i am so fond of dominant, daddy, talk you through it jack obviously but i need a moment for my favourite out of practice, fumbling hands, a little sad jack...
the jack who IS outgoing and funny, he's confident and has no problem telling you the procedure you just did? badass. he's cool jack abbot but he's also jack abbot who hasn't thought about dating in years
widow jack who didn't go near a woman for so long after his wife's death (rip) nor did he want to, lost interest in that whole part of his life because it didn't matter anymore. threw himself into work, at the hospital or on swat shifts. anything to stay busy so there wasn't a quiet moment :(
the jack that has eyes for you but won't make a move, convinced you don't reciprocate his feelings. why would you?? he's older, sadder, sees himself as damaged goods. god you're down so bad and he doesn't even know it
the jack that's awkward sometimes, flirts with you then winces after that it was too much. so out of practice, just used to barking orders in the ED or asking you for updates on your patient at handover. so yeah, he's a little nervous asking about your weekend or what you like to do in your free time
the jack that's a little taken aback when you ask him to get a drink after work. he assumes you mean with the rest of the shift too but you assure him you'd rather it was just the two of you. he doesn't want to get too close or let your thighs touch in the booth. he pays for everything of course, elated to be sat beside you, listening to you laugh. he's shocked you want to know so much about him???
the jack who fucks you slow, fingers intertwined above your head, checking you're okay, how it feels. jack who's scared he'll cum at the first touch of your hand bc he's so worked up for you, hasn't slept with anyone in so long, hardly even touched himself. he moans deep and low, paying attention to every noise u make and the aftercare?? unmatched
the jack who's sadness and darkness doesn't just disappear because he meets you. sure you help, you're perfect for him, he ends up loving you, devoting himself to u but his baggage is still there. he'll still go up to the roof, maybe not as often but he has memories and trauma, his leg will always be gone and he'll worry you're throwing your life away for him. jack has a past!!! i want to hear about it !!!!
summary: you've always found Jack's command of the emergency department to be extremely sexy. after you have an unfortunate incident in the ER you need your husbands care more than ever. only dr. Jack Abbot can help you with a really bad ache.
contains: MDNI! established relationship, fluff, tiny bit of angst, smut, descriptions of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, readers age not explicitly stated (but it's age gap in my heart)
word count: 8.3k
author's note: 1,000 followers special!!! truly grateful for each of you :) i'm not really sure if this is true med play but i gave it my all! hope you like it <3
It all started with an emergency appendectomy. The Pitt was buzzy for a Tuesday night and you had been called down from the surgery department so many times you just started lingering around the hub in the early hours of the morning waiting for another, inevitable consult. Being the Pitts favorite trauma surgeon definitely has its perks, getting to work alongside your husband Dr. Jack Abbot being your favorite.
“What do you got for us, Amboy?” Jack says, as Medic Amboy wheels in a middle aged man on a stretcher.
“Allen Billings…” Amboy says, “Pallet of roofing tiles fell eight feet, hit his upper arm with an open dislocation.
“Ouch.” Ellis winces.
“Lena let’s get surgery in here, stat,” Abbot calls to the charge nurse, “ask for-”
“Yeah, I know who you want,” Lena smiles, her ear to the phone, already paging you.
“Two rounds of fent, 1 then 0.5 per kilo. A and O, with good vitals.” Amboy guides the gurney into trauma one.
“Nazely, hold the arm steady,” Ellis instructs.
“Sure,” Nazely says, looking slightly wide-eyed.
“Uno, dos, tres,” Ellis counts and the group lifts Allen from the stretcher to the bed, “Mr. Billings, I'm Dr. Ellis, this is Dr. Abbot, and Dr. Toomarian.”
You push in the door, rubbing your hands with sanitizer, giving Jack a little smile before introducing yourself to the patient.
“Best surgeon in the hospital,” Jack adds and you roll your eyes, trying not to blush.
“Oh, it really hurts,” Allen cries in pain.
“We’re gonna take care of that, okay?” You look down at Allen with softness in your eyes, an unusual contrast to the typical severe nature of trauma surgeons. It’s how you caught Jack’s eye in the first place, “any headache, chest or belly pain?”
“No, just the arm,” Allen says through gritted teeth.
“Sats 99. Pulse 104. BP 116/78.” Mateo calls out.
“What do you think, Dr. Toomarian?” Jack turns to Nazely.
“Oh, um, it is an open dislocation,” she says, looking down at the gruesome state of Allen’s arm on the bed.
“Can you be more specific?” Ellis asks.
“I think it's inferior,” Nazley bends forward, trying to get a better look.
“Do you remember the name for that?” Jack says.
“Sounds like a Harry Potter spell,” you offer.
“Um-” Nazley pauses, looking back at you for help.
“Luxatio erecta,” you say, soft and encouraging.
“Correct,” Jack smiles at you, “check the neuro-circ,”
“Alright, Allen, can you feel me touching you?” Nazley says, and Allen nods, “okay, good. Can you wiggle your fingers?”
“Yeah,” Allen says, winces as he does so.
“Good radial pulse,” Nazley says.
“Let’s get ancef and gentamicin on board,” you say to Mateo before turning back to Allen, “that’s gonna take care of the pain for you, alright?”
“Okay,” Allen says, looking a touch relieved.
“Sedate for traction, countertraction,” you say as Mateo injects the meds into the IV, “and he needs a CT angiogram to rule out vascular injury.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Jack says, beaming at you, “ok, sedation orders, Dr. Ellis.”
“100 of propofol,” Ellis says, “titrate to effect,”
“Be back with that,” Mateo says, quickly exiting the room.
“Now irrigate like hell, Nazely,” Ellis says.
“Ok,” Nazley replies, beginning to wash out the wound with saline.
“How you feeling, Allen?” You say, warmth in your voice, Jack’s heart flutters. Mateo pushes back into the room, hooking up Allen’s IV to the propofol. Your eyes drop back to Allen, “ok, we’re going to sedate you so that you’re unconscious for the procedure.”
“Ok,” Allen says, already hazy. Slowly, his eyes flutter closed.
“Alright lets get the band around his shoulder,” you say, moving to the right side of the bed, “Ellis you’re with me,”
Ellis moves across the bed from you, taking Allen’s arm in her hands, gripping down firmly. You take the band in your hands and rest your foot against the bed for leverage.
“Okay, on my count,” Ellis nods at you, “one, two, three.”
“Come on,” you groan, pulling as hard as you can on the band, “humeral head is not reducing,”
You and Ellis release the tension with a huff, both trying to catch your breath. You turn to Jack, silently asking for help.
“Okay, we're gonna get this back in,” Jack says, moving beside Ellis, “Nazely, stick four fingers under that humeral head,” he mimes the movement he wants her to make.
“Really?” Nazley raises her eyebrows.
“Yeah, get in there really, really deep,” Jack says, and you can’t help but notice how that makes your heart flutter, “and when you feel the traction and lift it above the glenoid, that will convert this to an anterior dislocation, and it should pop right back in.”
“Okay,” Nazley slowly slides her fingers under the bone and looks back up to you.
“Ready to go,” you say, “one, two, three,”
A loud thunk echoes through the room as the bone pops back into place. Everyone lets out sighs ranging from relief to amazement.
“Oh, very cool,” Ellis says, looking down at Allen’s shoulder. You move to the opposite side of the bed, taking Allen’s arm in your hands, moving it around to test the mobility.
“Great movement,” you smile, “let’s get sterile saline dressing on him,”
“Shoulder immobilizer and CT,” Ellis adds and you nod in agreement. You snap off your gloves and turn to Jack, who now stands in the corner of the room, his arms crossed, a small smirk on his face. You walk towards him, unable to help a smile forming on your lips at your sexy, smart, doctor husband.
“You’re very good,” you drop your voice so only he can hear, “that was… very attractive…”
“Yeah?” Jack has that knowing, sultry look on his face that’s usually reserved for your bedroom.
“Mhm,” you nod, your bottom lip between your teeth, “is that weird I thought that was sexy?”
