༘⋆🌷🫧💭 ⋆˙

i love and appreciate all you beautiful fic writers 💌 24yo yearner 🌱

[fakegravity]

Visit Original Link

[noglimpseofvisualaid]

all these faces, all this fun is overrated ▸ college!matt murdock x reader

[ao3]

summary: If you were finally going to allow yourself Matt—allow the indulgence that had you burning for him day after day, night after night—you quickly came to the realization that it would be now. It would be tonight. And it would be before there was any chance you could talk yourself out of it. warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI bc oh god is this smutty. banter as foreplay, mutual pining, matt's an established whore, slightly buzzed but otherwise consenting adults, the porn that grew feelings, fingering (f!receiving), grinding, heavy petting, unintentional edging (if you squint), oral (f!receiving), matt has an oral fixation (if you really squint), unprotected piv sex, creampie(s), overstimulation, general filth, and feelings did I say feelings yet | afab!reader wc: ...28,463 a/n: after god knows how long (3 weeks! sob!) i finally finished this fic. first, it was around 5k and I was like okay! it's taking a bit to get to the vision. then it hit 9k and I went oops okay so this is getting pretty long. next thing i knew, i wasn't writing the fic anymore, it was writing me, and i was just the vessel it chose to get it out onto the internet. that being said, i swear this was literally originally supposed to be like a 3k filth oneshot based off that gd MSI song that went with that tiktok trend bc i couldn't get it out of my head. the exact vibes were lost in the feelings and plot that slapped me across the face, but i ripped the title from it in honour of this fic's humble beginnings. i worked so hard on what is actually like. my first full blown smutty fic ever so. please, i hope everyone enjoys!

It wasn’t fair of you to say Foggy had convinced you to come to this party. That would be giving him too much credit. You did make him beg first.

The worst part was that you unfortunately understood why he was so insistent. That between mid-term preparations, the job you worked to pay for your off-campus apartment, and the fact that it'd take counting more than your fingers—you would need not just another set of hands, but maybe also some feet to accurately portray the amount of days last since you’d been able to spend any time doing anything you wanted—the accusation that you were beyond stressed couldn’t be dismissed without its rightful merits.

But agreeing with him hadn’t been enough to breach your resolve. You and Foggy Nelson had two different definitions when it came to the word ‘break’. Relief came to you in the quiet moments where there was no work to be done; in the time you spent doing what you wanted, or simply in some much neglected self-care. Foggy found his in letting loose with cheap alcohol and loud music, seeking out the right environments to safely let his frustrations and stress shake free until the burden felt lifted. You had originally shot back that you couldn’t afford the headache. Or the hangover. He retorted simply that you were too tense and probably needed to get laid. Maybe you were and maybe you did. You weren’t going to give him that satisfaction simply because it hadn’t been enough to sway your decision.

Then came the preceding week leading up to it, and Foggy's asks became teasingly persistent. The simple yes or no question of whether or not you'd go evolving into increasingly persuasive reasons he thought you should: There'd be non-alcoholic drinks. The house was big enough to have more than enough rooms to duck away and hide in. If you weren’t vibing, there would be no one forcing you to stay. He was your friend and would promise not to leave you alone and that he just wanted to see you have some fun before exams beat both of your asses.

Your ‘no’s’ had become hesitant over time, the reasons against why you shouldn't go quickly being overshadowed by the fact that you not only had the day off from your job the next evening, but also only one afternoon class to worry about. Not to mention that Foggy Nelson had a charm that made it nearly impossible to argue against—that being the tough to swallow truth that he was usually always annoyingly right. 

You began to realize that maybe a party wouldn't be too bad. Maybe it'd be good to be in a place that wasn't your apartment, workplace, or lecture halls. Maybe it'd be good to interact with people other than your friend, even if it was stupid and drunken conversations you might not even remember. Maybe it'd be good to flirt around because he damn sure hit the nail on the head when it came to clocking the pent up sexual frustration you’ve been trying to ignore.

He knew he got you when he’d cornered you in the campus library the day before the party, both hands down on the table in front of you, a mischievous grin glinting against the blue in his eyes and the words ‘Matt will be there’ coming out teasing and far more knowing than you appreciated. You had rolled your eyes, shut your book, and turned to leave him behind before he could only add the flush that quickly rose to your cheeks as fuel to the fire. But it had been no use—he'd caught up to you in no time, matching your step in stride and launching into a victorious animated speech, the sound ringing louder than it had any right to be in his voice. 

“Party starts at seven, but we won't be there until nine or so. I'll text you the address. Wear something comfy. I'm so down to fist fight any weirdos or creeps to defend your honor. And oh! Put on that really subtle perfume Matt likes, he'll go crazy.”

And it didn’t matter how long you’d spent your time getting ready grumbling about Foggy’s audacity. In the end, he had won. In the end, it only took a quick glance at your phone to make sure you were in the right place. In the end, it was now nine-forty at night and you were standing in front of the door that separated you from the party already in full swing inside. 

You didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that the mention of Matt Murdock was the icepick stabbed into the glass that shattered every defense and half-assed excuse that had you stalling your answer for the better part of a week. In defense of your say in the matter, you refused to give any more ammunition to Foggy. The fact that he had not only already picked up on the almost ridiculous sized crush you had on his best friend, but was more than willing to weaponize it against you kept you reeled in, in spite of his unsuccessful attempts. Why he thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to get together, you would never know. Between Matt’s well-known revolving door of commitment issues, and the promise you made to yourself to not to fuck around with anyone not worth it for the long haul, it didn’t matter how attractive you found him: Matt Murdock would be nothing but trouble.

That being said, you told yourself you dug that perfume out from where you’d misplaced it among your other products because you liked it, and not at all because the thought of giving the blind man something else to recognize you by made your chest tighten with a theoretical satisfaction. 

Just as you were telling yourself he had no sway over why you were currently twisting the knob to the front door. You wanted to be there. Have a couple of drinks, relax, and have some of the fun you’d been putting on the back burner for the last month and a half. And if you also had a chance to check Matt out and fantasize about a couple of things, then hey, you were supposed to enjoy yourself tonight anyway.

It was the music that hit you first. Loud, catchy, and with enough bass to remind you of sitting front row during your high school’s orchestra performances whenever the brass sections would be featured, but amped up to twenty. You were already buzzing out of your skin and the door had barely shut behind you. Casting your sight out, you noticed a couple of people you didn’t know wave at your arrival, and you managed to give a polite smile as you began to weave yourself through the crowd of moving bodies. If the outside was anything to go off of, Foggy had been right; this place was huge. You had entered a foyer that opened up to a hall that connected its adjoining rooms with large marble arches that gave the impression of distinction, but allowed for direct sightlines from the hall, living, and dining rooms. All of which were packed to the brim with both people you recognize from and around Columbia, and other faces you wouldn’t even begin to try to remember. You made a mental note to ask Foggy who was throwing this party and if they were a rich socialite or what. 

It was warm, despite your notice of the window air conditioner units and box fans set up in every room you shimmied through, passing through people dancing and chatting. All things considered, with the amount of bodies in the building, the machines were working overtime to keep it as comfortable as it was. The air was thick with that heat as well as the faint smell of weed and heavy fog of alcohol that mingled in every breath you took. Interestingly enough, through the initial overwhelm and nervous jitters, you felt yourself beginning to relax. There were no expectations here. No deadlines, or professors, or bosses. Just the inviting thrum of the music, the beckoning call of a cold drink, and the thought of just maybe being able to let off some steam. 

You followed the trail some people holding cups left, navigating to where you could only hope had a path to a kitchen, passing a flight of stairs that looked like it led up to a hall with an endless amount of rooms until you pushed open a double-action door that revealed a large tiled kitchen. Your eyes scanned over the buffet of chips, finger foods, and other junk meant to be enjoyed before cholesterol caught up in old age spread out appeasingly on an island counter until they swept the room, catching on the stainless steel of the refrigerator. It wasn’t until you were contemplating your choices, bent over to gaze at your pick of poisons, that you realized you weren’t exactly sure what you were looking to get out of the night. So until you figured it out, you were satisfied with grabbing a bottle of water, grateful for something cold and crisp as you shut the fridge, shuffled out of the way so the other people filtering in and out would have room, and leant against the counter, taking a few sips as you pulled your phone from your pocket.

Shooting Foggy a quick message letting him know you made it there easily enough, you sighed into your surroundings, closing your eyes while you tracked the next gulp of water travel through you, welcoming the chill down your spine and the clarity it brought to your mind as you thought. You truly weren’t sure what you were expecting out of your showing up. Having some fun, of course. But when it came down to it, that was only a base level goal. You had options: you could dance until your feet fell off. Drink enough to feel bold and weightless and have to come back to pick up your car in the morning. Do something stupid with someone pretty. You pursed your lips—you could do all of the above.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard.” Your head jerked up at the sound of Foggy’s voice, bottle halfway to your lips before you swiveled to see him holding open the door for someone exiting the kitchen as he came in. His smile was infectious, and you felt one mirroring in your own features as a gentle relief filled you, the distant memory of his promise to not leave you alone and enjoy the night with you echoing faintly and you were grateful to have a friend like him as he hopped over to you, swinging the door to the fridge open and pulling out two beers from a brand you didn’t recognize. “What happened to giving that hard-working brain a rest?”

“This hard-working brain needs to form a gameplan, Fog.” You laughed, finishing up your water as he crossed the room, held out a bottle to you and settled into a spot next to your side. “Figure out what I should expect.”

He frowned playfully, poking your shoulder with a firm finger, “You,” his opening statement was emphasised by a wiggle against your arm, “shouldn’t expect anything. You’ve made it to this cool party, so now enjoy the party! Do what you feel is right! Go with the flow! What do you wanna do?”

“Not sure.” You answer honestly, shaking your head with a light chuckle, twisting off the cap to the beer and taking a tentative sip. The taste had you second-guessing whether you should drink it at all, but it was beer and it would get the job done. “What’s going on around here?”

Foggy sighed, following your actions and shrugging. You noticed the pink dotting his face, the tenseness already gone from his shoulders. He’s barely been there more than a half-hour before you arrived, yet he already looked incredibly care-free. Maybe you really should take notes. “Nothing much upstairs, since those are all the bedrooms. Mainly dancing and stuff out there. There’s a few card tables set up on the patio by the pool if strip poker and skinny dipping appeal to you at all.” You snorted into your drink, raising your eyebrows as he continued. “I was planning on heading back down to the basement—bringing you with me, of course.”

“What’s down there?” You groaned slightly as you stood back up straight, the tension you carried yourself cruelly making itself aware in a threatening tease, and followed the nod of Foggy’s head and his lead as the both of you crossed the threshold back into the main party. He raised his voice so you could hear him over the noise. 

“Well for starters, it’s so much quieter. Matt basically made a beeline when he realized he could go down there. But it’s also just chill. Hangout space, mostly. Couple of games going, few joints being passed around, but nothing you don’t have to join if you don’t want.”

You hummed an acknowledging reply as he led you back to the stairs that led to the second floor, and to a door just to the side of them you hadn’t noticed your first go around. You swallowed hard as you descended behind Foggy, shutting the door behind you and feeling for the railing even though the light above the stairs was bright enough for you to see your way. An excitement rose in the pit of your stomach, giddy and childish, at the thought of seeing Matt down there, but you squashed it down just as fast as it came, the words ridiculous and get yourself together slapping across it and you found yourself dragging another mouthful of beer in the moment your feet landed on the basement floor as a means to prime yourself for whatever the night held for you. 

The basement was dimly lit, well furnished, and while still moderately packed, incredibly calmer than the first floor. Most noticeably, it was quieter—quiet enough that a small speaker was able to softly play its own music, a smooth R&B playlist going on to filter in with the background noise of chatter, footsteps thumping from above, and the amicable laughing from the apparent groups of friends clumping together in the space. You started to sweep over the room before you realized that Foggy was moving without you and you wasted no time catching up, trailing behind him until you reached a couple of couches pressed up against the corner. There were a few seats left, one of which Foggy didn’t hesitate taking next to Matt, flopping down onto the couch with a pleased noise that had to be exaggerated, or else that had to be the comfiest couch in existence. 

Your chest tightened for a moment, heart doing a flip in your chest at the sight of him. Matt, with an easy smile on his lips, drink in hand, dark lenses over his eyes, and unbuttoned shirt over a thin white tee. Once upon a time, you balked at Foggy’s confrontation about how you felt about Matt, your instinct to deny, not willing to believe you were that obvious. But as you stood just off to the side of the couch, your eyes shamelessly lingering where his shirt stretched across his chest, almost tight enough to map out the shape of his pecs underneath, and trailing up his neck, you knew for damn sure you were as obvious as fire truck sirens in a burning city—even when your blatant staring led your gaze to where that easy smile was pointed in the direction of a pretty brunette on his other side. Well, you thought mournfully to yourself and pointedly looked away when her eyes flickered to yours, a look of wanting all too familiar on her face because you’ve caught it too often on your own, definitely still attractive. 

Huffing a sigh, you go to take the seat next to Foggy with plans to rest against the arm of the couch and sink into it much like him, but as you approached, you just barely caught the way Foggy’s eyes shifted from you, to Matt, and to the seat you were turning to take before an all too impish smile accompanied the way he suddenly slid into the corner seat and patted the cushion next to him. You stalled for just a moment, surprised betrayal dropping your jaw as Foggy tried to hide his content smile behind a non-chalant sip of beer.

“Gonna sit?” Foggy couldn’t help himself, and you shot him the dirtiest glare you could muster in the split second you had before your loitering would become awkward and you turned to sit in the last spot available to you. Next to Foggy, but also, very purposely—and you would be sure to harbor this grudge as leverage against him for however long you could get away with—next to Matt. 

“Remind me to pencil killing you into my schedule for next week.” You hissed as you sat down, indignation stuttering as in fact, the couch was incredibly comfortable. But your point had been made, you couldn’t enjoy the nice fluffy couch, and Foggy cackled next to you as you were slowly made all too aware of the fact that if you shifted over even slightly, you’d be brushing up against Matt’s side. He has to be trying to make you suffer, you were sure of it. This wasn’t clumsy matchmaking, this was psychological torture. 

Foggy laughed again, louder, when you kicked his leg softly out of the way so you could adjust in your spot. “I’m a little busy then. Do you mind pushing my murder back a few weeks?” 

“Extensions are only for friends who aren’t also trying to kill me.” 

“I literally have no clue what you’re talking about,” He sang under his breath, blissful and entirely perceptive to the way you choked the neck of your bottle.

“Your days are numbered, Nelson. Count them.”

“Who’s committing murder?” 

You jumped at the sound of Matt’s voice, and you turned your head to see his head turned toward you and Foggy. A playful smile tugged his lips as he tilted his face, and your name passed through them in a quiet question; a gentle wonder if he was addressing the right person, and you suddenly felt horrible for not letting him know you were there first. If your offered greeting was sheepish and soft, it was only because you held yourself up to a higher standard. Not at all because you watched Matt lean in ever so slightly, as if being closer could help him discern you. 

“Hi.” His smile widened at the sound of your voice, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped in your chest. 

“Hi.” You returned, unable to help the smile of your own as your eyes quickly darted around his face. It wasn’t like it had been an eternity since you’ve last seen him—being friends with Foggy more often than not meant hanging out with him also meant hanging out with Matt—but it was always nice to check the mental boxes of what made this man so appealing to you. The crinkles by his eyes when he smiled like that. The way his hair swept down onto his face. The fullness of his pink lips. When you felt yourself staring, your heart beginning to race, you cleared your throat and took another sip from your bottle. 

Matt shifted next to you, angling himself closer as he adjusted on the couch. Curious, knowing he was talking to someone, you glanced over his shoulder to find his other side empty. 

“Where’d your friend go?” The question came out before you even thought about it, borne of both a curiosity and masochistic urge to know, and you quickly found her retreating body settling down in a group of people sitting in what looked like a circle on the floor a few yards away. 

Matt’s brow twitched before he sighed, shrugging his shoulders like dismissing beautiful women was a simple pastime he couldn’t be bothered with. “Ah, it wasn’t going anywhere, so I told her she should go enjoy herself.” 

“Oh, let me tell you, she wanted it to go somewhere.” You scoffed against the glass, remembering the look of desire you caught. A little while longer, if you didn’t interrupt, and she might have gotten it. A sliver of green jealousy you couldn’t help rose at the mental image of Matt between her legs—or anyone else's, for that matter—but you quickly stomped that down into the closest recess of your mind you could manage. It would be helping no one, and certainly not you, for you to unpack any of that.

“I know,” Matt said airly, deep breath filling his lungs before letting his head and voice dip toward you. “But you’re here now, and I enjoy talking to you much more.”

You stared Matt down, keeping a straight face your only defense to the way his voice shot straight through you. It was hard to tell if there was an implication he ended that conversation for you or if you were simply losing it. So you ignored the way you felt heat stir in the pit of your belly, ignored the way Matt seemed to wait for you expectantly, head cocked and smile turned teasing, ignored the way Foggy shook silently with laughter next to you—you could handle it. So he wanted to flirt. He’s done this before. You do it too. Yeah…you can handle it.

“Sure you do.” Flippantly, you hummed, and Matt’s leg brushed against yours as he shifted to prop his head up on his hand, elbow on the back of the couch. A tingle washed over you then, light and full of a crackling potential, before it dissipated across the surface of your skin. “You should say goodbye to Foggy, by the way. He might not be here in a few days.”

“Should you be confessing ideals of premeditated crime to me?”

“Oh this isn't a confession. It’s a statement. I’m just telling you everything so there’s no surprises during the trial. Which, you’ll be representing me, of course, Counsellor.”

Matt grinned. “I don’t know, I haven’t quite passed the bar yet. Besides, I might be biased. Considering he’s my best friend and all. Lines get even blurrier when you take into account my prior knowledge of this first-degree murder. I’ll have you know, by telling me this, I’m well within my moral means to stop you.”

You raised your drink, letting the invitation of the alcohol spur you on as it warmed your body. Despite yourself, you were having fun, honeying your words as excitement thrummed through you. “Go ahead.” Slyly, you lowered your voice. “Stop me.”

Admittedly, watching Matt’s reaction did more to you than you thought it would. He paused just for a moment, sitting in the weight of your statement before he wet his lips—an action you followed all too closely—and brought his own bottle up to his mouth, smirk hiding around the edges. You watched the way his throat worked down his drink, unable to stop the thoughts of wanting to kiss down the motion. You knew he couldn’t see, yet it seemed that behind those dark frames, he was fixed entirely onto you. 

Desire loomed just under your skin, itching to strike flint against the kindling, but you were quick to abate. Teasing was fun, but you had to remind yourself that that’s all it was: teasing. For as much as you wanted to grab Matt Murdock’s face and make out with him on his lap right there on the couch, or drag him out to your car and lead him to your apartment, party be damned, you also couldn’t bring yourself to do anything you would regret. And Matt, in all his bed-warming glory, would be something you’d regret. One fun night wouldn’t dull the ache you felt in foolishly wanting to be something more, something meaningful with him. Exclusivity wasn’t a word he knew. Or at least one frequently honoured, if you pieced anything about him together correctly.

A flicker of embarrassment wasn’t the only thing that warmed your face as you sat back against the couch, dropping your head and letting your eyes flutter shut against the picture of the ceiling, but it was what you focused on as you let out a deep breath. Maybe it was silly of you, to want a relationship. You definitely felt silly, knowing that most of your peers—including the ones at this party—most likely weren’t looking for anything serious. It was hard enough, getting into Columbia. And working during your graduate program on top of that…no wonder short-term flings or one night stands were so popular. And as worked up as you were, however tempted you might get, you told yourself you weren’t looking for throwaway easy stress relief. At least, not with Matt. Briefly, you contemplated if you would go home with someone tonight, someone you wouldn’t have to remember the name of, or face again in your small circle of friends. Someone just to help ease the ache that always grew tenfold whenever you let Matt get to you; someone to help you pretend. The thought flickered before you shook it from your mind. You frowned, feeling wrong to even be thinking about it with Matt right there, and stretching your spine as you felt Foggy bounce on the couch by your side.

“That has to be a record, you two,” Foggy threw out casually into the air. “Should I give you the couch? Clear out the basement?”

“You can keep dreaming.” You chuckled as you quickly dragged your hand down your face, sitting back up. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, face screwing up into a frown before he rolled his eyes. “So what’s the plan, gang? Getting wasted? Should we plot world domination? Or—”

“Foggy! Matt!” Your heads swivelled to the sound of the voice calling them, and you spotted a guy with cropped blond hair that’s sitting in the circle you noticed earlier waving his arms up. You didn’t know him, but obviously your friends did. “Come play with us! And bring whoever’s with you, the more people the better.”

Foggy’s face lit up. “Or we could play—”

“No.” Matt said simply.

It dimmed just as fast. 

“Why not! Don’t you wanna feel like a pre-teen again?”

You watched as Matt grimaced, but not without amusement. “Not necessarily, no. I went through enough getting to my twenties. Totally fine not participating in middle school games.”

Glancing between them, and spotting that blond man again as there was a sudden cheer from the circle, you bit the bait. “Okay, so what are they playing over there?”

“Take a guess,” Matt leaned in closer to you, and it took a decent modicum of strength not to study his profile from the angle, holding up his beer like he was scrutinizing it before you realized he was displaying it out in front of him for example. “There’s a bottle, drunk undergrads, and a closet the next room over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up from your chest as you finished off your own drink, squinting over at the circle and watching as someone from the group leant forward to spin a bottle, and two of them were ushered into another room off the basement. “Oh, that is so middle school.” 

“But it could be fun!” Foggy sighed, like he was contemplating but not quite arriving at a decision. “Besides, you don’t gotta go make out with someone. There’s like, truth or dare or something. Unless standing in a cramped space making awkward conversation is your thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you snorted. “I’ll pass.” The idea greeting you with a childish humor—alongside the gut selfish thought of how you’d be a horrible player, and would only choose the closet if that bottle landed on Matt.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed in a soft voice, and you had to tell yourself he wasn’t looking at you. He literally couldn’t. “Me too.”

“So it’s been decided.” Foggy nodded his head once, slashing his hands through the air. “World domination it is, then?”

“Think I might need another drink before I’m meant to get nefarious,” You said, leaning forward and placing your empty bottle on a small coffee table in front of you. “But by all means, where do we start?”

But when Foggy doesn’t answer you, and questioningly, you look over to see his gaze fixed on a group of people that just descended into the basement. As if sensing your question, you hear Matt’s voice close to your ear, his breath hot and low. And even though he didn't even say anything remotely sensual, the shiver that ran down your spine was imagining he did. “Think the NYU 3L’s just got here.”

“Oh no.” An oxymoron, given your grin, watching as Foggy began to frantically smooth out his shirt. “I think—” Your eyes scanned over the new heads dispersing around the room until you spotted the sway of blonde hair tied up high. “Yup, she’s here. And he’ll be gone in three, two…” 

“I um,” Foggy shot up, hands combing nervously through his hair as he turned, torn between addressing the two of you and glancing over to where Marci Stahl just sat down in the spin the bottle circle, “think I might go play afterall. I’ll just be- you know where to find me!” You and Matt erupted into laughter, cheering as Foggy stumbled his way over, hovering only long enough to strategically pick a seat before plopping himself down and sending you a thumbs up. 

“Ugh,” you groaned playfully, and it wasn’t hard to miss the way Matt stretched to rest his arm behind you when he settled back down. And you leant into it, his forearm behind your neck and his fingertips lightly grazing your shoulder in lazy passes. “Young love. They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

“If growing up means Foggy still thinking there’s any way she’ll give him a shot, then sure.”

“Put that cynicism aside, Murdock.” You looked over to see his brows shoot up in amusement, then even further when you plucked his bottle out of his hand. “They’re gonna Romeo and Juliet that shit—sans poison, just you wait.”

Matt chuckled. “You can get your own beer, you know.”

“Payment.” You took a sip, watching him from the corner of your eye. “For thinking you were slick enough to pull this off.”

He pressed his fingers into your shoulder purposefully then, caressing a line where he could reach, then back up. “What, this?” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk, a flash of teeth. “Guess I’ll note that a little affection means you wouldn’t be above stealing a blind guy’s drink.”

“Yet somehow, I don’t feel bad at all.”

“Didn’t think so.” Matt shimmied in his seat, getting comfortable when he reached through the air to grab his drink back. You guided it to his hand and watched as he sighed into another swig, licking his lips again and you almost swore he bit back a low groan that still escaped, feeling a rumble where you pressed against his side, despite his effort. “Mm, I actually think you feel pretty good right now.”

“Yeah?” Nonplussed, and completely aware of how your heart beat quickly behind your ribs, “How’d you figure?”

“One can hazard a guess.” He turned toward you, and you met his face with enough conviction to try and see through the black lenses and try to get a glimpse of his eyes behind them. “But also,” he dropped his voice to a whisper as he shifted closer. You’re not sure if he knew just how close he was to your ear or not, but the heat of his words licked down your spine. “You haven’t pulled away from me yet.” 

Unable to help it, your gaze dropped to his lips as you swayed back just to breathe. He was so close to you, it would barely take anything to kiss him. A few inches forward. An upward angle of your head. And it was tempting, as you stared longer than you should have, breath catching in your lungs at how they were parted so prettily, hinging on as if on an unspoken word. Or an invitation. If this were anyone else, they probably would have clocked the intent you beat down and have done it already. But Matt couldn’t see the way your eyes darkened, or the way your chest rose and fell slightly quicker. There was always part of you that thought he had to know, or at least, in his words, be pretty spot on with his guesswork. You supposed Matt knew the effect he had on people, and how you weren’t much different.

You may have thought any different, but you apparently loved the self-punishment that came with declining his every attempt to tempt you into dark corners and private rooms, it seemed. 

“Don’t think anything of it. Just comfy.” You rolled your neck, leaning back against his arm. “Don’t need that head of yours getting any bigger.”

“Oh, but don’t you wanna see how big it can get?”

You groaned, ignoring the traitorous way your stomach fluttered at the double entendre or how the baritone of his voice travelled straight in a quick clean pulse between your legs. You would not think about the size of his dick. You would not look down at the crotch of his jeans. “You ruined it, Matt. Really. Got me going there and everything. Might’ve rerolled your chances.”

He threw his head back and laughed, deep and real. “Sure I did.”

Then, there was a silence. A moment passed between the two of you that was easy to settle in. Found in the overlap of too loud voices, the faint sounds of Mario Kart, the background beat of Frank Ocean, and the creeping alcohol flushing through your bloodstream. It made it easy then, sharing the rest of Matt’s drink and just soaking in the environment. A hum formed in the back of your throat, pleasant and almost content; and for the first time that night, you started to actually feel relaxed, tucked into Matt’s side on a comfy couch in someone’s basement. 

But the thought didn’t linger for long, your brow furrowing at the realization that you could get used to this, to easy comfort and sharing a beer. That you wanted to get used to it. That maybe next time, you could steal his drink away in a bout of distraction, in a kiss, perhaps. That you’d be leaving just as you arrived: together. That you wouldn’t have to suffer showing up to parties you only went to for him just to see him flirting with other people anymore, simply because he would be yours.

