile grew along with your surprise at this whole interaction. You hadn’t anticipated just how fun the masked vigilante actually was considering how he spent his evenings. It was a shame you’d never meet him again.
“Have you fallen tonight?” the Devil asked, still grinning at you.
You held up a hand, preventing him from continuing his thought. “If you're about to ask if I fell from heaven,” you slurred, “then I'm disappointed in your lines, Devil man.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and laughing softly. “I’m just concerned you might have a concussion because of your continued flirting with a known vigilante. You should probably get your head checked out.”
“ You can check me out,” you teased coyly, sending him an exaggerated wink.
The Devil’s mouth opened, about to reply, but then his face darted over your shoulder, the corner of his lip twitching. You frowned when he took a step back, aware the gesture meant this entire interaction was quickly coming to an end. You didn’t want it to.
“Think your ride’s about here, actually,” the Devil said, further backing up into the alley. “Seems this is where I say goodnight.”
“Oh c’mon, don’t go yet!” you begged his retreating form. “I didn’t get any devil’s food cake!” you called after him. “How ‘bout a piece to-go? Sharing is caring!”
But somehow the Devil had quickly disappeared into the darkened alley, the only proof of his presence the echo of his laughter bouncing off the brick walls. The sound sent a pleasant chill up your body, a smile still lingering along your lips as you teetered on the spot staring after him.
The pounding in your head hit you almost immediately after the sound of your alarm hit your ears. Groaning miserably as your entire body protested waking, your hand blindly flew out from beneath the sheets and felt around for your phone. Opening your eyes, you immediately hissed in pain as the bright light in your bedroom burned them. You blinked rapidly, trying to push past the growing throbbing in your head in order to shut off your irritating alarm.
Silence finally settling once more in your room, you tossed your phone back down onto your nightstand and rolled onto your side before immediately halting. A wave of nausea hit you instantly and you squeezed your eyes closed, hoping to fight the feeling back. You needed to get up and get ready for work. You had twenty minutes to wash up, brush your teeth, and throw on clothes before you had to be out the door or you'd be late, and you could only imagine how irate your one boss would be if you were. You didn’t have time to get sick.
After a few moments, you were grateful when the nausea subsided. Cautiously you tested things, slowly opening your eyes again before tentatively pushing yourself upright in bed. The pounding in your head continued to rage on, another pathetic groan slipping past your lips. Drinking like you'd done on a weeknight last night had been a horrible idea. Vaguely you recalled the evening in flashes–doing rounds of shots, dancing with your friends, flirting with some guy. Most of the night remained a blur, though.
Feeling half-alive, you climbed out of bed and focused on getting ready for work. You'd briefly washed off in the shower, scrubbing yourself just clean enough to remove the scent of alcohol that felt like it was seeping out from your pores. Then you brushed your teeth vigorously before swirling some mouthwash around in your mouth, the taste of which had you fighting bile once more back down. Then you threw on whatever clean blouse and slacks your hands touched first, shuffling through your apartment towards your shoes as you pulled your pants on.
It had ultimately taken you more than twenty minutes to get ready for work and to get out the door since you'd had to stop and brace yourself against a wall or piece of furniture multiple times–either due to the pain in your head or the roiling in your gut. Then you'd been in a hurry making your way out of your building and towards the office, the morning sun and the usual city traffic only further aggravating your headache. By the time you'd finally gotten to work, you were more than ten minutes late and out of breath.
“I am–” you pushed open the door to the office, panting hard as you spotted one of your bosses leaning against your desk, “–so sorry. Was trying to get here on time but I went out last night. This morning was a struggle.”
“Well you're here now, at least,” Foggy said, glancing up from a paper in his hands at you. His brows creased together as he eyed you, his nose visibly scrunching in distaste. “Though you smell like you slept in a bathtub of liquor and you look like you woke up to fight a pissed off honey badger.”
You laughed lightly, the noise further irritating your head as you hurried over towards your desk before making your way around it. “Yeah. I'm aware,” you replied. “I'm sorry. My friend had a birthday last night and I went out to celebrate. I definitely drank too much and I completely regret it. I promise I learned my lesson.”
“Certainly not the best decision,” Foggy agreed. “But I'm glad to hear that. Maybe next time–”
“You're late.”
Your head darted over your shoulder at the sound of your other boss. Grimacing at the stern look on Matt’s face, your shoulders slumped as you set your bag down onto the top of your desk.
“I know, I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock,” you apologized. “It was a one time thing, it won't happen again, I promise.”
“Good, it better not,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe to his office. The corner of his lip twitched upwards for a second before he raised his coffee cup to his mouth, hiding the smile threatening to spread onto his lips. “Fog's right though, you smell like you bathed in the alcohol instead of drinking it. Can you even remember your night out?”
Chewing your lip awkwardly, your brows furrowed as you tried to recall last night. Though the sight of Matt standing there casually leaning against the doorframe drinking his coffee, the buttons of his sage green dress shirt struggling as he did, was making it hard for you to focus.
“Uh, bits and pieces of it?” you answered.
“Mmm,” he hummed out, lowering his coffee cup. “Well, hopefully your evening was worth showing up late for. I certainly enjoyed my night, though. Woke up in a good mood this morning, actually.”
Your eyes narrowed at the smile on his face, something tickling at the back of your mind at the sight of it. But Matt smiling instead of scolding you when you messed up was an unusual occurrence, one that had you hesitantly and distractedly lowering down into your desk chair.
“Which is why I brought doughnuts for everyone this morning,” Matt continued, gesturing a hand towards your desk. “I hope you still have an appetite after all the alcohol.”
“They're so good,” Foggy told you. “They’re from that new bakery a block over.”
Foggy slid the white box you hadn’t noticed on your desk over towards you. You watched as he flipped the lid open, the strong and sweet aroma of sugar and chocolate hitting your nose. Your stomach rumbled hungrily as you eyed the delicious chocolate pastries.
“Since when do you bring in doughnuts?” you asked, glancing back over at Matt.
He pushed off the doorframe, shrugging his shoulder. “I don't know,” he said, a strange smile drawing itself wide across his lips. “For some reason I woke up with a craving for devil's food cake and I just thought I’d share.”
With a deep chuckle Matt turned around, making his way back into his office. Head tilting curiously to the side, your eyes lingered along his backside as that strange feeling of something trying to reach the forefront of your mind returned.
eddie starts to do more accents after noticing how much it makes you giggle. he’ll start ordering pizza in a british accent when you’re at the trailer for movie night. when he catches you drifting off while studying, he’s quick to break in a high pitched valley girl accent as he reads “what was like the primary goal of the confederacy in fighting the civil war?” when he notices you trying to hide your smile he continues his theatrics. “whats your damage? do you like want to fail this test?” he’ll break into a french accent when you cook together, he even drew a moustache with a sharpie once (had to go to school the next day with it on since it wouldn’t come off and he didn’t break out of the accent till it fully came off). when he picks you up for school he greets you in a pirate accent, but sometimes it’s a southern one. it somehow never gets old and he’s rewarded with your smile each time.
riding matt murdock is probably so good. like he's groaning and mouthing at your tits. he lets you set the pace and, his hands are huge on your waist. normally, he's not super vocal but if you're on top he can't stop saying how good you feel. "fuck... just like that honey. just like that." he's practically drooling over your tits, trying not to thrust up into you, this is all for you. "that's it baby...take what you need, use me however you want honey."
dating jack means there is an unspoken rule that he always parallel parks for you. it doesn’t even matter what time you come home, because he’s always texting you “Call me when you’re here. I’ll park.😊”
pulling up in front of the house but he’s already in a light jog out the door, wearing his soft camo shorts and black tee, house loafers & backwards baseball cap. motioning for you to come out with his hand, a direct but gentle “get out, baby.” as he opens your door for you.
parallel parks with one hand on the wheel, veiny arm rotating it as the other hooks behind the passenger seat headrest. his jaw clenches and his sun-tanned neck straining as he looks back.
afterwards he hops out, jingling your shiny keychain and leaving a tap on your ass to signal you to head inside. “how was your day, pumpkin?”
Peter knew it was a bad idea to bring you to the lab. He had a hard enough time focusing when you weren’t around, plagued by the clock ticking the minutes away until he could see you, or the soft ding of his phone whenever you’d text, experiments and complicated chemical compounds meekly forgotten when your name lit up across his screen. It was a recipe for disaster. But you’d asked so nicely, fingers tugging at the tufts of hair at the base of his skull which made him dumbly agree to anything that came pouring from your mouth, which included a field trip to the lab.
“This is where the magic happens,” he’d told you upon entering, cluttered boxes lining the walls with complicated equipment your gaze lingered on, Boards of equations with written compounds, half of Pete's handwriting, the other half his older lab counterpart. “I just have to make some more web fluid—easier to get it done while the docs out. Should be pretty quick.”
It was meant to be quick. Peter was not accustomed to working under your watchful gaze, perched up on the seat only a foot away from him, smooth legs crossed, tiny belt of a skirt inching further and further up your thighs. Your ankle bounced, voice in a soft lilt as you asked questions, unperturbed by the stutter of Peter's explanations, trying with a great amount of effort to focus on the task at hand and not the way your top sunk into a low cut and the sliver of your hip that peeked out whenever you shifted for a closer look.
“How’d you learn how to do this?” you’d asked innocently, Peter’s eyes flitting over, swallowing under your pretty fluttering gaze.
“Lot’s of trial and error,” he tried to laugh, the sound coming out choked and gasp-like. “The compounds only work together in very precise amounts, a little bit over or under the exact measurement I’m making web-soup. Or cement. It’s a pretty temperamental process.”
You hummed thoughtfully, scooting closer an inch, staring at the vial of milky white fluid, “So what’s it made out of?”
“It’s top secret. Can’t go spreading my secret weapon—it’s sort of my whole thing,” his lips curled into a grin when your fingers pinched his side. “But since you asked so nicely and pinched me relatively hard,” your teeth sunk into your lip as he began listing chemicals. The light of the lab desk shone off the soft arch of his throat which bobbed with each word, tongue peeking out to swipe across his lips, glasses perched at the edge of his nose. Your hand snuck across the space between you, settling on his knee, a sharp intake of breath halting his words before you urged him to continue.
“Uh, yeah, okay, well, there's salicylic acid, carbon tetrachloride, traces of potassium carbonate, and—uh,” a low groan revereberates into a sharp laugh as your hand sneaks up the thick ridgid muscle of his thigh, “Ethyl acetate and—something else I can’t think about—okay,” a exciteable shriek leaves your lips when Peter's hand grabs hold of your chair leg, metal screeching across the ground as he yanks you to him with ease, hand coming to close against the back of your neck to slot his lips against yours with a relieved sigh.