“I’d hope you find me sexy,” Jack drops his hand to your waist, giving a small squeeze.
“Oh, I do,” you say, “very much so,”
“Alright, lovebirds,” Ellis interrupts your flirty banter, “let’s move Allen to a patient room, free up this trauma,”
“You got it,” you turn to her, eyes lingering on Jack for a moment, shooting him a little wink. He just smiles and shakes his head. You get Allen situated in a room in the north corridor, everyone clearing out besides you and Jack. Suddenly you feel a little chill run down your spine as a cramp swells in your abdomen and Jack notices immediately.
“You ok?” Jack's eyebrows furrowed at your flushed stare.
“Yeah,” you smile with a breath, resting your hand on your husbands hip, gently squeezing, “just need some water,”
“My water bottle’s near Lena’s computer,” Jack says, taking your hand from his hip, rubbing small circles on your skin.
“Go take a break,” Jack smiles, backing out of the room towards Shen's calls for an assist on an incoming patient.
"You're not my boss!" You call after him, and even though you can't see his face you know he's smiling. You wander towards the hub, squeezing your waist trying to relieve your cramps a little. Your period was early and the ache in your pelvis was uncomfortable but not something you had to miss a shift over.
Breathing deeply you sit in a swivel chair near Lena grabbing Jack’s water bottle taking long, desperate sips. Suddenly a wave of nausea washes over you. Something doesn’t feel right. Nausea, stomach pain, and is it starting to get cold in here? You know these symptoms by heart. You gently press in on your stomach, releasing pressure suddenly, the pain immediately feeling worse.
“Hey Lena,” you say, holding your head in your hands, trying to hide the strain in your voice, “Do you see Jack anywhere?”
“I’m not the one married to him,” Lena teases, her eyes still on the computer.
“I need a consult,” you say, becoming more nauseous by the second.
“Who’s the patient?” Lena asks.
“Um,” you swallow hard, “me I think,”
Lena finally looks down at you.
“Jesus, you’re white as a ghost,” Lena lifts her hand and presses the back of it against your forehead, “you’re burning up.” She looks up at the board to see which room is free.
“Olive, get Abbot to central 7 stat, we’ve got a code beige,” Lena says, resting her hand gently on your back, guiding you to the patient room, “Mateo, with me,”
“What’s up with you?” Mateo says, genuine concern in his voice as you flop back on the gurney.
“Please don’t use your nurse voice on me,” you breath, “I’m not a patient,”
“You’re about to be,” Mateo says, a little more playfulness in his voice, as he lines up the needle for your IV.
“Yeah,” you admit defeat, “I think it’s phlegmonous appendicitis… I don’t think it’s burst yet,”
“Thanks for the consult,” Lena says.
“Hey,” Jack pushes into the room with urgency, concern all over his face, “hey, what happened?”
“I thought it was cramps,” you say, suddenly feeling like you can’t hold it together anymore, not with him in the room. How could you? He’s your safe person.
“You’re ok,” Jack says, snapping on a pair of gloves. He leans forward pressing his lips to your forehead, “yeah, fever, what’s her temp?”
“102,” Mateo says.
“Didn’t realize that was the standard of care,” you weakly joke, making Jack smile softly.
“I’m gonna touch your stomach ok, baby?” Jack says, steady and focused.
“Ok,” you whimper.
Jack slowly pulls up your navy scrub top and presses his gloved hands to your stomach, feeling around your abdomen, “let’s get the ultrasound,”
“Up and running,” Mateo says, already handing Jack the wand and jelly.
“Abdominal rigidity,” Jack says, clicking his tongue, he squirts the jelly on your stomach and moves the wand against your skin, “let’s get Ceftriaxone plus Metronidazole on board,”
“You got it,” Mateo says, injecting the meds into your IV.
“Suppurative appendicitis,” Jack shakes his head, in worry for you as his wife more than his patient, “call the OR, we need a room now,”
Lena grabs the phone in the room calling up to the OR with urgency.
“It’d be nice if all our patients could diagnose themselves with your level of accuracy,” Mateo smiles at you. The pain meds start to kick in and you smile back, breathing out a laugh.
“Hey,” Jack snaps at Mateo, “not funny,”
“Jack,” you say, taking his hand, making him look down at you, “it was a little funny…”
“Surgery says to bring her up now,” Lena says, hanging up the phone, “they’re ready for her,”
“Ok,” Jack says, and suddenly the color drains from his face.
“Hey,” you squeeze his hand, “I’m gonna be ok,”
“I know,” Jack says, but his voice trembles.
“My guys can do an appendectomy in their sleep,” you say softly.
“I think I’m supposed to be comforting you right now,” Jack lets out a sad laugh.
“Mm,” you hum with a smile, “maybe…”
“Let’s get a move on, folks,” Lena says, unlocking the wheels to the bed. The group pushes you towards the elevator, Jack keeps one hand on the guardrail, the other firmly in yours. They make it up to the third floor and push you through the surgery department.
“What the hell did you do to her down there?” Jennifer, the surgery charge nurse, says to the Pitt crew as they roll past the hub.
“They burst my appendix,” you say from the gurney, playfully, “on purpose!”
“OR two is ready for you baby,” Jennifer says, nodding you all in that direction, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, clearly trying to hide her own anxieties for you.
“This is really fucking weird,” Garcia says as they push you into the OR.
“Relax, Yoyo,” you smile.
“Oh, I’m relaxed,” Garcia says, “you’re about to get the best appendectomy in the history of this hospital,”
“Can you take this seriously, Garcia?” Jack snaps at her.
“I’m deadly serious,” Garcia snaps back.
“Jack,” you squeeze on his hand, “she’s got this. Come here, give me a kiss,”
You pull him down to you and he places a sweet, soft kiss on your lips.
“I’ll see you in an hour,” you whisper with a smile.
“I love you,” Jack says, stroking your cheek, “so fucking much,”
“I love you so fucking much,” you say back.
“Adorable,” Garcia says flatly and Jack wonders how the two of you are such close friends, “can you please get out of my sterile field now?"
“Don’t watch,” you point a finger at Jack as he backs out of the room, “don’t do you dare watch them cut me open. Your heart will give out and they don’t need another patient to worry about.”
“I got him,” Mateo says, taking Jack’s shoulder, slowly guiding him out of the room.
“Hold him back if you have to, Teo,” you smile.
“You got it doc,” Mateo says, and pulls Jack out of the room.
It had been less than an hour. A perfect surgery, Garcia had said, and Jack knew she wasn’t just hyping herself up. There was a softness when she had come to get him that let Jack know she was taking this as seriously as he was. You were laying in a private recovery room on the third floor, the anesthesia still not worn off, while Jack sat in the room beside you, nervously tapping his foot.
Jack’s head snaps up when he hears you let out a little groan, he stands and walks right up to your bedside, pushing down the guardrail. Your eyes begin to flutter open.
“Hey, hey,” Jack says softly as your eyes open, pressing up against your bedside, taking you hand in his, “there she is. How are you feeling?”
“Mm,” you groan, “I feel tired,”
“That’s ok,” Jack says, “your only job right now is to rest,”
“Are you… my doctor?” You say looking up at him, a twinkle of confusion in your eyes. The lingering anesthesia is making you a bit delirious, “you’re very sexy for a doctor,”
“I’m not your doctor,” he shakes his head with a smile. You squint at him like you don’t believe him, scanning him up and down, your eyes stopping on his hip.
“But your badge says doctor,” you say, grabbing his ID, pulling it toward you, bringing it comically close to your face, “Dr. Jack Abbot,”
“I am a doctor but I'm not your doctor,” he clarifies, smiling down at you. “I'm your husband.”
You let go of his badge, seemingly shocked at this information. His ID snaps sharply against his hip and he winces through his smile.
“Oh my god,” you smile and reach toward him, grabbing the bottom of his scrub top and trying to pull him closer towards you, “are you in love with me?”