But he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t be. And you’ve already made your peace with that. Because that’s just how it was, selfish thoughts aside. You could flirt with Matt Murdock, let him flirt with you. But that’s as far as you would ever let it go. Because if you ever gave in, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from wanting more. You wouldn’t be able to take anything he wouldn’t be willing to give.

You inhaled sharply, sitting up and moving away. An inch. It was truly only an inch. But an inch was more than noticeable when your thigh had been fully pressed into his. You never truly realize just how warm someone is until you lose contact. Or just how cold you leave them.

“Are you okay?” 

Matt followed you to where you sat at the edge of the cushion, straightening his back, and you almost missed the way he hesitated before deciding to place both of his hands in his lap. “Hm?”

“You…you got quiet. Is something wrong?” Your face twitched against a pout at the earnestness in his voice, soft and simple. “Did I- was it the joke? Not feeling it today?”

You shook your head, a dry chuckle escaping. “No, Matt. No it wasn’t you, don’t worry.” He seemed to relax then. You didn’t notice how much he had tensed at the thought of him making you uncomfortable until you saw his shoulders sag. “I…yeah. Don’t worry.”

He frowned. “You’re telling me not to worry, but your entire mood just changed.” He stated pointedly. “I can- I don’t know, it’s like I can feel it. Tell me what’s up.”

You sighed, heavy and full. You didn’t know if you could tell him even if you wanted to. You and Matt were friends—or at least, you thought you were—but you weren’t particularly close despite the fact that Matt tended to be an open book with you. Purposefully, you’ve kept yourself from establishing that return in connection, from wanting to indulge in him to weather your frustrated rants or hold safe a few of your secrets. That kind of connection would only make the way you felt about him worse, if you craved him not only under the sheets but as a confidant. It was bad enough that you wanted him so much based on what you knew of him just from this last year since you’ve met him—being exactly your type in more than just looks and humor. You never could quite find it in yourself to cross that line, because then you knew, you’d truly be lost. 

“I’m fine, Matt.”

“You’re not.”

Defensive, and upset with yourself for not being able to just be normal about him, you couldn't control your tone. “What’s it even matter to you?” You spit back, your eyes widening just as you said it, and a lick of regret stinging the back of your throat from how sharp the words came out. 

You watched Matt, taken aback, confusion and…something else you couldn’t quite place creeping onto his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance. 

“Murdock!” Glaring, your eyes snapped back to that same blond guy that called out to Matt and Foggy earlier. “Bottle landed on you man. Get your ass over here!”

Without even thinking, you called out in his defense. “He’s not even playing. Spin it again.”

“You have to see how clearly it’s pointing to him!” And you did. A quick glance, and you could see over the distance that there was a clean gap between seated bodies, the open bottleneck of a long empty drink pointed barrel straight across the room. There was no doubt, if someone were to draw an arrow from it horizontally until it reached another, the line would hit Matt dead and center. 

For a split second, you watched Matt’s jaw tick with a restraint that you couldn’t decide if it was rooted in anger, annoyance, or a special third thing you just weren’t picking up on, opting safely for all of the above. You went to go roll your eyes, to tell Matt to ignore them. But then suddenly, he grabbed your hand, fingers wrapping around yours as his other one reached down to where his cane was on the ground by his side. 

“Come on,” He murmured, only loud enough for you to hear. “Let's go somewhere quieter.”

Confusion sent a shock through your system, a gentle short-circuit as it felt like you blinked and the dynamic changed drastically. “Aren’t we already somewhere quieter?”

He sent you a small sardonic smile, tugging your hand as he stood up. You tried not to think about how warm his palm felt in this moment that caught you off guard, or the slight callousness of his fingertips where they pressed against your skin as you followed. “Private, then. So we can talk.”

The question sat on your tongue as Matt began to move swifter than you thought he would, dipping out his cane and taking careful, measured, yet confident strides before your brain could even catch up. Talk. He wanted to talk. Your reply came out in a whisper you weren’t sure if he heard. “Okay.”

The both of you were already across the basement floor before you started to hear a sound of a protest. One you intentionally ignored to instead tell Matt about the stairs coming up. The angle ascending was weird, and you didn’t want to inhibit his navigation in any way, so you gently slipped your hand from his, but not without muttering an assurance that you were right behind him. 

The main party was just as loud as ever, and you swore you saw Matt take a deep breath and brace himself before he opened the door that led from the basement, and you couldn’t blame him. He waited until you stepped out, shut the door behind you, before his fingers caught the hem of your shirt and he leant down so you could hear him better. “Upstairs?”

You nodded your head, momentarily forgetting he wouldn’t have picked up on the gesture as you guided him through the luckily sparser crowd in the hallway until you rounded the corner of the staircase. Matt found the railing, and you looked at him. He motioned for you to lead the way. This house really was huge. And the assumption you had earlier when you’d gotten there that the second floor was a neverending assortment of rooms wasn’t far from wrong. You supposed Foggy hadn’t been either, his comments about places you could hide being one of his selling points to you. The first door you had opened was a bathroom. The second, a bedroom that was fully furnished and sheets unmade. The third was when you’d hit the mark, finding unlocked entry into what looked like a long since unused guest room after you’d flipped on the light. There was a full-sized bed in the middle of the room, pressed against the wall with immaculately folded sheets and crisp tucked edges, a small hallway side table that housed a fake potted plant, a lamp at the bedside that was slowly collecting cobwebs, and what looked to be an ornate dresser that had in its past, seen better days. 

The second the door closed, clicking against the latch, Matt wasted no time. 

“Just to get it out of the way, you matter to me, so of course if something upsets you, I want to know.” Your jaw dropped as you watched him trace the wall and navigate a little around the room before leaning his cane up against the dresser, casual all the while you suddenly felt like you were frozen where you stood. “So could you please…If it’s me, I want to know, so I can do better. If it’s not, then if you’re willing to share, I’m willing to help out.”

Your mind raced, suddenly overwhelmed and in a whirlwind state of shock as to how you’ve gotten to here, alone with him, when just five minutes ago everything was normal. Everything was fine. “Matt.”

“Is it me?”

There was a pain in his face, subtle, but tugging just enough to be evident as you studied him. “No it’s…it’s complicated.”

“How?”

You threw your hands up in the air. “It just is! I don’t know!” Squeezing your eyes shut, you continued. “I like what we have Matt, whatever it is. I just. Don’t want to mess it up, with the shit I don’t tell you, I guess.”

“What we have.” He repeated. Slowly. Gently. Then softly, taking a step forward, he asked, “What do we have?”

Suddenly, you felt like you were under a spotlight in an otherwise pitch black room. You always thought the weight of a person's focus came from how they looked at you. But now, in the quiet, music muffled and distant, alone with Matt, you realized just how wrong you were. You could nearly feel the way he was honed in on you, five feet away and steadily approaching in small measured shuffles forward. By all outward appearances, it seemed to be like he knew exactly where you were, featherlight steps that almost seemed feline in nature, and was giving you ample time to make a decision. 

“We’re friends.” You began. “Joking around. Hanging out. It’s easy with you, sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” He nodded. Waited for you to continue. He was three feet away now. “I like…I like messing around with you. Don’t mind it at all. So if you were worried you crossed a line, you didn’t, Matt. You’re okay. Promise. It’s all in good fun.” 

If you weren't so aware of your thoughts right now, you might not have noticed the way that last sentence snagged in a lie against your tongue.

“There.” He stopped just a foot in front of you, a firm set to his face as his brows furrowed in thought. 

“There, what?”

“Your voice wavered, just then.” It was an accusation, but it didn’t make you feel targeted. It was simply as if Matt was sorting through the interference of your mind and plucking out the loose strings. “I know you like the flirting, but it never goes anywhere. And you say it’s only easy with me sometimes. Why?”

“Why does it never go anywhere, or…”

He lowered his head, chin dropping just slightly. “Both.”

You scoffed, and for the first time since this conversation started, you felt like you were ready to throw in the towel and switch topics as your heart flipped in disbelief. He couldn’t seriously be asking about this right now. “Matt, really, you’re getting worked up over a random stray thought that made me go quiet. I’m fine. Everything is fine—”

“Everything is not fine, because you’re all I can think about, and I need to know if I'm about to say something that'll majorly screw things up or not!” And Matt swayed where he stood, like he was torn between stumbling away and reaching forward to you. Your heart thudded in your chest. 

Then it was silent—music, party unheard—save for the roaring in your ears.

“What?”

Matt’s head suddenly shot up. And in an action in which you thought you’d find a breath of clarity, he instead turned sharply toward the door. Briefly, you weren’t sure what impressed you more, the fluid strides in which he made it over, or how he remembered which direction it was in after turning around a couple of times in his pace of the room to find a wall. It also took you by surprise, the inherent trust he had in how he moved, like he was past guessing the space he had to work with and simply acted. But that was a moment quickly pinned to the background, as when you saw Matt’s hand grab the door knob and twist to push it open—it wouldn’t budge. 

Matt tried again, and you heard the jiggle of the knob, and watched, befuddled and disoriented and trying to make sense of the last thirty seconds, while Matt shoved a shoulder into the door to only be met with no give. 

The door was locked. 

“It locks from the inside,” Matt replied, voice low with a dangerous edge of an irritation you've only witnessed from him rarely, and you realized you said that out loud all the while you saw him pathetically twist the lock back and forth as if he were reveling in the cruel joke of it all. “Someone out there blocked the way.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Matt takes a step back, and you wonder if he was contemplating making another pass at the door. His head seemed to tilt around the general direction of the frame as if trying to trace it out mentally, his fingertips splayed on the wood at the end of an extended arm. For a second, it looked as if he were lost in a contemplation under the warm light of the room, studying…whatever it was he could gather. If he was going to throw himself at it again, you realized you should probably stop him. You also realized that somehow, he knew the door was locked before either of you had tried to leave. 

He also had just admitted to thinking about you all the time. And selfishly—or at least in the hierarchy of emotional distress those three things gave you—that seemed like the most pressing thing to address. 

His fists clenched at his side and you saw him take another step back as if to gear up for a charge before you blurted out, “What do you mean I'm all you think about?” He seemed to falter, going stiff and turning away from the door in a shaky glide as he pivoted on his heels. “Because if that's just a line to try and get me to open up, that's so not cool, Murdock. And blind or not, I'll use you as a battering ram to get out of here.”

“Oof.” A little amused huff shook him before he pursed his lips, shaking his head. “No. No that…that wasn't a line. I'm not trying to—” he flung his hands frustratingly down by his sides after they drifted up to rub at his face, shifting his glasses until he replaced them on the bridge of his nose— “It means exactly what you think it means.”

With a shaky confidence, you took a step toward him. “And what did you mean when you said you don't want to say anything that could screw things up?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you wanna say, Matt?”

He approached slowly. So slow it was almost a prowl, and you might have equated it to one under different circumstances. On instinct, you took a half step back just from the sheer intensity Matt seemed to carry with him, your stomach fluttering with a new craving despite yourself. Again, he paused in front of you, and you noticed the way his chest rose and fell just as violently as yours.

“Tell me what had you freezing up next to me down there first.” 

“Not fair.” 

“I asked you first.” 

“No, you confronted me.” You said stubbornly, deciding to go rambling down that path than to admit he was right. “Very rudely, might I add. Killed my buzz from that crappy beer and everything. And then you dragged—”

“You followed me willingly,” He took another step forward. And another. You moved back if only to keep space between you. 

“—me up here, then go and say an incredibly insane thing to me—”

A smile started to tug the corners of his mouth. “It was a truthful admission.”

“—Then you did that weird and somehow sexy thing with the door.” You felt your heart leap to your throat as the back of your thighs tapped against the blunt edge of wood grain and you let out a soft grunt. Your hands reflexively grabbed onto the sides. Matt grinned at the sound of your surprise. “And now you're…you're backing me into a table, y'know—”

“It was either that or a wall, I figured.” 

“—and it should be threatening, maybe, and I probably could’ve darted around you without you knowing, but it's honestly kinda hot, and—”

“I want you.” Your mouth went dry, parting on an expression that was a mix of shocked and aroused as he stopped in front of you, his knee bumping into your leg and stilling himself only just before he'd have to brace himself on the wall to lean over you. “That's what I was gonna say.” 

As all things lit up in you much like restoring power to a city grid, you swallowed thickly against the hammering of your heart in your throat. If you were a better person, you would roll your eyes and push him away, calling Matt out on what had to be another line and focus on the more pressing issue of getting out of the locked room. If you were a stronger person, you could blame the heat that rolled through your veins like molten magma and primed every nerve on the drinks you had, and come up with some other excuse as to why its epicenter would lead straight to your core. But you were neither, and the long, long months of this game you played were starting to catch up to you. Whether you were winning or losing, it was hard to tell.

“And that's the big thing you were afraid would make shit hit the fan?” You breathed, your hands growing restless as you fought the urge to touch him. You didn’t. That’s how you held your line. That’s how you lasted so long. You could last a little longer.

“Mhm.”

You lifted your chin, emboldened by the forbearance that twitched a muscle in his cheek. “And here I thought it'd be something I didn't already know.”

Matt tilted his head, a slight cant toward his shoulder as a confident lilt yet again infiltrated his words. “You knew, huh?”

“Believe it or not, there is a limit to how many times you can proposition me before I started to suspect you actually might have started to mean it.”

He paused, and briefly, giving way to a sober moment, his face softened, a fragility you were surprised to find, not thinking clearly enough for insight, whispering on the coattails of his question. “So you're saying, I…didn't just catastrophically ruin things?”

“Nope.” The question of ‘why would it?’ carefully lingered at the front of your mind, but the words died before you even had the forethought to speak them; the idea that Matt could have been implying anything more than what seemed to be surface level desire not even crossing into your realm of possibility in this moment. This moment, where all you could think of was how close he was. How warm he was. How every time he shifted on his feet, he bumped into you and it sent a flicker of anticipation that did nothing but join the haze that began to carve out space for the one way track you seemed to be careening toward.

That softness didn't fully disappear, it lingered, only just now hidden behind the zealous intent of his concentration and the unconscious way Matt drew his bottom lip between his teeth. “And you're admitting to knowing I've wanted you for months now and you've just been having your fun brushing me off?”

“Trust me, it's not always fun.” Came your reply, shameless memories flashing behind your eyes of the countless numbers of days you've gone back home with your heart racing from the exercise of your restraint around him. Or the way you'd daydream about Matt while you worked until you often found yourself snapping out of distraction. Or how you'd be unable to sleep sometimes until you got yourself off to the thought of him. 

For a brief moment, you contemplated not being fair in your confession. One final sense of preservation reminding you in alarm bells why you've spent all this time ignoring him—ignoring yourself. Why you've shouldered and toughed through all the flirting, the invitations, and sometimes downright filthy observations. The reason you'd declined him that first time nearly a year ago being the same reason that's held strong over the course of the time that's passed: there was no real way for you to tell, for you to be certain, that you wouldn't just be another notch in Matt's bedpost. That despite the fact that he's been nothing but a gentleman to you otherwise, playing nice by your rules, heeding within the boundaries of the cat and mouse you'd encouraged. It's been months, and you don't think you've ever witnessed Matt Murdock hang on so long to anyone—the fervor that at first felt like him trying to do better, do more to convince you, slowly turning into a comfortable normal. A playful back and forth you two shared in. The both of you truly had been playing a game. Playing a game, and having fun, despite the main reward doing nothing but adding to the pile of tension that in this moment, felt so unrestrained, you were bursting at the seams.

Unable to ignore it any longer, you couldn't even find the will in you to summon the strength you always mustered to stop any risks for escalation. Any opposition that might have bubbled up in the forms of bad idea or you'll regret it dying out like the last burning embers of a flame doused in enough water to flood.

If you were finally going to allow yourself Matt—allow the indulgence that had you burning for him day after day, night after night—you quickly came to the realization that it would be now. It would be tonight. And it would be before there was any chance you could talk yourself out of it.

Your equal admission came mild, words concentrated and accentuated from carrying the truth you've wanted to share for far too long now, and not without its own equity in weight. “I want you too.”

The air turned electric; the silence that bridged the remaining gap between you charging quickly into something thick and heady as active reality was starting to actually settle in. Matt let out a little breath, as did you, shaky and involuntary, as he deliberately pressed closer. His knee found the seam of your legs, and he effortlessly nudged himself between them. Your hand shot out to steady yourself against his arm, nerves producing a slight tremor you couldn't quite control.

Your voice, thick, and seeming all too loud to your ears, tested the waters. “We should get out of here.” Out of this room. Out of the party. You weren’t sure which. You wanted both. You wanted Matt.

Matt gravitated toward you, like he was unable to help the pull anymore, same as you. You froze when his fingers pressed featherlight against the side of your neck, thumb sliding just under your jaw enough to tilt your head the most minute of degrees. He was close enough, his breath fanned distantly against you when he spoke. “After I kiss you first?”

A breath was held, thundering anticipation in your chest, and you let the frantic nod of your head against his touch do the talking. 

You’ve known Matt Murdock for a while now, pulled into the little bubble he shared with Foggy Nelson quickly after stumbling into an unlikely friendship. You’ve been around long enough to know the rumors and which of those actually held truth. To overhear the occasional giggles and whispers every once in a while from men and women around campus. Long enough to know that Matt had steadily built a repertoire well known amongst a select group of the co-eds. But nothing you gathered, assumptions you weighed, and the personal experience you used to supplement your own fantasies could have predicted this. 

Against your expectations, Matt’s kiss was surprisingly soft. It was almost unsure, as if he were on a trepid venture, using the way he moved slowly against you as permission still. You could almost taste the trickle of hesitation intertwined with the sparks behind your eyes and behind the way your brain roared and heart sang with the simple satisfaction of ‘finally’. When you kiss him back, he let out a gentle little sigh, and you felt him smile into you, seemingly enough of an acceptance to abate the incredibly trivial worry he had that once it happened, you would somehow want it to end. And as he pressed closer, deeper, your pulse leaping under your skin as you felt his fingers slide into a delicate cradle around your throat, the thought of wanting it to end was so far removed from your immediate mind, it was easily humbling the version of you that swore you’d never allow this. Allow him.

When Matt pulled back, it was instinct to chase after him. But through the pleasant haze that muddled your thoughts, the gentle passes of pleasure that lazily rolled through you like low tide lapping at the shore, you instead opened your eyes. Through your lidded gaze, blinking, you watched a quiet gratification steadily bloom across his face alongside a grin that was almost boyishly giddy, and settle into a content as he released another deep sigh; an indulgent revel as you both shared in this long awaited moment. 

It might not have been a good look, but after a couple of flips of your heart in your chest, you dictated the moment was over as you impatiently leant forward to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him back in. You could relish in finalities later. You wanted to kiss him now. And Matt had little objection as he melted back into you.

“So, about the door—” He wisped in the inbetweens, soft laugh interrupted between each press of your lips to his and his hands steadied himself on the table as he leaned into you.

“Mm, not yet.” And Matt grins because he already knew you wouldn’t even entertain the tease. Not when you were like this. Not when you felt like the world was spinning beneath you, weightless, and his kiss dizzying. You responded to him at first equally, before a surge of more overtook you. 

Unbidden, you gave way, relenting to every part of you that craved him; that wanted to take. You’ve dreamt of this for so long: the feel of him close to you, the weight of him as he had you hemmed against the table, his hands by your sides, hot and solid and willing. The taste of him—oh how you wanted the taste of him, whether you found it against his skin, in his mouth or in yours. You didn’t want to stop, despite knowing you should, knowing that maybe this wasn’t the time or place, a distant reminder that you were a guest in somebody’s home locked in a bedroom that wasn’t yours. But you cling tightly onto that flicker of greed, letting it fuel you as you surged forward into him, your fingers curling against the strands of hair at the back of his neck. A surprised little noise escaped Matt then; a soft startled whimper falling from him as you tugged him to you, your kiss insistent as you took the next step, wordlessly telling him what you wanted with a swipe of your tongue against the plush of his lips.

Matt’s hands were on your face faster than you felt him move, warm palms cupping your jaw, fingers pressing into your temples as he held you in place, body leaning forward until his hips pinned your own. There was a reluctance in the way he pulled back, and you felt the shudder that ran through him, a shiver that seemed to crackle through his system and percolate to you where you were skin to skin, raising goosebumps that formed anywhere they could as he parted from you only the smallest fraction. Matt shook, and you gulped, swallowing hardly at the feel of his breath mixing with yours, lightheaded and yearning, as time seemed to slow.

“Fuck,” The curse is breathed against the skin of your lips, hot. Whispered like a resolution; burning like a brand. Your hand curled tight in his shirt collar, shivering with him. Waiting. Restless. Curious.

You understood in the split-second just before it happened, what you must have done. And it was like you could feel in this limbo of space the power in the aftermath of Matt's undoing, restraint unraveling as the fervor you'd fed him convincing enough to turn the lights green and the throttle red. He hovered there, in front of you, ghosting another kiss he was gearing up to give as the cogs in his head turned, inhibitions flicking off one by one. A single second stretched into an agonizing eternity—galvanic and volcanic.

He let go.

Now this…this is what you expected; a kiss full of a hunger and desire so explosive it was nearly overwhelming, static crackling in your ears and a reticent moan freely opening the gates to the roaring flame Matt brought with him. His insistence seeped into you heavy and sudden, reminding you of the swift fury that can come with rain against bare skin during a thunderstorm. His hold on you tightened ever so slightly, trying to pull you impossibly closer as if he wasn’t already pressing bruises onto your lips. You felt a hand card through your hair, a sharp pull that was far from unkind tilting your head back until he was almost on top of you. It was a steady devouring; months of want, of self-control, pouring into you with the press of his body and the surprising nip of his teeth and no apparent plan of stopping until you were made up for lost time. If this were any other person, you might have struggled to keep up with his intensity. Instead, you matched Matt in stride as you parted your lips in a gasp, opened up to the way he eagerly slid into your mouth. You moved without thought, without reason, guided simply by the carnal instinct that sought to fill in its depravity. 

He was everywhere; carding through your hair, tracing down your neck, the curve of your shoulder, like he was mapping out the shape of you under his touch, charting a path he could later reference and follow. His hands fell to the dip of your waist, holding you steady as you tried to lift off from where you were leaning against the wood and into him, your turn with your hands on his face as you swiped over his cheeks and held him against your palms as you dared to drag your tongue over his. You were not at all prepared for the burst of him—beer and slightly sweet with a faint whispering of copper—or the sensual groan that tore from a place deep and ragged, ripped from the stirrings in his chest. He parted for you, a silent ‘again’ as his grip found its banded attention on your hips. He settled there and jolted when you licked into him again with the intent to see what other sounds you could pull from him. The table creaked as the both of you collided firmly with it, and Matt rocked against you, denim catching the side of your hip in a clumsy, unconscious grind. 

You were burning now. This wasn’t enough. Nowhere near. Fingers clawed at Matt’s button up, and you began to yank it off his shoulders before he helped shrug it to the ground and he was on you again like he’d never left, tugging through strands of your hair and kissing you like the only way he could breathe was to siphon the air straight from your lungs. You’re lost for a moment, a delayed shock catching up, running through you, before your mission stirs back into awareness once more. Your touch is unwavering and steady as you stroke down his arm, as you claw gently against the cotton still over his chest. Matt released a quiet growl then, a low rumble from the back of his throat that you couldn’t quite classify—warning or invitation—so you heeded it, flicker of fire igniting through you, as both. 

Frantically, you began to yank up his shirt from where it was tucked into his jeans, tugging at the fabric until you could bare skin. Your goal had been to get it off him, to have Matt shirtless in front of you, but you quickly found out he had a similar idea before you could even swipe across his hipbones, your motions stuttering as you felt a large hand slither under your own shirt, blazing palm sliding up, up, up, against your stomach to your chest. His fingers prodding mildly at the lower curve of your bra. 

“Holy shit,” You gasped, and you tried to push into his hand. “Matt, please.”

There was an appreciation in the way he carefully grazed over the curve of you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the way he grabbed at your breast, kneading you in the palm of his hand and earning him another low moan, that in response, had him rocking into you again. There it is. And you felt more of him this time, your nerves shot and hyperaware, and Matt now hard enough that you could faintly begin to etch out the shape of him growing against your leg. You almost whine when he suddenly stops kissing you, panting heavily, but it catches on a choked gasp when wet lips instead start roaming other skin. Your chin. Your jaw. With a soft chuckle, Matt licked playfully at the lobe of your ear before he pressed a kiss to a spot right beneath it, firm and emphatic. His first move against your neck was lazy, and languid, and you felt yourself susceptible to slipping away as he began to take his time to explore. So you groped around wherever you could reach, your hands sweeping over the muscles in his shoulders, skirting down his back. You passed over cotton and skin and denim until your hands reached their target along the curve of his ass. Briefly, you wondered if you weren’t so distracted if you’d be embarrassed by how much you wanted him. But frankly, you were too turned on to care. Your thoughts came simple, one right after another. Right now, you wanted to feel him again. And your hands helped to prove your point, cupping at him until you had a solid grip, pulling him to you, guiding, encouraging. 

Matt moaned so close to your ear, hot and heavy as his head dropped helplessly into your shoulder, it only stoked the flame. He granted your wish, bucking into you again with a slow roll of his hips and a high, strangled noise against your collar. And this time, you laughed; wild and full of the disbelief that this was actually happening. A lazy pulse of heat coursed a new warmth through you, rocketing intensely through your veins until you couldn’t ignore the ache between your legs any longer. You could probably try and make Matt moan for you all day if you had the patience, but now wouldn’t be the best time for that trial. You’d nearly forgotten, when you tried to squeeze your thighs, tried to relieve some of that pressure in search for some—any—friction, about Matt’s leg. Instead, you found yourself clamping around where his thigh was slotted between yours, thick and strong, and responding in a knee-jerk reaction as it lifted higher, giving you an expanse to find relief on as you twitched instinctively.

“Oh, shit,” Matt all but yanked you down onto him, panting into your skin as his touch, his direction, persuaded you all too easily to grind against him. Relief however wasn’t the only thing you found, your eyes fluttering shut as you rolled your head back at the feel of a soft suction at the column of your throat, skin pulled between lips. The smallest graze of teeth. You wondered if it’d leave a mark. 

Then Matt suddenly startled against you, and just when you had started to chase a rhythm against him, working against the thick solidity of his thigh, he pulled away. This time, you did whine. A protest as you opened your eyes and your jaw dropped. Too worked up, your body kept moving, racing after and wanting. You were just about to speak, whether words would be a snark or a plea unknown to you until they would come out, when you spotted him, face flushed a deep pink and mouth hung open on a hinge. It was hard to choose what exactly you should focus on: the way his tongue pressed out against his bottom lip, curling up slightly as if dragging in the smell of sweat and arousal in the air, or the way his palm again found the plane of your abdomen, pressing flat with his fingers pointing down, grazing the waistband of your pants, dipping ever so criminally slight under them. Despite his cocksure demeanor, Matt trembled before you, like a rubber band strung too tight, ready to snap. And yet again, his touch was hesitant. Waiting for permission. You tried to form a coherent sound, but your body was already reacting to the possibility of what he was offering, an indecent groan falling from your lips instead as you pushed off your toes to try and rock into his touch. That was enough for him to slide down further, not yet under clothes, but your legs spread the best they could from how he’d caged you in to let his hand slip through. 