“Oh my god, Peter!” you moan, fingers clutching tight to the wide expanse of his shoulders hunched over your arching body. Materials clatter over the desk as Peter yanks your hips to the edge, hands cupping your backside to sink his cock deeper into you, nose pressed to the arch of your throat as you gasp, pants only tugged halfway down his thigh, the band of your panties pressing a line into the inside of your thigh. The ridged taut muscles of his abdomen clench tight when every sheathe of his cock, glasses fogging at the bridge of his nose, barely staring over the edge to watch your tits bounce with every jolt of his hips, spurring him on, white lab light dancing across your sweat sheening skin.
“Never gonna be able to focus in this lab ever again, y’know that?” he groans, lips sweeping up across your cheek to press his lips to yours again, tongue peeking to dip into your wanting mouth. The drag of his cock pulling in and out makes your breathing all tight and ragged, tongue sweeping against Peter's tongue with stilted movements, letting him lick into your mouth behind your teeth and deep into your mouth. “Gotta hurry,” he murmurs, hiking your thighs up higher onto his hips as he dips against you, “Don’t know when doc’s getting back. Not a lot of excuses to make for this position. Not—ah—exactly a technique we use in lab science.”
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 6.2k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Fic Masterlist]
Warnings/Tags: 18+; sexual tension, light angst, pining, choking, and thigh riding the Devil
a/n: We're baaaaaaack and we're getting spicy! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
You tapped a finger against the screen of your phone and instantly recoiled along your pillow the second it lit up. Eyes narrowing to slits against the bright light, you struggled to read the time on the display. When you saw that it was just after two in the morning, your stomach sank. You’d spent the past few hours tossing and turning in bed and were still nowhere near closer to drifting off than when you’d first crawled beneath the covers.
Irritated at the waste of time and frustrating loss of sleep, especially since you had work in the morning, you shoved your phone away from yourself along the nightstand in annoyance. With an exasperated huff, you grabbed the sheets and finally flung them off of yourself before sitting upright in bed. As a resigned breath passed from between your lips into the darkness, you turned and placed your feet along the floor. Maybe if you gave up on quieting your mind and gave into the odd craving you currently had for orange juice, you might have more luck falling asleep afterwards.
Padding barefoot out of your bedroom, you shuffled down the hall and towards your kitchen while rubbing a hand against your tired eyes. You wore nothing but an oversized shirt and a pair of panties beneath it since today had been an unseasonably warm day for mid-spring, making it far too warm to sleep dressed in multiple layers. You’d wondered if it was the heat in your apartment causing you to struggle to fall asleep tonight, rolling back and forth in an attempt to get comfortable. Though you knew that if you were being honest with yourself, that wasn’t really the reason.
Flipping on the lightswitch as you stepped into your kitchen, you squinted at the abrupt harsh light that flooded your apartment. Dragging your tired feet over the worn wood floor, you walked over to your fridge as thoughts of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen began to flood your mind again.
You were certain your offer to become friends with benefits had been the cause of the sudden ending to your unexpected friendship with the Devil. Nearly three weeks had passed since that night you’d suggested the idea and you still hadn’t seen him since. You continued filling the Devil’s Pantry for him every single night with snacks, bottles of water, and simple medical supplies, faithfully intending to keep him fed, hydrated, and safe. Yet every morning when you pulled the container back inside, it was clear that he hadn’t stopped by your place. Nothing had been touched.
It’d been over a month and you'd only had that single encounter with him, the one in which you’d opened your big mouth and permanently sent your favorite stray back out into the night. There was no mistaking what his absence meant–whatever had been going on was over. You’d gotten too close to him, pushed too hard for something he’d made clear that he wasn’t going to give, and now he was gone. Your life had returned to being the same boring, monotonous thing that it’d always been, and you cursed the snowstorm which had brought the Devil into your world in the first place.
You grabbed the jug of orange juice out of your fridge and closed the door before turning and taking a few steps further into your small kitchen. Reaching your free hand up, you opened a cabinet and pulled out a black coffee mug, too tired to care about grabbing an actual glass. You set it down on the counter and untwisted the cap on the jug. Tipping the container over the cup, you filled it about halfway with orange liquid before screwing the lid back on.
After returning the orange juice back to the fridge, you picked up the ceramic cup and brought it to your lips, sipping at the sweet, tangy juice. Your aching, tired eyes slowly lowered shut as you leaned forward, resting your forearms along the kitchen counter and stretching your back. Your mind temporarily went blissfully blank amidst the quiet of your apartment and the relative calm of the city so early in the morning, but you were still left with that heaviness lingering in your chest.
This was your life again. Working Monday through Friday at a boring, thankless office job and staring at a computer screen all day every day. Coming home to change into comfortable clothes before making dinner and eating it while having no one to share the details of your day with. You spent your nights watching television shows and movies cuddling pillows on the couch before eventually crawling into your big bed only to fall asleep alone. Then you woke up to do it all over again. Sometimes on the weekends you’d meet up with friends for a bit, or go out to run errands, or curl up with a book on your couch, but otherwise your life was just a string of the same things repeating themselves over and over.
You’d been content with the way things were until you’d met the Devil. Now everything seemed so bleak and mundane, and you'd come to realize exactly how lonely you'd been beneath all that routine. The thrill of getting an unexpected visit while you were cooking dinner or beginning to fall asleep on the couch always had you rushing to get home after work, trying to put yourself together just for the Devil. And whenever he did visit, you replayed that brief encounter over and over in your head until he slipped back through your window again another night.
You had inevitably fallen into like with the Devil. Not love, certainly not that. But feelings definitely placed themselves into the equation against any level of reason. Which was strange considering you technically didn’t know much about him. Though you supposed that while you didn’t know his name, his career, or what he looked like beneath the mask, you had gotten to know the deeper parts of him.
You knew the Devil had a big heart which encompassed the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen, and you knew that he was fearless and headstrong, still running out into the night to protect the city even with the possibility of multiple broken ribs. He was selfless to the point that he never properly took care of himself, and you were positive that he spent his nights with only the company of criminals. You knew he could throw himself off your fire escape and be just fine, and you knew beneath all that grit was a witty, charming man who made you laugh.
During his last visit, he’d made it clear that he didn’t harbor any feelings for you and that all he felt was purely attraction. But at this point, you’d take whatever you could get if it meant he'd return to your fire escape. You’d find a way to be content with only his battered body and a few random nights of pleasure if that’s all he’d share with you, because there was no denying the intense attraction that drew you to him. He plagued your thoughts all day at work before haunting your dreams most nights.
You missed him.
With your eyes still closed, you continued sipping at the juice in your mug, still hunched over your kitchen counter. Running your other hand across your forehead, the tips of your fingers pressed firm circles into the space between your eyes. You really hoped the orange juice would somehow magically quiet your thoughts, otherwise you’d be miserably exhausted at work all day tomorrow from not getting any sleep.
“I don’t know how many times I've said this, but you really should keep your window locked.”
Your entire body tensed at the deep, familiar voice suddenly behind you, your fingers pausing their circles against your forehead. The saliva in your mouth dried instantly, leaving your tongue parched and heavy where it sat. You were too afraid to open your eyes and turn to look behind you, not entirely certain if you’d reached a new low and begun hallucinating the Devil or if he was actually here after weeks of his continued painful absence.
A long, weighted silence engulfed your apartment as you stood half-slouched against the counter, so uncertain whether he was real that you were barely breathing. The longer the quiet stretched on, the more you’d started to convince yourself that you hadn’t actually heard him, your mind beginning to play tricks on you. Until he spoke again and your fingers tightened around the handle of your mug.
“Suppose I deserve the lack of greeting,” he mused, his voice sounding closer now. “I haven’t exactly checked in with you in awhile.”
Sucking a deep breath into your lungs and holding it, you opened your eyes and braced yourself. But as you stared at the dark tile backsplash on the wall in front of you, you weren’t entirely certain what you were bracing yourself for. A fight? Him returning only to officially end the friendship? To turn around and realize you were hallucinating disembodied voices now? Or to brace yourself against the hope that you felt tickling its way through you because he’d returned, and that meant maybe you might not have scared him away as permanently as you'd believed.
“Angel?” he hesitantly called out. “You're uncharacteristically silent tonight. Usually when I stop by you have plenty more to say.”
Exhaling the breath you’d been holding, you let go of the black ceramic mug and turned around to face him. But seeing him actually standing there merely three feet away had you stumbling backwards into the counter behind you. The Devil was not only really here, but he was standing so very, very close to you. You attempted to swallow the lump forming in the back of your throat, but your mouth was far too dry to accomplish the task.
Your eyes began roving over him in a rush as if you were taking stock of him, committing him to memory after the weeks that’d gone by without him. His face was still mostly covered with that ridiculous black fabric which was always pulled down to just past the tip of his nose, leaving his beautiful full lips and that angular jaw covered in delicious dark stubble visible. You had forgotten exactly how tight his black shirts were, clinging to him in a way which further accentuated each of his muscles beneath the dark fabric. While you had never forgotten just how well he filled out those black pants from that time you'd pulled him out of them, you had forgotten the way they seemed to strain at the seams on the sides because of how thick his thighs were. Noticing that little detail again had your heart thundering in your own ears.
But besides all of that, he looked entirely fine. There was no sign of limping or bleeding, no reason as to why he might’ve disappeared for weeks. Not that you hadn’t already heard him featured in multiple news stories in the days that'd passed since you'd last spoken with him. You knew he was still venturing out into the city at night, he just hadn't ventured to see you.
The Devil’s covered head tipped to the side, his lips curving downwards at the corners. You realized you’d just been standing there staring at him in your kitchen for a long, drawn out minute without having said anything yet. But instead of feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable, the question that had been scratching at your mind ever since that last time he’d flung himself over the railing of your fire escape flew off your tongue.
“You disappeared for weeks. Why?” you demanded.
His lips pursed in response, a few of his fingers twitching at his sides inside of his black gloves. Another silence dragged itself out between you both, and you continued to grow increasingly aware of just how close he stood to you in the kitchen. Leaning further back against the counter behind you, feeling the edge of it press into your lower back, you tried to maintain your distance as if that would somehow help contain the tumultuous onslaught of emotions now coursing through you just from seeing him again.
“I thought it was for the best,” he finally answered. “I was afraid you might be getting attached, and I can’t exactly have attachments. Not doing all of this.” He raised a gloved hand, gesturing it at his chest and implying his nightly vigilante activities. “I’m not the guy you should be interested in, angel. So I thought it would be better if I stopped intruding on your evenings and gave you space, but–.”
“It wasn’t better,” you shot back, cutting him off.
The words had come out a bit harsher than you'd intended, so you paused, pressing your lips firmly together while you took a second to rein in your emotions. Telling him off would probably just send him back out onto your fire escape, and that was the opposite of what you wanted.
“I thought we’d become friends after all those times I helped you,” you tried again, managing to keep your tone even. “I thought you would have at least given me some sort of an actual goodbye instead of just ghosting me if you weren’t planning to come back.”
The corner of his lip twitched, guiltily tugging to the side. “You're right, we did become friends over these past few months,” he agreed softly. “And I’m sorry for my absence. I shouldn’t have just disappeared on you like that, but I wasn't necessarily intending to never come back.”