“I am,” Jack smiles, gently removing your hands from his shirt, holding them firmly in his, “I love you very much,”
“Wow,” you say, bringing your hand up to your cheek, “and I’m in love with you too,” you say it as a statement more than a question but Jack nods anyway.
“God, I hope so,” Jack teases.
“Do all doctors look like you?” You say, your eyebrows furrowed like you’re genuinely confused.
“Old?” Jack says, teasing you.
“Pretty,” you say, twirling the string of his scrub bottoms between your fingers.
“Is that right?” He says, unable to wipe the smile off his face.
“Mhm,” you nod with your bottom lip between your teeth, “very pretty,”
“Well, I’ve got news for you,” he says, “you are very pretty too,”
“You think so?” You say, practically giving him heart eyes.
“Mhm,” Jack nods.
“Is that why you married me?” You ask, looking up at him with a look he can only describe as innocent.
“I married you because you’re brilliant, fun, sweet, witty, compassionate, grounded… you being beautiful is just a bonus”
Your mouth drops open as you look up at him, entirely enchanted.
“No… I remember you… Doctor Jack Abbot,” you draw out his name.
“I’d hope so,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand.
“Sit,” you smack the bed next to where you lay, “sit with me,”
Jack perches his hip on the bed, not wanting to press against your body, still a little worried about your recovery. But he couldn’t be enjoying this more. Of course you’re always flirty with him but this wasn’t quick or clever, not your usual banter. This was unfiltered and raw. It was like you were a lovesick teenager, the way you were ogling him.
“How do you look so cute after having surgery?” He says, knowing this will make you blush. You giggle and tuck your head against your shoulder, bashfully.
“You’re cute,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes at him. You take his hand, spinning his gold wedding band around his finger. In a moment of realization you quickly look down at your own finger and see that it’s empty, snapping your head back up to Jack.
“They took off your jewelry for surgery,” Jack says, “I have your rings.”
You smile that brilliant smile he loves so much as you hold your hand out, flexing your fingers as if he’s about to propose to you. Jack laughs and gets up, grabbing his backpack and pulling out a small pouch where he put your rings, he wasn’t just gonna let them float around in his pocket.
“This is your wedding ring,” Jack says, taking your left hand and sliding a simple gold band onto your ring finger. You take a dramatic gasp in.
“I do,” you say, looking down at your hand, Jack laughs.
“And this is your engagement ring.” He pushes a second ring on your finger, the diamond is brilliant, set on a gold band that matches your wedding ring, and his. You look down, wiggling your hand, making the diamond sparkle in the light.
“Pretty,” you say, looking utterly captivated, “so pretty,”
“You don’t usually wear your engagement ring to work, guess you forgot to take it off this morning when you weren’t feeling well,” Jack rests his hip on the edge of the bed again, stroking your hair gently.
“I would never take this off,” you say, looking at him almost befuddled, nuzzling the side of your face into his hand.
“You don’t ever have to take it off my love,” he says and you beam at him.
“I won’t. Ever.” You look down at your hand, giggling to yourself. Your eyes snap up to his, a mischievous glint in them as if you just got a brilliant idea, “are you allowed to kiss me?”
Jack smiles, shaking his head, almost in disbelief at your flirty earnestness.
“Yeah, I can give you a kiss,” he says, cupping your cheek, and leaning forward, placing a sweet, soft kiss on your lips. He pulls back slowly, gaze moving over your face. Your eyes are still closed, and you have a silly little smile on your mouth. Your eyes flutter open.
“Hi Dr. Abbot,” you smile at him, entirely smitten.
“Hi beautiful,” he smiles at you taking your hand and kissing it
“I need to tell you something,” you say, in a whiney voice.
“Ok,” Jack says, excited to see where you’re going with this.
“It aches really bad,” you whine and Jack tenses, switching into doctor mode.
“Where does it hurt, baby?” He stands, squeezing your hand, his eyes already scanning over your body looking for signs of injury. You grip down on his hand and move it down your body, placing it between your legs, right over your core.
“Right here,” you whimper, “I need you to make the aching go away.”
Jack lets out a breath that’s a mix between disbelief and amusement. He moves his hands back to your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands.
“Baby, I need you to listen very carefully,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “are you in pain right now?”
“No,” you pout, seemingly frustrated your master plan has failed.
“Ok, that’s good,” Jack nods, trying not to smile at your cute sulking, “when you say aching, what exactly do you mean?”
“I want…” you sigh, exasperated that he’s making you explain, your voice dropping to a whisper as you look at him with huge eyes, “I want to have sex with you, Dr. Abbot,”
“Oh my god,” Jack breathes out sharply in amusement, hanging his head forward before looking back up at you, “you don’t have to call me Dr. Abbot, baby, you can just call me Jack,”
“Jack,” you whine, reaching for the waistband of his scrub bottoms, hooking your fingers in, “it’s an emergency,”
“You wanting me to fuck you is not a medical emergency,” he says sweetly, grabbing your wrist, gently placing your hand back at your side.
“I think it is,” you say.
“Ok, should we get your doctor in here and get her opinion on it?” Jack says, the corner of his mouth tugging up.
“I want you to be my doctor,” you frown, your bottom lip protruding.
“I’m gonna take care of you at home,” Jack says, running his thumb over your knuckles, “is that okay?”
This seems to completely distract you, a playful smile spreading across your face again.
“Ok,” you say, smitten, “say you love me again,”
“I love you,” he says, looking at you with pure adoration.
“I love you,” you say, looking at him just the same.
Just as you're about to ask for another kiss there’s a light knock on the door. Jennifer pushes into the room.
“Hi,” she says, keeping her voice soft, “just coming to check on my girl. Should have known better than to let her hang out with you cowboys all night.”
You look up at Jack, not really recognizing this woman or the fact that she’s talking about you. You turn back to her, offering the only information that you’re sure of at this moment.
“I’m good” you say, moving your other hand to Jacks, so your hands encircle his much larger one, “this is my husband, Jack,”
“Yeah, I know Jack,” Jennifer gives an amused smile.
“Still a little groggy,” Jack tilts his head towards you.
“I see that,” she says, moving towards the bedside to check your vitals.
“Are you my doctor?” You ask.
“No, sweetheart,” Jennifer says, looking over her glasses at you, “I’m Jennifer, I’m the surgery departments charge nurse, we work together.”
“We do?” You look at her but turn to Jack to confirm this. He nods.
“Yeah,” Jennifer chuckles, “you’re a surgeon,”
“Wow,” you say, and then look down at your stomach, where your gown has ridden up, exposing your bandages, “did I do that?”
“No,” Jennifer says, seemingly delighted at your question. Jack turns his head away from you, muffling his laugh into his shoulder, “you didn’t do surgery on yourself,”
“Oh,” you look slightly disappointed at this information.
“But you’re my favorite surgeon in this department,” Jennifer offers, and this makes you light up.
“Really?” You say, your eyes wide and hopeful.
“Yeah,” Jennifer nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the word, “we have fun up here,”
“We’re friends,” you look up at her for confirmation.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Jennifer says, “we’re real good friends,”
“Ok,” you smile sweetly at her, “can I go home now? With Jack?”
“Not yet,” Jennifer gives you a sympathetic smile, “you gotta stick around here a few hours just so we can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re all good. I bet Jack will stay with you though,”
“Will you?” You ask with hopeful desperation.
“Of course,” Jack squeezes your hand.
“I leave you two,” Jennifer says, backing towards the door, “holler if you need me,”
“Thanks, Jenn,” Jack says.
“Bye, Jennifer!” You say and she gives you a little wave before the door shuts. You turn to Jack, your hands still wrapped firmly around his.
“Will you sit with me?” You ask, looking up at him, “I’m tired,”
“Yeah, baby,” Jack says as you start to scootch over on the bed, “careful. You gotta be careful. Precious cargo.”
You slow your movements slightly, making room for him. He rolls onto the bed, wrapping his arm around you as you snuggle your face into his neck, slowly falling asleep.