“Want some help?” Husky, Matt’s voice was so low it rumbled through you like a train on the tracks. He was warm, so warm, as he cupped over you, the sudden heat and pressure making you twitch almost violently as you didn’t even hesitate to grind into the heel of his palm. Flashes of white flickered behind your eyes as you finally got the friction you sought after, pressure enough to make you bite your lip and dig your fingers around the flesh of his arm, a broken cry dying in the well of your chest in a last effort to stay a semblance of quiet. 

“Need more.” You choked out, subject to how his touch stayed firm and consistent, following your motions to keep the stimulation you wanted, but deliberately slow. 

“Can I?” Matt swallowed hard, thumb hooking once again along the edge of your pants, brushing just ever so slightly against the sensitive skin below the belt. Never once in your life, ever, have you seen a man look as wrecked as Matt did now asking to pleasure you. Words stumbled out of his mouth in an eager plea, laced with a genuine excitement, a sincere want, as he rutted against you again, breathing hot into your skin like proximity would compel you further. Like he even needed to convince you more. “Say yes. Please say yes.”

You tugged Matt into a kiss that was hot and messy and uncoordinated, tongue and grazing of teeth, his glasses bumping against you. “Yes.”

To your surprise, Matt didn’t tease. He was swift, deftly slipping his hand under pants and your underwear alike, moving like a man on a mission about to accomplish his goal. He only paused once, heavy breaths from the both of you stirring the air as he took a moment, feeling you hot and bare and throbbing against his palm. Unconsciously, you nodded, and you think Matt felt it where he still was tucked against your shoulder, because at your signal he pressed a single finger forward, dragging slow and careful through the warm slick heat that’d been there waiting for him since minutes after you’d sat on that damn couch.

Matt moaned with you, his mouth parting on a ragged breath and his other hand on your hip tightening like feeling you was affecting him just as equally. “Oh, sweetheart I knew you were wet,” His voice was thick as it crooned out to you, parting you further as he explored, spreading through your wetness and nudging just enough against your clit to make you gasp and try and chase after it. “But all this? You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not before you finish what you started- ah!” You clutched onto his arm as he intentionally brushed over you again.

Matt stumbled over a laugh, but it lacked any cruelty. Just the same breathless intoned disbelief you’d expressed earlier. “You were saying?”

“Asshole.” “I could be.” But he wasn’t. Far from it as he sighed into you and began tracing your clit in slow, featherlight circles. “But not tonight. Not with you.”

With how much you needed something, anything, the soft touch was more than enough at the start. Something direct and consistent in its way he revolved his fingers to send fleeting, gratifying waves through you. It made you shiver, flex your hand where you’d found purchase against his shoulder. Matt moved patiently, thoroughly, taking his time to see what touches, what movements, drew out which noises. He was hedonistic enough for the both of you, humming pleasantly into your skin and lips quirking against you with every gasp and twitch and tremor, moving with no rush. Just the simple intent of making you feel good.

Eventually, however, your desire began to outweigh the input of pleasure. Matt’s sweet, satisfying motions grew unintentionally teasing. You tried to hold on, scolding yourself for a capacity for greed you hadn’t yet known you were capable of. You were getting what you wanted. There was no real reason to rush. Yet your need for more again grew with every languid pass over you and occasional roll of his own hips against your upper thigh. Despite the way you usually got off, satisfied with your fingers alone, Matt’s unlocked a craving that burned rampant, smoldering and deep. 

He seemed to sense it somehow, whether it was in the way your soft groans evolved into seeking whines, or in the frantic disposition of how you tried to meet him, torn between pursuing more from his hand, and leaning into, meeting him where he rubbed against your leg. Matt made the decision for you, pressing his fingers firmer against you and catching your lips in his as he swallowed your moan before it even had time to breach the air. 

“What do you want?”

“Put them inside.” You panted the words into his mouth, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth and nipping lightly just to hear him groan. “Please.”

You watched the way his brow furrowed when he screwed his eyes shut, and he ground harder against you, an opened mouth grunt tumbling out with a sudden jerk of his hips. That band was still winding. You wanted to be there for when it snapped. “Open wider for me then, honey.”

And he shifted, taking a half-step back from where he corralled you enough just to give you room to spread your legs further where you stood. It was a momentary loss, the direct stimulation, but you couldn’t complain as your entire body coiled with a quiver of excitement, tight pressure just aching for release. Testing, Matt slid a finger along your entrance, wetting himself in slick arousal and pressing his face into the side of yours to muffle the raspy noise that escaped him at the way you instinctively bucked into him, needy and borderline impatient. 

“You really do want me, huh?” A grin curling around the shape of the kiss he pressed against your cheek. 

“Matt, I’ll lose it if you try teasing me right now.”

“But I can tell you like it,” he whispered hotly, running his finger over you again, pressing ever so slightly with just enough force to almost push into you without actually getting there. And you clench around the projected impression of him, your body craving what was just barely out of reach. “I can feel it.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, your cheeks, your face, everything burning with want. Of course you liked it. You liked him. The multitude of things you imagined him saying to you far exceeded the tameness of that statement in comparison. But coherent thoughts were slipping from you, and you just wanted to feel. You could tell that Matt didn’t have the capacity to drag this out any longer either, meeting the roll of your hips as you’d tried to coax him in perfectly with the easy glide of his index slipping into you. Your back bowed on a heady moan as suddenly, that coil was being acknowledged. Matt moved in a lazy search, pumping his finger with a small curl that gave only the slightest amount of pressure, but was enough to send small pulsing shocks of heat through you, too turned on to pretend you would be able to last long at all if Matt played his cards right. 

And you’d no doubt he would, a quiet, satisfied hum buzzing against you as it seemed he had his fill preparing before a second finger joined the first. You clawed at him where your arm was thrown around his shoulders, your head tipping forward against his breastbone as you panted into him. With how wet you were, the stretch was nothing but pleasant and comfortable. But your undoing truly lied in sensitivity. You couldn’t think back to a time you had been this horny in your life, and the first slow push of his fingers pressing up inside you almost had you choking on a plea, a flash of white blinking behind your eyes as the stirrings of that familiar build up in your core teased that it might be there sooner than you thought. 

“Oh, fuck,” You inhaled sharply, that first drag of his fingers sending a shiver down your spine. “Jesus, Matt, oh my god.”

He responded to you with a smooth roll of his wrist, a shudder complimenting your own as he parted his lips, licking them and breathing heavily against your shoulder. Matt’s voice was rough. Like you were slowly tearing him apart by barely doing anything. “Did Foggy tell you to wear that?”

Your thoughts were muddled, nothing existing around you but you and Matt and the room you were in, so it took you a moment to parse through your thoughts until the puzzle pieces clicked. An off-hand comment made. A recommendation followed. “Really don’t wanna think about Foggy with your hand down my pants,” you turned your head until you could press closer to him, your other hand coming up to rest on his chest. “But he might’ve mentioned it, yeah.”

“Compliments you so fucking well.” And he bows his head closer to you, twisting until he could just barely graze the back of your neck with a kiss. “Not overwhelming. Still very you. Smells so good—you smell good.”

And despite still feeling the ghost of his kiss on your lips, despite already having his hand, a small swell of mundane accomplishment bubbled in your chest. Enough to make you smile, and some of the easiness you shared trickled into the lilt of your voice. “Aw, does Matt Murdock have a sensitive nose?”

He grinned, and you matched him the best you could before he curled his fingers just a little sharper, pressing up into you a little harder. You clutched onto him tighter, biting off a moan. “You’ve got no idea.”

He found a steady rhythm then. He had to work, adjust with the obstacle that was your pants—since neither of you had the foresight to work them off—but if anything it bid in his favor. Matt couldn’t pull too far away, constricted by the fabric, but that didn’t matter, him opting to work you up in a steady grind and fervent pressure. The pace became heated, natural, as you met him the best you could, and the air rang out in shared whimpers and soft cries. It only took two grinds of your hips into his hand before he adjusted, maneuvering until the heel of his palm started to build the tension again on your clit, rocking into it with every steady push and pull. 

Sparks snapped in the corners of your eyes as heated pressure built in your core. You were getting close. You were getting close and it would be Matt that’d get you there. You pressed your mouth to him over his shirt if only to help prove your point, shifting into him as you listened to his short, tiny breaths, or the lewd wet sound that was proof of your indecency. You felt the way his thumb swiped comfortingly against your hip after he’d roamed down to grab at your ass and come back up. This wasn’t a dream, or a fantasy, or some sort of cruel illusion. It was actually happening. And you were letting it. 

“Fuck.” You held onto him tighter. “Shit, Matt, please- fuck! Right there.”

“Such a dirty mouth,” But his tease fell flat on a breathless sigh, almost distracted-like as he concentrated on the spot that made you keen into him.

“Says the Catholic boy fucking me on his hand, shut up.” 

He in fact did not shut up, his voice dropping, low and trembling with something you could only describe as excitement. “Are you close?”

“Mhm,” And you mouthed at his collar again, nudging his shirt out of the way to reach skin.

“God, if you sound like this only with my fingers, I can only imagine what you’ll sound like when you’re taking me.” He breathes, an awe in his voice like he’d just come to the same realization you had: that he couldn’t believe this was happening. And it was everything at once; his voice, his words, the insistence of his strokes. You clenched around his fingers as a sharp bolt a pleasure wracked through you, unable to help the way you visualized helping Matt out of his jeans, pulling your pants down too. Finally being able to see all of him. Hedging your bets on whether the old table you were using as a foundation would be able to handle it. “You like that? Like thinking about what it’ll feel like when I fuck you?” When, he said. When.

If you were going to answer, it got cut off by the way your eyes fluttered open only to see the way his hips snapped against the air. You remembered at that moment he moved away from where he could use you to be able to touch you better, but now you could see the way his cock strained tight against his jeans. Untouched. You’d fix that. 

Clumsily, you leant more of your weight against the table, leaning back only enough for your shoulderblades to wisp the cool wall behind you. And before Matt could ask anything, you reached out to hook a finger in his belt loop to pull him closer. He stumbled over his feet, faltering for just a moment, and you grinned at how cute it was that you caught him by surprise. 

“What are you—” “Let me help.” Your voice a sultry drawl that danced upon his skin.

Matt couldn’t help the throaty moan that tore from his chest at the first feel of your fingers skirting over the length of him over denim, nor the way he jerked into you, barely even touched and seeking something more substantial. He was so hard, you could only imagine how much he ached, warmth radiating from him in pulses against your hand. And you had meant to pop that button, try and fail because of your lack of patience to inch down his zipper. But a sweet little whimper tumbled from Matt’s trembling lip as in one fluid motion, he rolled up hard against your palm and ground his hand harder into you. Your resolve cracked at that, not knowing if you currently had the bandwidth to focus on him like this. You felt bad for a second, before you found resolution in the way he eagerly chased you. If Matt was satisfied with fucking himself against your hand, then you wouldn’t have any problem diverting your attention back to the fact that you were so close now, the crest of your high was almost in sight. 

You still felt like you needed to do something though. And your first thought was to pull Matt back to you, kiss him until your lips went numb, but the noises he was making went straight to your head, your heart, and between your legs. To cut those off would be a sin, you thought. So you settled for trying to spur them on, pressing in firmer drags against him as you met his thrusts, and fisting your other hand tightly in his shirt, yanking it down to pull him closer. You heard the solid thump of his palm hitting the wall behind you, and a shaky moan vibrating under your lips as you grazed your teeth across his clavicle before pressing a kiss to the column of his throat. 

“So good,” You managed to get out, following a straining tendon in Matt’s neck, him rolling his head back to give you space before you sealed your mouth over the thin skin just under his jaw. “Doing so good.”

It was as if you were held suspended in that pleasure for an extended period of time, the whole world both falling away and stopping in those few moments before you came. Nothing but the thundering in your chest, the taste of Matt against your tongue, and his fingers inside you. Your thighs clamped his hand in place as you shook, orgasm washing over you in a deep powerful wave that momentarily stole your breath, black creeping into the corners of your vision. And Matt worked you through it, slowing his ministrations but not stopping, riding the way you still grinded against him until your spasms grew too sensitive, edged on the cusp of an intensity you hadn’t yet explored. 

He kissed you, both to distract you from the way he slowly slid his fingers out of you, hand creeping back out from under your pants, and to swallow down the blissed out whine that came with the movement. He breathed with you, and distantly you felt his hips retreat from your hand. With your eyes closed, still basking in the lingering pleasure of your climax, you tried to feel back around for him only to be met with the gentle clasp of Matt’s hand around your wrist, guiding you away. 

“He-hey,” You stuttered out the word, blinking against the heavy rise and fall of your chest. “What ‘bout you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and you lifted your head just in time to see Matt pull his fingers over the flat of his tongue as he licked over the hand he’d just had in you. Your jaw dropped as you watched his full body shudder, a strained moan stuttering from his chest at the taste of you and you watched him work you down his throat as he tilted his head ever so slightly back, hips thrusting forward once again against nothing but air. When he came back, he grinned, devilish and wicked.

“Unless you want me to come the second I’m in you, sweetheart, give me a minute.” His laugh was short, rough, and delirious. And giddy, you found yourself sitting up.

“You were that close?” Wide-eyed with wonder, you cast your gaze down to his crotch, rolling the odds for what little else it might’ve taken. “Didn’t even get your pants off.” He swayed, tilting his head and raising his brows as if to say ‘well,’ before he dipped back to you, drawing in a long, deep, indulgent breath. 

Your thoughts slowly began to clear as the both of you lingered in the growing calm. But then dizzy awareness began to come back to you in time with the thumping bass of the music playing downstairs under your feet. You bit your lip, suddenly tasked with making what shouldn’t have been such a hard decision. 

“Still wanna get out of here.” You couldn’t tell if the words came out as a statement or a question, but the meaning held true either way. You stumbled as you stood, Matt moving back slowly to accommodate you, his hand on your waist. 

“This is a pretty spacious closet, though.” His joke was melodic, irony of what made you go upstairs in the first place not lost on you, and you couldn’t lie: it was so incredibly tempting, whether you’d stay put and he’d have you right there against the wall, or if you dragged him over to that pristine bed and found satisfaction in messing up the owners sheets. 

That snapped you back to it. 

You swatted playfully at his chest. “God’s sake, Matt, I have no clue whose house this is. Have some decorum.” The smirk he sent your way was absolutely sinful. “Besides, the car ride’ll give you some more time to cool off.”

“Car ride?” Matt hummed as the hand on you found skin again, squeezing you gently. “You gonna bring me to a secondary location?”

“I know somewhere even more private than up here we can use for the main event.” You whispered in the space that rapidly closed before he kissed you again and you added: “I still wanna keep going.”

He nodded against your lips. “Me too.”

Your sigh was deep and content, an excitement brewing up a fresh new wave of anticipation. “First thing’s first—”

“Call Foggy.”

You blinked. “What?”

Matt shrugged like he was being obvious. “Well, we can go see if the door’s still blocked. If it is, we can just call Foggy and have him move the chair for us.” 

“I…right.” You scoffed in disbelief, a solution as simple as that had not even been given a chance to cross your mind since the two of you went upstairs. But as long as he picked up, it really would be 

You leant to press what was meant to be a quick kiss to Matt’s lips as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, but he grabbed your bicep just as you were about to pull away and brush past him, lingering just a few moments more into it before he let you go. You smiled at the ridiculousness of it all, mumbling that you were gonna move to go test the door, leaving him behind at the nod of his head. 

Your mind reeled as you crossed the bedroom, dialing Foggy’s number and hearing it start to ring out against your ear. Your body was still coming down from your high, nerves settling and want still politely throbbing and waiting for permission to grow again between your legs. When you reached the door, and before you tried the knob, you glanced back to see Matt shuffling around until he grabbed his cane and started in the direction toward you. Like he knew you were watching him, his face split into a wide smile, and you couldn’t help the giggle that started to bubble up your throat when the call picked up, and you were blasted with a cacophony of noise. 

“Finally!” Foggy exclaimed over the loud background of music, nearly screaming into the receiver. “I’ve only tried calling you two like a million times. I know Matt’s with you, saw you guys walk out together. Where are you?”

“We are, uh,” You let out an annoyed groan as you rattled the door knob, pushing forward, but no luck was spared. “We’ve been locked in a room.”

You would say there was silence over the line, but it was truly impossible in this house. Nevertheless, you waited until Foggy decided how long he should hold for dramatic effect. “What?”

Rolling your eyes, you shifted to get comfortable on your feet. “We left the basement because Matt needed to get away from that shit-head trying to get him to play that stupid game—”

“That was pretty shitty of him, to keep asking,” You heard Foggy grumble in agreement over the phone.

“—so we went upstairs to talk, and…” You faltered as you felt Matt sidle up behind you, a smile creeping back onto your face before your eyelids fluttered at the press of his lips against the back of your neck. “...and we found out the door was blocked behind us.”

There was another pause, and you could almost see the way Foggy must have been balking if you closed your eyes. “And you’re just telling me somebody trapped you in a room, now?” You felt your face grow warm, weighing the odds on how fast he might get to you if you let him know in just what way you and Matt had been preoccupied. “And why didn’t you pick up my calls earlier?”

“We were talking! And doing uh, something important.”

“Something important.”

“Yes.” You could facepalm, the way you weren’t subtle at all. You knew it didn’t really matter, that once Foggy made it up to you, he’d be able to read it all over the place. You hadn’t yet taken inventory of just how wrecked either of you looked, but you bet it was more than enough to cross lying out of the equation. 

“Something very important.” Matt chirped seductively next to you, nuzzling into the side of your neck and hands pulling your hips back into his as if to give you a reminder—as if you could forget—that he was still in fact, very hard, and the plan was to get out of there as soon as you could. 

You couldn’t tell if the exclamation you heard on the other end was Foggy actually hearing Matt’s addition, or just a general party thing, but in all honesty, you didn’t care. “Could you please get your ass up here and let us out? Probably won't be hard to miss. The only door up there with a chair shoved up against it, most likely.”

There was a distant ‘oh my god,’ as it faded presumably with a phone being pulled away before the call disconnected. Spinning around, you drew your brows together as you scanned over the state Matt was in. He simply smiled, smug around the edges, as you smoothed out his white tee and carded through his mussed hair. There was nothing to be done about the way his lips were slightly shiny and clearly kiss-swollen, or the fact that all it would take was one look to catch a glimpse of the very clear tent in his jeans, but you still did your best if only for your peace of mind. You couldn’t even bring yourself to go over to the mirror you just now spotted in the corner of the room, knowing you were probably too far gone to pretend to look put together. You at least fixed how your pants hung on you, adjusting and pulling them back up to a decent, modest place. 

“He should be on his way,” You told Matt, and in a final sweep of the room, you spotted his discarded button up on the floor. Patting his chest, you went to go pick it up. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Don’t think it will.” You heard him muse as you slung his button up over your shoulder. 

And just as you returned to him right beside the door, there was a faint thunk against the frame, and a muffled scrape of something being pulled out of the way. You barely had time to find amusement in it before Foggy was yanking the door open, gaping at the two of you where he stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath like he ran through the house and up the stairs.

“Did you…?”

“Holy shit!” You couldn’t tell if it was pride or embarrassment that was winning in the fight for control over his features as his eyes flickered from you to Matt. “I knew it! You guys finally—”

“Two questions.” Looking back at Matt, you saw him holding back laughter, both hands clutched on his cane in front of him and his shoulders pulled slightly up to his ears.

“Two- I get two questions?”

“Get to answer them,” You clarified, resting your hand on your hip as you let out a deep sigh. Your car keys were salaciously weighty in your pocket. “First: any luck with Marci? And second: do you have a safe way back to the dorm?”

Stammering, and caught off guard, Foggy cleared his throat. “Yes! Yeah, and…also yes, why—”

“Good.” And with that, you reached behind you to grab Matt’s hand, tugging him with you as you breezed through the doorway past Foggy. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, why are you leaving- oh my god.”

You remembered to yell a thanks to Foggy over your shoulder as you fervently dragged Matt with you down the hall, muttering a quick stairs, stairs, stairs, to him as your heartbeat began to pick up again behind your ribs. Surprisingly, he matched you in speed and swiftness, just as eager to get out of the party as you were, entirely entrusting you to guide him safely through the mass of moving bodies and heat of the building. 

Despite doing nothing inherently scandalous, it felt oddly liberating to be leaving with Matt as the both of you met the outside, breaching into the cool night air. If anything, getting out of the house made the growing flush you felt glow hotter—the temperature difference a blaring sign to the lustful way your awareness grew stronger. With every step you took down the block to reach where you parked, with every hushed giggle and squeeze of his hand in yours, your heart pounded heavy with anticipation and arousal. You’d led Matt over to the passenger side door first when you’d finally reached your car, and you waited until he opened the door and started to slip in before you joined him, hands shaking as you yanked your seatbelt on and turned the key in the ignition. 

At first you were primed to go, an uncontrollable smile playing on your lips as you went to shift the car into reverse, but then you paused, hand hovering over the gear shift. It was not for lack of want, or even the threat of regret that caused you to take a moment. It was simply the weight of it all. The reality. You've wanted this for so long—wanted Matt—you just…needed to be sure. 

“Are we,” the engine was stalled, primed, rumbling and ready to go. “Shit, Matt, do you actually wanna do this with me?” 

“Of course I do.” Came his soft reply, instant, and not needing to be loud for the heft of his words to carry across the small space. “But if you don’t, I won’t ever say a damn thing if you decide just to bring me back to campus.” 

He states it as if it were that simple. Presenting you the choice. It wouldn’t even be fair, seeing as he’s already got you off just a few minutes ago and it was your decision to make what the two of you were doing more tangible, more real, by wanting to take it back to your apartment instead of staying in the haze of thumping music, weed, and mist of cheap alcohol. You didn’t even really need to think about it that hard though, when it came to it. It really was that simple. And the fondness that had you craving Matt deeper in the first place returned in an intense and almost overwhelming wash over you. The choice was yours. And he’d respect it either way. Just like how he respected the game, never pushing you for the sex you swore yourself off from even when the both of you would part ways hot and bothered too many times to count. Or the way he’d back off the second you weren’t in the mood, or if neither of you had the time or patience to rile each other up, and you would settle the air into something calmer and closer to easy friendship. 

Your decision came easy. You shifted the gear. 

Before you could press down on the pedal however, Matt continued, words blazing a silken fire in their wake. “But if I’m being honest, I really want to get back to your place so I can drop to my knees and get a better taste of you.”

“Oh my god.” That torch he placed in you blazed again, and you were already pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache that came back with a reckless abandon. You knew it’d be a mistake, knowing the visual would only spur you further, but you couldn’t help but to look over to see Matt’s head turned to you, a wide cocky grin lazily splitting his lips as his tongue darted out to make a show of licking over them. “Jesus Christ. You really are such a bad Catholic.”

“Never said I was a good one.” He shot back in a smooth reply. “How far away are you?”

You flicked on your headlights and pulled out of your parking spot, guiding the car onto the road. “Like four minutes.”

Matt isn’t subtle at all as he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, deliberate in the way he let a breathy moan ring out in the confined space of the car. One glance over, and the sight of him grabbing hold over the straining shape of him over his jeans, rutting into his own hand, was something you replayed over and over in your mind the entire drive. “Bet you could get us there faster.”

You did. 

The second the both of you stumbled through your apartment’s front door, kicked shut carelessly—by you or him, you couldn’t tell—all bets were off. Matt’s cane clattered to the floor in the distance of your front hall, and he wasted no time pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss; hot and needy and filthy. You might have been the one Matt was relying on to lead him through your space, but you couldn’t even rely on your talent as a guide as navigating became the least of your worries. If bumping into a coffee table or the couch arm was the price the two of you would have to pay just so your hands wouldn’t have to leave him, or for you to have to send your focus anywhere else, then you would pay that price willingly. Luckily for you, the front door to your room was a straight shot. 

There was no thinking as you and Matt fell in time as you led with your back turned, the speed of eager steps only hindered by the fact that nearly every second involved a clumsy attempt at removing more articles of clothing. It almost felt like a passionate waltz—if waltzing had evolved into a feverish assault on the senses; your shirt too tight and your pants too constricting and your head spinning as Matt’s hands fumbled with the clasp of your bra while you moved. Your hands yet again found themselves snaking under his shirt, this time pulling it up with you as you went, pressing firmly up the lines of his abdomen, feeling him flutter under your touch, and spreading your palms over the muscle of his chest, being sure to brush your thumbs over his nipples if only for the way it made him shiver. 

Matt broke this kiss solely to help you pull his shirt over his head, and you sighed half in content, half in satisfaction as you finally set sights on him topless, broad lines and firm muscle, shirt flung somewhere into the depths of your living room. And despite Matt trying to dip down to find your mouth again, you busied yourself littering kisses from one edge of his collar bones to the other as you undid the button to his jeans, and carefully pulled the zipper down. Your plan of action had included tugging the denim down far enough to get him in your hands, but you were interrupted. Unexpectedly, he stopped you, his hands, strong and firm, grasped both your wrists, guiding you and placing them to hold him chastely low on his hips. 

“Not yet,” He kissed you through your quizzical groan, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it gently before letting go, “Told you what I wanted to do first.” Freshly set alight at the reminder, you murmured an agreement, arching into the way he held you tight, cradling against your ribs.

You knew it couldn’t be much farther to the bedroom when you suddenly hit the wall, jolting against it with a small ‘oof’ before a frown twitched your expression. When you swung your head to the side, it was an easy realization that the two of you faintly veered off course, unable to follow the easy path to the door in favor of a curve that now situated you up against the wall, inches from the frame. Reaching over, you could almost brush your fingertips against the doorknob. 

“We’re right- right here,” You tried to begin, “Just gotta get the door open.”

“Hold on.” He whispered, distracted, hands finding your face again as he cupped your jaw. 

For the second time that night, Matt subverted your expectations. What had been a desperate, messy kiss, slowed down into something intoxicatingly sweet. His thumb grazed your chin as he kissed you softly. Tenderly. Like you were something sacred to him. You weren’t prepared for the sudden shift, but you let this tentative affection float over you, envelop your mind in its subdued passion and careful reverence. For the second time that night, a flicker of what this really meant, what you were really doing, brushed your thoughts with a pigment that lingered. 

This…with Matt, this wasn't just sex to you. It was a desire, sure. And lust, no doubt. But it was also the way his face lit up when he laughed. His quick, whip-sharp wit during a debate. It was the way he threw himself into his studies not just with the goal of being the best, of being the smartest, but being humble in his intention. It was the way he was intolerant of any bullshit, but was kind, despite being hard on himself. The way he could flash a smile and bring someone to their knees and all the while it just felt right and normal and safe, because this was Matt Murdock and it was easy to trust him to not abuse the power he must've known he had.