It wasn’t much of an apology, especially considering this wasn't the first time he'd disappeared on you after your strange friendship had begun, yet you couldn’t deny the way the frustration and hurt began to ease its way out of you. He was acknowledging his actions at least, and maybe he was truly sorry. He certainly sounded like it. While it still upset you that he’d just ignored you for weeks, not even leaving you a note or stopping by to take something from the Devil’s Pantry which you dutifully set outside solely for him every single night, you couldn’t deny how elated you were that he’d simply returned to you.
But that begged the question as to why he was here tonight.
“So what brought you back then?” you asked, brows furrowing together. “I thought what I said last time freaked you out after you stopped visiting. It's been weeks since I've seen you, why show up now?”
The Devil took a half step closer to you, shrinking the already small distance between you both, and your reaction was immediate. Your pulse sped up, your heart thudding like a drum inside your chest as he drew even closer. The remaining space between your bodies grew thick and heated as something settled in it, something that had your stomach dipping anxiously as if you’d just jumped over the railing of your fire escape yourself.
The Devil's heavy boots came to an abrupt halt along the floor, his lips twisting into a grimace as his hands curled into fists at his sides. You wondered what that was about, curious to know if he could somehow feel that same tension in the air that you did.
“I came because of what you said last time,” he admitted, sounding oddly pained. “I've been…wanting to know if you really meant it.”
Your heart gave a sharp, unexpected jolt as if it could somehow fling itself from your chest at him, so you grabbed onto the counter behind you to steady yourself. Had he really just spent all this time thinking about your offer of sleeping together? Conflicted over it for weeks instead of being completely put off by the idea? Was that why he'd disappeared for so long? Because he’d actually been considering making that sort of arrangement with you?
“You mean about being friends who are sometimes more than that?” you hesitantly clarified.
“Yes,” the Devil answered.
He took another half-step closer to you, and you swore every nerve-ending in your body sparked to life. His tongue slipped out between his lips, making you acutely aware of how you were currently dressed right now–in just the oversized shirt and panties. Panties which were quite honestly growing a bit damp with the way you could feel him staring at you beneath that mask.
“Do you truly think that's something you could do?” he questioned huskily. “The physical without anything more than friendship? Especially with someone you know so little about?”
“I told you I already know enough about you,” you replied. You’d caught the breathlessness of your own voice, his proximity having a strong effect on you considering the topic of conversation. “I know enough about your character even without your name. I imagine you could say the same about me.”
He shook his masked head from side to side slowly, taking another step closer as he did. There was less than a foot of space left between your bodies now, and you could smell the sweat and the city on him. Your hands curled tighter around the kitchen counter behind you, nails digging into the stone as you leaned against it, fighting the growing lightheadedness as your breaths came in sharper.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” the Devil pointed out. “I asked if you could do the physical and only accept my friendship in return.”
It was impossible not to stare at his lips with him standing as close as he was, your eyes drawn to them when he'd spoken, watching the way they formed each word. Your breathing was coming in short and embarrassingly ragged, and you were certain he could hear the way it’d changed.
Something about the Devil had you constantly wanting more from him. More nighttime visits, more conversations, more touches with or without the gloves, more personal facts accidentally slipping out of his beautiful mouth. You wanted more than friendship because you'd certainly gone and developed feelings for him, but that wasn't what he was offering.
If it was a choice between friends who fucked or nothing at all, you knew the answer. You'd shove down every scrap of feelings you felt for him if it meant he kept climbing through your window at night. And if you got to have just a fraction more of him in the process, you were willing to deal with the emotional fallout later. Maybe all it was between you two was sexual attraction in the end, just like he'd said before.
“Yes,” you told him. “I can handle it.”
Which was true, because you knew that was the only way you'd ever keep the Devil. And right now, you’d have agreed to anything to make that happen.
His head tipped to the side as he fell into quiet contemplation, apparently mulling over your response. You remembered once that he’d mentioned he could tell when people were lying, and you wondered if he was somehow using that ability on you now, however the hell it worked.
While he stood silent, your eyes dropped to the line of his jaw. It was even more exposed beneath the overhead light in your kitchen with the way he’d tipped his head to the side, and you desperately wanted to run your tongue along the length of it. You wanted to taste his skin, to feel the sharp rasp of his stubble, and to hear what sounds he might make. You wanted to twist your fingers into the little brown hairs that peeked out beneath the back of his mask and kiss him until you couldn't breathe.
Having grown so absorbed in the fantasy playing out in your head, your stupid mind only making you more aroused than you already were seconds ago, you were taken by surprise when the Devil abruptly moved. A startled gasp slipped out of you the moment he lunged forward, his rough gloves grabbing onto either side of your face. He closed the remaining distance without warning, and his impossibly soft and warm lips crashed onto yours before your brain had a second to comprehend what was happening.
It took you a moment to register that he was kissing you, that after months of fantasizing about this exact scenario, the Devil was finally kissing you. Your hands released the counter and grabbed onto the thin fabric of his shirt along his chest, your fingers twisting into the dark material. Moving your lips against his, you kissed him back with the hungry determination you’d been holding back for months. Every part of you became hyper-aware of the Devil, because for once you were touching him and it wasn't with the sole intention of helping him.
You could feel the hard planes of muscle beneath your palms, the muscle you’d known was there because you'd seen it before, but now you didn't have to hide how incredibly attracted you’d always been to him. So when he took another step forward and pressed himself against you, trapping you between him and the counter, all of the blood in your veins rushed to a singular point between your thighs. His solid chest brushed against your peaked nipples poking through the thin cotton of your shirt, and you audibly moaned at the sensation. Seizing the opportunity, the Devil’s tongue slid right into your mouth, his gloved hands still firmly holding your face steady in his grip.
With each sensual lap of his tongue against yours, you could feel a bulge straining against the front of his pants. Fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt, you reacted without thinking as his erection pushed into your thigh. Your hips bucked forward against his, desperate for more contact–for more of him. But instead he abruptly broke away from your lips with a long, deep groan of pleasure as if somehow it was all too much, and you swore the sound lit your body on fire.
You stared at his kiss swollen lips beneath the harsh lighting of your kitchen, your breath coming in ragged, harsh bursts. Not quite ready to have ended such a heated moment, you inched forward towards him, eager to continue what had been easily the hottest kiss of your life, but you were stopped as the Devil’s hands fell away from your face and he took a partial step backwards.
“Wait,” he hoarsely ordered. His own chest rapidly rose and fell as if he was struggling to catch his breath, one of his hands raising in the space between you. “We should–should discuss things first. Boundaries.”
Still utterly breathless from the kiss, the air rushed in and out between your parted lips. You felt as disheveled and undone as the Devil currently looked, his shirt rumpled and his cheeks flushed. Your panties were noticeably wet, something that was impossible to ignore now. So was the throbbing between your legs that was beating in sync with your pulse.
He huffed out a breathy laugh while nodding his head. But as the grin lingered on his lips, you caught the hard swallow with the bob of his throat before he turned, moving with barely a sound in his heavy boots as he navigated through your kitchen and headed straight towards your couch. Disappointment crept through you, his retreat the equivalent of someone spraying you with a garden hose. Talking was the last thing you were in the mood for after that frenzied kiss you'd both just shared, but you followed after him anyway. Somewhere in your lust-filled mind you knew he had a point, there were details to discuss if this were to work.
“Boundaries,” you repeated. “That–that makes sense. If we’re, you know, doing this.”
“If we are doing this,” the Devil began, voice still tight as he settled onto the couch, “then I need to set some rules.”
“Rules, right,” you agreed breathlessly, making your way through your kitchen. The abrupt switch from wanting to tear through his clothes with your nails to needing to discuss boundaries for this ‘relationship’ had your head spinning. “I can do rules.”
“Even if that means my mask can never come off?” the Devil questioned.
“Maybe I’ll develop a mask kink,” you teased back, bare feet padding towards him. “Or maybe I already have one.”
As you stepped around the side of the couch, about to make your way to sit down beside him, you were caught off guard when he leaned forward. His hand shot out and latched onto your wrist, gently yet firmly tugging you towards him. You stumbled forward a step, letting him guide you down onto what you assumed would be his lap, but instead he settled you down to straddle one of his thighs.
You became exceedingly aware of the length of thick muscle along the top of it, the thin layer of your damp panties not creating much of a barrier between your aching cunt and that heavenly muscle. Your traitorous pussy clenched around nothing as you sat there, silently begging for you both to shut up already and give into the desire burning through you. As if the Devil could feel your impatience, his hands roughly landed on your hips as a throaty hum rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating through your entire body before heading straight to your cunt.
“You know I can’t ever give you my name, either,” he continued in a lower, huskier tone. “I need to remain anonymous.”
Placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, you felt his gloved fingers digging into the flesh of your hips through your shirt. He nudged you slightly forward along his thigh, dragging your cunt over him just enough. The sweet, delicious friction that resulted elicited the softest whine from your lips and you visibly quivered. The Devil’s grip tightened even further on your hips, his nostrils flaring sharply beneath his mask.
“We don’t–dont need names,” you whispered.
Another low, pleased noise vibrated deep in the back of his throat. He tipped his head back against the back of your couch, staring up at you from beneath the mask as one of his hands released your hip, gliding up the top of your thigh before disappearing beneath your shirt. The coarse material of his glove dragging its way tantalizingly slowly over your ribs caused the muscles in your stomach to twitch.
“This can only ever be sex,” he stated.
Your eyelids fluttered as his hand continued moving further upwards, teasing you with its unhurried pace until it inevitably came to palm your breast. He cupped the weight of it in his hand, the corner of his lips curving upwards as you involuntarily shifted along his leg. The hand on your hip urged you to move against him again, causing sparks of heat to dance under your skin as he encouraged you to grind along his exceptionally solid thigh.
“I have a feeling tending injuries and–and feeding you might also be involved in this arrangement,” you murmured, half-distracted from the conversation by pleasure.
The softest chuckle tumbled past his lips as he looked up at you, a cocky smirk playing along them. “Then I suppose you should get your fair share out of this arrangement too, angel.”
His voice was a low purr that had your eyelids falling shut and your nails digging into his shoulders. Your body started moving in a rhythm all on its own, your hips rocking back and forth along his thigh as the hem of your shirt rode higher up your legs with the movement. The ridge of his thick quad was perfectly slotted between your thighs, allowing you to grind yourself along him at the exact angle that already had your stomach knotting up in pleasure.
Everything else melted away as you straddled his thigh chasing after something to soothe the ache you felt for him between your own. It no longer mattered that he’d been gone for weeks, or how hurt you’d been over his silence, or that it was incredibly late and you were absolutely exhausted and needed to sleep. You’d never felt so good before and you weren’t even fucking him yet. Because there was something there between you both, something that made your pulse pound and your brain go hazy, something that you’d never experienced before.
“Is this what you think about when I'm not around?” he asked.