It’s been four weeks since your surgery and you’re growing restless. As a surgeon you know that you’re able to return to your daily tasks after the three week mark, but unfortunately for you, your husband is also a doctor. And he is insisting that you need to wait until the six week mark, until your internal tissue is healed, to go back to work, or do anything else, really.
It’s hard to be annoyed with him because he’s being perfect. So sweet and attentive. He cooks every meal, does all the laundry, cleans the house, and takes care of you: giving you foot rubs, bringing you little beverages throughout the day, checking your stitches every night before bed. He’s been working swing shifts so his hours are shorter and he’s at home when you need him. The only problem is that you need him. And he won’t give in.
He had told you all about your post-surgery flirtations as you tried to cover your face in embarrassment, but that just ended in him pulling your hands away and peppering your face with kisses while he whispered sweet nothings to you. The truth was you did find it incredibly sexy that he was such a good doctor. Watching him control a trauma always made a little heat spread in your chest. And you wanted him to control you that way. Jack liked to be dominant in the bedroom and you loved having him like that, but there was something different about him in the hospital, when he was Dr. Abbot, that clearly got you going.
The two of you haven’t had sex since before your surgery and you were starting to lose it a little. You’ve tried to initiate so many times but each advance is met with something like I want to, baby, so bad, but we gotta make sure you’re all better first. You know he’s being extra cautious because you're his wife. This isn’t even medical advice he’d tell a patient to follow. You both know that. But he’s unbreakable.
Jack knows he’s torturing you. He can see the desperate ache in your eyes when you try to be intimate with him. But this isn’t something he’s willing to take even the smallest chance on. Especially after his first wife. He tries to be logical. You’re healing beautifully. All your follow up appointments have been perfect. But despite what his head is telling him he can’t ignore the thrum of his heart telling him to be careful. It’s getting to him too. He’s spent nights fisting his cock in the shower, yearning for your sweet pussy, unable to get past this nagging voice inside him.
Jack pulls into your driveway after an easy evening shift, low foot traffic, only two traumas. He didn’t change out of his scrubs at the hospital, his stethoscope around his neck, an extra pair of blue rubber gloves in his pocket, a lollipop he had grabbed for a pedes before being hastily called to another trauma. He calls out your name as he comes in the back door but there’s no answer. Maybe you’re napping? He walks across the house to your bedroom and what he sees knocks the wind out of him.
“Hi Dr. Abbot,” you say as he pushes into the bedroom, lit with the glow of a few lamps, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Oh my god,” is the only thing he can think to say at this moment. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, body clad in white, lace lingerie, tits perky in your bra, thong clinging to your hips, thigh high stocking on your impossibly long legs.
“I think I need an exam,” you sigh, “I have a really bad ache that won’t go away,”
You’re looking at him so sweetly but the words go right to Jack’s cock. He drops his backpack at his feet, eyes still fixed on you as he swallows hard, a coy smile on your face. He thinks about you that night after your surgery, how you’d say nearly the same thing to him. Only now he actually has the chance to do something about it.
Fuck it.
“Then we better get you checked out,” he says, playing into your little doctor-patient act, sauntering over to the bed. You bite your bottom lip in satisfaction, looking up at him, spreading your legs so he can stand between them.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, eyes raking over your body with hunger. He drops a hand to his pocket, pulling out the gloves he’d brought home by accident. He snaps the gloves on, stepping between your legs, taking your face in his hands, running his thumb over your cheeks. You let out a little breath at the feeling of the cool latex against your skin.
“Perfect,” he says, almost to himself, and you can’t help but blush, “I’m gonna need you to lay down,”
Jack pushes your chest lightly and you fall back onto the bed, shifting so you’re laying against the pillows, perpendicular to him. He runs a hand down your body from your neck all the way down to your panties, stopping just before the hem, where you need him most.
“You gotta be a good girl and listen to your doctor, ok?” Jack says, his voice already rough with desire, “you gotta use your manners,”
“Yes, Dr. Abbot,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Jack sits on the edge of the bed next to you, he takes his stethoscope from his neck, putting in the ear pieces and pressing the cool metal disc to your chest, right between your breasts.
“Deep breath,” he murmurs, and you do so. He listens to your heart speed up as he moves the stethoscope across your chest. He pulls down your bra, pressing the chest piece to your nipple, making it harden under his touch. He hears your breath hitch, the sound intensified in his ear pieces as he drags the chest piece to your other nipple, making it pearl up as well. He pulls the stethoscope from his ears, tossing it to the side.
“Better take a closer look at these tits,” Jack says, sliding a gloved hand underneath your body, unclipping your bra and throwing it onto the floor. He grips down on your waist, slowly sliding his hands up until his thumbs are right under the swell of your breasts.
“Dr. Abbot,” you whine, trying not to squirm under his touch, “please,”
Jack slides his gloved hands up, squeezing and kneading the flesh on your chest, making you let out a little moan in relief. God, he missed seeing you like this, worked up and eager for his touch. He moves to your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, teasing your hard buds until they ache with sore pleasure.
“Nice and sensitive,” Jack says, his eyes fixed on your chest as he toys with your nipples, his cock straining against his scrubs. He sees you buck your hips up in his peripheral, smirking to himself, but keeps his focus on your chest. He grips your nipples between his fingers, shaking back and forth, jiggling your tits, making the damp spot in your panties bloom.
“How does that feel?” Jack rasps, his eyes tracing your face, your eyelids low with pleasure, lips parted with desperate breaths, cheeks flushed with want. You look so beautiful like this. For him.
“Feels so good, doctor,” you say in a breathy moan, rubbing your thighs together.
“Yeah?” He smirks down at you, kneading the palms of his hands back into your soft breasts, tweaking your nipples, making you squeak, “you like it when your doctor examines your perfect tits?”
“Yes,” you whimper, looking up at him desperately, “I like it, Dr. Abbot,”
“Good girl,” he says, letting go of your aching nipples, resting his hands on either side of you. You take in sharp anticipatory breaths, dying to know what he’ll do to you next, dripping because of your devoted husband's willingness to indulge in your fantasy.
“Gotta check your pulse now, pretty girl,” he says, bending forward, trailing his lips over your sensitive skin, licking up one side of your neck, while his fingers press against your jugular on the other side. Slowly he starts to kiss and suck on your throat. His cock is rock hard, but he resists the urge to palm himself through his scrubs, a little idea of just how he can use his instrument in his exam floating in the back of his mind.
“Mnm, Dr. Abbot,” you whine, keeping your hands by your side even though you’re aching to tangling your fingers in his hair, “feels good,”
Jack only growls against you in acknowledgement. He sucks a deep purple bruise into your skin and the feeling of his mouth on you is just euphoric.
“You got a perfect heart rate,” he says, lips still trailing on your neck, pushing himself up to look at you.
“Feels fast,” you breathe, eyes fixed on his lips, wanting them on yours.
“Mm,” he smirks, “that’s what happens when you get excited,”
Jack lets his gaze linger over you for a moment, your perky tits, nipples flushed a few shades deep with soreness, your little white panties, and these thigh high stockings are killing him. Those are staying on. He pushes up from the mattress, sauntering to the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on you the entire time.
“Show me where it aches, baby,” Jack stares down at you, gaze sultry and wanting. You part your legs slowly and move one of your hands down your body, running a finger over your lacey panties.
“Right here, Dr. Abbot,” you whine, making small circles on your clit, “aches really bad,”
How did he end up with someone so perfect?
“I’m gonna make you feel all better,” Jack says, pulling off his scrub top, “pull your panties to the side, I gotta exam your pussy,”
“Ok,” you whimper, hooking your fingers around the center of your wet thong and moving it so Jack can see your glistening core.
“Fuck,” he whispers before crawling onto the bed, settling himself between your legs, “we’re gonna do an external exam first,”
“Mm,” you hum, more whiney than you expected, planting your feet on the bed as wide as you can to accommodate your husband’s broad frame. You push yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him. He runs his gloved hands over your pussy lips, pushing them apart, watching your hole flutter and pulse around nothing. He can’t help himself, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss right on your entrance making you let out a soft oh sound.