Your breath hitched as you lifted your arms for him, Matt slowly pulling your shirt off over your head. You heard it land quietly on the floor, and Matt lowered just enough to place a leisurely kiss to your sternum. His hair was soft, so soft, as you brought a hand up to run through it, raking gentle caresses against his skull and wondering if you had been patient long enough to deserve the delicate purr he rewarded you with. 

Hesitation did prick in the undercurrent of your thoughts. This wouldn't be just sex for you. That sometime along the way, in banter and teasing…in drinks and time shared, you'd started to grow feelings for Matt. Ones that seeded firmly with roots fixed in wanting no excuse to hold his hand, or to kiss him in broad daylight, or to not need a reason or pre-made plans with friends hoping he'd actually be there just to be able to see him. You knew, as his kisses between the valley of your breasts stole your very breath in the gentle coax of gasps from your lungs, that if you only said the word, if you told him to stop, he would. You knew, that by the end of this night, there was a good chance that regret would eventually catch up to you; that the shape and form, the phantoms of his touch and attention would litter your consciousness until it drove you mad. 

But you pushed it all aside, because right now, in this moment, even if only for the night, Matt Murdock was yours. 

In the way he paused in an instant when your fingertips pressed the lightest pressure against him, happy and willing to wait without a second thought or question. 

And in the way he let you gingerly lift the dark frames of his glasses, slow and controlled, and with a bated breath just waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn't, a warm smile instead bloomed a light that reflected in his dark eyes as he rested his head against your skin. And this would be a memory you'd never forget; Matt, slipping to his knees, head tilted against your chest, before you, and an unseeing gaze cast up in your direction filled with a burning devotion you felt undeserving of—as if he knew you needed the comfort despite the way he guarded it for his own. He was giving it to you. Giving him, to you.

Yeah, you thought, a heat consuming you from the inside out, ravaging in want and emotion and simple, sanguine greed as you slipped the last shield he wore onto the little hallside stand to your side. If only for the night. 

Matt Murdock was yours.

You'd forgotten all about your bedroom at the first rasp of his tongue swiping at you over the fabric of your bra. The action was enough to set your nerves once again aflame, and Matt was reverent in how he slid the straps down your arms, gracefully tugging it down and off and discarding the garment amongst the floor to be found in the morning with the others. He was taking his time, sweet, like your experience was paramount to his. He hummed pleasantly as his concentration settled on you. And your breasts weren't an afterthought, just a means to an end as he gave equal time to both of them, licking and sucking and leaving a trail of liquid fire in their wake as he rolled your nipples in his mouth and left a bright red mark you could already see blossoming against the swell of one of them. 

Your head fell back just enough to meet the wall behind you, eyes screwing shut at the drag of his cheek down your stomach, jumping under the small nip of teeth at your hip, and twitching over the feel of his hands sliding firmly against the small of your back. Your ass. Your thighs. Matt sank fully onto his knees in front of you, hands dragging down until he settled against your legs and between your thighs like he belonged there. He rested, for a moment, breathing a happy sigh against your groin and you swore you started to burn so hotly, you felt like you were about to burst into flames. 

The kiss he pressed just below your navel was like a signature he penned in permanent ink, as if tagging his presence, eyes fluttering shut as he finally inched your underwear and pants down until they rested around your ankles. He hadn't even done anything, but your legs were already shaking as you went to step out of them. Deft fingertips guided you against your calf as you did, using in the motion to trail his touch up until he hooked just under your knee and lifted your leg onto his shoulder. That same hand slid up as your voice trembled, tumbling from your lungs, to hold you steady at the hip.

Every part of you burned. Ached. And at his pause, you swallowed hard at the sight of him beneath you, stilled where he settled comfortably on the floor, mere inches from where you were fully naked and flayed bare before him. You've never seen a hunger like this until your half-lidded eyes gazed down at him, smoke and flame and an indulgent breath tugging up a satisfied smirk like a man presented a feast of every one of his favorite meals. And if that wasn’t a sight to behold; you wanted him, and you couldn’t tell if the heat grew warmer because of you or him, as you squirmed against the fan of his breath and the way he held you. Your plea was quiet. So quiet—as if a single decibel louder would convince him to pull away—you barely even heard it.

He dove in. 

You weren't sure whose moan was louder: yours or his, as his thumbs spread you apart to make room for the flat of his tongue. Hot. His mouth was so hot it burned, fire licking into you alongside him. He was in no rush, no hurry; just an agonizingly long, slick sweep of his tongue up the line of you. Spurred by the way a broken whine gleaned off your lips, Matt took his time in his savor, being sure to swipe against every inch, gather as much as he could with that first dip in, only pulling back after pausing when reaching your clit, relishing in the way your cry morphed into something filthy, and giving it an extra pass before he rolled his head back. 

There was a pure bliss in the way his eyes were shut and in the eagerness of his groan. His chest heaved like he’d hiked a mountain as you watched him swallow you, his head resting on your thigh as his throat worked the taste of you down. And if you’d known, if you expected even a fraction of what was about to happen, you might have recognized what he was doing for what it was—that in the languid way he settled back against you, hand adjusting his grip on your thigh tighter—you might have been able to prepare faster.

You couldn’t count the amount of dreams you’ve had about Matt eating you out. The amount of times you’ve fantasized of this very moment, against a wall like this, or on a bed, a couch. You pulled from past experiences, ex-lovers, the unrealistic feeling of your own knowing fingers or toys; a hybrid amalgamation of all of the above. The point was, you could never pinpoint exactly how it would feel, only the idealistic fiction that formed because of a soul in pining. And in spite of the multitude of ways he’s already proven you wrong or unknowing in one night alone, this was an expectation that apparently, you didn’t hit too far off the mark.

There was a mercy, yes, in the way he built up to it, but a vicious magnitude hung thickly in action. When he delved back in, it was with abandon. He moaned openly, making it known to you to make no mistake of how much he wanted to be there, and he parted you on his tongue until your body finally caved and sank into him. Then he started to work; steady, avid laps against you that had you choking on a shout. The rough grind of his nose against your clit when it escaped his focus encouraged slow-building tremors to meet his pace.

Rough, rolling pleasure began to consistently flutter over your skin like the silkiness of a hearty Spring breeze. Your back bowed and your hand clawed at the wall above you, trying to find some sort of grounding reprieve against drywall and paint. But you found none. And you wouldn’t find any if you kept fighting it, tension growing in the pit of your belly as your abs flexed and shuddered. Matt’s glide against you grew smoother, your arousal smearing across his mouth and chin as he drank you in. You jumped, a hoarse whimper tumbling out as you felt the eager tip of his tongue testing, settling, then pushing into you with the firm press of his head between your legs. His entire body rolled up into it, like the only thing he was made for was this. And with the ardent way he latched on as if he were only an extension of your own body, you’d have half a mind to believe he was. 

There was no thought, capability escaping you in the moment, when you fisted a hand in his hair, your hips moving with him as you tried to grind against his face. And Matt let you, letting out a staccato moan that ravaged and ripped through you with the way he buried his tongue so far up your cunt it was like it was him being pleasured. Making sounds he'd make as if it were you taking him in your mouth. And that had your mind racing anew—marveling at the odds of you being able to return the favor, wondering if he’d teeter on the whim of your control, set by your pace, or if he’d work you how he wanted, held back by fine lines of constraint. 

Matt of course, was first to know how that line of thinking affected you. Both his hands formed a sturdy grip on your waist, flicking at your hipbones, before he pulled you down onto him with a grunt and curl of his tongue. 

“Oh, shit.” Your back thudded against the wall as you rose and fell against it. “Matt. Fuck, Matt, baby, please, that feels so good.” You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but you weren’t disappointed as he preened under the praise, offering a decadent hum of appreciation that flickered through you like blinking starlight. 

And he seemed to keep offering. With every tug at his hair and rock of your hips—even at every broken breath and easy moan—he rewarded you with something of his own. A sigh or a dirty little growl; a change in pace or intensity. It kept you on edge, unable to prepare for what he might do next because his every move was reliant on and responsive to you. When the leg that was thrown over him started to shake and slip off his shoulder, Matt made a sound of disapproval, bumping you back with his bicep against your thigh and his fingertips digging imprints into your ass like he wanted to be caged in, trapped by you.

It was like he could read your thoughts. “Could stay here for hours,” he breathed wetly against you, pulling back only far enough to speak. You shivered at the feel of his lips brushing over you at the form of each word. “Tastes amazing, you know that?”

“Figured. Or else I don’t think you’d be trying to kill me like this.” You had patience. You had restraint. You really did. But your body was truly trying to ruin your image as it reacted involuntarily against your character, hips jolting forward and down in search of his mouth again, anything that would bring the friction back as the burning ache grew more insistent and seeking.

Matt simply grinned, confident and cocksure and all too pleased with himself, turning just slight enough to plant a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh. And you couldn’t even fault him. You and him both knew he was doing a good job. 

“So needy.” His sigh was playful as it buzzed across your skin. You couldn’t even bring yourself to argue what would most definitely be a weak defense. You were. Your want didn’t even come close or fall short of needing him to keep going. 

And at your tiny whimper, he honoured your request, slack-jawed as he pressed his face against your leg, drawing you in as he slicked two of his fingers along the line of your entrance. And sucking in a breath similar to yours as he twisted his wrist until the angle was right, and thoughtfully, he began to push.

This was familiar even in the ways it wasn’t, the second time this night Matt’s had his fingers in you, and there was a confidence now in how he moved. He already knew where to go, how to press. And that’s how you knew, in the way he paused, the pressure the pads of his fingertips used teetering on the edge of just too little, that it was all too deliberate. 

“Please don’t tease me.” Your whisper was feverish and wild, darkened gaze peering down at Matt as if keeping your eyes on him would shed some insight into what he was planning. 

“I’m not.” He stated simply, words thick with a molten craving. 

And pulling in a ragged breath, he was on you again. 

If he later told you his plan was simply to make you come again, you’d believe him. If you were told he actually was trying to kill you, you’d also believe him. But within the case lies that you truly believed it had nothing to do with goals as superficial and simple as those. Because as his mouth found you again, tongue laying flat before his lips moseyed into place, settling in a seal around your clit, you truly, firmly, and irreparably believed, that Matt was out to devastatingly ruin you.

With the first gentle suction, his fingers held fixed but unmoving. Just a waypoint, a guiding compass only there to ease against the way you pulsed against him. A steady hand that right now, acted as anchor in contrast to the delicate, almost exploratory way he licked softly at you. Desperate, you had to remind yourself to breathe through it, feeling the way it was instinct to hold it in your lungs at the most direct stimulation you’ve had all night in light flicks and reserved kisses. If you had any bite in you, you’d accuse him of toying around. But you found no malice in the way he wound you up like this, and you could only equate it to the prep a runner went over before a marathon. The stretch. The warm up. The sprint. 

You struggled to hold on to coherency, ghosts of it whizzing by, as you felt his steady build rise and rise, running parallel to the growing volume of the symphony of sounds the both of you poured into the air, until seemingly, Matt found his content in working you up for him. For a split second, he paused. A hair of a second, a fraction. Then in the surety of his position, the readiness in which he was wrapped around you, he sucked. And he sucked hard.

The moan was pulled razor sharp and sudden from you, unrestrained on a breathy cry as it took everything you had to not double over. The way his other hand shot up to splay over your stomach helped, a weight that kept you against the wall as if to say ‘I’ve got you, I’m here’, like he wasn’t the one disassembling you piece by piece. The way his fingers curled inside you was delicious; a firm grind into where he knew you would fall apart, and pressure teetering just on the cusp of excessive. 

The rasping strokes of his tongue could be considered criminal. Premeditated in the way that told you he’d truly spent his time studying, attuning to your body and how it responded just so that he would know exactly how to ravish you. That sweetness that you’d shared on display slipped into the background, replaced instead by a sinful greed that startled you but was far from unwelcome. Frantic, and breathless, your hand curled tighter in his hair, the pulling only earning you more reckless moans that shocked your system like lightning. You rocked faster against him. It was almost too much—the intense consistency of the suction, the burning insistence in every pass of his tongue—but it came as a shock to precisely no one in the swaths of fire that swept up your spine, or in the white-hot static that blurred the edges of your vision, that it was exactly what you needed.

Your high arrived loud, righteous, and fast in steady heat and heady pleasure that rippled through you in waves Matt only sought to draw out. His touch grew gentle, but unyielding, the brushes with his tongue against your clit mild and subtle, and the thrust of his fingers slowing to an indirect tender massage. He stayed like that until your body stopped convulsing, and the waves of blazing pleasure ebbed until it was nursed back down into a fervent ember toeing the border of pain. 

You'd have thought it would be safe of you to assume that your satisfaction would be enough to tide you over, but it was nothing but desire that burned in you despite the way you were still trembling. Matt didn’t seem to care too much as you slowly slipped your leg off of him, awareness coming to him to help steady you on shaky legs as he panted heavily on the ground. You probably should have given yourself more time to pull yourself together, but then the reminder that you’d already waited months for this moment was enough to steer you toward determination. Reaching down, Matt rose to his feet on your command, drawing breath just as he cradled your face and pushed himself into you. This kiss was a thanks you gratefully accepted, wet and tasting of you and debauched desire, before you spoke. 

“Bedroom. Now.”

“Yeah,” Matt’s words were slurred, thick like honey as he nodded quickly. “Right. Okay.”

The fact that both of you were steady enough on your feet to make it through the threshold was testament tenfold to the solid argument carnal instinct and innate want could make in defense of overriding any warning signs to take a break. Matt laved down your neck as he followed you blindly, suckling at your skin and pressing wet open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach. And even with your eyes rolled back into your head, you were still able to pirouette the both of you through your room until you felt the backs of your knees collide softly with the sheets over your mattress. 

“Bed,” You murmured urgently, running your hands down his chest. “Bed. Bed, we’re at the bed Matt.”

One of his arms reached around to hold you, a welcome relief against the small of your back as you leaned to give yourself space, edging your hands back to the belt of his jeans. Restlessly trying to tug them down to no avail. With a loud groan, you weren’t above voicing your displeasure as yet again, Matt flicked your arms away, opting instead to push you down gently until your back hit the covers and he could climb over you.

“Jesus, Matt, why won’t you let me take off your pants—” 

His reply was quick and raggedly depraved, apology laced beneath his blatant desire. “Next time.”

The dissonance in your mind barely allowed the implication to rocket through you. The idea of a next time had you arching against his grounding touches as he shifted away enough to hold himself steady against the floor to shove the rest of his clothes off and kick them away in a crumpled pile against the wood panel where they should have belonged minutes after you’d gotten inside. ‘Next time’ meshed, melted in your mind and against every thought, syrupy and sticky like ice cream outside on a hot sunny day. It was intoxicating and exciting and faintly distinctive. ‘Next time’ implied that you’d be doing this with him again. ‘Next time’ meant that maybe, just maybe, Matt was open to not letting this wonderful, incredible night fade away with memories and time. And what he meant by that, well. You didn’t have the capacity to linger on it for too long at the moment. 

You watched as he carefully climbed back onto the bed, fingertips using your legs as a guide on where to settle as he shifted against the mattress on his knees. Propping up onto your elbows, you stared at the line of him in quiet awe. From the ruined, deep blush that splotched the features of his face pink, to the broad line of his shoulders that bled into a lean muscled torso. And it was like Matt could feel your eyes raking over him as they drifted further down and down, over tensing abs and the dusty patch of his happy trail until you finally set your sights on his cock in a full thatch of dark hair between his legs; thick and leaking and flushed so hard it looked heavy, that at your audible moan, Matt couldn’t help the way it jumped, his hand shooting down to grip at the base of him. 

You’d give in to the way you wanted to throw yourself back down into the bed, if not for fear of missing the way Matt adjusted, spreading himself out wider as he shifted on his knees, his other hand feeling around for your leg as you made it easier for him, spreading until you could drape your legs against his thighs and around him and he could shuffle forward enough to be able to reach you easily, slotting, nestling between you. It was unreal, this display in front of you. Matt like this. It almost felt dreamlike—like any second now your alarm would go off and you’d wake up in your bed with a wicked hangover and the distant, receding echo of drunken fun. 

But it wasn’t a dream, and Matt trembled as he rubbed down your thigh with one hand, feeling out your position, and jerked a few times against his fist with the other. 

“You’re gonna have to- pillow, sweetheart.” He managed to choke out roughly, and you clumsily followed his request, words floating in a halo of ecstasy in the air around your head as you yanked a pillow from above you and crudely lifted your hips enough to shove it under and raise you to him. Matt tried to help, his fingers bumping against yours in a way that made the both of you giggle as you adjusted and flattened any lumps out. 

Then came the held breaths. Matt shifting forward until he accidentally brushed up against you. Both of you jolted at the feeling, anticipation skyrocketing nerve endings to their very limits. You watched, guiding another pillow just under your head for support, as Matt drew his lower lip between his teeth so tight you’d be surprised if he didn’t break skin as he bit back a moan the moment he slid himself against you. You didn’t care for such restrained abandon, letting your voice ring out loud enough to carry the sentiment for the both of you. 

He was slow, thorough, as he dragged the length of him through slick heat, coating himself in the proof of your want for him and the aftermath you’d pulled him away from before he could spend the time with you in his mouth to clean up. A raw, stripped noise drifted wantonly from his lips and he hunched into his shoulders, breathing heavy and swallowing hard against the rising presence of the two of you in the air. 

You reached out, fingertips brushing his forearm, feeling his skin prickle under his touch, as you curled your legs around him; a gentle urge forward. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah.” He crawled closer, and you felt his tip part through you until he was right there, lining himself up. The way he nudged against your entrance shot like an arrow straight to the heart. “Are you?” 

“I’m ready. I’m so ready,” Your words came out in one big aching breath. “Please give this to me, Matt, I need it. I want it. I want you.”

And you’d given him enough—more than enough—to have him moving without a second thought, both you and him sharing and certain in your desire, incentive, and mutual need. The necessity to chase what had been building up for far too long, to follow through with the only natural conclusion to the night. The press in was easy. You were so turned on, prepared enough, that there wasn’t even a chance for any modicum of pain or discomfort. Instead, all you felt as Matt pushed, inch by inch, was the glide, your body yielding to the stretch of thick brazen velvet heat, and the truly addictive sensation of being full. 

You both shared in the helpless, shattered moans that danced, twining in the air as Matt bottomed out, tilting over you with a final flex of his hips before he stilled. It might have been easy, but you still needed to adjust to the feel of him and he kindly and wordlessly accounted for that. But when your whispered ‘okay’ fell on deaf ears, and your eyes fluttered open to see Matt’s chin dropped to his heaving chest, you realized something more than just comfortability was making him wait. 

“Matt?”

“Just…” His voice rattled wetly on a deep breath, slow and steadying. “It’s- I haven’t done this in a while. I just need a minute. Wanna savor it.”

For a moment, everything around you disappeared. Your brain blanked, your thoughts froze, and your chest felt too full. Then everything…roared. Your heart sped up, flipping ceaselessly, pulsing heat coursing through you and Matt let out a broken whimper. You spoke with the ghostly fiery remnants of the hope that added up in months of desperate deprivation. “What do you mean?”

You weren’t sure how Matt found the brazenness in him to grin, wide, yet not without its share of sheepish admittance in its soft edges as he opened his eyes for you. “Told you I’ve wanted you.” He stole the breath of your reply with the slow way he began to draw back, fueled by the gasp that parted your lips and the feel of astonishment in your body’s reaction. “For a while, it’s only been you.”

Over the next few minutes, words felt too heavy. A thick reverence settled like a warm blanket over the room, and Matt set a slow, steady pace that gave you all of him in full long strokes. A gentle power as the full weight of him helped drive him forward. For a bit, there was nothing you could do but feel, helpless and content and beyond satisfied. There was a distant happy floating part of your subconscious that drew the conclusion that you didn’t even need to come again. That you could find a perfect ending entirely in the way Matt moved in you and with the force of his vulnerable admission. 

That bubble grew around you until it too started winding in. This pleasure was overwhelming in only the best ways possible. Matt’s hands on you, grip strong and unwavering. The way the front of his thighs met the back of yours, skin sweeping together in an easy sweat slick rhythm with every potent, rolling thrust. In the melodic, reverent moans and the obscene way your hips collided. That sweetness was back. The shared bliss that you now recognized as equally returned veneration. Devotion of the highest power; something just shy of possibly becoming worship found in the wells of a yearning heart.

It was easy to lock on to Matt, easy to watch. There was a restraint in the way he rocked to meet you, as if his thin grasp of control was entirely dependent on how deep his fingerprints imprinted against your skin and in the way you flexed against him, slipping more and more with every tiny gasp and blissful shiver. The stretch of him was all you could have asked for and more, hot and steadfast and every glide stoking a gratification that thrummed shockwaves through you like electricity in a body just granted life; satiatingly full.

You found yourself reaching out for him, your hand finding the side of his face and Matt wasted no time leaning over into the affection. You cradled him there for a moment, before your thumb swiped over the ridge of his brow, and your fingers slowly began to trace the curves of his features. The swell of his cheek. The line of his jaw. When your fingers swept back up to follow the shape of his lips, he pressed a soft kiss to them. You held them there for him, heart blooming with how he craved such intimacy, until you began to drag them down. The gentle touch parted his lips, and you were intent on continuing on with your path until the tip of his tongue darted out against you. Surprised, you paused, and Matt did it again, firmer, opening his mouth wider and oh. 

Sliding your fingers into his mouth slowly, your eyes went wide as you settled them against the flat of his tongue. His lips closed around a pleased hum and with a gentle suction, and he worked you over in a strained groan, tongue swirling around you until he was satisfied in thinking he sucked all the taste off of them, salt and sweat. Testing, you curled your fingers down into him, a slight pressure just to see what sort of spark it striked. And you might as well have struck gold, Matt moaning into it, his eyes rolling shut against a helpless, rougher thrust. When he let you go, a faint string of saliva hung from your fingertips, and you painted his skin with it, following the original trail you’d detoured from down his chin and grazing over the column of his throat. 

And whether that was the prompt, or simply the turn of the tide, there was no mistaking in the way Matt paused, adjusted your legs up just enough to hook around his waist, and drove in deeper. Charged and riled up, there was truly no more waiting as the change settled over you, fierce and filthy.

His mouth hung open now on a perpetual tangible sound, heavy groans and hitching breath amongst your own chorus of noise keying you into just how badly he needed this. Needed you. 

“I’ve been dreaming about how this would feel.” He begins, wildfire blaze and honeysuckle aroma. “You’re just like how I imagined, you know that?”

You hummed a wordless reply as you felt that blaze drop closer to you, the line of his chest now matching yours as he settled onto his arms, elbows digging into the mattress just above your shoulders. Your back arched off the bed at the angle shift that came with the way your legs followed him, pulling toward your body until you instinctively crossed your ankles around his back when he fully situated himself on top of you. 

Matt’s voice dropped into a register soaked in honeyed hedonistic pleasure, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he weaved sin into the very fabric of your being. “Feels like Heaven.”

You never wanted this to stop; the weight of Matt pushing you into the mattress, the way his kiss still ignited your bones and sent sparks to burst behind your eyes. You wanted to explore the slight possessive cant his thrusts took on as he snapped his hips forward, and the way he shuddered into you when you dragged your nails down the trail of his spine. 

The shape of his name felt so good as it tumbled into the air, gaining traction in time with each press of his cock inside you and each rough grind against your clit he tried his hardest to keep consistent when the roll of his hips perfectly met yours. Getting lost in it was easy, natural, as minutes ticked by and the stirrings of another climax grew. This was everything you wanted, everything you needed and more. Matt seemed to know exactly what to do, sometimes even before you did. Shifting to match the way you squirmed, speeding up before you could even ask, fucking into you harder as you clawed into him in the hopes that the raging tension, that winding coil of pressure in your core, would snap and let you drift apart against the sheets. But instead it stayed steady. Which in itself wouldn’t be a bad thing—hung, suspended in an endless pleasure—if it wasn’t for the way you began to notice the way Matt’s rhythm started to falter. He tried to hide it too, a determined furrow to his brow as he kissed you through choking gasps and low moans. And the thought of him coming edged you nearer, lighting a flame beneath you that burned brilliant and bright. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

“Oh, fuck,” The taste of your name was reverent and pleading on his tongue as it echoed against skin and sheets. His hips started to stutter, his careful control growing uneven and instinctual. “I’m so close, sweetheart. Tell me you are too. Tell me, please. Fuck, please, honey, because I don’t know if I can stop it. Tell me—”

And you were truthful in the way meaning lingered as you tried to gasp it out, orgasm crawling up from the tips of your hands and feet like the slow creep of wall-crawling ivy, but you could also see where this road was ultimately leading. The tightening peak in your core didn’t yet match the desperation in how Matt moved in you. You were close, yes, but Matt was already there tipping, falling over that cliff. 

You did what you could to try and help, dragging Matt back down into a messy, chaotic kiss, seeking in the way his tongue flicked skillfully against yours, and snaking a hand between your bodies to try and rush you along, match him in stride. Together, it sent washes of a bone-deep pleasure flickering through you, but it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t that your climax wanted to remain elusive. You simply, inherently, apparently, just needed a little bit more.

And when he started slowing, frantic and sloppy, you couldn’t find it in yourself to try and make him hold on in the way you knew he’d try if you’d just asked when he was right there. A single whisper against his lips sealed the deal, you pushing permission in hushed tones and wrapping both of your arms around his neck as he moaned into your mouth.

Matt lasted as long as he could for you.

It stoked the flame, the way his body tensed. You could feel the way the muscle of his thighs contracted, and you grew hooked on the lightheadedness you felt as he rapidly panted above you. You don’t think you’d ever hear a sound prettier than the noise he made as he buried himself completely into you, coming deep in hot steady pulses, a slew of praise, and a strangled, guttural moan. 

You could hear the way your heart pounded in your ears as he struggled to stay upright above you. And when he flinched at the first shaky caress of your hand, you waited until he was ready to lean back into the touch. The brush of your kiss was gentle, and you hoped it sang of the gratification that rejoiced just under the surface of your skin. Maybe another day, the satisfaction would have been enough, but your own edge was just barely within reach. And while Matt breathed, settling down, you took advantage of the way he was still seated in you, throbbing and filling you up. The sigh that parted your lips when you dipped your hand between your legs again was heady, and you chased it, not wanting to lose sight of the way that heat still curled at the edges. You focused on the burning weight of Matt. The cognizance of what he’d just done only spurring the roll of your wrist.

When Matt sucked in a breath and began to pull back, you steadied yourself for the inevitable loss of him. But then it never came. Matt shifted, a hand tracing down your body until fumbling fingers laced with yours just to bring it up to rest on the pillow beside your head, and he pushed back in. You froze, feeling the way you instinctively clenched around him, your body seeking the more you craved.

“Didn’t you-” Your voice shattered when he did it again, this time building closer to a slow, sloppy, full thrust as his body reared up over yours. “Matt, didn’t you just…”

His reply was broken, words cracking at the edges. But he managed to send you a smile full of filth and desire. “Yeah.”