As your eyes gradually fluttered back open, you were met with the view of the Devil still casually watching you. His lips were parted as his hand beneath your shirt continued kneading your breast. Beneath the black mask, his cheeks were still somewhat flushed, and you could feel the tension in his shoulders beneath your palms, as if all that dangerous power was being held back while he let you ride his thigh.
“Yes,” you breathed out. “This and…other things…”
Releasing your grip on his shoulder, you dragged your nails softly down his chest, letting them skip over his belt buckle. But the second you palmed the tented fabric of his pants, the Devil’s teeth clamped together and a sharp hiss of air passed through them as he arched against the couch. Your tongue slid out, wetting your lips in delight at his reaction to simply being touched. You wanted more of it, so your hand inched upwards towards his belt buckle with every intention of freeing him from the confines of his pants so that you could take care of him.
But when his hand left your hip to abruptly grasp your neck, you froze in place beneath his grip. Your hips stuttered to a stop along his thigh as your hand lingered on his belt buckle, wondering if somehow undressing him was crossing one of his boundaries. While he wasn’t gripping you hard enough to choke, he'd certainly grabbed you with enough pressure to feel his gloved hand pressing against your windpipe.
The Devil gave a single shake of his head. “No. Not tonight,” he said. “Only this.”
There was something laced in those few words that felt like a warning. Apparently sex wasn’t on the table tonight, and while you were moderately disappointed that you’d have to wait even longer for that, you could hardly remain disappointed when his hand beneath your shirt pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.
“Keep going,” he ordered. “You’re not finished until you come on my thigh, angel.”
You needed no further encouragement, your body once more resuming its motion along his leg. His hand remained wrapped around your throat though. The pressure was not enough to restrict your airflow, but it caused little white spots to appear in the corner of your vision.
Being choked by the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had a thrill tingling its way up your spine. How many men had been strangled by these exact hands? And now here he was holding himself back with you. He could squeeze just a little more, press his fingers into the delicate skin of your neck hard enough to block your breath until you passed out like he’d no doubt done countless times with so many others, but you trusted him completely. Because you knew the Devil wouldn’t cross that line with you.
And the thought of that had you panting and whimpering on him in a matter of minutes, your slick panties leaving wet stains along the top of his dark pants. You could feel yourself inching closer to a release, your stomach tightening with each roll of your hips as you rutted against him like a pathetic, single-minded animal.
“That’s it, angel,” he husked. “You’re turning into such a mess for me.”
With one hand braced against his shoulder, nails digging into him so firmly that you were surprised you hadn’t torn his shirt, your other hand was curled over the top of his pants, palm flat against his belt buckle that he'd stopped you from undoing. Your thighs were trembling around his as pleasure surged its way through your body like a wave cresting against the shore, and you ground against him until finally reaching your breaking point.
Your head tipped back over your shoulders, your eyes clamping shut as a low moan barreled straight out of your mouth, the sound vibrating against his palm. His fingers tightened around your neck as you came on his thigh, your entire body quaking with pleasure. You thought you heard a throaty groan rumble out of him, but your brain was too muddied to know for certain.
Shuddering against him, your hips eventually slowed to a stop, your panties significantly damper than earlier. You were breathing hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a battering ram. Eventually the Devil released your neck from his hold, his hand finding its way back to your hip to steady you on his leg as his other reluctantly ceased toying with your nipple beneath your shirt. Still loudly gasping for air, your head rolled forward and your gaze landed back on him, catching the rather smug smile beneath the hard line of his mask.
“What’s–what’s that look for?” you breathed out.
“You have absolutely no idea how beautiful you sound to me, angel,” he murmured.
His hand lightly patted your hip, the smug smile remaining drawn across his lips. Your brows dipped together in confusion as you stared down at him, heat creeping its way up your neck. Was he talking about the sounds you’d just been making when you’d come? You’d never been complimented on that before. What another odd thing for him to say. But you were far too tired now to question much about his strangeness as your body began to slump forward against his.
“Think I should get you to bed,” the Devil teased. “Seems like you’re up well past your bedtime, angel. I don’t think my visit helped with your energy levels.”
“Mmm,” you hummed back, leaning forward towards him and wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “On the contrary, Devil, I think your visit helped tire me out so that I can finally fall asleep.”
Simply because you could–and because once wasn’t enough tonight–you leaned in the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to his lips. He returned it, though this time it wasn’t as heated as when he’d cornered you in your kitchen. This kiss was softer and slower, with something almost sweet and hesitant about it. When you pulled back, you smiled down at where you thought his eyes were hidden beneath his mask.
“You sure you’re good tonight?” you asked. “So far this arrangement seems a bit uneven.”
His lips quirked into a mischievous grin, and you fought the urge to lean back down and keep kissing him. That was going to be difficult to stop doing now that you’d been allowed to start.
“I’ll collect what I want next time,” he promised you. “But you sound far too exhausted and I’m sure you have work in the morning, so I think this is where I see myself out and let you get to bed.”
Reluctantly disentangling yourself from his thigh, you maneuvered yourself off his lap and stood back onto your feet, readjusting the oversized shirt that had ridden up. The Devil pushed himself up from the couch after you, and while you weren’t certain in the dim lighting that reached the living room from your kitchen, you thought you saw a damp patch not just on his thigh but also near his zipper. Maybe the Devil had enjoyed himself more than you’d realized.
“So is this how it’s going to be now?” you asked curiously, watching him readjust his pants as he headed towards your window. “We fuck and then you disappear from the fifth floor?”
The Devil slid open your window before he paused, his masked face turning over his shoulder towards you. “Tehcnically we haven’t done that yet,” he pointed out. “But sometimes I suppose that’ll be the case. I’m usually on the go. Things are always happening in the city. And since this isn’t anything more than just two friends who’re attracted to each other, we shouldn’t make it anymore complicated than that.”
“Right,” you agreed, nodding your head. “Just…two friends who want to fuck each other. Really badly.”
His grin grew wider before he tipped his head at you. “Goodnight, angel.”
Before you could say more than a goodnight in return, he turned and slipped out onto your fire escape through the open window. He closed it after himself before walking over to the railing, grabbing it in both of his hands and then gracefully flinging himself over it just like he’d done so many times before.
“I can definitely do uncomplicated,” you told yourself, staring at the place he’d just been standing outside, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “That absolutely will not be a problem.”
I’m gonna need reader to break Matt’s legs — from riding them and out of anger cause what is their problem??? Ugh this series hurts so good, thank you for continuing it 🫶
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.3k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Fic Masterlist]
Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty
a/n: So...I've been gone for a bit, but now I'm back after that unexpected hiatus. This is the installment that I have been wanting to scream about because of where things are about to eventually go.... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
It was a surprisingly warm night tonight. Spring had finally drawn nearer to Hell's Kitchen with the way the evening chill had begun to lack its usual bite. As Matt limped his way across the rooftop, sweat dampened the fabric of the mask as it clung to his forehead. His shirt was torn and his torso bleeding after the knife-wielding criminal he'd just fought now sat handcuffed in the back of a police car. He was tired and ready to end the evening, but somehow his feet had taken him to your building. It was a place he’d been avoiding ever since what had happened the last time he’d tried to stop by your apartment just about a week ago.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d ended up on your rooftop again tonight, or what had even compelled him to carefully lower himself down the side of the building towards your fire escape. Though he’d been hesitant to throw his senses into your apartment tonight, nervous of a repeat situation. But you were in fact asleep this time. He could hear your even breaths and your steady heartbeat coming from your bedroom as confirmation.
With a faint sigh of relief, Matt focused on your fire escape next. Easily enough, he caught the usual scent of food that meant you were still loyally keeping the Devil’s Pantry just outside your window for him even though he hadn't taken anything out of it in two weeks. A tinge of guilt hit him at that realization. He’d been avoiding your place, but you’d still been thinking about him. Despite his absence, you'd still been worried about him staying fed and hydrated.
Crossing the two small steps towards the bin, Matt crouched down and removed the lid with a wince, the cuts on his torso stinging at the movement. If he was here, he figured he should probably leave some sign of it. Some sign acknowledging that he still appreciated you leaving this out for him–like actually taking something out of it.
Reaching a hand inside the container, Matt grabbed a bottle of water. He pulled it out and twisted off the lid before drinking half the bottle down in a matter of a few deep gulps. Feeling a little more refreshed, he found himself grateful that you were still this thoughtful despite the silence on his end of this unusual friendship. Though Matt had convinced himself that you most likely didn't mind that he had stopped barging in on you all of the time. You were seeing that guy now. You had other things going on to occupy your thoughts and your time. The Devil’s Pantry only remained on your fire escape because you appreciated what the Devil did for the Kitchen. That was the only reason.
Setting the partially drunk water bottle down beside his feet, Matt reached a hand back into the container. He’d been going to grab a protein bar, but his gloved hand hit something flimsy, the sound of paper rustling meeting his ears. He froze, a frown settling on his lips. Had you left him a note again?
Withdrawing his hand from the bin, he worked on removing his glove before setting it on the fire escape beside his feet. With his other hand, he reached back inside the bin to pull the slip of paper out. His ungloved fingers ran over the top of your note and the unmistakable indentations of a pen met his fingertips. You had in fact left him a note, but one so short that he didn’t need to repeatedly trace his fingers over it to make sense of it this time.
I miss you, Devil.
The frown deepened on Matt’s mouth, his lips twisting in confusion. What had you meant by that? Did you really miss his unannounced visits? Didn't you have that guy to occupy your time with now? Weren't you appreciative that he was leaving you alone and giving you your privacy?
Maybe you missed the jokes between you both–Matt certainly did. You were always so funny. And he hated to admit it, but if there really was some sort of friendship that had formed between the pair of you, communication was required to maintain it. Which meant checking in with each other. Talking. But how was he supposed to stand in your apartment and hold a conversation with you after how he'd eavesdropped–despite his best attempts not to–on such a personal moment of yours that he'd then shamefully taken far too much pleasure in the last time he’d stopped by?
His fingers ran over the little note again, his focus on the soft lines and gentle curves of your handwriting. As he read it once more, the steady sound of your heartbeat in his ears, he heard the words as if you’d spoken them in his ear.
I miss you, Devil.
His attention shifting from the note in his hand, he focused on your bedroom window next to the fire escape. A frown tugged at his lips as he continued to listen to your even breaths.
“I miss you, too, angel,” he whispered.
Partially distracted, you tried to focus on putting away the load of clean dishes that had recently finished washing in your dishwasher. For the entirety of the night all you’d been able to think about was the new mistake you'd managed to make earlier at work. While truthfully it hadn't been that big of a deal, your least favorite co-worker had made sure to take every opportunity to torment you about it today. And that had only made things worse.
Simply put, today had been a bad day for you. It also didn't help that it had been over two weeks since you'd last seen the Devil. And you knew he'd finally stopped by your apartment three nights ago to grab some water and snacks out of your Devil’s Pantry because a few items had finally been removed after the past couple of weeks of it remaining untouched. So you knew he'd read the note you'd left for him. But you still hadn't seen him since, and at this point you were convinced that he really was done with you.