“Is that the standard of care?” You breathe, looking down at him between your thigh, your bottom lip between your teeth. He looks up at you biting back his own grin before pinching the inside of your thighs, right at the top of your stockings.
“Manners,” he says in an almost teasing tone, “or I’ll have to stop my exam,”
“No- please-” you whine, flopping down on your back, “I promise I’ll behave,”
“Good girl,” he says, his voice rough. He moves his hands to your waist, hooking his fingers in the delicate lace of your panties, pulling them slowly down your legs. Throwing them aside he runs his hand up your thigh, his gloved fingers finally on your pussy again, and he starts rubbing firm, slow circles on your clit, “is this where it aches?”
“Mhm,” you whimper, starting to squirm under his touch. Jack can’t help but groan at the sight in front of him: you with your legs spread, tits heaving up and down as you try to control your breathing, little whines slipping past your lips. He wants to make you come just like this. He drags his middle and ring finger through your center, collecting some of your wetness to spread on your clit, and you shiver above him, making a pathetic moaning sound.
“Tell me how this feels,” he rasps, his eyes fixed on your pussy. Your poor, little clit getting puffy and flushed as his fingers move in firm and intentional circles.
“So good, Dr. Abbot,” you say, pushing your head deeper into the comforter, gripping the soft bedspread in your fists as you twitch and squeak beneath your husband. Jack is relentless, rubbing on clit, keeping his eyes on your perfect little hole, obsessed with the way you try and squeeze down on what’s not there. His blue rubber gloves against your slick shine is making his cock twitch in his scrubs. You feel the hot coil tightening inside your pelvis as you whine and moan. He doesn’t even need his fingers inside you to know you're close. He has your body memorized.
“Come on,” he murmurs, “let go for me,”
“Fuck- I-” you gasp as your orgasm takes over you, warmth spreading through your body, blossoming from your core. You wriggle as Jack continues to rub on your clit as you try and come down, but you’re so sensitive from weeks of missing his touch he has to clamp down on your thighs to keep you from shaking too much. Usually he’d throw an arm over your stomach but even now, in the throes of passion, Jack still wants to be gentle, careful not to press against your scars. He watches a little dribble of cream drip down from your hole, swiping it up on his glove.
“You’re ok,” he murmurs, as your breathing starts to slow, “you did so good for me,”
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” you say, your voice slightly shaky.
“I gotta do an internal exam now,” he says, tilting his head to the side, biting back a smile at the way you look at him, wide-eyed and gulping down air.
“Ok,” you say so sweetly that his heart tugs. His good girl.
“Take a deep breath for me,” he says, running his middle finger slowly over your pussy. You inhale sharply, your chest, rising and then falling slowly. He slides his middle finger in with deliberate slowness and you let out a little, whimpery, moan. He fucks you on his finger slowly, his knuckle curling up inside you at an aching pace.
You rut your hips up against him, pushing back on his hand, silently begging him for more. He obliges, slipping another finger inside you, a wet, squelching sound filling the room, mixed with your adorable, sexy squeaking sounds. He curls his fingers, stroking your walls with loving pressure.
Jack keeps fucking you on his hand like this with a steady and unhurried rhythm, drinking in the sight of you. You feel another orgasm deep in your pelvis, spreading like waves, starting to move your hips against his hand. He smirks to himself at your desperate moans, feeling your tight entrance pulse around him. He presses the heel of his palm firmly against your clit, moving his hand in a slow up and down motion, every stroke stimulating both inside and outside your pussy.
“Doctor- mhn- Doctor Abbot,” you whimper, “I’m gonna- I’m-”
You can’t even finish your sentence, the dual sensation of his palm against your clit and his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy overwhelms you in the most perfect way. He feels you flutter and twitch around his fingers, your hips stuttering, he keeps fucking you on his hand with aching devotion, the little creamy ring at the based of his gloved fingers making his chest feel warm in the best way. Watching you fall apart is his favorite thing… his second favorite thing…
Jack pushes himself off the bed standing and turning to face you as you come down from coming on his thick fingers. Slowly, he moves his hand to the waistband of his scrubs, untying his pants, “now we gotta check your gag reflex,”
You sit up, heat swelling in your chest, eyes fixed on his crotch, desperate to get your mouth on him.
“Get on your knees,” he says. You slide off the bed and sink to the ground, looking up at him with eagerness. He pushes his scrubs and boxers down to the tops of his thighs, his pink cock bouncing up against his stomach. You lick your lips and instinctively reach for him but he clicks his tongue, tutting you.
“No touching the doctor's tools,” he says, gripping the base of his cock, giving himself a few strokes with his gloved hand, the cum that you left on his gloves acting as lube.“Say ‘ah’,” he says, a small smirk on his face.
“Ahh,” you repeat, sticking your tongue out, your big eyes shining up at him as he rests the tip of his cock on your tongue. The sound you make gets cut off by a choking gag as he presses himself to the back of your throat. You squeeze your hands between your thighs, desperate to touch him, desperate for him to keep touching you.
“Good girl,” he groans, “taking your doctor’s cock so good,”
Jack pulls back and start to fuck your mouth slowly, god, you missed having his cock down your throat. Spit spills down your neck as you look up at him, his jaw clenched, eyes dark with lust and fixed on you. You slide your tongue along the underside of his shaft as he fucks in and out of your throat, wet, choking sounds filling the room. You hum around his hard cock, loving how he fills your mouth, making your lips puffy and shiny with spit. He pulls out of your mouth abruptly making you let out a strangled moan.
“Ooh,” he coos, almost mocking you, as you try to catch your breath, “are you gonna thank me for checking how good I can make you gag?” tugging on his slick cock, the angry red tip contrasting against the soft blue of his gloves.
“Thank you for fucking my mouth, Dr. Abbot,” you say, still heaving for air but wild for more. Before you can take him in your mouth again he reaches down and grabs you by the neck, pulling you to your feet. You let out an almost frustrated, huffy little whine, and he raises an eyebrow in a patronizing manner.
“What’s the matter?” He smirks, running a gloved thumb over your lips.
“Nothing- I-” you twist your fingers together, looking at him through your lashes, “I just like having your cock in my mouth.”
“Yeah?” He smirks, snapping off his gloves, throwing them to the floor.
“Yeah,” you say shyly, watching the blue plastic fall to the ground. As much as you loved that he used the gloves, as turned on as it had made you, seeing your creamy wetness smeared on the blue plastic, you’re eager for his rough palms on your skin.
“You got a little oral fixation?” He says, tone dripping in condescension.
“I guess so, Dr. Abbot,” you blink innocently at him.
“Yeah, I got something to help with that,” he says, voice deep and dreamy. You start to furrow your eyebrows in confusion but he grabs your waist and pushes you back onto the bed. You land with a soft bounce, catching yourself on your elbows.
He reaches into his pocket pulling out a cherry blow pop that you recognize from the Pitts secret break room stash. He rips off the wrapper before tapping the red candy to your lips, just like he’d done with his cock so many times before.
“Open,” he says, voice rough. You part your lips as he pushes the lollipop into your mouth, cooing at the sight of you like this. You take the stick between your fingers, twirling the sucker in your mouth as Jack perches on the edge of the bed with his back towards you, snapping his prosthetic off and shoving down his pants and boxers. You let out a little sigh as he turns and crawls towards you, settling between your legs. He hooks your thighs around his hips as you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes look almost black as he gazes down at you, his hands running up the nylon on your legs, squeezing your thigh where the thigh-high stockings end.
“You’ve been such a good girl,” he rasps, fisting his cock.
“Thank you Dr. Abbot,” you say after pulling the cherry candy from your mouth with a pop.
“Good girls get rewarded,” Jack says, voice radiating lust.
“Yeah?” You say, batting your lashes at him, sucking on red sweet shifting your hips so the tip of his cock grazes the entrance of your pussy.