“You can stop.” Although you arched into him, torn between your orgasm billowing on the horizon and worry for his overwhelm. “Fuck, baby, it’s okay, you can stop. Isn’t that too much—?”

“Only a little.” It wasn’t easy to look past the way his voice was shaking, trembling above you as he struggled to keep himself held up on his arms, but there was no mistaking the determination in the echo of his words. Or the unmistakable edge of pain cutting sharp around his subdued gasps only furthering the way his brow furrowed in slack-jawed pleasure. “But right- right now, I like it.” He groaned as he found a new, shaky, lazy pace. And he dipped his head down, burying himself against the crook where your neck meets shoulder, and determinedly ground himself in every feel of you he could manage.

You’d never been engulfed in something like this before and you didn’t know what to do—didn’t think there was anything you could do except ride it out, filing away Matt’s bitten-off little whimpers as he fucked you through overstimulation into a sacred little folder, let the wave of your climax crest over you again to the caress of his tongue against your throat and the sinewy shift of muscle working overtime above you under the soothing weight of your palm sweeping over shoulderblades and the dip of his waist.

“Know you're close, sweetheart—wanna feel it.” he gasped, dragging his nose against the line of your throat before his lips captured yours. “You'll give it to me, won't you? Need it so bad. Fuck. Please, god I need it.”

It was the mix of his words and the way he continued to drive himself forward, an unwavering resolve in his want to give you another orgasm strong and unyielding even in the frantic snap of his hips that almost whispered temptations of holding back something rough and hard. It was a race to take care of you, see you to your fulfillment, before the consequences of his own caught up to him. You could tell it nipped at his heels by the way his eyes were blown wide and glassy as you caught glimpses behind a heavy half-lidden gaze, in how the power of his thrusts grew unpredictable as he shifted you in angle until you clawed out for him to make up for consistency, and in how his hand replaced your own, fingers circling your clit with a persistent coaxing desperation.

You came with a snap of the rubber band that had been winding since that bedroom at the party, hard and uncontrollably; a raging, wild storm of white-hot sparks that dotted your vision and a smouldering ember that wrapped a thick, weighty smoke around your head.

When he felt you shake, when you cried out a grateful ‘thank you’ against his ear and started to spasm around him, Matt couldn’t keep going. He came again too, choking on a hoarse cry of your name, when his arms finally gave out from under him, twitching in time with you as he collapsed onto your chest, and the aftershocks of your lingering pleasure bleeding out all he had left to give. 

You don’t know how long you laid there. A few seconds. A few minutes, maybe. It didn’t matter; as long as it took for your heart to stop racing and the sheen of sweat that beaded along skin to dry. Matt was…somewhere else, for the majority of that time, him adjusting only once in the swarming aftermath to drag his head over your breast, ear pressed down over the left side of your chest. You enjoyed combing your fingers through his damp hair, lightly scraping your nails at the back of his neck, humming softly in a quiet content while he listened to the steadying beat of your heart until he began to stir on top of you. 

He didn’t lift his head when he breathed your name; a tiny little question.

“Yeah?”

“I should pull out of you.”

“Think it’s a little too late for that.” And what began as a breathless little giggle morphed into a deeper laugh when Matt snorted, dragging his cheek against your skin as he breathed deep and rolled his shoulders to begin his ascent.

Lifting up, Matt faced down at you with a wide, blissed out smile that scrunched a line above his nose, beckoned the crinkles by his eyes, and a harnessed glow you’d never seen before. He rendered you breathless—how he was giving this so freely to you, you couldn't even fathom.

“You ready?” He asked in a soft, reverent whisper, reaching behind him with one hand to coax your legs to return to the mattress, the strong press of his fingers rubbing a soothing apology into the soreness of your muscles from holding the position for so long, the other pressing a kiss against the back of your hand where he still held it.

The both of you flinched when he shifted back to achingly reel his hips in enough for him to pull out of you, soft and spent. You bit back a whine at the loss of that fullness, but it was quickly replaced by the place he claimed by your side, rolling against the sheets until he laid down next to you, throwing an arm like a brace across your torso and splaying his fingers against your back. 

You laid together as long as it took before you floated back from that dreamlike mist and to reality. Before the stickiness between your thighs and the way his come dripped down your leg grew uncomfortable. It was breaching a fragile quiet, how you got out of bed on shaky legs. Matt's hold on you was hesitant, grip tight but careful, like he was afraid that if he slipped away, you would slip past him right along with it, as you guided him with you to the bathroom. And with every tender swipe of the warm washcloth, and with every time your gaze flickered up to Matt under the stark fluorescent lights, you knew there was no escaping the elephant that tried its best to sneak, mild and embarrassed, but justified in its presence, into the room. Back by your bed, in fresh underwear and after fishing Matt’s silk boxers off the ground, you paused as he caught your elbow, stilling you before him. 

Turning toward him, Matt held you close. The way he touched you is reminiscent of earlier that night, the light touch of hesitant fingertips tracing the length of your neck, wisping across your collar. Except now they also dragged down to where you were still topless, forging a new path where he’d begun to press softly against the curve of your chest and gently tracing the indents of your ribs. His fingertips left lines of something bittersweet against your skin, hanging just on the precipice of resolution in his touch. Like he was trying to memorize what was given to him tonight, what he had. What he might lose. 

You caught his arm, brushing your thumb across his skin as you held loosely onto his bicep, trying to push some comfort through your action. “We don’t have to talk about this today.” The offer felt heavy as it pushed through your lips, the growing weight of distant fear twisting in your stomach as the dust began to settle to shed light on the reality of what remained. “You could stay the night if you’d like. I’ll drive you back to campus in the morning. We can take some time.” Your lip stung as you bit it, reluctant to even breathe air into these next words, but it wouldn’t be fair of you to not put the option on the table. “Or just…or we could just forget it.”

“No.” The statement was firm, instant, but Matt’s voice was frail—like he was losing the battle with the urge to beg, the plea echoing in its shadow. “I don’t want to forget it. I want- I wanna talk about this now. If…if that’s okay?”

You swallowed thickly, nodding your head. “Okay.”

But you weren’t sure where to begin. Hovering in this dense silence that filled your bedroom, in the wake of everything that just happened. Everything you’ve kept yourself from experiencing. Everything you swore you’d never let yourself have. Every way you could think of to begin died on your tongue, words escaping you alongside their meanings. You suddenly felt selfish, what you wanted from him. And foolish. So incredibly foolish. It wasn’t exactly regret that started to seep in with the tumult in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t think you even could regret tonight if you tried. There wasn’t just a satisfaction, or just the pleasant hazy post-sex bliss that rippled through you like gentle reminders of what was probably the best experience you had with someone up until that point. It was a loss: the pride you held out in front of you as the last barrier of defense that fell the moment he asked for a kiss sitting, trembling with the possibility that these next few minutes might give something substantial to the fears that had up until recently, kept you in check. A victory: a deep furrowed craving that had sat lying in wait, yearning for months, finally coaxed forward, rewarded, and fulfilled in more ways than you could have even feasibly imagined.

Further still, it was easy to let those seeds of doubt influence your expectation. To let the character of Matt, tonight rewritten and brand new before you, be overshadowed by the interpretation of him you protected your heart from for months. This conversation wasn’t one you think you could be ready for, but you prepared yourself for the fallout regardless. Opting instead to brace yourself for the worst possible outcome, leaving yourself vulnerable and hopeful if not unaware for if it came to the best. 

The silence, now stretched too long, brought a frustrated heat to your face. You hated that it couldn’t be simple. You hated that you couldn’t just file away this night under something cut and dry. Because you knew—deep down, you knew—this wasn’t a carefully chosen conquest. The onus wasn’t on Matt Murdock charming his way into your pants with an offer you couldn’t refuse and the bitter taste of knowing you were doing something stupid stinging in the back of your throat. The whisperings had been there all night; in the vulnerability shared, in the way he responded, in the utterance of raw admissions strung up plain for anyone to see. You struggled to find the balance of that coin, some part of you drenched in such arduous disbelief that of all people, Matt chose you, that you had to search every word, action, touch, and endearment for the punishment, the joke, the end to the dream.

It was like Matt could sense the hill you were slipping down, the soft mutter of your name cradling around you like a gentle lifeline. “Look at me.” So you did, taking in his expression in the rapid movements of your eyes over his face in the low light. And what you found could only be a mirror of what you were sure reflected on your own features; a breath held back by the bite of fear. Apprehension. Longing. Then his voice fell into something hesitant in the quiet moments that followed, question echoing all too familiar as he repeated it. But this time, it was searching for something else. Something more. Desperate for something solid to grasp onto. “What do we have?”

And you charted it all out, laying the answer down flat in your mind. Months—term after term of falling into step. Of playful banter and risky flirting. Of drinks shared and quiet moments when lines were drawn. Of finding authenticity in an otherwise easily misunderstood performance. A gentle evolution from somebody you off-handedly knew to tentative friendship. You knew what you and Matt had; a relationship that thrived on sharp tongues and a scrutinizing study of character that despite your effort, opened the gates of possibility to something calm and dangerous in its delicacy. But that's not what he was asking. 

Instead, you steeled yourself where you stood. He was looking, searching for the next step forward. All the while giving you the agency to his heart, allowing all power over dictation and final say to whatever you chose to establish. You couldn't ignore the infliction he dealt to himself, seeing straight through the spaces in between to the fear, the cruel reminders of the last time he gave himself so freely to someone. That was before you met him, but ghosts were best known for haunting. “What do you want?”

It was almost as if you could see the wheels in his mind turn, a sightless focus casting his eyes from side to side as he tried to settle on the right words to say, finding the extent of which he was comfortable enough to voice. “Can I still kiss you?”

You weren’t the same person you were when you arrived at that party. That version of you, if placed in your position now, would have had no trouble making a joke out of it. Putting a teasing spin on how if he didn’t think he’d earned it after single-handedly raising some bars that were admittingly far too low, then that was on him. And that version of you did linger, buzzing in the back of your thoughts and offering a hand should you take it for the easy way out. Instead, in this moment, you were wholly the part of you you sought so long to protect; the one that didn’t miss the vulnerable cadence of his voice, or the way his eyes darted rapidly across where he assumed your face to be. So you tried to solve the puzzle in his quiet, shimmying closer to him until you could press your lips to his. 

This kiss was something new. It wasn’t the sweet satisfied devotion that could breathe fire into a soul, or the lust-driven hunger that fueled nothing but go, go, go. It was a soft, tentative ask. Not just seeking permission, but in search of solace. A place to stay. A kiss aware of the possibility of rejection. It wasn’t until you pulled away that you confidently thought you dug your way to grasp at its roots, a clarity finding you in what it meant for him to also have expressed his want. And the picture you’d missed, too otherwise distracted to place how his consistent, fervent intensity seemed to match yours—and all it included, carefully considering that you’d poured yourself into him with months of lonely yearning. And the steady implication that he had also, maybe, possibly, done the same. The pieces had not been handed to you all at once, but incrementally; inside the quiet, intimate spaces that slipped through the cracks between feverish touches and hot, liquid desire. It was so easy to overlook them in the moment, but felt nothing but so incredibly monumentally substantial now.

Taking a calculated risk that had your heart leaping up into your throat just on the incrementally slim off chance that you were wrong—now that the haze over your thoughts, and other carnal distractions were clear—you broached the topic with a solemnity and offer you wouldn’t be able to come back from. “You can kiss me whenever you want.”

“Yeah?” Matt looked almost surprised, like the part of him that already knew your answer was still caught off guard by his own doubts, but he fought to not let the entirety of his expression show; a twitch that opted to lean more into the favor of the cool demeanor much like you’d seen him display only a few hours ago. Like what he was used to doing when he fell into step with you. Like he expected in this wind-down that you wouldn’t take him seriously—or not understand the nuance of what he was even asking. When in reality, you were glad he asked first. Because you weren’t so sure if you’d have had the guts to bring it up in the next couple of days, let alone so incredibly soon. “Even tomorrow?"

You hoped he could feel the weight of your stare as you studied his face, your voice dropping to a fragile whisper that clung to every hope you’ve ever had. “Especially tomorrow.”

The urge to bask in the grin that split his face wide was overwhelming and you caved in an instant. The light of him filled you to the brim, your heart doing airy flips in your chest while your mind raced, fervent disbelief that this was how it all sorted out; resolution found in the sharing of admissions equally matched in tenacity.

The quiet was simple, when you met Matt back on the bed after throwing on the first sleep shirt you found. He’d laid in wait, an almost incredulous smile widening at the first dip of you crawling up to lay next to him. You wondered if he would always like this, eager hands reaching out to touch you the moment he could, guiding you to where he could lay your head on his chest and grab your thigh, comforting and purely there, when you lifted a leg to tangle with his. He held you then, the two of you breathing together in the comfortable quiet against the sheets, letting the realization that the platter was just given to you, the door was now open to a future where you did have this—cuddling into Matt with his arms wrapped around you, the wisp of a kiss pressed to the top of your head—and not just for the night. 

It was only a few hours ago in which that very realization held an opposite sentimentality. That thinking about wanting him only led you to find a disappointment welled deep inside your chest. And despite the surrealist way you bathed in the gentle circles being traced onto your skin, or hearing Matt’s heart beat beneath your ear, that hesitation still persisted. If only in insecurity.

Your voice was small, as it spoke. Like you tried to keep the edges blunt as if you were in a room full of bubbles ready to burst. “Tell me you mean it,” Swallowing against your nerve, a part of you that wondered if maybe you should have saved this for another day, you continued, “I mean, neither of us have actually said what this is yet, and I don’t want to rush labels or anything, I just…I wanna make sure we’re on the same page.”

The pause Matt took wasn’t hesitant, but careful. He knew just as well as you did that he was walking on the eggshells of a pretty consistent history that more than spoke for itself. “Of course I mean it.” The reason why you even asked at all hung perilous and sharp like a sword above both of your heads. “I want to be with you. Do this. Us.”

It was hard not to chew at your lip, cast your gaze down until you felt Matt’s finger hook under your chin, tenderly prompting you to look up at him. “And you think we’ll last?”

“I certainly hope so.” Then he dipped into something you’d never seen from him before. Something heavily guarded and drawn out in rough breaths that were hard to take. When he spoke, everything in you stilled. “I hide things, from people. It’s hard to share. Hard to explain. I can’t be myself with others.”

You felt now like you were just handed something fragile pulled up from the depths of him, a gift of something made of a porcelain he was trusting you not to drop. You cradled it gently, shifting to wrap it in silk and lay it amongst the pillows. “Is that why you want to try? Are you yourself, with me?”

“Not fully. Not even close.” He offered you a sad smile that ticked up with hope scattered around the way his lips tugged it into shape. “But I think one day, with you…I could be.”

The realization that you were edging into territory that presented Matt more naked than you’ve seen him tonight clutched heavy around your heart. A swell of veneration, of appreciation. A flicker of coffee dates and hand holding. A rediscovering of who you were and the beginnings of a future together. It was almost overwhelming, the way Matt stripped down and offered this to you; the willingness to figure things out, to grow close, to try again. You leaned up to press a slow and gentle kiss to his lips, sighing into his smile as you nodded your head in reverent understanding. 

“Sounds a lot like you’re hoping I’ll hold out in the meantime, waiting for you to be ready.” 

For a moment, he met your reply with open relief, welcoming how you saved the conversation from becoming too much of a weight to burden at the hour it was with how deftly you spoke, letting a trickle of your normal rhythm with him sooth every syllable. “Well, you’ve already waited for me once.” He pointed out, not a single hint of triumph or smugness in his voice at how you held out hope all the while unknowingly, Matt was gathering the nerve to ask you to be his. Just a steady stream of admiration and gratitude. The plea never gained the strength it needed to become vocal, but the ask rang just as clear as the echoing toll of a church bell in the breath in between. 

Would you wait a little longer? 

And for all of him, it barely took anything to weigh the odds—finding a conclusion in his sigh of relief, the way Matt seemed to compliment even the most neglected parts of you, and the way you knew if given the chance, you would protect any and everything he’d share with you. For all of him, it didn’t matter how much time may pass, if all you had to do was love him while in wait…you knew you would.

if you made it all the way to the end, ty and i hope you enjoyed :)

[hoeforicecream]

What a beauty! Pining, wanting, yearning, desire, devotion, vulnerability — that’s my fucking language!!!

How blessed are we to have gotten 28k words?! Incredible, gorgeous, outstanding.

[ximevamps]

He may look like a SLUT but hes truly a crybaby BITCH who sobs and throws tantrums. I love this sexy crybaby

[strangelure]

so um, virgin!dex who moans in sync and just as loud as you when he's using his fingers inside you for the first time, trembling because he can't even believe he gets to touch you like this, eyes zeroed in on your face as it turns in almost horrified awe at his dexterity (🤭) like. literally. once his digits are moving in and out your hips instinctively buck up at their relentless precision, you make a startled and heated "oh god?- baby!" and dex responds in turn with an equally wrecked "f-fuck!", the fact that you're moaning at his touch overwhelms him too much, he's gasping into your mouth and echoing every obscene sound he rips out of you, the cacophony of it all is probably enough for the neighbors to complain about too

[scftblush]

when he’d finally thrust inside you he’d come way too quickly and he’d cry about it, babbling apologies through the intense waves of pleasure coursing through him, breathing hard and stunted, “i-i’m s-sooo so sorry, i-i can’t— you feel—aaahh—“ moaning through the words so hard that he’s whimpering, his eyes shut tight with tears falling down his flushed cheeks and rutting through it helplessly, his entire body thrumming with shame, unable to control himself even a little because the poor guy just couldn’t handle the tight warmth of you for more than ten seconds ☹️

[strangelure]

nini, hey um, just kill me at this point <3 burying his face into your chest because he's so embarrassed, he keeps mumbling "i don't- don't know what just happened i- i tried to hold back i-" running hands through his short hair while he empties himself with erratic thrusts, cooing at him that its okay and that he can make it up to you next time and he literally twitches inside you again because what do you mean next time? you mean you still want him?? dex wails a lil bit at that

[strangelure]

thinking about annoying and ragebaiting dex 🫣 ...

purposefully ignoring his 15+ pointless texts and 10+ missed calls while you're out with friends at a bar or something, eventually you do answer him and when he's like "why aren't you texting me back?" you feign ignorance and pity in the most dramatic and over the top way possible "oh, you texted me? awwww babyyyy! sorry i didn't see" and that pisses him off so badly he huffs loudly into speaker "oh you're hilarious, aren't you?"

slapping his ass every time you walk into the kitchen and he's cooking something, doing it so hard and out of the blue that he jolts more in surprise rather than at the impact, he was far too focused with his task at hand, so yeah- he's messed up a few omelets and pancakes because of your incessant need to harass his backside, every single time he quirks his brow at you in anger and you just giggle at him and ask for a kiss (he leans down and gives it to you, even when he's frowning)

when you're both hanging out with friends and they invite you somewhere for drinks and you say something like "oh id love to! but my dexie doesn't let me out so late, right baby?" making him sound like the creepiest most controlling boyfriend in the world (he kinda is), dex throwing you the most hilarious death glare right before he's blowing out a nervous shaky laugh at the judging looks he's getting, "they- they're just kidding, i would never..." he tries to salvage the situation but its already too late, and you're already cackling on the inside watching him scramble to defend himself

kissing him stupid until he's whimpering into your mouth and gets so hard you feel him poking at you, doing it knowing fully well you won't actually finish what you started, grinding yourself on top of dex and grinning at the heated look in his eyes, moaning exaggeratedly at the way he drags you back and forth on top of him, biting at his bottom lip until he groans desperately at you to just take him out already but then you're like "i can't, silly! i have to go, we can do this later yeah?" and you lift up from him and leave him on the couch with his dick pocking out from his boxers, his lips swollen and wet, blinking in astonishment, running hands over his face in frustration as he mutters "you can't be serious right now"

.

special thanks to nini (@scftblush) who's DMs literally made me think of this hehe <3

[somethingeh]

Ice Queen

pairing - trinity santos x reader

word count - 3.7k

summary - for a professional figure skater, you’re awfully clumsy.

a/n - hehehehehehe. trinity. just some fluffy fluff, figure skater!reader, girly girl reader. kinda wanna continue the story between these two, i love sunshine x grumpy!!! and trinity was MADE for it. also, i’m sure it’s obvious, but i am pretty much the furthest thing from a figure skater. enjoy!

---

You knew how Trinity could be. True, in your nearly five months of dating she’d been nothing short of doting towards you, bringing your breakfast in the mornings, picking you up from classes, running you warm baths after long practices. Still, you knew her reputation. The second she turned away from you, her smile would drop into a practiced look of disdain.

You were quite the opposite, in many ways. You were pink, frilly, and polished. You knew how to get a crowd to root for you, how to impress judges, how to be the brightest star in the room.

Where Trinity’s instinct was to scowl, yours was to beam. You liked keeping fresh flowers around your apartment, while Trinity didn’t see the point of keeping something that would die in less than two weeks. Still, she brought them to your dates. And she always laughed at the signs people waved in the stands at hockey games (“as if the players pay attention to those”) but she still covered a posterboard in glitter and is the loudest supporter at any of your competitions.

So, no, Trinity wasn’t always a fuzzy teddy bear. But you had each adapted to your environments.

Her focus and drive made her a great doctor. You hadn’t had a chance to see her in her element, in her preferred environment surrounded by beeping machines and constant traumas, but she’d had plenty of opportunity to demonstrate her know-how at home. This was due mostly to the fact that you were the world's biggest klutz.

On the ice? You were an angel. At least according to your girlfriend, and the forty or so medals and trophies you accrued over your career. You could glide around a rink like you were floating on air, executing the most precise of jumps, spins, and poses. Your balance was unmatched, timing impeccable. You had to have complete control over every muscle in your body to hold your leg above your head while teetering on a fraction of an inch’s worth of metal.

So how was it that the second you set foot outside the slipper, slidey surface, gravity turned from a mastered tool to a greatest enemy?

You often attracted odd looks in the warmer months when you let your skin breathe, what with all the bruises in varying states of healing littered about, accompanied frequently with scratches on your knees, elbows, and hands, mostly. Trinity always said you looked like a walking punching bag. All jokes aside, you had been questioned privately with social workers in ERs.

But you always assured concerned parties that you were completely safe. In fact, with the muscles your sport gave you, you might have been in a better position than most to defend yourself.

Besides, Trinity would never let anything happen to you. Her deep mistrust of people, specifically men, had her acting like a guard dog from time to time. If a man dared take a second glance in your direction, she’d be placing her body between you, wrapping a protective arm around you and enacting the trademarked Trinity Glare until left alone.

You were always on the inside of the sidewalk. She insisted on walking close behind you in a stairwell, both to block view of your ass from pervy perversons, and to be at the optimal position to catch you should you slip. Which you frequently did.

Maybe it was her increased presence for the past half year that explained how you’d managed to go so long without an ER visit, but really it was inevitable. That didn’t mean you were excited to pull up in front of the entrance labeled emergency in big red letters. Even worse knowing that Trinity was working.

“Thanks, Liv,” you said tiredly to your chauffeur, a young, prospective olympian you’d been coaching.

“Why don’t I help you in?” she asked anxiously as you gathered your things and opened the door.

“Oh, no, no, I’m fine,” you waved away. “I’ve had plenty of time to rest on the drive, this’ll be a piece of cake.”

If you hoped you could trick your ankle into agreeing with you by being delusional, you were wrong. The second you shifted your weight to the edge of the seat, a searing pain shot right up your leg and you gasped.

“Right,” said Liv, opening her own door. “I’m coming to help you.”

She ignored your protests as she rounded the car, wrestling your bags from your hands and taking your arm.

“Don’t get a ticket just for this,” you sighed, though accepted her assistance. “I can hop!”

“I’m not letting you hop into the ER,” said Liv. “Now lean.”

Still grumbling, you hobbled along at her side, trying to be as light as possible and subsequently yanking poor Liv’s neck as you crumbled. Very slowly, you made your way to the door. As you reached for the handle, a yell came from behind you.

“Hey, you can’t park here!”

You groaned.

“Go,” you said, then when Liv still hesitated, in your coach voice, “get outta here! I’m fine.”

Liv made sure you had a good grip on the doorframe before carefully hanging your bags over your shoulders.

It was certainly harder without the two extra legs. You bumped into several disgruntled people and had said sorry more times than you could count before a nurse spotted you. She was a little older, short and wearing a hijab. She was just handing a man a sandwich when you caught her eye.

“Oh, here you go, hun,” she said, moving like lightning to provide you with a wheelchair. “Have a seat.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed at the looks you were attracting, you plopped down without one iota of grace, heaving your duffel onto your lap. Peaking around your mountain of gear, you tried to reach the wheels, but the nurse got there first, pushing you to the end of a long line.

“Thank you,” you said, and she smiled.

“Of course,” she said kindly. “Had a little accident?”

“Guilty,” you chuckled. “I’m a figure skater.”

“Wow,” said the nurse, Perlah, her nametag read when you craned your head around. “I’m sure stuff like this happens all the time. I can’t even walk down my driveway in wintertime.”

What really happened was this.

You were just finishing up Liv’s practice, demonstrating a perfect triple axel. As you slipped on your skate guards and stepped onto the rubber matting, the tip of your shoe got caught in the strap of Liv’s backpack. You hadn’t made it two steps off the rink before taking a spectacular tumble into the bleachers, ending with your affected ankle tangled in nylon and velcro at an unnatural angle.

However, it was always easier to let people assume you fell doing some elaborate trick on the ice. For someone who could land three triple axels in a row, walking shouldn’t be a major feat. Yet here you were, probably about to be served an outrageous bill for a completely avoidable fall.

You didn’t like how big and clunky the wheelchair was, but at least it was a chair.

After you checked yourself in, and the waiting began, the stress of injury finally started taking its toll on your body. Perlah brought you a bag of ice to prop in the crook of your foot. You spent the next several hours jerking yourself awake every two minutes, arms tightening over your bags in a panic. The chances of getting robbed in a crowded ER waiting room full of sick and injured people were low, but skating gear was expensive enough to keep you on edge. 

On hour three, after watching an older guy with a bad comb over disappear and return from behind the double doors three separate times with no update, and only one ice change, you considered texting Trinity. You were sure she would be able to push your case along, and would be mad you had waited the time you already did, but you shook the idea off. You had to remind yourself how insignificant a little sprain was compared to some of the things going on in the ward. There was a reason certain people went back before others. You had to wait your turn like everyone else.

By hour five, the windows were growing dark, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open. In fact, if it weren’t for the nagging rumbling of your empty stomach, you probably would have been passed out.

Finally, as the clock struck six, your name was called. You snapped upright, looking around until you spotted a tough looking blonde woman, reading off of a tablet with readers perched on her nose.

“That’s me!” you said gratefully, making to stand.

“You stay put,” she said in such a stern voice you promptly planted your butt firmly on the plastic seat.

She wheeled you expertly around the maze of people, bags, and IVs and through the heavy double doors. Your head was on a swivel as you entered the department, eyes searching for the familiar head of dark hair, unsure if you were hoping you did or didn’t see it. You didn’t, though, and Dana deposited you onto a bed in a small curtained area.