So you'd come home miserable tonight and had immediately gone into a stress-induced cleaning frenzy. You'd folded the laundry that had once more piled up in your bedroom after throwing another load into the wash in the building's laundry facility downstairs. You'd not only scrubbed your bathroom sparkling clean, but you'd even dusted and swept the whole apartment. Afterwards, still trying hard not to think about your disappointment at never seeing the Devil again, you'd methodically organized the clothes in your closet by color. You'd only paused long enough to throw together the saddest salad, too morose to actually cook tonight, before moving on to emptying your dishwasher.
You wondered if your note had been the final nail in the coffin for the Devil and your friendship. Because he had eventually come back just once after you'd made the mistake of toying with his jealousy. That had to mean something, right? But then why had admitting you missed him made him disappear again? You figured he'd want to know you'd been thinking about him if he was jealous.
Maybe you should have written him a longer note. A note that told him you'd ended things with Dylan a long time ago. That you sat in wait for him pathetically every night just for a glimpse of him outside your window. That you couldn't stop thinking about him. That you wanted him.
But you'd once again lost the opportunity to tell him how you felt. And now you'd never have the chance.
With a heavy heart, you set the two glasses you were holding up on the cabinet shelf. Turning back towards your half-empty dishwasher, you headed back over and bent down to pull out one of your larger knives from the top rack. But as you stood back up, a voice to your left startled you so much that you jumped on the spot.
“You still kept it unlocked.”
Head darting over your shoulder, your eyes widened in shock when you saw the Devil standing just beyond your kitchen in his black, form fitting suit. Mouth falling open in surprise, you couldn't believe he'd actually come back. You'd been positive he was gone from your life forever.
“You–you’re here,” you stammered a little breathlessly. “I–ah!”
A sharp stinging burned its way up your arm just as the Devil’s head tilted to the side. Before you could even register another thought beyond pain, his lips had set into a firm line as he darted across the room straight towards you. You’d caught the soft, panicked curse he'd muttered under his breath as he hurried to your side.
Glancing down at where the pain was focused on your arm, you gasped at the sight. Blood was seeping out of a cut along the top of your forearm. Judging from the red on the edge of the knife in your other hand, you must've accidentally cut yourself when you'd startled and then been too shocked at the sight of the black-clad Devil to immediately realize you'd even been hurt.
Black gloved hands were on you immediately. One of the Devil’s hands gently grasped your injured arm while the other carefully retrieved the knife from your other hand. He was silent as he set the knife down on the counter behind himself before he returned his attention to your injury. Delicately twisting your wrist back and forth in his hold, his masked face focused on your cut as he examined it.
“You're lucky,” his gravelly voice said. “Doesn't sound like a deep cut.”
Face screwing up at the comment, your eyes darted up to his masked one. Curiously you watched him through narrowed eyes as he stood there still tenderly grasping your arm in his hand and examining the damage you’d accidentally done with your knife. What did he mean by it not sounding like a deep cut? Didn’t he mean that it didn’t look like a deep cut? Had he just misspoken? As much as you’d been tempted to ask for clarification, after going weeks without seeing him you weren’t feeling inclined to take the risk of asking and touching on something personal that would send him running away from you again.
“I should clean this,” he murmured, still focused on your arm. “Don’t need you getting an infection. You’ll certainly need a bandage, but it doesn’t seem deep enough to need stitches.”
His face finally rose, his eyes behind the mask seeming to fix on you now. You could feel your heart pounding a little harder beneath his mysterious covered gaze; it had been so long since you’d last felt the weight of it on you.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” he asked.
Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus on the answer to his question and not the fact that he was here and that you’d also just accidentally sliced yourself with a knife. It didn’t help that his gloved hand was still so carefully holding your wrist.
“It’s–it’s in the bathroom,” you answered, voice still coming out a little breathless. “Under the vanity.”
His head cocked curiously to the side. “There a towel I can use to clean this in there, too?” he asked next.
You nodded, still partially in a daze. “Mhmm,” you hummed back.
He released your hand, his head gesturing behind himself to your couch. “Sit,” he ordered. “I'll be right back.”
The Devil turned, striding his way across your apartment and towards the bathroom with an urgency in his steps. He moved without making much sound as you stared after his retreating form. You genuinely wondered how he did that. He really was just like a cat.
Still in shock that he was even here, you maneuvered around the kitchen counter and headed over towards your couch. As you settled down onto the cushions, you glanced over at the short hallway he’d disappeared down and held your bleeding arm upright. Curiously you noted he hadn't even bothered turning on the bathroom light in his haste so that he could see what he was doing. But by the time you’d had that thought, he was already making his way back out of your bathroom, clearly having found what he wanted as he brought the items over.
The Devil sat on the couch beside you before reaching over towards your coffee table to set down the first aid kit and the damp towel. In silence you watched as he began peeling his gloves off of his hands one at a time, the innocent gesture somehow seeming to cause your blood to heat. You swore you could feel his own body heat radiating off of him from where he sat so close beside you removing each glove, your eyes focused on the deft movements of his fingers.
It didn’t help that you were far too aware of how close his large thigh was to your leg right now. You couldn’t resist glancing down at it, staring at how easily it filled out the black pants he wore. Curiously you wondered if you’d even be able to fit both of your hands around the circumference of his thigh with how thick and muscular it was. Swallowing thickly, you felt your body warm a bit further, your mind going to places it shouldn’t have been going right now. Like sitting on his lap.
Your attention had been so focused on his leg in his tight pants that when he turned back towards you, you visibly startled on the couch. The Devil paused with the damp towel in his hand as he stared back at you, clearly having caught the way you’d jumped. The corner of his lip twitched, almost as if he’d wanted to smile, but then his expression quickly returned serious.
“Give me your arm,” he ordered.
Gnawing on your bottom lip, you awkwardly held it out towards his awaiting hand. Gingerly his fingers wrapped around your wrist, drawing it further towards himself as his masked face once more focused on your cut. His other hand began lightly washing the blood that had coated your forearm with the towel, goosebumps beginning to dot your skin under his attention.
The Devil had never quite touched you like this before when he’d visited you in the past. The hold he had on your wrist was delicate despite the roughness of his fingers. There was also care in the way he was methodically cleaning your small wound, almost as if he’d done this before on someone besides himself. You found yourself wondering about that for a minute, curious as to who it would’ve been that this man had often tended to like this.
“Keep this right here,” he told you. “I’m not done yet.”
With the blood cleaned from your arm, the Devil momentarily released it from his hold before he leaned over towards your coffee table, setting down the damp rag. Opening your first aid kit, his hands reached inside and his fingers fumbled around, shuffling items out of his way as he searched for what he wanted. Eventually you saw him grab a cotton ball and that tube of Neosporin you’d used on the injury for his ass a few weeks ago. The sight of it immediately reminded you of that night and how you’d messed up, and the sudden urge to rectify that situation before he disappeared on you again hit you hard as you watched him smear the ointment on a cotton ball.
You cleared your throat as he once more grabbed your wrist with his hand, his other one gently dabbing the ointment over your cut. Wincing slightly as he worked, you tried to find a way to begin the discussion you wanted to have. With how quiet the Devil currently was this evening, it didn't seem like he’d be sticking around for conversation much longer after he finished bandaging your arm.
“So uh–”
“I’m sorry for this,” he murmured, cutting you off.
Brows drawing together at his unexpected apology, you watched him in confusion as he reached over and set the cotton ball down on your coffee table. Briefly he released your wrist again, his hands searching for the correct size bandage in your kit.
“What do you mean?” you asked him. “It’s not like you stabbed me. Pretty sure I was the one holding the knife, Devil.”
“I shouldn’t have just barged in,” he replied, picking up the bandage he wanted and beginning to open the package. “I scared you. Should’ve known you were holding a knife.”
Your head tilted curiously to the side, your brows still knitted together. One of these days you were determined to figure out what he meant by all these odd things he said. Assuming, of course, he kept coming back long enough.
“It was an accident,” you reminded him. “You don’t have to apologize for an accident.”
He emitted a single grunt in response as his warm fingers once more encircled your wrist. His other hand very carefully laid out the bandage over your forearm before his fingertips gently smoothed it down over your skin. Eyelids fluttering beneath the tender, light touch, you once more felt your pulse accelerate. But when he spoke again, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.
“There,” he said, placing your arm back into your lap. “I’d keep it from getting wet in the shower for a day, but otherwise you should be alright.”
“Thanks,” you replied, scared he was about to bolt any second now that he'd finished his task. “I suppose of the two of us, you would be the one to know about healing knife wounds.”
This time, the corner of his mouth did pull up into a faint smile. The sight of it gave you the sudden courage to speak before you could stop yourself–or before he left.
“Did you read my note?” you blurted.
He’d been reaching back out towards your coffee table for his gloves, but at your question he’d paused with his hand outstretched above it. You saw the muscle twitch in his cheek before he continued retrieving his gloves from off the table. Nervous sweat pricked at your palms as you waited for his response.
“Yes,” he answered a little stiffly. “I did.”
Terrified of how to broach the topic, you just continued barreling forward, trying to choose honesty. After all, you either scared him away or you didn’t at this point. You were hoping the truth–or at least some of it–might keep him returning to your window.
“You’d disappeared for a while,” you cautiously pointed out. “I…missed you.”
“Figured you'd been busy,” he stated simply. “Didn't want to bother you.”
“Busy?” you asked, pulling a face. “Busy with what?”
“Your new boyfriend,” the Devil answered.
The way he'd said the word ‘boyfriend’ with such obvious distaste had been all the verbal confirmation you needed. Beside you, he'd begun pulling his gloves back on. You figured it was now or never to have this conversation with him.
“He was never my boyfriend, Devil,” you told him. “We never made it past that second date. I ended things before they'd really even started. The day after your last visit, actually.”
The Devil's hands hesitated as he'd been fastening his last glove on. His body stiffened beside you on the couch, his masked face almost determinedly focused away from you.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought you liked him?”
Feeling an embarrassed flush spreading its way up your neck, you glanced down at your own hands. “When I told you about that kiss, I wasn't entirely honest with you,” you began carefully. “It wasn't like any other kiss I'd had before because it was devoid of anything in it. There wasn't any spark, I mean.”
Your hands began fidgeting faster with the hem of your shirt. Trying to admit your attraction to him was more terrifying than you anticipated it to be, especially because he was now sitting quietly beside you. His silence was somehow making him even more intimidating.
“And I felt that with someone else,” you continued slowly. “So I didn't want to keep dragging Dylan along when I knew that it wasn't going to work out,” you confessed. “Because I–” you sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as the words came out in a rush, “–have been attracted to you for a really long time now. Pretty much since you fell on my fire escape.”
Exhaling the breath, you bit your lip and glanced over at the Devil from the corner of your eye. He'd gone completely immobile on your couch now. You weren't entirely sure if he was about to confess his own attraction or run for your window with how still he’d grown, and that had your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.
“Can you please say something before I puke?” you asked awkwardly. “The lack of words coming out of your mouth is making me nervous.”