“Yeah,” he groans, pulling the lollipop from your lips, leaving you with your mouth slightly parted in surprise. Jack sucks the cherry sweet into his mouth, tucking it into his cheek. It should not be as hot as it is. He notches his cock into your pussy, “ready, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” you whine, desperate for him to be inside you. He smirks down at you, slowly pushing into you, stretching you out with aching passion, making you squeeze your eyes shut. He tuts, stopping his hips, not fully inside you leaving you squirming for more.
“Eyes on me,” he says roughly, pinching your nipple so you look up at him. You force your eyes open, looking up at him, the corner of his mouth tugging up, “good girl,” he says, pulling the cherry candy from his mouth. You stick out your tongue ready to accept your reward for behaving.
As you close your lips over the sticky sweetness Jack pushes into you fully, making you moan around the red sucker in your mouth.
“Yeah, yeah,” he groans, watching you with devotion as he grips down on your hips. He swallows hard, the way you’re squeezing his cock sending a shiver up his spine. Slowly he pulls his hips back before pushing back into you at a tantalizing pace, making you feel so full your toes curl.
Fuck, he missed your pussy so bad. The way your slick insides flutter around his cock, the way you desperately shift beneath him, the way your tits bounce as he thrusts into you over and over. He already feels the deep warmth building in his pelvis, entirely consumed by you. He trails his hands up your body, taking your nipples between his fingers, rolling and flicking and mercilessly teasing them.
“Dr. Abbot,” you moan, “you fuck me so good.”
Jack’s heart and dick twitch at your praise. He’s not gonna last long, overwhelmed by the feeling of your pussy pulsing around him. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over, a creamy white ring forming around the base of his cock. His gaze fixes on your greedy hole, watching you suck and squeeze him as he fucks in and out of you. And you just feel so good, squeezing his cock he just can’t keep up the doctor act anymore.
“Fuck baby,” Jack groans, tucking his face into yout neck, fucking in and out of you, “I love you,”
“I love you,” you whimper. Jack smiles into your throat before pushing himself up on his elbows.
“Say it again, pretty girl,” he says, watching your face flushed with pleasure. As much as he loves this little role play, what he loves the best is being intimate with his wife. With you.
“Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers into his curls, “I love you,”
“I love you, baby,” he says, before letting out a guttural groan, “I’m gonna come- I;m gonna fill your pretty pussy with my cum,”
“Please- I- Jack- I want it-” you whimper, struggling to get your words out as your third orgasm comes to a crescendo in your core, “fill me-”
Jack moans your name, cupping your cheek and connecting your lips in a sweet but desperate kiss. Your cherry lips are like heaven. The two of you swallow the other's sounds, pressing your bodies together, trying to be closer than you already are. Jack keeps fucking in and out of you as you both shake through orgasms, the sounds of you wet, slapping sex filling the room. His hips gradually slow and he pulls back, breaking your kiss so you can both breathe a proper breath.
Jack carefully pushes your hair behind your ear with so much love and tenderness it makes you shiver. You feel the mix of your cum and his dripping down your ass as his cock softens inside of you. He shifts his hips back slightly, falling out of you, as you both pant.
“Oh my god,” Jack breathes, shifting his hip to the side of you, his broad body looming halfway over yours, sticking together with a shimmer of sweat. He caresses your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb as you bite back a smile, blushing up at him, “I love you,” he rasps, tucking his face into your neck, “so fuckin’ much,”
“I love you too,” you giggle, tangling your fingers into his tousled curls. A soft moment of silence passes over you before you speak again, “I- thank you for doing that with me,”
“What do you mean?” Jack pulls his head back so he’s looking at you, a small crease between his brows.
“I just-” you give a little shrug, looking away shyly, “I didn’t know if you’d think that was silly,”
“Hey,” Jack says, taking your jaw in his hand, making you look up at him again,“if there’s something you want to try… that would never be silly to me. Ok?”
“Ok,” you nod, gazing into his eyes. He sees a little twinkle that lets him know that you hear him. And that you love him. He gives you a soft, sweet kiss on the lips.
“Next time,” Jack says, dropping his mouth to your throat, pepper little kisses down your neck, “you're gonna be the doctor.”
𓏵 ┊ jack abbot spanks your clit whenever you cum without permission . 18+
it’s hard to hold your orgasm with jack. he’s too experienced, too knowledgeable when it comes to your own body. he knows exactly where to touch you and how to — and on days like these when he’s feeling a little mean. rough-housing your body around and contorting your limbs into all kinds of positions to fit his cock deeper inside of you.
the head of his length nuzzled sweet against your g-spot — the spot that made you whine to jack, telling him to stop thrusting there because it pushed you closer and closer near the edge. “jack… please, it’s too deep— i can’t hold it!” the pitch in your voice shakes, it almost sounds like you’re trying to latch on anything to keep you from hitting the brink of
your toes curling into the muscle of jack’s traps. he has you in missionary, in the most meanest way possible as your back arches off the bed while he bullies against that spongy barrier inside of you.
“mm, c’mon sweetheart.” jack coaxes in that gruff voice with his crooked smile. he knows that request is too much to ask of you, yet he asked anyway. “you can hold it, i know you can.” he reaches a hand out to cradle the side of your face in the center of his rough palm.
his eyes on you, fixated on that little pout of your lips. “f—fuck, i’m trying— i can’t.” you stammer, hands clutching onto whatever is there for moral support as your soft walls choke around jack’s cock.
“fuck… you gotta at least try, baby.” he groans at the pressure overwhelming his length, his hips never halting as he feeds you thrusts after thrusts. “mmph— i am!” you break into a moan, feeling yourself unravel as a knot of pleasure builds near your pussy.
“yeah?” jack breathes quietly, watching you break underneath him before ducking down to peck at your lips. his damp, short-curly locks sprinkled with silver and brown brushing against your forehead gently as he whispers against your plush lips, “‘m sorry…” he says, rising up, and parting your thighs wider as his eyes flicker down to where you two are one.
your bud is plump and swollen, completely on display as the breeze hits your clit which makes you twitch a bit. jack releases one of your thighs and runs the flat side of his hand down your pelvis to your clit, slightly lingering on it with his thumb to hear the noises you make.
“gotta give this, pretty pussy a few love taps.” he fauxes a disheartened look as if he didn’t want to — though the way he’s swelling inside your pussy, and the absent twitches say otherwise before he’s raising a free hand. causing your pulse to race at the quick anticipation before he’s cracking a palm flush against your swollen clit with a wet whack.
“mmgh— j—jack!” you yelp, hands flying around his forearms when you jolt at the sting spreading in between your legs. “i know, baby ‘m sorry.” he apologizes before going for another blow making your spine arch further from the bed.
“please…” your fingers digging into his skin, and biting your lip with teary eyes. “shh— just one more.” he murmurs softly, but you’re one away from cumming for the second time. “you liar.” you bite, voice all trembly it makes jack’s cock jump.
jack lets out an amused, breathless chuckle at you labeling him as a liar because those hits were everything, but love taps.
“promise you won’t hate me?” he rasps, giving your abused clit a second to recover before showing her some more love.
You take the duvet and your pillow just as Jack opens the bathroom door. He was getting ready for bed, beushing his teeth and so on, while you thought about your prank.
He stops moving just as he sees you. "Angel, what are you doing?"
"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight." You mumble out, fighting back the giddy grin.
"What?"
"I'm sleeping on the couch." You say a little slower, and Jack just shakes his head at you, still standing in the bathroom doorway.
"Why?" Jack's mind is raking through everything that could have happened today to get you to sleep there.
"Just because." You shrug, slowly inch closer towards hallway.
"Are you mad? Did I do something?" Jack finally moves, but stops before he gets too close to make you more upset or mad when you clearly don't want to be close to him.
"No. I just want to sleep on the couch."
"C'mon, doll, give me a real answer. We can just talk it out or-or I'll sleep on the couch. You sleep here." Jack tries to reason with you but for a reason Jack can't even fathom, you are set on on the couch.
"It's okay, handsome. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, love you." And then you are off, settling yourself on the couch as you giggle into your hand.
It takes Jack 10 minutes to lull over what he should do. You hear him turn off the bedside lamp and then the rustle of his duvet.