Compared to the borderline stifling air of the busy waiting room, this one was chilly. Perhaps it felt even colder than it was because of the stark white tile covering every surface, or the strong stench of antiseptic tickling your nose.

“Alright, ma’am,” said the nurse, rubbing in a dollop of hand sanitizer and clicking into a computer. “My name is Dana, I’m the charge nurse on staff, and I’m gonna be taking a look at you today, is that okay?”

“Great,” you said.

“Okay, good,” she said typing away already. “So, what’s the story.”

You cleared your throat. You wondered what she could possibly be writing about before you’ve even spoken a word. It made you nervous, but you recounted the tale as best you could, trying and failing to minimize the parts that made you sound like just as much of an idiot as you were sure you were.

“So when you fell, did you hit your head?” You shook your head no. “No loss of consciousness? Any dizziness? Okay, good.”

She sat down on a stool and rolled over to your bedside.

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

She tossed the now lukewarm back of melted ice in the bin behind her. You rushed to remove your sock, embarrassed about how sweaty it still was.

“Sorry,” you said. “It’s — I just came from the rink, so I’m not the freshest.”

“Kid, I’m an ER nurse,” Dana chuckled. “Your sweaty foot wouldn’t even make the top one hundred list of worst smells. Besides, you just spent hours sitting in the damn waiting room, that couldn’t have helped anything.”

You laughed along, and tried to relax. Dana put on gloves and slid your leggings up to your knee. She inspected the skin there.

“You’ve got some old bruises here,” she noted.

“Yeah, not an uncommon occurrence,” you said. “I’m always a little banged up.”

Dana was just moving her attention to your purple ankle when you spotted the thick locks you were looking for between the narrow gap in the curtains. Your heart leapt, in relief, and uncertainty. You weren’t sure how Trinity would react to seeing you here, especially knowing you hadn’t texted her to let her know, but before you could help yourself you were calling her name.

“Trinity!”

Both Trinity’s and Dana’s heads turned at your cry. You could see your girlfriend’s swiveling around desperately, unable to spot you. Dana pulled the curtain open to reveal the source of the noise, and the second Trinity’s eyes locked onto you, you could see the panic behind them. They hardened slightly as she marched toward you, completely abandoning a conversation with a blonde, bespectacled doctor.

“You two know each other?” asked Dana, looking slightly amused.

“We’re, um,” you hesitated as Trinity drew closer. “Dating.”

When she reached you, she yanked the curtain back closed, didn’t even glance at Dana, and began questioning you.

“What happened? How long have you been waiting? Can you walk? How’s your pain?”

You smiled fondly at her antics as she quickly pulled on a pair of gloves. 

“I’m fine, just tripped over a backpack,” you said soothingly. “No big deal.”

She snorted as if to say I’ll be the judge of that and continued firing questions, this time at Dana. Dana didn’t need to be told, just stood from the stool so that Trinity could take her place.

“Have you conducted an anterior drawer test?”

“No, I —”

“What about a talar tilt test? Ottawa assessment?”

“No, kid, none of that,” said Dana. “I barely got a visual assessment before you came barreling in.”

You glanced between the two.

“What are all those things?” you asked.

Trinity didn’t answer, just bent over your foot, poking and prodding it. Dana sighed, and started untying your other shoe, waving away your attempts to help.

“Range of motion, essentially,” said the nurse. “To assess the extent of damage to the ligaments in your foot.”

You nodded.

“And if it — ah, fucking hell, that hurt!”

Trinity had pressed above your ankle knob and sent pain spiking up your foot. She finally looked up at you.

“Here?” she pressed again.

“Yes, there,” you hissed.

“How about here?” she asked, pressing hard on the bony bump. You shook your head. “Here?”

She moved her nimble fingers from the ankle, to the top of the foot, to the pinky toe. You just kept shaking your head. She slowly tilted your foot inward, and you yelped.

“Stop!”

“I’m thinking ATFL,” she said directly to Dana, who seemed to concur. “Alright, upsy daisy. I need to see you walk.”

“Really?” you sighed. “Need to?”

“Need to,” she said, and for the first time there was a hint of the familiar, soft Trin you were used to. “Just a couple steps. To the curtain and back, okay?”

You nodded, gritting your teeth, and she and Dana helped you rise gingerly to your feet. You were reluctant to put any weight on your injured ankle, but an encouraging nod from Trinity, and the squeeze of her hand as she held you up, had you take a deep breath.

It was excruciating, even more so than before. It was as though something large and spiky, like an enlarged version of a jack, was stuck in between your bones. You limped forward, spun on your good heel, and came right back to the bed. You kind of cheated, doing a sort of half jump onto the mattress in lieu of your last step, but Trinity didn’t call you on it.

The next few minutes were uncomfortable, but nothing compared to walking, so you pursed your lips and didn’t complain as Trinity, or Dr. Santos, here, pulled and twisted your sore joint every which way. Her frown deepened slightly as she worked, and despite the implications of that, and the pain, you couldn’t help but smile at how cute her concentration face was.

“What’s the damage, doc,” you said when she seemed done. She shot you a less than amused look.

“Ottawa negative, no x-ray indicated,” she said, and Dana immediately started clacking away at the keyboard again. “ADT showed moderate mechanical laxity, approximately seven centimeters. Significant ecchymosis and swelling, tenderness and excessive gapping above the anterior talofibular ligament, most likely grade two. Could require up to six weeks of healing.”

“Woah, woah,” you said, holding up your hands. “Honey. English, please.”

She sighed deeply, ripping off her gloves with more force than strictly necessary, you felt.

“It means no skating!” she said, tugging at her ponytail. “No running. No tots classes. A lot of rest, ice, and gentle range of motion exercises!”

You blinked. She was very worked up over a little sprain. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had one before, actually, you had had much worse than a grade two sprain before. You looked at Dana, and the two of you smiled.

“I hope you don’t talk to all your patients this way,” you said, voice alive with mirth.

Her eyebrows fell into a straight, rigid line, and her arms crossed. At that point, unable to hide the smile on her face, Dana left the makeshift room mumbling something about fresh ice.

“This is serious,” said Trinity, and you tried to school your face.

“Trin,” you said, pulling one of her hands free and cradling it in your own. “Baby. I’m sorry. But it’s really, really not.”

She wrenched her hand back and began pacing. It was hard with the limited space, and she made tight little circles around the vacated stool.

“How can you say that?” she said. “You could have been seriously hurt! You could have needed surgery! You could have —” she paled “— you could have been operated on by my ex-situationship.”

At that, you let out a loud laugh. You tried to stifle it, but when you saw the corner of Trinity’s mouth turn just the slightest bit up, you just let it out. As you laughed yourself silly, she sat down on the edge of your cot, trying not to smile too much. Eventually, though, she let out a chuckle or two.

“Oh, wow,” you gasped when the giggles finally died down, wiping your eyes. “Yeah, no, you’re right, Trin. That would have been a real emergency.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t regain the stony disposition she’d had before. She laced her fingers with yours.

“Next time this happens, ’cause we both know there’ll be a next time,” she said, and you nodded. “Call me. Okay?”

Your smile turned tender as she let some of her worry through.

“I’ll let you know, but I don’t want you — pulling rank, and giving me someone else’s spot, I know that goes against the… doctor code of… rules, or whatever.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” she said, and you raised a brow. “I mean, I care. But I care about you, too. And, baby, when I saw you all laid up over here, and I just got out of a trauma, and as far as I knew you were safe at home, it —”

Careful of your ankle, you scootched towards her on the bed. You cupped her tense face in your hands.

“I know,” you said, rubbing her cheek where she leaned into you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you worry by telling you, but I guess I just made you worry more?”

She huffed.

“I think I’m just gonna worry no matter what,” she said, gently gripping your wrists. “But less, if I have details.”

“Noted,” you said.

Sneaking a quick glance around, and listening for footsteps that weren’t coming, you pressed a quick peck to her lips.

“I need to wrap you in bubble wrap,” said Trinity, smirking a little. “Only way to protect you from yourself, apparently.”

“I’d manage somehow,” you said.

Her hands slid down to your waist.

“Any chance I could convince you to use the employee entrance next time?”

“Not a chance,” you said seriously. “Don’t go giving short cuts, Dr. Santos.”

She rolled her eyes.

“God, you’re so honest, it makes me sick,” she jested. “I’m gonna go find out where Dana is with that ice. Be right back.”

With one last kiss to your forehead, she stood and reached for the curtain. But the second she pulled it back, she snapped it shut again, shoulders tensing. You shot her a confused look as she turned back around, a hand creating a canopy over her reddening face.

“Okay,” she said, so quietly you had to strain to make out the words. “About half of the Emergency Department staff are gathered just outside, watching our curtain.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but your lip quirked at how anxious she seemed to be all of a sudden.

“Why do you think that is?” you asked.

“I’m guessing Dana told them all who you were,” she said. “To me.”

“Ah ha,” you said, mockingly tapping your chin. “Alright, well. I think there’s only one way to solve this.”

Much to Trinity’s horror, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began hopping towards the curtain, she stepped in front of you, trying to steer you back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “You don’t even have a pair of crutches!”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you should start ambulating as soon as possible after injury,” you said. “To avoid complications. There was a poster about it in the hallway.”

Utilizing some of your speed and agility usually exclusive to the ice, you reached around her and pulled back the curtain. Indeed, an impressive group of people stood leaning against a cluster of desks, eyes trained in your direction. They quickly flitted away, trying to pretend they hadn’t been, but you didn’t mind. You thrived in the spotlight.

“Hi! You must be Trinity’s coworkers!”

At your direct address, some shoulders relaxed, and some smiles reciprocated yours. Dana rushed out, holding a baggy of ice and a large boot.

“Oh, here, doll,” she said, pulling a chair. “If you’re gonna mingle, you need to be sitting down.”

Ignoring Trinity’s protests in the background, you hopped right into the chair, grinning around at everyone. They examined you, almost clinically, like it was habit. Their gazes lingered on your pink athletic wear, pink headband, and done up nails. Despite the harsh lighting of the hospital, your appearance seemed to brighten the place.

“So, you’re Trinity’s…” said a young looking girl, Victoria, once names had been exchanged.

“Girlfriend,” you chirped, enjoying the general air of bemusement over the doctors. “Almost five months.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” said the tall one, Robby.

“And you,” you said sweetly, pressing a hand to your heart. “Trin’s told me so much about you guys. You do amazing work here.”

Everyone seemed to preen, but Trinity had had enough.

“Okay,” she said, cutting in. “I know you like talking, but if we don’t get that boot on you soon, you’re gonna, I don’t know, sprain your other ankle. I know you’re the ice queen, but we’re on solid earth, right now.”

She wheeled you away while you waved, rather like royalty on a float.

“That’s funny,” snorted Javadi.

“What?”

“Calling her ‘ice queen’,” she said. “That’s usually a nickname for Santos.”

---

requests open! want more of this pairing?

trinity masterlist

main masterlist

[hoeforicecream]

this was so cute i love it so much !!!

[jupitersfall]

I absolutely love your Nikki Freeman stuff. Would you be able to do something along the lines of Nikki makes a wish that reader likes her back. But nothing changes because reader already likes her back so shes still acting the same. I'd love if it ended with them getting together though. Your writing is amazing.

we’re both idiots | n. freeman

summary: 3.8k words. nikki’s had a crush on you for years. she finds a way for you reciprocate those feelings, but it doesn’t go as she expects.

the one wish willow had been sitting on nikki’s bedside table for approximately two days, seven hours, thirty-six minutes, and five—six—seven—

it started looming over her every thought. 

whenever she saw you, mostly.

you were completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that nikki was into you.

she wasn’t sure how many times she’d tried flirting with you, dropping hints, trying—begging you to realize what she was doing so you would just ask her out.

and then she thought, after months, that the reason was probably not that you were oblivious and that you were simply ignoring her feelings because you absolutely didn’t reciprocate them.

she preferred thinking you were just unaware and shy.

nikki had gotten the one wish willow after a trip to a crystal shop with sarah. the two of them went inside, looked around at everything, and sarah had gotten a small piece of jade, and a bundle of sage.

nikki hadn’t planned on buying anything.

that was, until she saw the one wish willow.

sarah had laughed at it and then went to the counter to buy her stuff.

now, the one wish willow sat with a heavy, dark aura in nikki’s bedroom.

it wasn’t real. obviously. it was a collectible.

except when nikki had looked up the one wish willow on google, there were many different experiences. some said it worked, some said it didn’t.

some were disappointed nothing happened, others claimed that it’d gave them their dream life. there was one horror story about a guy whose wish ended badly, and he’d had to change his name and address.

so, it could go both ways.

well, if it actually worked.

when nikki laid in bed that night, ready to sleep, she couldn’t help but stare at the box. 

was it staring back?

it felt like it.

it gave her the creeps.

she sat up on her bed, back against her headboard, and grabbed the one wish willow. she ripped the box open and pulled the stick out.

nikki stared at it for a long moment.

she thought of you.

she’d lost count of how long she’d liked you. it was a heavy weight on her shoulders, anytime you were near. a whisper in her voice that said ‘act right, smile nice. don’t be obvious.’

she was sure she’d been obvious, sometimes.

she thought of all the times you’d been nice to her. actually nice, like when you let her have your shoulder whenever she wanted to talk about things that frustrated her or upset her. how you’d ask, ‘do you want advice, or just someone to listen?’

she could talk to you about anything—that wasn’t an exaggeration.

and it was…freeing. she didn’t need to worry about you judging her. she’d always craved to have that kind of connection with someone.

now, if it had only stayed a friendship.

she started falling for you, officially, in ninth grade. after ‘freaky nikki’ happened, specifically.

she’d been devastated, once she showed up to school and people had started calling her that. staring at her, laughing at her, calling her other ugly, disgusting names.

she’d gone to one of the girls’ bathrooms, locked herself in a stall, and cried until she was exhausted. her eyes heavy, nose red, temples throbbing.

of course, you happened to find her. for some strange, awful, and wonderful reason, you always knew exactly when she was feeling bad.

she had brought it up once and you had smiled, laughed, and said “maybe i’m just psychic.”

maybe you were. either way, you’d been the one by her side. so loyal, so caring, so gentle with her heart and her feelings that it was almost inevitable. one moment she was laughing at a milkshake-mustache above your lip and the next, she had wanted to kiss it off you.

she pushed those feelings far, far down. if she couldn’t date you, she wanted you as a friend.

no, needed you as a friend. not just a friend, her best friend. the type of friend you grow old with, despite any arguments or disagreements or the challenges of living a hard life.

so, she spent her high school years pining from the sidelines. watching you smile and kiss and date other people. her heart would ache a little every time you mentioned someone else. when you’d taken another girl to prom, nikki had been so sick to her stomach that she missed a week of school, barely ate because of how nauseous she was, and spent nearly all of her free time either crying in bed, sulking in bed, or passed out in bed.

she wanted to scream that she was right there in front of you every time someone hurt you. she’d never treat you badly. if the universe gave her one chance, she’s sure that she could be better than anyone else that looked your way.

was that idealistic? maybe. nikki didn’t care. after years of pent-up envy, and love, and lust, all she wanted was for you to finally look at her—really look at her—and think ‘it’s you. it’s always been you.’

she wanted it so badly it made her sick. she couldn’t think about it too long, because at first it made her sad. then annoyed, then resentful because why couldn’t you see her?

and then sad all over again, because it wasn’t your fault that she was in so deep. 

the one wish willow was still in her hands, waiting, mocking her, like ‘just make up your mind, already.’

fuck.

“i wish y/n l/n liked me back,” she whispered, barely above her breath. then she snapped the stick in half and waited.

waited for…something.

nothing happened.

she stared at the two broken halves, then carefully set them back on her bedside table.

well, even if nothing happened, at least she’d gotten the words out.

she slept terribly that night, and woke up with a headache. and after arriving to work, she realized that you were already there.

great. she was going to have to look you in the eyes, like she hadn’t wished upon a magic stick that you would reciprocate her feelings.

she wouldn’t admit this out loud—ever—but she sort of hoped something dramatic would happen. romantic. you confessing your undying love for her, or staring at her longingly, or outside her window at sunset with a boombox playing something stupid and cheesy like careless whisper or iris.

instead, you were busy re-stringing an acoustic guitar atop the front counter.

“hey, nikki!” you said brightly, expression pleased as she entered the store. she smiled back—couldn’t help it, she always smiled when saw you—and she shuffled into the room.

“hey,” she replied, voice weaker sounding than she would’ve liked. “you…got here early, huh?”

“just a bit,” you replied, and then returned your attention the guitar when nikki clocked in.

she spent the whole day on edge. except, nothing happened. nothing. you still smiled at her like you always did and joked with her like you always did. you left for your lunch break at twelve and came back at twelve-thirteen with two greasy, disgusting burgers that nikki and you both devoured in the break room.

by the time her shift ended, nikki was a little furious with herself. embarrassed, too, because she’d been wary at first, then gotten her hopes up, then realized how stupid was, but still had hope deep down.

there was zero hope left. the stupid stick didn’t work.

nikki clocked out and had just barely grabbed her purse and made it outside when she heard you following after her.

"hey, nikki," you said, footsteps close behind her, "what're you doing tonight?"

"uhm," she muttered, standing by the curb. she'd ordered an uber home—not because she couldn't get a ride. you always gave her one when she asked, but she wasn't sure she could handle being that close to you. "nothing. just...gonna go home and sleep, probably."

"lame," you said, a small smile on your face. though, when her back still faced you, the smile wavered and you reached out to grasp her elbow, "hey—"

nikki jerked at your touch, eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to face you then.

you let out a breathy laugh, head tilting a little. "you okay? you've been weird today."

nikki looked at you. fuck, it was so unfair. this whole thing was so unfair. how could you just stand there, looking like that, acting like that, and not expect her to lose her fucking mind?

"i'm fine," she replied faintly, "i just didn't sleep well last night. i'm tired."

"oh," you murmured, nodding in understanding. "cool. well, i just—i was asking if you were busy because...well, i was thinking you could come over. we could watch a movie, or something. i could make dinner."

that sounded suspiciously like a date. was this it? was it happening?

nikki tried not to get her hopes up.

"...yeah, i guess i could do that. what would you make?"

you thought for a second, eyes drifting away towards the parking lot. then they flicked back towards her, and you gave her a slightly sheepish smile. "frozen pizza?"

"how romantic," she said with a small smile, "you really know how to woo a girl."

"well, i could always order a pizza. i could get the breadsticks you like."

"the cheesy-garlic ones?"

"mhm."

nikki really did love those breadsticks. with a deep, heavily exaggerated sigh, she nodded. "alright, alright. you convinced me."

so, nikki canceled her uber and instead you gave her a ride back to your place. 

she'd always liked your house. it was comfortable, and she'd been there so often that it was like a second home for her.

also, it smelled like you which was nice.

upon arriving to your place, you disappeared to change out of your work uniform—came back a few minutes later in a t-shirt and sweats and had a similar outfit in your hands for nikki.

she stared at them when you held them out.

it wasn't like she hadn't worn your clothes before.

still.

she took them with a little 'thanks,' disappeared into your bathroom, changed into the clothes and stared at herself in the mirror for approximately five minutes.

if she focused, she could almost imagine she was wearing your clothes because she was your girlfriend and that's just what she normally did.

it was a nice thought.

but then you knocked on your bathroom door and asked if she was okay and it startled her so badly, she had nearly run into the door trying to open it.

you'd ordered a half-meat, half-margherita pizza, the cheesy-garlic breadsticks, and a litre of soda.

"lot of food for just the two of us, isn't it?" nikki had laughed, making herself comfortable atop your couch. blankets, pillows, and the faint scent of your shampoo.

"i don't mind leftovers," you'd grinned. you found a movie nikki hadn't seen before—though, you had promised she'd like it. the lights had been turned off, leaving the room lit by only the television screen. you'd sat next to nikki, sliding beneath her blanket until the two of you were brushing thighs.

within ten minutes, nikki was pressed against you, eyes narrowed, listening to the eerie song playing in the background of the scene. "this is a horror movie."

"relax," you whispered, and nikki had the feeling that you'd be laughing at her sometime tonight. "i'll keep you safe."

her stomach flipped. she also realized then how absolutely cold the room was. so, she shuffled a little closer and your arm swung over her shoulder to pull her close. 

fuck, you were so warm.

and you smelled good.

nikki couldn't help but sneak glances. at least, she tried to sneak them. every time, without fail, you'd turn to her and grin and say, "are you watching?"

the pizza had arrived at the worst possible moment. the killer lurking outside a house, provoking the main character. silent, tense, obvious enough that nikki was sure there would be a jumpscare soon.

then the doorbell rang, and nikki jerked so violently that the top of her head knocked hard against your jaw. your teeth snapped together from the force of it, and you groaned weakly in pain, laughing at the same time, and she watched you stand up from the couch with an apologetic look. 

after you'd gotten the food and paid the driver, you'd plopped back onto your couch and nikki and you both had dug into it.

after not eating since your guys' lunch break, the pizza was divine.

"oh, shit, she's about to get stabbed," you laughed, pointing at the tv with one hand while the other head a breadstick.

"don't spoil it!"

half of the food was gone by the time the movie was over.

you guys weren't proud of it, but you 'd be lying if you said that it hadn't been a fun time.

nikki let out a deep huff as the credits rolled, leaning back against the couch cushions, and she glanced at you with a weary smile. "it wasn't so bad."

"you jumped, like, a million times."

"that's because i don't watch horror. im not desensitized like you, weirdo."

"weirdo?" you echoed with a little grin, one that made nikki's churn with butterflies. "not my fault you're a scaredy cat."

"am not."

you let out a bright laugh at that, eyebrows furrowing, one of your hands reaching out brush gently at her cheek. you pushed some of her hair from out of her face, nikki frozen and holding her breath beneath your touch. then your eyes met hers again, and your eyebrows raised a little. "'am not?'" you whispered, "are you five?"

nikki let out an outraged noise, reaching out to shove at your chest but it only caused you to break into a fit of laughter and giggles. she couldn't help it—she grinned at the sight, watching your hand press against your stomach from laughing, and finally she nudged you again. 

"alright, relax. it wasn't that funny."

"oh man," you said weakly, taking a long moment to catch your breath. then you glanced back at her, still grinning like an idiot. your eyes flickered down and for a moment, nikki felt her heart drop because she was sure that you were looking at her lips.

"you've got a little something," you murmured, "above your lip."

oh god.

she turned her head away with a sheepish expression, reaching up to rub against her mouth with the back of her hand.

you only grinned, looking at her mouth. "it's, like, pizza sauce or something. it's right—literally right above your mouth. right there," you said, pointing a finger at what must've been pizza sauce on her face.

"oh my god," nikki groaned, feeling the beginnings of heat crawling do her neck. she rubbed again, glancing at you with an expectant look. then you laughed again and she stood up with the embarrassed, frantic rush of someone who did not want food on her face in front of her crush.

but you stood up after her, fingers looping around one of her wrists and she glanced at you from over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. "what?"

your hand reached up, thumb out like you were about to wipe it away. but then something flickered in your expression and instead, you leaned down.

nikki barely had time to process what was happening before your mouth was on hers, warm and soft and tasting like pepperoni.

a little gross.

but also, perfect.

nikki stood frozen for nearly ten seconds straight, which is when you finally pulled away. your lips were curled into a little smile, eyes focused on her mouth and with a little chuckle, "there. all gone."

nikki blinked at you, lips parted in shock, face undeniably burning red. she didn't say anything—could't say anything. she wasn't sure her throat worked. her tongue was heavy and her mouth was dry.

your expression faltered, head tilting a little. "did i—get that wrong?"

wrong? wrong? the only thing wrong about this was that nikki was too stunned to say, "kiss me again."

"i'm sorry," you said quickly, embarrassed. "forget about that."

"no!" she blurted out, far too loud in the empty room. then, with a clear of her throat and a little smile, she tried again. "i mean—you didn't get that...wrong. it was good. like, really good."

"oh," you said faintly, looking very much more relieved. "oh...good. i'm sorry, i shouldn't have...just done that. like, all sudden."

"it's fine," nikki replied. fine was understating it. she was pretty sure she was still in shock.

then nikki's mind flashed back to the stick. the wish. was this the wish's doing? had it actually worked?

but now, in the dimmed lighting of your living room, you were looking at her so gently. so warmly, so fond.

maybe it was just you. maybe you'd like her too, all time this, and nikki hadn't noticed because she'd been so caught up in her own feelings.

"what is it?" you whispered, soft and just between the two of you.

of course. the sixth sense of yours, that ability to decipher every little twitch of her eyebrow or tweak to her mouth.

"this is gonna sound so stupid," nikki started, pulling away from you to sit back on the couch. you followed after her automatically, sitting beside her. "i did this...thing. i bought some sort of, like, wish thing."

"a wish thing?" you echoed, smiling amusedly. she gave you a look, and you gestured for her to continue.

"it's supposed to grant your wish. it's, like, a little stick. a stick from a willow tree, i guess. and," she paused, glancing away from you to gather the courage to admit that she wished upon a stick that you would like her back.

"you don't need to tell me," you said gently to her. she shook her head then. she wanted to say it.

"i...sort've wished that you would like me. i mean, romantically."

there. it was out in the open now. it sounded insane, but it was true.

you blinked, stared at her for what felt like a thousand years but war really only a couple of seconds, and then burst into laughter.

nikki flushed immediately. "i'm being serious!" she said, but unfortunately she also began to laugh, "it's not funny."

“it’s kinda funny,” you replied, grinning, then with furrowed brows, “you wished, with a stick, that i would have feelings for you?”

“yes,” nikki sighed out. it sounded so stupid, out loud. “and, you know, i’m just curious if, like, that’s why you…kissed me.”

“that’s not at all why i kissed you,” you said, reaching out to take one of her hands in your own, “i mean, im flattered that you wasted a wish-granting stick on me. truly. nobody’s ever done anything so kind.”

nikki scowled, just a little.

“but,” you continued with a smile, hand gently squeezing hers, “i kissed you because i really wanted to kiss you. i mean, nikki. i’ve liked you for—i don't even know how long. forever. and that’s not because of some little stick. it’s because you’re my best friend. you're the best person i know.”

she watched you, searched your eyes, looked for any hint that what you’d said was a lie or actually being caused by some sort of super powerful stick.

but all she saw was you. the same eyes she’d known forever. the ones she used to fall asleep thinking about.

she didn’t say anything, just grabbed a fistful of your t-shirt and yanked you forwards. you let out a grunt, then a laugh, then gladly let nikki press her mouth to your own. 

your arms slid around her waist automatically, naturally, almost instinctually, and when you both finally pulled away from each other nikki let out a shaky breath, her lips forming a tender smile.

“you know,” you said softly to her, “i probably would've kissed you sooner if you had just told me how you felt.”

nikki’s eyes squeezed shut, and she let out a soft, nervous laugh, a flustered smile on her face.

you watched her for a long moment, warm, steady, like you were trying to read every thought she wasn’t saying out loud. then you shifted a little closer, knee brushing hers, voice dropping into something quieter.