The Devil’s head swung in your direction, your pulse somehow increasing further at the abrupt gesture. Fingers still toying with the hem of your shirt, you felt your breath come in faster.
“This can't be what you want it to be,” he stated. “We're just friends. That’s it.”
“Okay,” you replied slowly, still refusing to meet his gaze. “But can you be honest? Those two times in my apartment–you know which ones. We almost kissed, didn't we? I'm not crazy, am I?”
The Devil abruptly rose to his feet at your questions. He began to hurriedly skirt around your coffee table and you knew exactly where he was headed. He was running away. Leaving. Panicked, you rose from the couch, determined to finish this conversation.
“There was something there,” you continued, chasing after him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice it.”
“It's just attraction,” he told you, shaking his head as he walked. “That's all that was. I don't want you mistaking it for anything else.”
Brows drawing together in confusion, you halted in place, staring at his retreating form as it continued towards your window. Trying to ignore the way your stomach had fluttered at his admission to being attracted to you, you knew you needed to think fast if there was ever a hope of him returning to your apartment. And after two weeks without a sighting of him, you desperately wanted him to come back. So much so that you stupidly spoke without thinking.
“Who says it has to be more than that?” you blurted out.
The Devil stopped in his tracks, his masked face shifting over his shoulder back towards you. Swallowing hard, you wondered what the hell had compelled you to say that and internally you blamed that tight black suit. But you quickly latched onto that idea since it had actually caused him to stop his retreat.
“I'm attracted to you, too,” you admitted awkwardly, the words falling out of you without much forethought. “Why does it have to be anything more than that? Anything more than…friends who are attracted to each other?”
His head tilted to the side, his mouth a straight, hard line as he stared back at you beneath his mask. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach at his pause.
“Because I know that's what you want,” he finally answered. “Something more. And I'm not about to become your boyfriend. It wouldn’t work. I don't do relationships.”
You shrugged, shaking your head at him. “With respect, Devil, don't tell me you know what I want,” you shot back. “Because I can still be your friend who is sometimes…more than that. Right? I mean I'm–I'm open to it if you are. I know what I felt those two times when you were here. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it, too.”
His hands curled into fists at his sides, your eyes drawn down at the movement. Briefly you wondered what that was about before he spoke again, your attention returning to his masked face.
“I don't think what you're suggesting is a good idea,” he warned you, voice dropping to something lower. “You don't even know me.”
“I know you well enough, Devil,” you countered.
He gave a grunt in response, his head darting forward as he once more focused on your window. You felt your entire body deflate as he continued towards it, throwing it open wide before he climbed through it. When he was standing on your fire escape, you watched helplessly as he reached up and grabbed a hold of the window. There was a stern set to his lips that had you worried this could truly be what scared him away once and for all.
“Goodnight, angel,” he stated.
Shoulders dropping in defeat, you watched as he slammed the window shut before he turned and tossed himself over your fire escape. He was gone before you’d even known how to recover from the situation.
With a sigh you turned around, dejectedly making your way back to your couch. Sinking into the cushions and burying your face in your hands, you wondered how you kept managing to mess things up with him. Why the hell had you gone and just offered to be the Devil’s friend with benefits tonight? Especially since you knew you had actual feelings forming for him and wanted more than just something physical–no matter how much you really wanted that, too. Clearly he wanted to keep things strictly friendly, but now you really had gone and made a mess of things. All you could do was find hope in the fact that he’d said ‘goodnight’ and not ‘goodbye’ this time.
Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!assassin!Reader Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings/tags: slight frenemies, American!Reader, dark themes/topics, Reader has a dark past, secret mutual pining
Summary: Raymond never had much patience for you, but that didn't mean he wasn’t curious about the mysterious and eccentric assassin who's powerful father had temporarily given her to Pearson "on loan."
a/n: This is just a short little thing I threw together about the assassin!Reader and Ray because they've been living in my head for a year now. It's just a smidgen of a look into their world. Feeback is always appreciated!
“Sit.”
You pointed a firm finger down towards the white marble floor, watching as the purebred English Pointer immediately sat back on its spotted brown haunches, tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth. A satisfied smile split across your lips as you stared down at the animal that you knew was nothing more than another possession amidst the grandness of this estate. Because as you'd come to learn on your outings with Pearson, there was always an overly obedient dog at these places.
“Good boy,” you praised.
You scratched the dog behind his ear and he closed his eyes while making a low, contented noise as your nails hit the right spot. But Raymond's sharp, derisive snort caused your gaze to shift sideways towards him, your smile fading at the condescending look on his face. He was standing near a tufted, deep purple chaise not too far from the bottom of an ornate staircase with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You were both waiting for Mickey to finish his meeting with Duke Whatever the Fuck His Name Was, given commands to stay put while he discussed the business of acquiring another estate for his work. Truthfully, you knew it was solely because your presence had a tendency to unsettle the British aristocracy.
The usual gleam of annoyance lingered in Raymond's blue eyes as he watched you interact with the duke's dog, aware that you were currently his only form of entertainment among all this extravagance. Turning your head over your shoulder as you continued petting the dog, you shot him a pointed look while arching a single perfect brow at him, surprised that he wasn’t intending to completely disregard you as he often did. Raymond was rather vocal about how much he disliked your boisterous, spontaneous nature even if Mickey and Ros deemed you an invigorating and welcome addition.
“You've gotten the dog to listen to you,” he deadpanned. “Well done.”
“You know, other living things might actually enjoy your company if you weren’t such a stringent sourdough,” you countered.
A humorless breath passed between his lips, his head shaking slowly from side to side. But despite the unbothered expression on his face, the way he reached up and tweaked his glasses along the bridge of his nose told you how he actually felt. You'd spent more than enough time silently studying Raymond to have learned each of his ticks, and this one meant that your attempts to needle him were succeeding even though you'd only just begun.
“Can you stop with the bread related insults?” he questioned. “They're rather lackluster.”
“Ahh, yes, because cunt is such an original insult,” you retorted, hand falling away from the dog. “You throw that one around quite liberally, Ray. Maybe it's time you refreshed your offensive vocabulary.”
“I immediately regret initiating a conversation with you,” he said tersely, turning marginally away from you to face the staircase. “You're too aggravating to waste breath on. I prefer the silence.”
“Oh come on, when did you lose your sense of whimsy, Ray?” you teased back. “At the tender age of ten?”
“And when did you lose your professionalism?” he shot back, staring straight ahead.
Your tongue gave a gentle cluck against the roof of your mouth, tsk-ing softly as you shook your head at him. “Poor young Ray,” you replied. “Or are you just jealous of the dog? Because if you'd like to sit on your knees for me, Raymond, I'll call you a good boy, too.”
The corner of his lip twitched to the side twice before you caught the way he blinked a little harder than usual behind his glasses. He uncrossed his arms, shifting on his dark brown Oxfords, before clasping his hands in front of himself. The corner of your own lips slowly drew back into a pleased grin, because Ray always visibly reacted whenever you blatantly flirted with him. While you found him attractive, he'd always verbally expressed his disinterest, but his body language often seemed to claim otherwise.
“Don't.”
“Don't be such a prude crumpet,” you chastised. “I'm just trying to get you to loosen up. You're always so tense. You're allowed to laugh, Ray. I hear it's actually good for your health. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
“And maybe Pearson should send you back to the States,” he quipped. His head turned marginally towards you but his body remained facing the stairs. “Back to your father. I think you've served more than your purpose here.”
The teasing smile vanished from your lips right before a cold chill crept up your spine. Always observant, Raymond's head tipped slightly to the side, his piercing eyes narrowing minutely behind his lenses. He knew the mention of your father always caused a shift in your demeanor, it was something he'd picked up on awhile ago. Whenever you really got on his nerves he'd mention him, aware that it would effectively shut you up even if he didn't understand why it did.
But he never pushed to ask the questions you could see dancing behind his eyes. Neither of you had ever done more than scratch the surface getting to know each other. You were just business partners who worked for Pearson, nothing more. You didn't need to know Ray any deeper even if you continually found yourself trying to push him a little past his boundaries.
Admittedly it was because you were envious of him. He lived his life here as Mickey's trusted right hand. He had money and luxury at his disposal, and an employer who genuinely cared about his well-being, yet he squandered all of it for the sake of remaining the tightly buttoned-up gentleman single-mindedly focused on work. You would have given anything for the type of freedom he held, a freedom you would never know.
You would always spend your life underneath your father's thumb. The daughter he didn't want, the one he'd spent his time and countless resources turning into a useful tool for his business, a blade that was an extension of his hand–merely a weapon to be dispatched. If you placed one single toe out of line or dismissed a single order, you'd cease to matter to him. You'd end up another tragic suicide story all over the news stations just like your mother had been when you were eight.
Which was why you spoke so freely ever since you'd been sent to England to help Pearson. You enjoyed the nightlife, saw the sights, explored every crevice of the cities with a wonder that bordered on childlike. You were currently on an indefinite “loan” to Pearson as a way to grow relations between your father's business and Mickey's, and it had been the closest to living your life that you'd ever been allowed, so you'd chosen not to let Raymond's insults dissuade you from it.
“Please tell me mom and dad aren't fighting again.”
At the booming, amused voice of Pearson, your attention snapped towards the massive staircase. You watched him descend the steps in his crisp suit with a broad grin on his face, but you could still feel Raymond's gaze probing at the side of your face as if he was trying to unravel all of your secrets. Forcing a smile onto your lips, you looked up at Mickey, trying to shove aside the inevitable truth that eventually you would have to return to your father's side.
“It only means you get more presents at Christmas if we split,” you joked to Pearson. “And personally, I think a holiday in Miami sounds more exciting than a cold ass winter in London with an uptight, surly baguette.”
Pearson chuckled at your usual playful insult at Raymond's expense, the delighted sound filling the foyer and brightening your mood. At least you weren't going home any time soon, and you vastly preferred Pearson's company to your father's.
“C'mon,” Pearson ordered, tipping his head towards the main doors as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Now that this is all sorted, I have a man I need you two to meet with for me.”
Raymond spun gracefully on his heels, casually falling into step after Mickey. You quietly fell into step beside him, ignoring how the scent of his expensive cologne enveloped you in its warmth and made your chest tighten. But you did make the mistake of glancing sideways at Ray only to discover that he was still studying you closely from the corner of his eye.
His lips had thinned out along his face, and the expression he wore told you that it had nothing to do with the fact that you'd once again called him a surly baguette and everything to do with the things you never said aloud. What was even more unsettling than his stare though was the temptation growing inside of you like a caged animal desperate to claw its way out and answer all of his unasked questions. Something that was desperate to finally see the light of day.
But that was a beast that remained under lock and key.
AAAHHH Bella I love love love this dynamic!!! I know that man hides a soft spot for her under that suit. Ugh he gives such guard dog boyfriend vibes — I just wanna watch him beat the shit out of the reader’s father.
And I love reader learning all his little quirks. Obsessed
My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.