Jack's torn between giving you the space you need and between missing you. But the decision comes and you hear the sound of his crutches on the floor as he moves through the dark house.
You hear him stop next to the couch and you have to cover your mouth so he doesn't hear you giggle. It's quiet for a second before the cushions in front of you dip, and Jack slides in next to you.
"Oh my god, Jack. You're gonna fall." This time, you let the laugh escape you. Because this ridiculous man hold ons to you for dear life just so he doesn't fall on the ground.
"Don't care." He murmurs, practically manhandling you on top of him. "It's your fault, angel. You don't want to sleep next to me or communicate with me. So you're going to sleep like this."
That earns him another laugh from you, your chest shaking. "Okay, okay. Let's go to bed."
"Nope. You're mad. So we're both sleeping on the couch."
"Baby, it was a prank." You breath out in between chuckles, you can see him frown even through the darkness.
"I saw it on TikTok. I'm sorry." You're not really sorry because you are laughing your ass off as you see his reaction.
When his shock wears off, he's clutching you even tighter to him, head buried in your neck. "Oh thank god, sweetheart. You got me so worried."
"Awww, babe, why do you have to be so damn sweet?" Your laughter dies down. You just wanted to tease him a little, not to worry him like this.
"Because my sweetness needs to balance out the fact you are a little minx." There he is. Your Jack with his smart mouth and quick hands. He pinches your side and sits up as you yelp in surprise.
"Okay, come on now, doll. No more couch. My back can't handle sleeping on it." Jack mumbles out. He gets up on his crutches and somehow manages to grab your duvet as well.
"Okay, let's go old man." You tease him and then laugh some more as he shakes his head at you.
"You are really pushing it tonight, huh?" His voice dips deeper as he says it, and you are exactly where you want to be. Teasing him and then squirming under his knowing smirk is your speciality.
God. Maybe you should do pranks like this more often if it gets you this reaction.
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 :)
you’ve only been dating officially for a couple of weeks, and you’ve definitely spent the night at each other’s places, but only in the context of him fucking you to sleep after a date night, or him collapsing into bed after a night shift next to you long after you’ve woken up.
he’s never actually seen your night routine fully fleshed out.
so now, after a rare day shift, when he’s come back to yours using the spare key you’d given him, he’s utterly bewildered to see you curled up in your cloud-like duvet with your tv showing an older southern woman whispering about her aldi haul. the fluffy eye mask skewed on your pillow-smushed face is the cherry on top.
jack doesn’t think to bring it up until the next time he spends the night at yours, his day off meaning you get the same bedtime for once.
“hey, doll”
“hm?” you chirp from the bathroom, heading sticking out from the doorframe with a sheet mask and your toothbrush dangling from your mouth
“what were you watching the other day?”
you stick one finger up, turn to spit and rinse, and then head back into your bedroom, “be a bit more specific, handsome, i watch a lot of shit”
he smiles knowingly- he’s seen your netflix watch list and he’s nit sure how you’ll ever get to the bottom of it, “was some lady whispering. think she was going through her groceries or something”
jack sees the minute your brain computes, your eyelids shutting and lips tightening in embarrassment, “oh…yeah…um”
his eyebrows raise in confusion. how are you supposed to look at your forty something year old boyfriend and tell him the only way you can sleep is by listening to people whispering and making strange noises
“it’s um…called asmr. it’s like whispering and stuff. it-it’s like clinically proven to help people sleep so um..”
“oh. and you watch it every night? it helps you?”
“yeah, i’ve watched it for years. helps with the insomnia sometimes”
“huh.”
two weeks later, you’ve got jack hooked. every night you spend together without him buried inside of you, he’s sat against the headboard with you tucked into him, watching that same woman rearranging nail polishes in walmart or making sandwiches for her kids with drooping, glazed over eyes.
he’d never admit it but the matching fluffy eye mask you bought and silently left on his side if the bed is also made good use of - only when you’re sound asleep.
The way he fills you is surreal. The thickness of him makes your gummy walls stretch to their limit, warm and wet while they grip him tight.
He groans lowly once his hips are flush against yours, your thighs spread wide to make space for his huge body.
You're so full, pussy completely yielding around his heavy cock, and Clark can see that there's not a single thought left in that pretty head of yours.
He presses down on your lower belly and just grinds his hips against yours, rubbing against your g-spot, his fat head brushing your cervix.
You squirm at the feeling of him throbbing deep in you, breathlessly whining out, “Clark.”
“It's so much to take, baby, I know. But you're doing so good,” he assures, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “My good girl.”
Every thrust empties you completely before filling you to the brim again. Over and over, he fucks into you, feeling the way your body struggles to fit his girthy cock even though you’re delighted to have him in you.
“Breathe, baby, breathe,” he reminds you when your little whines and mewls turn into quick, shallow gasps. You try to obey but struggle a little because it feels like you’re so full of him that there’s no space left for air.
And when you two are done, you end up stuffed full of his cum, the thick, creamy liquid warm as it pools against your cervix. It coats your inner walls and drips out of you, dribbling down your ass to gather underneath you on the bed. Clark is quick to help you into a pair of panties so your sore pussy doesn’t waste a single drop of his sticky release <3
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
cw: unprotected p in v, creampie!, hyperspermia, cum eating <3
wc: 260
a/n: i think i'm gonna start doing shorter blurbs for now babes bc i can sort of feel myself getting burnt out and i'd hate to stop writing :(
Clark loves watching you eat his cum.
When he's done fucking you, he'll pull out of you and watch it drip from your puffy cunt for a moment. He then gathers it on his fingers and raises it up to your mouth, smearing it over your lips a little as he says, “Open up, baby.”
And the second your lips part, he's pushing his thick, creamy cum against your tongue. It makes him crazy, watching your lips wrap around his fingers and feeling your tongue trace his digits as you suck them clean. It makes heat pool low in his abdomen, blood already rushing south again.
The thing is, because he's Kryptonian, Clark produces a lot of cum. Like, a lot a lot. So the second you're done licking his fingers clean, he reaches down to gather what's still dripping out of you and gives it to you again.
And you just take it, lapping up the sticky, salty liquid contently, swallowing it all until there's no more dribbling from your cunt.
“That's my girl,” he mumbles, his blue eyes dark with desire as he watches the milky, sticky substance that's coated your lips. He wipes at it with his thumb before pushing that into your mouth too.
By now, his cock is already hard again, and he's got every intention of feeling your warm, tight pussy around him once more.
“Lemme fuck you again, baby,” he whispers, shifting to press the leaking mushroom head against your slick hole. “And then I can give you more cum to swallow, yeah?”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
thinking about older boyf! robby who is too drained to give you exactly what you need so he asks jack to lend a helping hand, his dear friend taking you from behind while robby looks adoringly at your face the whole time, admiring every twitch in your expression, his face turning in awe at every moan and sigh, he coos "taking him so well honey, looking like a fucking vision right now" before he leans in to place a searing, mind bending kiss on your lips, swallowing the "god, mikey, it feels so good-" that you whine against his mouth, robby chuckles at that, he laughs out a teasing "yeah?" that steals all the air from you, thinks its so cute that you're moaning his name when hes not the one buried to the hilt and hitting that spot inside you relentlessly, no- its the person who circles a hand around your neck and forces you to meet his chest behind you, "not my name, sweetheart" jack rasps, smiling teasingly against your ear when you yelp in surprise at his harsh pull
Summary: You take Robby off guard from the very beginning and continue to do so throughout your entire relationship. The first time he fucks you is no exception.
Warnings: +18 mdni, age gap, size difference, inconvenient boners, groping, car sex, oral (both m! and f! receiving), choking (but not rough he just holds u by the neck), dirty talk, explicit consent given, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, semi-public, the glasses stay on (and come off so he can eat u better), talk of alcohol consumption, lightly edited
Note: this was supposed to be a drabble so i'd written it in all lowercase but then it spiraled and i had to go back and edit so if there's some missing capitilization that's why :') also huge thank u to @thykingdoncome for taking a looksie at this (and for putting me on to this sad-eyed man good GAWD)
WC: 3.6k
Robby wasn't used to having a younger girlfriend.