“hey,” you murmured, “look at me.”

she did, slowly, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle it.

your thumb brushed her cheek again, softer this time. “i meant it,” you said. “all of it. i didn’t kiss you because of some wish. i kissed you because i’ve been wanting to for…way too long.”

nikki swallowed, her heart thudding so loudly she was sure you could hear it. “i just—i don’t want this to be some weird…fluke. or pity. or—”

“nikki.” you cut her off gently, your hand sliding down to hold hers again. “i don’t pity you. i’m not confused. i’m not doing this because you wished on a stick,” your lips twitched into a small smile. “i’m doing this because i’m crazy about you.”

her breath caught. “you are?”

“yeah,” you said, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “i always have been. i just thought you didn’t feel the same.”

nikki let out a shaky laugh, pressing her free hand to her forehead. “god, we’re idiots.”

“huge idiots,” you agreed, “but at least we’re idiots together now.”

she smiled, soft and relieved and a little disbelieving. “so…what happens now?”

you squeezed her hand. “now?” you echoed, tilting your head just enough to kiss the corner of her mouth, slow and deliberate and you relished in the way she smiled beneath your mouth. “now, i guess, i get to call you my girlfriend.”

yeah. she liked hearing you say that. “and…we keep kissing?”

“oh, absolutely,” you said, grinning. “that’s non‑negotiable.”

she laughed, and tugged you in by the front of your shirt again, kissing you properly this time. no more wondering if she was imagining it. when you pulled back, your noses brushed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“you know,” you said, “if that wish stick really worked, i owe it a thank you.”

nikki snorted. “please don’t thank the stick.”

“fine,” you teased, “i’ll thank you instead.”

“for what?”

“for finally letting me have you.”

nikki’s cheeks burned, her smile stretching helplessly wide. “yeah,” she whispered, leaning into you, “i think i’m okay with that.”

for the first time in so long, nikki finally realized that she hadn’t been alone in her feelings. you’d been right there beside her, just like always, waiting for her.

[enyabserious]

Rumour Has It

Pairing: RE9!Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humour

Summary: Hilarity ensues in the Kennedy household when your nosy neighbours make assumptions about your husband's shiny new Porsche. The rumours only spiral further when Grace brings Emily over for the weekend.

Tags: gossipy neighbours, surburbia, domestic fluff, humour, established relationship, Leon and Reader being Married™, husband Leon, minimal age gap, post-RE9, Grace and Emily come to visit and get mistaken as Leon's secret family, Porsche, just the whole thing about the Porsche and Leon being lovingly made fun of for his mid-life crisis purchase

CW: affair rumours (although nobody actually cheats), sexual innuendo and references because it wouldn't be one of my RE9 Leon fics without at least one, suggestive scenes, Leon jokingly suggests to do it in his Porsche at one point (cause' I know y'all nasty)

"I wonder if Mrs. Kennedy knows..."

"Look, if a man ever buys a fancy new car like that, it can only mean two things: he's taken up with a younger woman, or is planning to."

"No self-respecting man his age should be dressing like some playboy. It's embarrassing, frankly."

Not even ten minutes into the HOA meeting you'd reluctantly dragged yourself to, the prissy housewives had started talking shit as soon as you left the room. Now, standing right outside the door to the townhall they now occupied, you wondered if subjecting yourself further to this farce was of any use.

Suppose even working for the federal government for nearly three decades with the President's best agent for a husband still wasn't enough to garner respect among these people. You'd been sceptical when Leon had proposed moving to the suburbs of D.C. shortly after your wedding in 2004, and this had been one of the reasons why.

You grew up a city girl, in a modest apartment looming over the pavement, where you could people watch out your window while your parents made dinner in the small, narrow kitchen, its cluttered cabinets crammed with cans upon cans of everything from sardines to tomatoes and corned beef.

Your childhood bedroom had been little more than a nook, with barely enough space for a bed and a desk for studying, your mom's standing mirror propped up on a pile of your math textbooks the cloest you ever got to a vanity, and a bathroom you shared with your whole family across the hall.

You used to be able to walk everywhere — the shops, the parks, the cafés. Now, despite living in a three-bedroom, five-bathroom house with your own walk-in closet, a quick trip to the nearby supermarket for groceries required a five-minute drive in Leon's brand-new Porsche.

Right. That Porsche.

You'd chalked it up to one of those mid-life purchases. His pockets were well-lined from all that hazard pay — might as well put it to good use. If the government wouldn't let him go on the vacations he deserved, he may very well blow his six-figure paycheck on some souped-up luxury car.

You just didn't think it'd invite so much attention.

The both of you had never been the sort to socialise with your neighbours — the prospect of living in the same neighbourhood as government agents certainly wouldn't endear you to them, considering your husband's fashion sense was already this offensive.

As you strode back into the room, however, all went quiet, and the townhall leader, a portly older gentleman with thinning white hair in a grey sweater worn over a blue checkered shirt, cleared his throat pointedly.

"Well, nice of you to rejoin us, Mrs. Kennedy. Would you mind explaining to us why your husband... doesn't appear to be in attendance?"

Drat. Leon just happened to be filing paperwork for follow-up investigations on the ruins of ARK, as well as initiatives to distribute Elpis nationwide in hopes of mass-manufacturing the Progenitor cure.

You'd be there too, except the HOA representative that stopped by the other day had delivered a thinly-veiled threat about 'penalties' if neither of you showed your faces at the meeting.

"Err... he's at work," you answered, trying to sound even just a tiny bit sheepish. "Couldn't get any time off, unfortunately."

Murmurs sprung up among the crowd, and you could've sworn several new rumours about Leon having a younger mistress out of town were birthed that instant.

Why, oh why, did you ever let him convince you to move to the goddamn suburbs?

Leon had arrived home early, offering to cook dinner for a change. While you'd never had much reason to question your husband's fidelity, the neighbourhood women's gossip had been following you around all day like an irritating cloud of gnats even as you tried to busy yourself with mundane chores around the house.

Another thing about living in a house — there were always so. Many. Damn. Spots. To clean.

"Honey?" you singsonged, leaning dramatically against the doorway clad in the feather-trimmed black peignoir he'd gotten for your 15th wedding anniversary like a poor man's Elizabeth Taylor. "Are you... cheating on me?"

Your husband, mid-tasting his stew, sputtered violently. "Wha — babe, where'd you even get that idea? And what's with the robe?"

You huffed, sauntering over the the bubbling pot, getting a whiff of the fragrant herbs and deep, rich broth. Leon watched you a little apprehensively, especially as you rounded on him.

"This is all your fault, darling —" you continued in your phony Transatlantic drawl, running your fingers along his arm. "Always rolling around in that Porsche with your leather jacket, tight shirts, and —" you paused to squeeze one of his bulging biceps. "Massive biceps. Oh, whatever will the neighbours think?"

In all fairness, the rumours weren't totally unfounded — Leon had been attractive more or less his whole life, and being married certainly hadn't diminished that. He'd bulked up too, and somehow retained a full head of hair despite age catching up. You'd seen younger interns eyeing him up at the DSO offices, and no shortage of twenty-something college girls throwing themselves at him in bars despite the silver wedding ring on his finger.

He turned off the gas, leaving the pot to cool on the stove. You felt your husband's arms around you, large, calloused hands gliding across your waist over the silky fabric of your robe. Electricity trailed under your skin as you caught the glimmer of desire in his blue eyes, his fingertips drifting lower, lower.

His deep, gravelly voice rumbled in your ear. "Now, why would I even have an affair when I've got my gorgeous wife, hmm?"

You let out a soft giggle as he kissed the corner of your mouth, scratchy stubble tickling your cheek as a warm palm swept over the curve of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

Then, he released you, heading back to the stove and sheathing on a pair of mittens as you stared indignantly at his broad, muscled back, just barely concealed under the black T-shirt he was wearing. Noticing your gaze, he simply threw a cheeky grin in your direction.

"Now get out of that thing and eat dinner like a normal person, willya?"

Still in the mood for theatrics, you playfully loosened the sash holding the peignoir together. "Oh, Mr. Kennedy, be careful what you wish for ~"

He chuckled, setting the pot on a placemat. "Suit yourself, babe, but I wouldn't want stew getting on that very expensive robe of yours."

You clammed up instantly, scurrying off to the bedroom to exchange your robe for a more sensible lounge set, rejoining Leon at the dinner table after, where he was already doling out portions of steaming hot stew into both your bowls.

"Followed your mom's recipe," he grunted, dipping a spoon into his bowl. "Probably turned out okay."

You grabbed your own bowl, blowing gently on the soup before taking a sip, humming contentedly. "Mmm, you've improved."

Leon let out a soft chuckle of satisfaction. "That's good to hear." he peered closer at you, a small furrow of concern between his eyebrows. "Hey, babe? You sure you're okay? Those HOA people can be pretty vicious."

You patted his arm reassuringly. "Oh, I'll be fine. They can't be much worse than the bioterrorists and corrupt politicians, I'm sure."

"Oh, right," he mentioned. "You remember Grace, right? She's been wanting to meet you properly for a while."

"Mmm, exactly what we want Cynthia across the street to see — a petite young blonde with her kid sauntering up our driveway. The gossip mill will be having a field day." you mused.

"Hey, Emily already calls me Grandpa Leon," he huffed. "Betcha she'll be callin' you Grandma if you don't watch out."

"Now now, darling —" your terrible Transatlantic accent returned. "Does this look like anybody's grandma to you?"

Leon let out a snort. "Babe, I love you, but for the love of God do not come out in that feather robe when Grace visits — you'll scare the poor girl."

You feigned a crestfallen expression. "Aww, but I wanted to go, 'Leon Scott Kennedy, how dare you! I want a divorce this instant'!"

He was shaking with laughter now. "Babe, are you trying to feed the rumours?"

You sighed mournfully. "Well, this old lady needs some way to keep herself entertained in this dull place, no?"

"You're impossible."

"That's rich coming from you," you retorted, spearing a perfectly tender potato on your fork. "You better hope nobody ever turns a blacklight on this place, or they'll be in for a nasty shock."

He waved you off dismissively. "C'mon, it ain't that bad."

"Anyway," you continued. "When's Grace coming to visit?"

"This weekend," he answered, then shot you a deadpan look. "I'll be picking her and Emily up from the airport. Don't get any stupid ideas."

"Who, me?" you waggled your eyebrows. "Never."

***

Respectfully, you did refrain from dramatically solioquying about divorce in the driveway as Leon's Porsche pulled in. You'd spoken to Grace Ashcroft a few times over the phone and the occasional video call, but this would be the first time you'd be seeing her in person.

Of course, there was that slightly crazed shopping spree you'd dragged Leon out to pick some gifts for both Grace and Emily on a random Friday night. You didn't know the first thing about being a hostess, really. Most people who showed up in your home were either government personnel or maintenance men — neither of which you were keen on staying longer than needed.

Leon emerged out of the car, along with Grace, who went to open the door for Emily, dressed in a pair of cute denim overalls and a colourful sweater, silvery blonde hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders. You'd knew by now the girl was meant to be a clone of her adoptive mother, but the resemblance was still uncanny.

Perhaps it was rude, but you couldn't help but wonder what parent-teacher meetings were like with these two.

You'd hastened down to help your husband out, and Grace's face lit up at the sight of you, while Emily peeked out shyly from behind her legs. "Mrs. Kennedy! It's nice to finally meet you in person."

You huffed fondly. "Grace, I keep telling you you don't have to call me Mrs. Kennedy."

"Ah, right," the younger woman backtracked. "Force of habit, sorry."

A small voice piped up from below. "Are you... Grandpa Leon's wife?"

You stooped slightly to get on her level, smiling warmly. She really was rather adorable. "Yes, I am."

"Grandma?"

Grace sputtered, throwing an apologetic look in your direction. "Emily!"

You burst into hearty laughter, patting Emily's fluffy little head. "Sure, sweetheart. Call me anything you want."

"All good out there?" Leon's voice called from the entryway, bags in tow, and Grace took the opportunity to redirect Emily, shepherding her inside like a mother hen while you followed behind.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Cynthia-across-the-street draw her curtains.

Once the girls had settled in, you set about making plans to bring them both out to the local park for some fresh air later in the afternoon. October was in full swing, the streets scattered with brilliant orange leaves from the oak and maple trees lining them.

Fresh air, and fresh gossip, if the neighbours' reactions at the HOA meeting were anything to go by.

When you arrived at your quaint little local park, Emily was a force of boundless energy, zooming all over the place while Grace haplessly tried to keep up.

Noticing the furtive look on your face as you were unpacking, Leon chuckled. "Worried about the neighbours, sweetheart?"

You huffed — he always knew you so well. "I'm not bothered by the gossip, but I wouldn't want Grace and Emily getting dragged into it."

His hand found its way at your waist, drawing you closer to his warmth. "C'mon, after everything they've been through? They can handle some busybodies." his hand fell to his side, grabbing your own. "Now, enough worrying and let's just have a nice ol' picnic at the park, yeah?"

You couldn't help the smile making it's way across your face. "Of course, darling."

The rest of the weekend flew by, with as packed an itinerary you could manage in whatever remained of Sunday before the girls would leave. You went with Leon to the airport this time, determined to cherish every remaining second for all it was worth.

Farewells were exchanged, and Grace had to practically peel Emily off both of you before they missed their flight.

"Bye Grandpa Leon, bye Grandma! I'll miss you!"

As you pulled back into the driveway, Leon wiggled his eyebrows mischeivously. "Y'know, now that we've got the house back to ourselves, we can do the horizontal mambo wherever we want."

"Leon, it's been two days."

"Two days without makin' the beast with two backs," he grinned.

You groaned. "Christ."

"Hey, the best way to defeat the rumours is to demonstrate exactly how obsessed I am with my wife, amirite?"

"Mmm hmm. Defeating the rumours. Sure."

He inclined his head towards the backseat. "I mean, since we're here —"

"We are not having sex in the car like a pair of horned-up teenagers," you deadpanned. "Besides, how the hell would we even fit back there?"

He shrugged, turning off the ignition. "Oh, that's easy — I'll just lean up against the window and you can ride on top —"

You were already making a swift, unceremonious exit at that. Your husband, undeterred, kept up the running commentary, offering increasingly detailed logistics on car sex and more awful metaphors for doing the deed until you were absolutely certain the entire street was going to hear.

***

"So, Mrs. Kennedy..."

Cynthia-across-the-street had siddled up to you at the HOA's Thanksgiving potluck after Leon had left to get more refreshments, trying and failing miserably to keep her expression neutral.

"I hear your husband's had some... vistors from out of town lately. A blonde woman and a little girl. What do you think that could be about?"

If only to remain in your neighbour's good graces, you decided to play along — but not without adding your little twist. "Oh, her? She's a friend of Leon's from work. They actually met on his latest assignment — helped her out of a few tight spots. Real lifesaver, that."

Technically, none of it was false. You'd happened to leave out all the top-secret, classified bits, like your husband nearly dying, how Grace literally saved his life with the cure, and subsequently yours and every other Raccoon City survivor for miles around when it was properly synthesised and distributed across the country.

Of course, Cynthia didn't need to know any of that.

Not long after the potluck, Leon became the subject of a fresh new wave of rumours — that he had a secret family with some young blonde woman from out of town, and the audacity to parade them before his poor, unsuspecting wife. Your husband, normally so good-humoured, hadn't been very amused, even as you were doubled over the kitchen counter, tears streaming down your face.

Just another day at Casa Kennedy.

[theweepingangelofcas]

More of clicker trained reader please! I beg I'm literally obsessed

Will do! I decided that he deserved some sweet revenge lol. Summary: Weeks ago, your now boyfriend accidentally clicker trained you. You decide to return the favor. Masterlist | Part 1

Reverse Pavlov - Leon Kennedy x Reader

It starts innocently. 

That’s the worst part. You don’t wake up one morning and decide to psychologically condition your boyfriend. That would be weird.

God, it still sounds weird calling him that. ‘Boyfriend’. Weeks ago, when you both were fighting for your damn lives in China, he was still just your mission partner. At some point, that had changed. You couldn’t say when. One day, he had just held your hand and said he didn’t want to be just friends anymore. That was that. 

But, even then, there was the issue that he had fucking clicker trained you. No Pavlov needed. Just a click of his tongue, and you were jolting to correct yourself.

The revenge starts because you’re petty. Which Leon frankly deserves. The first time it happens, he doesn’t question it too much.

Leon’s sitting on the couch, flipping through mission paperwork and nursing his third cup of coffee of the day. When you walk by, his eyes flick up automatically. “Hey.”

You pause. His water bottle is sitting untouched on the coffee table. You point at it.

“…You should drink some water.”

His face immediately twists, eyes rolling. “Don’t start.”

A sweet smile comes to your face. The kind that you know gets him to do whatever you want. “Drink your water.”

He sighs dramatically and reaches over, taking a few obedient sips.

Your face lights up. “Good job.”

Leon blinks. “…What?”

“Good hydration.”

“…Are you making fun of me?” His eyes narrow.

You smile wider. “No.”

You absolutely are.

.

.

.

The second time, he notices.

He’s in the kitchen making dinner. You lean against the counter, eyeing him up and down. His shoulders are tight. There’s heavy dark circles under his eyes. You know for a fact he slept four hours, if that. Probably even less.

“…Did you nap today?”

“No.” He’s in the middle of chopping some vegetables, eyes still trained on the knife in front of him.

You lay your hand over his, pausing his work. “Go sit down for twenty minutes.”

He gives you an offended look. “No? I don’t need to.”

Your hand doesn’t stray. He simply stares at you for a second, like it’s a challenge. Three minutes later he’s on the couch, you throwing a blanket over him. 

You pat his shoulder, kissing the top of his head. “Good job.”

“…Are you rewarding me?” His head tilts up at you. His eyes look heavy with exhaustion. 

You blink. “…No.”

.

.

.

Third time. He’s stretching after training.

Not because he wants to, no. But because his back hurt and you threatened violence. When he finishes, a bead of sweat tracing down his hairline, he looks over to you.

You look up from your phone, face softening. “That’s my guy.”

His ears turn pink. He immediately scowls. “…Stop.”

You smile. “Good stretching. I’m happy you’re taking care of yourself.”

His face changes. Just slightly. Like his brain did something weird. You make sure to file that away.

Interesting.

.

.

.

A week later, you’re making tea.

Leon walks into the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Pulls out water. He takes a long pull from the bottle, swallowing it and turning to look at you. Almost expectantly, even.

You blink. “…What?”

“…Nothing.” His head shakes a little, eyes downturning to the floor. 

He leaves.

… Huh.

.

.

.

Three days later, you’re folding laundry. 

You don’t bother looking up when Leon steps into the room, an empty plate in hand. It makes you smile. The man never eats a full meal, and when he does, it’s never at what could be considered a good time. Today is different, apparently. 

“…You ate lunch?”

His shoulders shift, chest puffing out a little. Is that… pride on his face? Has to be. “…Yeah.”

You smile automatically. “Good job, sweetheart.”

His expression changes a little. His posture relaxes a touch, the briefest of smiles flickering on his face. Then he immediately leaves, face flushing.

Good. Your plan has been working. Now, it’s just time to test it more.

.

.

.

That evening, Leon comes home after a meeting. He’s quick to kick his shoes off, jacket already hanging up next to the door.

Your arms envelop him before he can do anything else. “Good job, dear!”

His eyebrows lift. “…For what?”

You shrug. “General maintenance.”

.

.

.

The next day, he takes his vitamins. You’re quick to kiss his cheek. “Excellent work.”

He rolls his eyes. But, he smiles. 

.

.

.

Next, he goes to bed before midnight. He makes sure to roll over to face you, a dumb smile on his face.

You kiss his forehead. “That’s my boy.”

His entire face goes red.

.

.

.

He realizes what you’ve been doing two weeks later.

You’re cooking. Leon wanders into the kitchen, clad in clean pajamas. He opens the fridge, and instead of pulling out booze, he goes for water instead. He drinks. Looks at you. Waits.

You slowly lower the spoon, smirking. “…Leon.”

His eyes widen immediately. He has that big, dumb smile on his face again. “…What?”

“…Were you waiting for me to say good job?” 

“No.”

The word comes out too fast. You look up from the stove. The man’s face has gone beet red, hands clutching the water bottle close to himself.

He looks away from your face as he speaks, blue eyes downturning. “…Maybe.”

You lose your fucking mind. The man looks sheepish as you double over in laughter, almost falling back into the chair next to you. 

A flash of emotion comes to his face as he realizes what you’ve done. “Did you- Did you fucking condition me?!”

You’re wheezing. “You trained me first! It’s only fair!”

His eyes widen. “EXCUSE ME?”

“YOU CLICKED AT ME LIKE A DOG!”

His hand gestures wildly. “YOU SAID GOOD JOB WHEN I DRANK WATER!”

You stare at him for a second, before smirking again. “…Good job communicating.”

Leon throws a kitchen towel at your face.

.

.

.

That night he drinks water. Looks over.

You grin. “Good job, baby.”

[metal-armed-muse]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐊 | 18+

Dating a lawyer is bad. Dating Matt Murdock is worse. 

You wish it was for normal lawyer reasons, like oh no, he argues too well, or oh no, he remembers every single thing you've ever said, or oh no, you can't win a fight because he'll calmly ask one question and suddenly you're hearing yourself out loud and realising maybe the point was stupid. Which is already annoying, by the way. Very annoying. Nobody is saying that part is fine.

But let's face it, that's not even the worst part.

Matt actually knows you're annoyed before you know you're annoyed.

Like you'll be sitting there, perfectly fine, living your life. Maybe washing a mug a little harder than usual, and he'll be behind you going, "what happened?" You'll just say, "nothing happened," because nothing has happened yet. You haven't even decided if something happened. You are still in the browsing stage of being irritated. And he'll just stand there, all soft voice and stupid face and say, "your breathing changed."

Jail. Immediately jail.

Privacy is a concept other couples get to have. You? No. Your body betrays you for sport, and unfortunately Matt has the hearing, smell, and nerve to know every single time.

You didn't realise how often you get turned on until you started dating a man who can hear your pulse do a backflip because he rolled his sleeves up while making pasta. He was COOKING. That's all he did. Garlic, sauce, shirt slightly tight on his back, forearms out. Suddenly you're sitting there like a pervert with a glass of water.

The worst part? He doesn't even turn around at first. He'll keep stirring the sauce, head tilted, smiling to himself like an absolute bastard. Then he'll go, "you alright over there?" Like he doesn't already know. 

You'll say, "fine." Obviously, because you can't simply show your cards (even though he knows all your cards)

He'll hum. Just hum. Like he's heard enough.

Sometimes he lets it sit there too. He'll plate the food, pour wine, sit across from you like a normal boyfriend. But his ankle? It hooks around yours under the table. And you're already thinking, Matthew, don't do this near carbohydrates. 

And the cooking thing became a Thing, by the way. He'll be next to you on bed, hand between your legs because let's face it, that man cannot keep his hands to himself. When he feels how soaked you are around him, he'll press his mouth to your jaw and go, "this all from watching me cook?" You'd want to die. But his hand is between your legs and his cock is hard against your thigh, so death can wait.

Fighting is somehow worse, which is like betrayal from your own body.

Because you'll be genuinely mad. Like fully correct, in your opinion. Pacing around, saying things with evidence, maybe even pointing at him a little because sometimes a finger needs to be involved. And then his jaw gets tight and his voice goes low, and your body immediately forgets the cause.

Feminism? Where?

He'll notice mid-fight too. You'll be halfway through a sentence, something very valid about how he cannot just disappear into Hell's Kitchen bleeding and expect you to be normal about it. Then he'll stop listening. Like not stop stop, he's listening to something else. He's compartmentalising listening. Your pulse. Your breath. The way your thighs shifted. Whatever. Disgusting surveillance state of a man.

Then he'll come closer, and say, "you can keep arguing with me," while his fingers slip under your waistband like he isn't the worst person alive, "but this is making it very hard to believe you."

Sometimes you still try to argue, which is embarrassing for everyone involved. Mostly you. You'd be stuttering, trying to finish a point while he has two fingers sliding through your folds, and mouth near your ear, like he's waiting for you to confess. Absolute lawyer behavior.

Sometimes he makes you say it too. That's the thing. He'll have you right there, hips lifting into his hand, your whole argument dead on the floor, and he'll ask, "what got you like this?" Like he needs it entered into record. And when you refuse, he'll slow down. You wish he'd stop. But no, he's just slowing down. Enough to get you you desperate. Leaving all dignity on the floor along with your skirt, you'll mutter, "your stupid voice," and he kisses your temple like he's comforting you through a problem he caused.

The court thing was the worst one though. You still haven't emotionally recovered from that. 

You went to watch him because it seemed cute. Supportive girlfriend behavior. Very adult. You had coffee, you wore something decent, you sat there thinking this would be sweet, like look at him doing his job, look at my boyfriend being smart and competent.

No.

Bad idea.

He stood there in that suit, calm as anything, voice sharp but polite, sounding gentle while absolutely ruining someone's argument, and your body decided this was porn. Porn you hear me? You didn't even realise you were squeezing your thighs together, but he did. 

Like the perfect boyfriend, he kissed you outside the courthouse, and then paused like a maniac. "During closing arguments?" He asked so softly, like he was trying not to laugh. 

Traffic was right fucking there. You could have walked into it. 

He brought it up for three days. Three full days. "I thought my opening statement was stronger." "Was it the objection?" "Should I wear that tie more often?" Shut up, Matthew. Shut up before you make it worse.

Because he can tell when you're lying, surprises are nearly impossible. You once tried to hide a birthday gift in your closet and he walked in, paused, smiled a little, and said, "is that for me?" You nearly threw the gift at his head.

And he had the nerve to act innocent after. "What?" Like he hadn't just ruined the whole operation. You had wrapped it. You had hidden it under sweaters. There was a tote bag involved. Effort had been made. And he’d just sniffed wrapping paper.

Dating Matt is basically losing every normal human advantage. You can't lie. Can't hide gifts. Can't be horny in peace. Can't even fight without your body betraying the cause.

And the really annoying part is he's sweet about it after. Which almost makes it worse. He'll kiss your forehead after being unbearable. He'll pull you close after making you admit you got wet because he made pasta. He'll plant a soft kiss to your mouth like he didn't just read you fully. 

So yeah, dating a lawyer is bad. But dating Matt Murdock is worse.

and i wish this was my most worrying concern.

[gtgbabie0]

• re9!Leon Kennedy x reader

જ⁀➴ doing pottery with Leon during your little gateway together 18+ no smut just a little suggestive

"Baby, you're wrestling with the clay, relax." Leon’s voice breaks the silence from behind you, a grin playing at his lips like he knows all about the art of pottery. He planned this little getaway a while back, and finally after months of him being away here you are, a private cabin tucked away from society and surrounded by nothing but trees and mountains— the WiFi didn’t even work properly and honestly? It was really nice.

You huff, twisting slightly to look up at him with a helpless pout that screams, help me, dried clay smudged over your right cheek, and there's somehow a patch above your eyebrow.

It's endearing, really, and he can't help but chuckle at you.

"Don't just laugh at me… help, please."