I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.
I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.
I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.
I learned to love books because my father loved them first.
How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.8k
Summary: Matt had been working hard on a case for over a month now, meaning the two of you had barely seen each other in weeks. After he, Foggy, and Karen finally have their win in court, he invites you out to Josie's to celebrate with them. Though it soon becomes apparent to you that he has something in particular on his mind tonight.
Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, public fingering, and Matt being a little shit along with his filthy mouth also deserves a warning
a/n: Just a last minute smut fic I threw together as a little spicy treat for Valentine's Day for y'all. Hopefully you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!
Thumbnail caught between your teeth, you chewed it fiercely as you sat in the booth at the bar. Because ever since you'd come to Josie’s to meet up with Matt and your friends over an hour ago, he'd been doing nothing but intentionally working you up.
And he had been anything but subtle about it.
Earlier today Matt, Foggy, and Karen had finally won their case in court, a case that you knew they'd been endlessly toiling away on for over a month. You'd barely just gotten back to your apartment after work when Matt had called and told you the good news, urging you to meet them down at Josie’s. Having been excited to celebrate with everyone–especially since you'd barely seen Matt in weeks–you'd hurried straight there. You hadn't even bothered to change out of your work clothes before you’d left because you’d been so eager to finally have a chance to see Matt again, which left you still wearing one of the dresses you occasionally wore to work on incredibly hot summer days like today.
You knew Matt loved your dresses, he'd told you that plenty of times by now. And while you were very aware of the fact that the pair of you had barely spent time together since their firm had initially taken this case many weeks ago, you hadn't anticipated the reaction he'd be having to you tonight.
At first you hadn't noticed much out of the ordinary when you’d arrived at the bar. Matt had wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in close to the side of him as he ordered your drink. Though you had noticed how he held onto you tighter tonight than he usually did whenever the pair of you were out together, as if he needed to have part of you constantly touching him this evening. Not long after you'd gotten your beer, Matt's hand had begun to dip lower and lower on your waist, the tips of his fingers teasingly grazing the top of your ass. You had almost choked on the sip of your drink you'd just taken when his fingers began toying with the waistband of your panties through the thin fabric of your dress. Struggling to remain focused on the conversation at the time, all you could think about was Matt's damn hands peeling them off of you later. Every slight snap of the material from his teasing fingers had your breath catching in your throat and your cheeks beginning to flush.
But if his wandering hands hadn't already been enough, he'd also been taking moments to lean over and whisper things into your ear whenever Karen and Foggy were talking. You'd slowly lost the ability to pay attention at all to what those two were saying as the things Matt's deep voice kept purring into your ear gradually became filthier and filthier.
At first the comments had been sweet; mainly Matt telling you that he'd missed you and how he was looking forward to finally having time to spend with you now that he wouldn't be working on that case anymore. But then he'd begun to tell you how good you smelled this evening. Which eventually led to him telling you how much he had missed you in his bed over the past few weeks and what he was looking forward to doing once the pair of you left Josie’s tonight–in explicit detail.
That's when he began to tell you that he knew how aroused you were becoming; that he couldn't just smell the dampness forming between your legs, but that he could hear the slickness with every shift of your body beside him. It wasn't as if you could help it though because his voice alone always had an undeniable effect on you–which he damn well knew. And him catching the scent of your growing arousal only seemed to amplify the obscene things he kept whispering into your ear while he still wore that innocent smile on his face for Karen and Foggy. But there was one comment in particular that had been rolling around in your head over and over for the past hour now. You couldn't stop hearing it repeat in your mind in that same sultry growl in which he'd first said it in.
Before we even leave this bar tonight, sweetheart, I’m going to soak that dress and those panties more than they already are. I can promise you that.
You remembered the fresh bit of wet heat that formed between your thighs the moment those words had left his mouth, his hot breath dancing along your neck. You'd shuddered, becoming incredibly aware of every inch of your side he had pressed up against his. With the way he kept whispering in your ear all night, you figured that was his plan for the evening. To turn you on solely with his voice and the dirty things he was saying before leaving the bar tonight. But the moment everyone had sat down at the booth Karen had pointed out, you'd realized he might've had something else in mind.
Which is when you knew that you were in far more trouble tonight than you could have ever realized.
For the past twenty minutes Matt's left hand kept touching you underneath the table, oscillating between one exhilarating touch after another. A firm squeeze to your knee, his palm just beneath the hem of your dress. His hand resting on your thigh, the warmth of it seeping through your dress and growing the heat already building inside of you. And, a few times, he'd actually slipped his hand up beneath the fabric itself, languidly sliding it deliciously slow until you felt a gentle graze of fingertips along the inside of your thigh, just below your already wet underwear.
You were without a doubt already a flustered mess in the booth. Yet Matt didn't seem remotely satisfied, his hand still relentlessly teasing you under the table while he continued on conversering with his friends like nothing more was occurring. He was drinking back his beer and actively participating in the conversation while occasionally flashing you knowing, devilish smiles. Meanwhile, you could still barely focus on the conversation long enough to add much to it.
It was the sound of Foggy’s phone a little later alerting him to a text that finally caught your attention, tearing it away from the way Matt's index finger was currently drawing circles over your right knee. Both of your hands were fidgeting with your beer bottle above the table, your face feeling hot as you watched him pull the phone out of his pocket.
“It's Marci,” Foggy announced, still reading the text. “She's back from work and wondering when I'll be home.” He glanced up from his phone screen, a slight frown on his lips. “I should probably get going, I don't want to make her wait up for me.”
Beside him, Karen glanced down at her own phone on the table, unlocking the screen and checking the time. “Maybe I should head out too,” she said. “It is starting to get kind of late.”
A flood of relief instantly washed over you as you perked up across the table. If both of them were calling it a night, that meant you and Matt could leave, too. Which also meant you could head back to either of your apartments and do something about all the growing sexual tension and Matt's incessant teasing, because by now you were becoming desperate for some sort of relief. But just as you shifted in your seat, about to open your mouth and eagerly agree with the idea of leaving, Matt's hand tightened around your knee. Your brief hesitation gave him a chance to respond first.
“You both head on out,” he began, tone far too casual as he spoke. “I think we might actually stay a bit. It's been awhile since we've really gotten to spend time together with everything going on these past few weeks.”
“Just don't stay up too late tonight, kids,” Foggy joked, already sliding out of the seat across from you and Matt. “We've got a meeting bright and early tomorrow morning!”
Matt chuckled good-naturedly, his hand inching up under the hem of your dress as he did. You straightened in your seat at the touch, spine pressing against the back of the booth as you wondered why in the hell he wanted to stay.
“You don't have to worry about me, buddy,” he assured him. “I'll be ready for tomorrow morning.”
Karen slid out of the booth behind Foggy, one hand brushing some loose blonde hair out of her face as she sent you and Matt a warm smile. You returned the smile as best as you could, hoping neither of them had noticed how unusually quiet you'd been tonight.
“I know how much we've been hogging Matt the past few weeks,” Karen told you, readjusting her purse strap as she rose to her feet beside the booth. “So I hope you two enjoy the rest of your night.”
“Thanks, I'm–I'm sure we will,” you replied, trying to fight back the quiver in your voice as Matt's thumb slid across the inside of your thigh.
“Oh, we most certainly will,” he told her with a smile, his hand giving your thigh a slight squeeze.
Hips shifting along the booth's bench, you tried to ignore the growing ache between your legs, finding it hard to remain casual with how Matt was making you feel. You weren't sure what his reasoning was for not getting up and leaving right now with them, but you sure hoped you could convince him to get out of here fast once they'd left.
“It was good seeing you both again tonight,” you told the pair of them. “And congratulations again on winning that case.”
“We'll see you at the next big celebratory win!” Foggy said, shooting you a wave.
You sent them both a wave in return before they turned and headed towards the exit to Josie’s, the pair of them walking side by side. Matt's hand remained on your thigh as you watched them go, his other hand picking up his half-finished beer from the table. Your attention shifted to him beside you, watching as he drew the bottle up to his lips, taking a deep pull before he set the beer back down. Your gaze remained on his mouth, watching as the tip of his tongue slipped out and ran along his lips. The thought of that skilled tongue being put to use had your cunt pathetically clenching around nothing.
“You're so damn wet I can barely taste my own beer,” Matt said, voice just loud enough for you to hear. “All I have been able to taste for the past hour is you and your dripping cunt.”
Fighting a shudder threatening to roll down your spine, your own hands tightened around the neck of your beer bottle on the table. “That's your own doing, Matt,” you pointed out, sounding more breathless than you'd have liked. “You're the one who won't stop teasing me tonight.”
“And you're the one showing up in a dress,” he countered, his covered gaze finally landing on you. “You know I can't resist when you wear them.”
“I didn't feel like changing before I left,” you replied, heart pounding a little faster as you felt his hand begin to glide further up beneath your dress. “I was excited to see you and I hadn't thought–” you paused, eyelids fluttering momentarily when one of his fingers finally swiped ever so gently just over your soaked underwear.
“Hadn't thought what, sweetheart?” he asked cheekily.
You could feel your pulse pounding in your own aching cunt by now, your body tense as it desperately begged for more stimulation than that light touch. Breath coming in a bit sharper, you tried to focus your thoughts to answer him.
“Hadn't thought you'd react like this,” you whispered.
“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, turning more towards you in the booth, his hand still lingering on the inside of your thigh, fingers dangerously close to where you wanted them. “Well it has been awhile since I've had the opportunity to properly take care of my girl because of that damn case. I suppose I just couldn't resist you tonight.”
“So then let's get out of here,” you urged. “My place or yours tonight, I don't care, Matt. Just stop teasing me because I can't take it any longer. I miss you.”
You heard the sharp intake of breath that came from him at the sound of your plea. Behind his dark lenses you saw the way his eyes had closed, his jaw tightening.
“Please, Matt,” you begged, hoping the distress in your voice would help convince him. “Let's just go.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, his nostrils flaring sharply as his eyes opened once more behind the red lenses. “I do love how you sound when you get like this,” he murmured. “But if you're that needy for a release already, why wait, sweetheart?”
Brows drawing together on your forehead, you eyed him in confusion. “What?” you asked.
The corner of his lip tugged up into a sinful smirk. “Why not let me get you off right here, right now? Right in this booth,” he suggested, tone darkening.
Your eyes darted around the bar, the thought of Matt’s fingers on you right here raising goosebumps along your arms. While there were a handful of patrons scattered around Josie’s tonight, some were playing pool while others were at the bar, drinking down their drinks. There was no one even remotely near your booth. A nervous laugh slipped out of you as you focused back on Matt.
“You're not actually serious, are you?” you asked. “We're in the middle of a bar , Matt. And we aren't exactly here alone.”
He shrugged a single shoulder in response. “So?” he asked. “I can be discreet if you can be quiet.”
Lips parting in surprise, you sat there in stunned silence. The devilish smirk only grew on his lips as his right hand once again lifted his beer bottle from the table, bringing it slowly up to his mouth for another drink that he took so irritatingly calm and casual.