His smile broadens, charmingly so, and he moves without hesitation to sit behind you, now sandwiched between his broad chest and the pottery wheel. You're instantly embraced by his warmth and the smell of his cologne, something leathery... rich and so undeniably him.

"You gotta ease into you... slowly, so you're guiding it, not forcing it." He says in that low timber that makes your skin tingle, his breath fanning against your neck, stubble ghosting over your shoulder.

His hands engulf yours, helping you move the wet clay into a more manageable shape than whatever lumpy monstrosity you were working with before. His fingers slip between your own, his palms framing the back of your hands warmly and you watch how effortlessly he guides your hands against the dirt— slow and precise, like he's got years of practice under his belt, it’s the way he handles all things when it comes to you, with this methodical precision. It was unfairly hot.

"Since when did you so good at this?" You murmur, watching his hands in slight awe.

Leon all but grins, dropping a light kiss to the curve of your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck, lingering on purpose. "What, with my fingers?" his voice drops to something more teasing as he tilts his head to brush his grinning lips to your jaw.

You roll your eyes and slump back against his chest, craning your head to catch his gaze and shooting him a knowing look, one brow slightly quirked. "Well, no. I know how good you are with your fingers, you tease."

Leon hums, the sound vibrating against your back. He ducks his head to drop a kiss to your temple whilst his hands continue to help yours mould the clay into something that could almost pass as a bowl if only it wasn’t getting progressively more and more lopsided because, if we're being honest, neither of you are really paying attention to the clay anymore.

"Cheeky," he chuckles, stubble tickling your cheek as he presses another kiss there, like he just couldn’t help himself. "No, I watched a video on TikTok," he confesses, sounding almost proud of himself, as he nudges his nose against your jaw to coax your attention back to the wheel, "Eyes on the clay, gorgeous."

You very reluctantly turn back to the dirt, shifting a little back against him to get comfortable as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

"What're we making anyway?"

"No idea yet, maybe a bowl... or a mug? Hopefully something useful."

Eventually, the lump of mud forms into something more recognisable, a cute little mug, made entirely by both of your hands and a whole lot of love— as cheesy as that sounds. Dried clay now clings to your hands and forearms; it's a complete mess, but those stolen kisses and the way he's pressed oh so snugly behind you seem make the smudges on your new shirt worth it.

"Now what?"

"Now... we wait for it to dry, then we put it in the kiln and hope it doesn't crack."

"Mm, then I can paint it?" You ask, tipping your head back against his shoulder to look up at him.

He smiles down at you tenderly, ducking to press a kiss to your mouth, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to whisper a quiet, "Yeah, then you can paint it after we sand it, gotta make sure it’s smooth."

Before you can get another word in, he lifts his hand and suddenly smears small blob clay over your cheek, and you gasp, face dropping in disbelief. "Oh my- Leon!"

"Shhh, shh… c'mon, let's go clean you up, baby." He chuckles warmly, tugging you up from the wooden stool with a grunt and a scheming smirk, guiding you upstairs to the rustic bathroom with plans of getting you naked and soapy.

જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist

AN: we are all going to ignore the fact that I posted the wrong version of this, if you seen it… shhh

[hoeforicecream]

IM SCREAMING AT HOW CUTE THIS IS

[menmadeofwarninglabels]

Nobody has ever treated Leon Kennedy like something precious

Words: 900

Has he been treated like he's ncessary?

Yes.

Valuable?

Sure.

Important?

Obviously.

But precious? Something to be protected? Something to be cared for simply because he exists?

Not until you.

And the thing is, you don't even realize you're doing it.

You're halfway through a conversation with someone from work who had come over for your dinner party when you wander into Leon's office carrying a bowl of fruit. Watermelon. Grapes. A few strawberries. The last of an orange you'd started that morning.

The watermelon is cut into cubes because you've noticed Leon actually eats it when he doesn't have to fuss with it.

You set the bowl beside his laptop without breaking stride.

"Chris, why would Hunnigan report that it's 'up your ass'? She said 'in the grass' clear as day. You're just getting old."

"I'm thirty-nine."

"That's exactly the response a forty-year-old would have, and I've seen your personal file."

You turn to leave. Behind you, Leon's voice stops you.

"Wait."

You glance back. Leon is staring at the bowl. Not eating it or touching it. Just staring.

"Are these for me?"

You laugh because the question is so strange.

"Obviously."

The answer leaves your mouth without thought. Of course they're for him. Who else would they be for?

And then you see his face.

The laughter dies gradually. His hand is still resting on the keyboard. His gaze remains fixed on the fruit as though you've placed something far more significant than a few pieces of watermelon beside his computer. A faint crease forms between your brows.

"Is it the watermelon?"

Leon blinks.

"What?"

"The watermelon. You don't like watermelon anymore?"

"No."

You look at the bowl again.

"The grapes?"

"No."

"The strawberries?"

Only then does he look up at you, and suddenly you understand. His disbelief has absolutely nothing to do with the fruit.

It's the fact that you remembered.

The fact that while making your own lunch, you automatically made something for him too. That somewhere between setting the table, arguing with Chris, and checking on dinner, you still factored in that Leon hasn't eaten yet.

So you fixed it. No discussion needed, no praise expected.

And suddenly, sitting behind that desk, Leon doesn't look like a DSO agent finishing reports on a Saturday evening. He doesn't even look like your husband.

He looks like a man who has spent most of his life being needed. Relied upon. Deployed. Useful. A man who never quite learned there was a difference between being valued and being cherished.

Leon lowers his eyes to the fruit. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and you know that look immediately. That dangerous look. The one that means you've accidentally brushed against something deep enough that he'll never explain it. The one that appears when he can't stop thinking about how nice you're being to him.

You point at him immediately.

"Oh, don't do that."

His eyebrows lift.

"Do what?"

"Whatever this is."

For a second he genuinely looks like he doesn't know what you're talking about, which only makes it worse. Then a reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You sigh dramatically.

"See? There it is."

"What?"

"The face. The one where you're about thirty seconds from getting emotional over a bowl of fruit."

Leon huffs a laugh and looks away.

You shake your head and start backing toward the door.

Honestly. Men. Especially dangerous, competent men who have never known a scrap of softness.

"Hope you don't cry when you see what I'm making for dinner."

The laugh that escapes him is soft. Rough around the edges.

You point at him again.

"Seriously." Then, with all the casualness in the world, you add, "It's your favorite."

The silence that follows is almost comical because Leon Kennedy, survivor of impossible things, veteran of countless disasters, one of the most capable men alive, looks completely, utterly defenseless.

His gaze drops back to the bowl. To the watermelon cut into cubes. To the orange peeled for him because you know he won't bother if he has to do it himself. To the handful of grapes that were probably tossed in at the last second while you were doing three other things.

You can practically see the realization moving behind his eyes. That you notice. That you remember. That caring for him has become so automatic you don't even think about it anymore.

The same way he checks the locks before bed.

The same way he reaches for your hand in crowded places.

The same way he makes your coffee without asking.

Just another quiet act of love folded into the day.

Leon understands sacrifice.

He understands duty.

He understands devotion.

But being cared for? Being considered before he asks?

He's such a pain in the ass about it.

You smile despite yourself, then turn and head back toward the kitchen before he can say anything embarrassing.

Halfway down the hallway, you hear the scrape of his chair.

"Thank you."

The words that follow you down the hall are quiet.

You glance back.

He's looking at you with that same soft, impossible expression, like you've handed him something precious, when really, all you did was remember he likes his watermelon cut into cubes.

[frazzled-soul]

I have a fic idea. It’s one where you’re cuddling RE9 Leon in bed, and you’re telling him how much you love him, with some kisses here and there. The poor man is so hard on himself, he needs someone to tell him how lovable and sweet he is since he clearly can’t see it.

A/N: Thank you so much for this wonderful request! And at the same time, please forgive me for taking so long, but unfortunately, there just haven't been enough hours in the day lately >_>

Summary: When Leon comes back from a rough mission stuck in his own head, you remind him exactly how much he means to you with a little help from a forgotten treat hidden under the pillow.

Not on My Watch

You stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the perfectly made bed and the equally meticulously arranged pillows. Behind the wall, the hum of water – which had been ringing regularly in your ears for the past good hour – finally ceased. Leon had recently returned from a mission and insisted on showering alone, claiming he had been swimming in "substances of unknown origin." You knew, however, that it was just an excuse. You knew this pattern by heart. You had only made sure he wasn't seriously injured before letting him off to the bathroom.

Returns from missions varied; sometimes Leon came back incredibly homesick, never leaving your side, sometimes he returned so turned on that you couldn't even make it to the bedroom, other times he could barely stand on his feet from exhaustion or from the wounds he had sustained. This time – Leon was simply sad.

You walked over to the bed and adjusted the pillows that didn't need any adjusting, then sat cross-legged on the mattress and took a few deep breaths. You tried not to look worried, knowing that Leon would only pick up on your state. You didn't want to pry more than necessary, but you were ready to find out what was on his mind. After all, that's what he had you for.

Finally, the bedroom door creaked and Leon slipped inside, wearing black boxers and a grey t-shirt. As he sat on the edge of the bed on your side, the scent of body wash washed over you, along with a note you could never mistake for anything else – simply Leon.

You looked at him closely. His shirt was damp in places, meaning he hadn't dried himself thoroughly; his hair confirmed it too, damp and disheveled, with a droplet of water preparing to leap from the tip of his bangs. Leon reached out and placed his hand on your knee, squeezing it. But he didn't look at you. He was slouching incredibly, staring blankly at the rug.

You placed your hand over his – large, warm, and heavy – noting:

"Leon, you broke the rule," you said softly, forcing your tone to sound gentle and neutral despite everything.

Leon flinched minimally, then slowly turned his head toward you, his exhausted gaze piercing right through you instantly. Only a quiet grunt escaped his throat.

"Didn't break it."

In response, you expressively folded your arms over your chest and tilted your chin up.

"The shirt. Just like we agreed. Take it off," you replied possessively, in a tone that brooked no argument.

This was part of your routine whenever Leon insisted on "solitary showers" – he wasn't supposed to put on shirts until you had looked him over carefully, as he had tried to hide some nasty gashes before. Not on your watch.

Leon sighed and – knowing he wouldn't win – pulled his shirt off with a slightly heavy movement, while you expressively patted the spot next to you, letting him know to sit further back on the bed, which he did, scrambling over and sitting with his back to you.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You moved right behind him to take a look with your own eyes. His broad back, still slightly damp, was covered in the scars you knew so well, and between them, various bruises and scrapes were beginning to form, along with a few minor cuts, but luckily nothing serious.

The only thing that worried you was a massive, purple-and-yellow bruise just beneath his ribs. Carefully, you pressed your warm palms against his sides, checking if he’d hiss in pain under tighter pressure. Fortunately, he only winced, reacting solely to your touch.

So you got up and settled yourself in front, right in his lap. Your hands landed on his well-defined abs, then gently slid higher up to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin flex instantly as he let out a breath through his nose. His hands instinctively found your hips and squeezed you lightly.

"I missed you so much," you said at last, reassured that you didn't see anything serious on the front of his body either.

"Me too, honey." Leon smiled at those words, sweeping his gaze across your face, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" you began playfully. "Usually, when you miss me, you hold me a little tighter," you teased, tipping up the corner of your mouth meaningfully.

In response, however, Leon's gaze only dimmed further, then drifted to the side. He couldn't have made it clearer that something was weighing on him.

You gently caught his chin and turned his face toward you, before brushing his lips in a light kiss.

"Leon, I know I have great taste, but you don't need to study the pattern on the duvet quite so intensely," you smiled at him warmly and brushed a strand of hair out of his eye. "Tell me what's going on, or I'll tickle the information out of you by force."

"I'm not ticklish," he grumbled, clearly caught off guard.

"I guarantee you I'll find a spot," you countered resiliently, raising your hands to poke them under his armpits, but Leon intercepted them with a quick movement, catching them in his own, then pressed two kisses to the palms of your hands, one on each. And then he closed his eyes for a few long seconds; when he opened them again, he was slouching even more.

"It's just," he began, and you held your breath, "sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wonder why you even bother waiting for this. For me. Instead of having a normal evening, you have to check if I'm missing any limbs."

The tone in which he said it squeezed your heart. This wasn't the first time you had heard these words, and likely not the last. You knew that despite your sincere and frequent assurances, doubts crossed his mind regularly, most often laced with guilt and a sense of inadequacy.

You slipped your hands from his grip and placed them gently on his cheeks, caressing him with your thumbs.

"I'm waiting for the most handsome man I've ever met, who moves heaven and earth for me every single time he's around. I don't need anything more, it's worth everything, and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, Leon."

The beautiful blue of his eyes, previously dull and tired, now grew slightly glassy. His face involuntarily yielded to your touch. He needed this.

"I wish I could be around more often and give you even more," his voice was just as quiet and raspy, a note of guilt sounding in every syllable.

"I get everything I need from you." your hands now moved to his shoulders, pressing your thumbs into the skin by his neck; the sheer amount of knotted muscle you felt beneath your fingers genuinely startled you.

"It's just that..."

"I need you exactly like this." You cut him off unceremoniously. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be my Leon, the one I love so much." to reinforce your words, you kissed him hard on his right cheek.

Leon stared at you in silence for a few long moments, and then, to your inner delight, you noticed the corners of his mouth twitch.

He leaned toward you and kissed your bottom lip, then pulled back to an almost imperceptible distance.

"Can't outtalk you, can I?" he murmured against your lips.

"Learning from the master," you shot back innocently, nudging his chin away with your finger so you could look him in the eyes.

And just like that, you had him; your touch and your voice were enough to – at least for a moment – distract Leon from his intrusive thoughts. You noticed him release the last of the air from his lungs, his entire body visibly going slack.

"Okay, you can put your clothes on," you finally decreed.

"Can I?" he mumbled, a half-smile blossoming on his face.

Before you could even reply, though, Leon grabbed you firmly by the waist and went down on his back, pulling you with him. He landed right on your pillow, but the moment he hit the soft fabric, a strange, crinkling rustle reached your ears.

Leon froze completely, then slowly arched an eyebrow. As you pushed yourself up, propping your hands against his chest, you could see genuine bewilderment written all over his face.

"I really hope that wasn't my spine," he grumbled, not moving an inch.

Heat rushed to your face as you remembered what you had hidden there. Instinctively, you reached under the pillow to track down the evidence, but Leon, seeing your reaction, was quicker. He anticipated your move and dove beneath the fabric, fishing out a slightly crumpled, colorful bag of gummies a moment later.

"It's just... for a rainy day," you began, blushing even deeper as Leon watched you with pure amusement.

"So these are the kind of wicked deeds going on here while I'm away..." he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, then he rolled you to the side and propped himself up on an elbow, tearing the bag open and rummaging through its contents.

"Leon, you literally just brushed your teeth!" you pointed out, trying to deflect from what you had hoarded in the bed.

Leon merely shrugged and popped two gummies into his mouth at once. Before he even had time to chew them properly, his face contorted into a hideous grimace, he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the sour treats with difficulty.

"And they're sour, too?"

You laughed quietly at the sight. "My beloved agent, the bane of the most terrifying creatures, just got defeated by a fake lemon."

In response, Leon only looked at you from beneath half-lidded eyes and shoved another two into his mouth.

"They don't stand a chance against me."

"I thought you didn't like them."

"I have to make sure I don't like all of them," he grumbled, giving you a faint smirk. You joined in on the brief feast, trying to snag some for yourself as you watched the bag's contents dwindle surprisingly fast.

When you finished the "meal," you sat astride Leon's hips, mindlessly tracing patterns on his stomach with your hand. He watched you in silence for a moment before blurting out:

"Next time, I'm requesting a different flavor."

"It can be a different flavor, honey, but they're still going to be sour," you replied in an innocent little voice.

"And why is that?" Leon's gaze, though questioning at first, very quickly began to sweep over your figure.

"Because I already get enough sweetness just by looking at you, Leon."

Leon's face went completely blank with surprise in a split second.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked at last, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well... that you're sweet. Cute." you mumbled shyly, unable to suppress a genuine half-smile.

Leon watched you in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Not true. I'm fierce. And dangerous," he mumbled with feigned seriousness, his eyebrows almost meeting.

"Of course you are, teddy bear. If you say so," you replied, unable to stop yourself from laughing.

"Talking back, too..."

Before you could even realize what was happening, Leon bucked his hips, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward onto him in surprise. He caught you with his hands just before his face and, locking you in a strong, tight embrace, kissed you hungrily.

Leon slammed his lips against yours so hard it knocked the wind right out of your lungs. For a fleeting second, you tasted the sour tang of the gummies again, but it quickly dissolved into the steady warmth of his breath. You could barely keep up with returning the kiss – Leon kissed you heavily and possessively, every single inch of your mouth belonged to him in that moment, and the slightest parting of your lips was enough to feel his wet tongue inviting you to dance.

His large hand gripped the nape of your neck in a powerful hold, while the other roamed from your hip to your backside, as if he needed to re-memorize every piece of your body after being away for a week. He pressed you against him so tightly that you could clearly feel the thudding of his heart.

Every time you tried to catch your breath, Leon deepened the kiss, a low hum rumbling against your lips, his vibrations instantly sending shivers through your body. You knew that in this desperation and in every movement of his mouth was everything he couldn't put into words, everything he couldn't name. You felt gratitude in it, a reassurance that you were truly here, and a promise. He sucked on your bottom lip and nipped at it gently, only to soothe the bite a moment later with a swipe of his tongue, completely taking control of the rhythm of your mouths. You surrendered to him, knowing that in this moment you didn't need anything else, that everything you needed was right there in your arms.

When Leon finally pulled his face away for a second, you were both panting heavily. You rested your forehead against his, seeing that his eyes were still closed. His fingers against your neck were trembling slightly.

Once your breathing evened out, Leon let his head fall limply back onto the pillow and looked at you from beneath half-lidded eyes.

"I missed this," he murmured softly, his voice slightly hoarse.

You leaned down and gently kissed one eyelid, then the other, forcing him to close his eyes. "Time for bed. You need to rest." With those words, you tried to untangle yourself from him to reach for the lamp and turn off the light. Leon only looked at you, opening one eye in a suspicious gesture, before reluctantly loosening his grip on you.

As soon as darkness flooded the bedroom, you immediately slid right back to Leon, pressing into his arm and the crook between his neck and collarbone. He smelled almost entirely like home now – soap, Leon, and your fresh bedding. He wrapped his arm around you instantly, pulling you to his side so tightly that you couldn't have slipped a single finger between you. You wedged your leg between his thighs and planted a kiss on his neck.

"Is my fierce chosen one comfortable?" you asked with a hint of amusement in your voice.

Leon laughed quietly under his breath and kissed the crown of your head.

"Not complaining."

You lay there in silence for a couple of minutes at most.

"Leon?" you started again.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" his voice was already incredibly low from the oncoming sleep.

"You know I love you?"

There was a moment of meaningful silence during which you actually wondered if he had fallen asleep along the way.

"Yeah, I think you mentioned something."

You couldn't help it – you cracked him in the ribs with your elbow.

"I didn't know you were already having memory issues..." you teased.

Leon only laughed throatily and turned his head to kiss you hard on the cheek, returning the gesture you had graced him with not long ago.

"I know. But unfortunately, I love you more." to confirm those words, he squeezed you even tighter, if that was even possible.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"And are you going to argue with me about this now?" you asked, beginning to run your fingers through his rough stubble along his jawline, slowly and unhurriedly.

"Always," though you heard resolve in his voice, it was clearly growing weaker and weaker.

So you continued, running your fingertips over his cheek this time and scratching him gently. With every passing moment, you felt the tension vanish from his face, his body relaxing further. His jaw was already slack, his eyes closed, and his breathing steadier.

"You are the most important person to me, Leon. You're my lottery win," you said softly, to which you received only a quiet grunt. Leon buried his face deeper into your hair, and though his breathing was growing heavier by the second, his hold on you never wavered.

You merely reached down for the duvet you had – contrary to all logistics – overruled by lying on top of it, pulling it over your legs as much as you possibly could. You knew that in the sleep that came so quickly, Leon had surrendered himself to you, along with his nightmares and his doubts. That even though he sometimes battled his own thoughts, subconsciously he gravitated toward you, ready to give you everything with absolute trust.

And you, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your hand and his steady, slow breathing, knew that you had managed to banish his demons. And though you knew they would return one day – you would always be ready to fight them.

[souliebird]

[[Dance of the Little Swans Masterlist]]

Daredevil || Benjamin Poindexter x Fem! Reader || 18+

Summary:

After he misses your opening night, you go from Matt Murdock's Swan Princess to Benjamin Poindexter's Angel.

Tags: dead dove do not eat, suicidal ideation, multiple metal illnesses, canon typical themes

1. You're A Little Late

2. Dance of the Little Swans

3. And I Will Never Let You Down

4. Lately, You've Been Trying Real Hard

5. Always Forever

6. Kitty Cat Claws 🌶️🌶️🌶️

7. a hymn called faith and misery

[hoeforicecream]

What a fucking series!!

[deusexgirlfriend]

digital bath — TRACKLIST ben poindexter x gender neutral, journalist!reader my masterlist

summary: after publishing a passive-aggressive article about the avtf's aggression, you've been on the municipal government's (read: fisk's) shit list. your editor at the daily bugle tells you writing a series about the "unfortunate" task force killings will prove that you're unbiased and in support of the mayor. she thinks she’s doing you a solid with this assignment. you think it's her way of driving you insane. an avid reader of yours totally gets it.

warnings! written depictions of snuff films, stalker!dex

knife prty

journal of ardency

dirge

or... read this on ao3!

be sure to check out this awesome fanart too!! :D

[hoeforicecream]

Unfair how insanely good this series was. Absolute cinema.

[requiem01r]

[binchidavinci]

Atta Girl

(Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

'A mugger picks the worst possible person to victimise: you. Leon makes sure they know it.'

The streets near DSO headquarters were quiet and poorly lit. You’d stayed late again, finally finishing the mountain of reports assigned to you.

Lost in your thoughts and digging in your bag for your car keys, a man stepped out from behind you and grabbed your arm. In the split-second between realising something was happening and being hoisted off your feet, you remembered that parking lots were where most assaults happened; you cursed yourself for not being more aware, even after all of the DSO self-defence training.

The man— face clad in a loose-knit balaclava so you could make out his beady eyes — slammed you against the brick wall, trying to rip your bag off your shoulder.

"Give me the fucking purse," he growled.

For a split second, panic hit. Then your training kicked in — the same techniques Leon had drilled into the support staff. You drove your elbow hard into his ribs automatically, exactly like he’d shown you; the man grunted. When he swung at you, you crouched to the side and stomped down on his instep with all your weight. He cursed loudly. You followed it with a palm strike to his nose, but missed, tripping over your own feet and giving the man a chance to lunge for your bag again— angrier, this time. Fuck.

The man went to grab your face, hands squeezing at the sides of your neck, jaw, cheeks: anywhere he could get his hands on. Your face burned with the rough friction as white-hot adrenaline coursed through your veins. You screamed: it didn't even sound like you when you heard yourself pleading.

Then: “Let her go.” You heard the voice before you saw the face.

Agent Leon Kennedy— your boss at the DSO— moved like a predator across the parking lot. You put all your effort into turning your head to look at Leon and, in shock, the mugger's hold had loosened on your neck, leaving Leon free to slam him into a wall with terrifying force, his head bouncing off the concrete as though it were made of rubber.

Gasping for air and scooting hastily backward on your hands and feet away from the scene, you watched as Leon went back for him. You realised, with horror, that the calm, cool composure that Agent Kennedy was known for had disappeared as he drew his pistol and pressed it under the man’s chin, eyes burning with cold fury.

He snarled, voice low as he stood over the man: “I should paint the wall with your brains, you bastard.” Leon disengaged the safety clasp, hauling the man from the ground by his collar as he pressed the cool steel to the man's covered face.

“Leon,” you shouted from your spot, back pressed to the wheel of a car. “Don’t do this!”

You had never called Agent Kennedy 'Leon', before, but you had to get his attention before he made a decision that haunted him.

Agent Kennedy's jaw clenched so hard you thought it might crack. His finger hovered near the trigger. For a terrifying moment, you weren’t sure he’d listen, or care what you had to say: you were just a receptionist, and he was Leon S. Kennedy.

Then, he slammed the mugger to the ground hard enough to knock him out, and lowered his gun, looking half-relieved and half-enraged. Only then did he turn to you, pinching the bridge of his nose. His angular blue eyes scanned you quickly, taking in your split lip and the way your hands were trembling. His rage crumbled the second he focused on you. He stepped toward you slowly, hands outstretched, and gently crouched down in front of you.

“You okay? Just a split lip?” he tentatively reached up to wipe your bottom lip with his calloused thumb. His eyes scanned over your huddled form, searching for any major wounds.

You nodded, but you were still blabbering through tears. “I tried to use what you taught us, but I—”

Leon’s expression shifted as he interrupted you. “No— you did good, Y/N. Really good. Most people would’ve frozen, but you fought back smart. Just how I taught you.”

His praise made you cry harder: you didn't think you deserved it. Leon Kennedy had better things to do than play Batman in a parking lot. You should've paid more attention.

You looked down, burning with embarrassment. “God, I feel so stupid,” you whispered, trying to control your crying. “I’m here sobbing over some unarmed asshole and you’ve fought through literal nightmares—"

You couldn't see Leon's expression shift through your cloudy tears, eyes darting around the parking lot like you were expecting another attack, but you felt it when he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your smaller frame. One hand rubbed slow circles on your back while the other cradled the back of your head, cushioning the space between you and the hard surface behind you like he was worried he would damage you.

“Hey,” he said gently against your hair. “Don’t...do that. Comparing yourself..." he scoffed. "You just got assaulted after working late because your asshole boss kept you overtime.”

You managed a small laugh, knowing this was his way of saying sorry for keeping you late.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at you, large hand still cupping your skull. He looked genuinely sorry, like he blamed himself for what happened tonight.

“You protected yourself. Bought enough time for someone to get here." He sighed, dropping his gaze, "and you stopped me from doing something I would've really regretted tomorrow.” His voice lowered, warm and sincere. “You did good, okay, Y/N?”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into his touch, closing your eyes briefly as you nodded. Leon lingered there for a moment, unwilling to move.

Finally, he sighed, “come on.” He shrugged off his jacket and flipped it over your shoulders. “Your car here? I’ll drive you home."

You began to protest, but he cut you off. "Please. I know you just want this night to be over but I can't let you drive like this—in shock." His piercing eyes were unusually pleading, and you knew he was right. It didn't help that you felt weak to his touch. You relented, and he hoisted you off the ground. With one thick arm wrapped around your waist, he allowed you to guide him toward your car— the last one in the lot.

Once he had helped you into the passenger side of the car, one large, warm hand protectively pulled your skirt down where it had receded over your thigh; it was a mindless gesture of affection.

He glanced down at you as he buckled your seatbelt. “Next time you stay after dark, you come get me. I don’t care what time it is, okay? I’ll walk you out myself.”

You nodded and mumbled something like a thank you Agent Kennedy.

“Atta girl," he smiled as he gently closed the door.