“Though it's entirely up to you, of course,” he continued after he'd swallowed, lowering the bottle back to the table. “You know I'd certainly never want to make you uncomfortable. So if you'd rather us wait until we've walked all the way back to my place–the closest option–then we most certainly can. Or,” he purred, his finger once again lightly gliding along your cunt over your wet underwear, your eyes nearly rolling back at the touch, “I can take care of you here. With my fingers. And then fuck you far more thoroughly back at my place after.”
He shot you a charming smile that had you feeling weak already. He damn well knew what he had been doing to you all night, especially with those senses of his. Had this been his goal all along? To work you up so much that you'd actually want to do this? Because truthfully, it had worked. You were considering it.
“The choice is yours, sweetheart,” he told you.
Once again your eyes darted around the bar, unable to believe that you were actually contemplating his offer. But this was Matt and you'd often found he had a way of making you comfortable and willing to try new things–like letting him get you off in the middle of a dive bar that the pair of you often frequented. But no one here was even remotely paying the pair of you any attention where you were sitting in the corner of the bar. If you kept quiet, no one would be able to see anything that was happening beneath the table. And did you really want to wait the ten minute walk back to Matt's apartment building? And then another few minutes on top of that while you both made it up to his apartment before getting any sort of release?
No, no you really didn't.
“Okay, you win,” you whispered.
Matt rested his right elbow up on the tabletop, his stubbled chin coming to land in his palm as he focused on you. That damn smile was still on his mouth.
“You're going to have to tell me what you want,” he replied. “I'm not a mind reader.”
You rolled your eyes at him and the way he was purposely drawing this out. He could be such a goddamn tease when he wanted to be.
“I want you to touch me,” you said. “Get me off here and then take me home after, Matthew. I can’t wait any longer.”
His head tilted to the side in his palm, his dark brows rising playfully up above his glasses. “You sure you can manage to keep quiet enough?” he asked.
With an irritated huff, you rolled your eyes at him again. “Yes, now can you stop toying with me and– fuck .”
A satisfied smile spread across his mouth as one of his fingers landed directly on your swollen clit over the fabric of your damp underwear. He'd only applied a faint bit of pressure with the pad of his finger, but already it had felt so damn good in comparison to the burning ache you'd been dealing with most of the night.
“I told you we'd have to save that for when we got back to my place,” he teased, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Don't think we'd quite manage to get away unnoticed in the booth doing that .”
“You're such an asshole, Matthew,” you breathed out.
He chuckled in response, his finger making a circle along the sensitive bud beneath it. “You sure now is the time for insults, sweetheart?” he asked. “Because I can stop.”
Your eyelids closed as you weakly shook your head, every part of you focused on the delicious pressure of his finger. “No,” you nearly whimpered. “Please don't stop, Matt.”
He hummed out a pleased noise in response, his finger continuing to circle your clit over the top of your underwear. Your breath was coming in sharp, short gasps as you fought to reopen your eyes and keep them open, remembering that you were both still in public and that you needed to keep your composure. Though keeping your expression neutral was difficult with Matt's smirking face directly in your line of sight. He looked so smug as his finger continued to gently rub against you.
But he wasn’t doing nearly enough to ease the growing desire between your legs and get you off. And it was becoming obvious that it was purposeful.
“Come on, Matt,” you whined. “Haven't you teased me enough tonight? Can you please stop already?”
“Alright, sweetheart,” he replied. “If you insist.”
His fingers hooked around your underwear, pulling it to the side and out of his way. Two of his thick digits soon slid between your soaked folds, running back and forth along the length of them as he gathered your slick. A rumbling growl vibrated in Matt's chest as the expression on his face abruptly darkened, that teasing smirk quickly vanishing.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarled between gritted teeth.
Your mouth went dry instantly at the sound of the Devil’s voice. You hadn’t expected that.
“Need me that bad, do you?” he growled low. “Already soaked your panties because you're so eager? And all it took was my voice?”
The tip of one of his fingers lightly brushed over your clit in a series of quick, gentle strokes. Your body gave a jolt in the booth, your breath hitching in your throat at the feather-light assault.
“Maybe I should make you soak my fingers along with that dress, hmm?” he purred. “Right here in this bar. You'd like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?”
Hands releasing the bottle of your beer, they immediately clamped down onto the edge of the table. You had a feeling you were going to need to hold on to something if the Devil was about to play with you in the middle of Josie’s.
“Mhmm,” you hummed out, spreading your legs a little wider beneath the table in open invitation. “Please.”
The corner of Matt’s lip pulled up into something feral as you felt his finger leave the little swollen nub, instead lining it up with your dripping entrance. You’d barely had a chance to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come before he plunged that lone digit straight inside of you. Teeth clamping down on your bottom lip, you fought back the noise that nearly flew out of your mouth, managing to trap it in the back of your throat instead as your hands gripped the table.
“That's right, keep quiet, sweetheart,” the Devil rumbled out. “Don't want anyone here to know that I'm touching you, do we?”
“No,” you breathed out, shaking your head.
His finger began to pump into your cunt painfully slow as he slid even closer next to you in the booth. His thigh pressed up right against yours and a whine managed to faintly slip out of your lips. The moment you felt his lips brush along the shell of your ear though, a lightheadedness washed over you.
“You're doing so good being quiet for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear with each word as his finger continued its unhurried rhythm. “Should we see just how quiet you can be?”
Your eyes clamped shut, your body feeling like it was burning up beside Matt's. A shuddering exhale left you as your hands clung tighter to the table as if that would somehow help you keep from making a single sound.
Before you knew what was happening, Matt plunged a second finger inside of you. A surprised gasp flew out of your mouth, your eyes flying back open. His fingers increased their pace, the soft, obscene squelch of your wet cunt meeting your ears over the faint chatter of the bar and the quiet classic rock that was playing. Matt moaned quietly beside your ear, his hot breath cascading down the side of your neck only making you feel even more dizzy.
“Good girl,” the Devil praised beside your ear. “Keeping so quiet for me while I fuck you with my fingers.”
A moan once again started in the back of your throat at his words, one you were desperately trying to hold back. But it was becoming difficult to stay aware of your surroundings and the need to not make a noise when his fingers started to curl inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that had white beginning to dance at the corner of your eyes. Matt's own ragged breaths in your ear wasn't helping your situation. You could tell he was becoming increasingly worked up beside you, too, at the sound of each of his own sharp growls.
“Should I let you cum already?” he whispered into your ear. “Would you like that?”
You nodded frantically in response, eager for the promise of a release from all the tension that had been building up inside of you tonight.
“Yes,” you begged. “Please, Matt, please.”
Another rumbling growl from him met your ears and your cunt clenched around Matt's fingers. He groaned low beside you in response, the sound deep within his throat.
“I love it when you beg, sweetheart,” he whispered. “And you have been so good for me tonight. So I want you to cum. I want you to drench my fingers here in the middle of Josie’s. But,” he continued, the Devil’s tone turning to that of a warning as you felt the pad of his thumb land on your clit, “you better not make a fucking sound when you do.”
Swallowing hard, you nodded obediently as you attempted to mutter out an affirmative response. Though it was hard to form much of a thought with the way his two fingers kept diligently fucking you now combined with the tantalizing movements of his thumb on your throbbing clit. His voice in your ear and the feel of his hard body against the side of yours was already pushing you over the edge now.
Your climax was within reach, you could feel that familiar pressure building to its peak deep inside of you, begging to be let loose with each thrust of his fingers and brush of his thumb pad. Your hands had grown clammy as you fought to hold onto the table, your back arching in the booth as you struggled to keep your eyes from rolling back in ecstasy.
But the closer and closer you inched to your release, the harder and harder it was becoming to keep silent. Whimpers and whines were falling out between your quivering lips, the sounds mingling with each wet thrust of his fingers inside of you and his own labored breaths in your ear.
“I know, I know,” he cooed. “You're so close, sweetheart. I can feel it. Just let go for me.”
Your body was beginning to shake under the strain of remaining composed in the booth. The pleased, encouraging noises coming from Matt weren't helping your efforts either, especially as that moan inside of you began to build just as your climax unexpectedly slammed into you like a brick wall.
You'd barely opened your mouth before Matt lunged at you, his own lips practically crashing onto you and smothering yours. The moan you'd been about to loose throughout the bar was quickly muffled by his own mouth as he swallowed the sound of it down his throat. With his mouth feverishly attacking yours in a mix of tongue and teeth, his hand continued to work you through your climax beneath the table, dragging it out and drawing you through it. One of your hands released the death grip you had on the table, landing on Matt's thick thigh just beside yours. You dug your nails into his muscle through his dress pants as your body trembled along the bench, a low moan once more barreling out of you and straight into his mouth one last time as you came hard on his fingers.
Gradually Matt's fingers slowed to a stop, your body sinking back into the booth as if it suddenly weighed far too much. His mouth broke away from yours, his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, still trying to recover from the body-shaking orgasm he’d just given you in public. His face was flushed, his cheeks slightly reddened. It almost looked like there was even the slightest sheen of sweat above his brow.
“That was not exactly quiet, sweetheart,” he lightly chastised, carefully withdrawing his fingers from inside of you. “You’re lucky I noticed before everyone else here did.”
You shot him a blissful, tired smile, your head resting against the back of the booth as you gazed back at him. “Thank God for your senses, then,” you joked, still a little breathless.
The corner of Matt’s mouth quirked up into a smirk as he continued to focus on you, the lenses of his glasses glinting under the red neon sign on the wall beside your booth. His left hand appeared from underneath the table moments later, coated and obviously glistening with your slick under the red light. He raised both fingers up to his lips before slipping them inside his mouth, sucking your arousal off of them with a satisfied moan that sounded low in the back of his throat. A shiver ran up your spine as you watched him slowly slide his two fingers back out from between his plush lips, his focus never leaving you.
“I don’t think it’s God that you should be thanking right now,” he murmured, the Devil once more grinning back at you.
Your cunt immediately twitched back awake at that voice, bottom lip rolling between your teeth. Matt's tongue slid out between his lips, sensually running along the length of them before an impatient growl rumbled out of him.
“Now what’s going to happen next,” the Devil began, his voice raising the hair on the back of your neck, “is you’re going to get out of this booth like nothing happened,” he told you. “And then I’m going to take you and that deliciously drenched pussy back to my place where I’m going to have my fill of you. And this time, sweetheart?” he continued, the red of the neon light washing over his face as he leaned in towards you. “I want to hear every goddamn sound you make. You got that?”
Swallowing hard, you immediately sobered up in the booth beside him. You nodded in response, already eagerly beginning to slide out of the booth after him, incredibly aware of how pathetically wet you still were beneath your dress. But you weren’t about to deny the Devil what he wanted when you loved playing with him as much as you did.
I can’t believe I’ve never read this! Hooo boy, what a treat 🥵 I never complain when the devil comes out to play, that cockiness really gets me haha. Thank you for this wonderful fic!!