He had never really been the type before you. Had always preferred the maturity of an older woman or one his own age.
But when Trinity jokingly set him up on tinder and he used it seriously one time, he stumbled across your profile. You're so pretty and sweet, with those cute photos with your friends and the one on the back of a boat in a polka dot bikini.
He took a risk. Told himself it was just to try it out. He wasn't doing it seriously or anything. He just needed to get laid.
But that first date? Robby left three hours later than intended, drunk on the ambrosia of your affection and he realized that maybe a younger girlfriend is exactly what he needed.
He used to want to come home to the quiet of his house, to feed the stray cat outside and maybe read a little before bed. He used to like to sleep in on his off days, to spend the time couch rotting with a good book or some mind numbing TV. He used to like ordering takeout and never leaving the house unless he had to.
He saw enough action at work, anyway. no need for more of it.
But you are living life for the very first time and taking advantage of every second of it. Occasionally you'll sleep in until ten, if he's lucky. But you're out the door by eleven. Shopping or visiting museums or driving three hours to a store for some product that finally says it's back in stock.
And Robby—god. He loved to trail behind you the whole time.
He liked to carry your shopping bags and watch you try on clothes just to put them back. He liked to watch you order something new at a restaurant and see your reaction. He liked to watch as you take a hundred photos on your phone and even let you pose him so it turned out exactly like the vision in your head.
He liked hearing your giggle when you turned your phone to show him some silly TikTok he doesn't understand.
He even liked staying out late now, because you're always at a bar or a club. Always on the dance floor with a drink in your hand. Robby liked to watch you dance wildly, liked to watch the lights reflect in your eyes, liked to come home covered in your body glitter and your coconut perfume and your love.
In truth, Robby had been a little nervous thinking about the first time you'd sleep together. Worried he couldn't keep up with you, that you'd want him more often than his age would allow.
Cause, ya know—he's twice your age, and his stamina isn't what it used to be, and you're so alive and so bright and he's so…him. A little grumpy and a whole lot tired.
But what Robby discovered after some time is that his desire for you overshadowed all else.
He looked at your smiling face and all the nerves settled in his head, going from a raging storm to still waters in an instant.
He wanted your first time together to be romantic. Maybe he'd cook you some pasta and the two of you could get wine drunk and stumble up into his bedroom late one evening, and he'd be real sweet and soft. He wanted to make love to you. Wanted you to know just how much you brighten his life, wanted you to know just how cherished you really are.
But what actually happened is far from romantic.
It's not in his bed or even his house. It's in the back of his car, in broad daylight, on a random side street one rainy, Tuesday afternoon.
You'd asked him to stop and try that new coffee place downtown before you went to meet Trinity and Dennis for lunch. The downpour had intensified while you were inside ordering, and by the time you'd ran back to the car you'd both gotten drenched.
An event that would've irritated Robby before you, but how could he be upset about the rain and his wet hair and the droplets on his glasses when you were laughing about it? How could he be upset or irritated when you wore the sweetest smile?
You'd leaned across the center console, took his face in your cold hands, and pressed your mouth to his. you always tasted so sweet, and the combination of your warm tongue against his and the cool, wet slide of the rain on your lips—god. It had him weak in the knees.
Arousal pooled low in his gut instantaneously. He tried to think of other things. Gross things, terrifying things, of anything but you. None of it worked to erase the intensity of his desire.
He was ten minutes away from the diner when he pulled over and admitted what was going on. "Sweetheart, I'm…I'm really sorry, I know you were looking forward to this but I think we might have to cancel."
A crease formed between your brows, and it pained him to see it. "What? Why? What's going on, are you okay?"
Robby's face warmed, and he knew he should probably lie. Make up some fluke of an excuse as to why he'd suddenly had a change of heart and needed to return home at the very last second. But the look in your eyes was full of true concern, and Robby knew he'd never be able to lie. Not to you.
So, he took it on the chin. Swallowed down his embarrassment and said, "Yeah, yeah. But…uhm—when you…when you kissed me, it was really…" he laughed, fingers fidgeting. "It felt really nice. Too nice, actually, and—"
"Oh," you interrupted. "You're hard?"
The words are said so plainly, as if there's nothing wrong with the fact that he'd gotten this worked up over something as small as a kiss. Robby shook his head. "I've tried to get it to go away, but," he scoffed. "It's not—uh, not working, so—"
"Well, let me help you." Your lips turned up at the corners, a knowing smirk forming. you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved closer, leaning over the center console until your mouth is a breath away from his. "Is it okay if I touch you?"
Robby's head turned, glancing out of the rain-clouded windows. There was no one around, and he very much wanted you to touch him, but— "Are you sure? Here?"
Your nod is both certain and enthusiastic. "What better place than here and now?"
He laughed. "Anywhere would be better than here," he said. "My bed, your bed, the damn couch, for christ's sa—"
You palmed at his bulge through the too-thick fabric of his jeans. "Yeah? That's where you wanna fuck me, Mikey? The couch?" Your voice was low and teasing in his ear, sending shivers up his spine.
Robby swallowed, muscles slackening beneath your touch. You squeezed his length in your hand, stroking him with your thumb.
"Or…" you began. "Do you wanna fuck me here?" Your other hand joined the first, aiding so you could unbutton his jeans and slide your hand down the front of them.
He's not wearing boxers—Robby can't stand the extra fabric and the way it bunches—and suddenly your hand was wrapped tight around his aching cock. His head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed as you whispered against the shell of his ear.
"You're even bigger than I thought you'd be. Gonna feel so—so full, when you're inside me." you said, stroking his cock with the perfect amount of pressure. "I think about you fucking me a lot, Mikey. You're just so strong and so big and so fuckin' sexy. You remember when I asked you to send me those pictures when you were in the shower? I've touched myself to them so many times."
It killed him to hear it. To imagine you with your fingers on your clit or buried deep inside you while you're thinking about him. His cock pulsed, throbbing with desire. "This isn't—fuck—this isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to—to be sweet. Dinner and wine and rose—jesus—rose petals and—"
"I don't want rose petals today," you murmured. You licked at his neck, wet tongue sliding up over his pulse, over the stubble there that he's gone a day too long without shaving. "What I want is to suck your cock. Can I do that, Mikey?"
Robby was nodding before he could think any better of it. He lifts his hips just enough to pull his jeans down, cock springing free and resting against his belly, reaching just below his navel. It's thick and aching for you, resting just on top of the dark hair of his happy trail. "'Course you can, baby."
The smile you gave him in response is nothing short of earth-shattering.
Robby doesn't think anyone has ever seemed this eager for him. No one's been so desperate for it. The realization made him feel dizzy with affection for you and the way you worship him, the way you trust him.
You leaned over the center console, took his cock in one hand, and pressed a wet kiss to his tip. Your mouth is so soft and so sweet and so warm. Your tongue swirled around his length as you eased him into your mouth, tracing each vein over and over as if for memorization.
Robby didn't know where to put his hands. He wanted to touch you, to smooth your hair back away from your face. He wanted to reach over and squeeze the supple flesh of your ass through your leggings. He wanted to reach lower, to press his fingers against your folds through the cotton fabric until you moaned for him.
But he didn't know what was too much, or what wasn't enough, and—
You suddenly swallowed him down, taking all of him in your mouth, nose pressed to the thick hair at the base of his cock and it felt so fucking good that he nearly finishes right then and there.
And Robby, on instinct, grabbed the back of your neck to steady himself. "Oh fuck," he choked out. "Careful, pretty girl. Careful, careful—"
You slowly leaned back, mouth sealed tight around him, sucking hard until his cock pops out from between your lips. You turned your head to look up at him, slapping the underside of his length lewdly against your tongue. Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth, sliding messily down your chin. "I love sucking your cock," you said.
A smile stretched across his face. Real and true and happy. "Yeah?"
You nodded in response, teary eyes alight with desire. "Mhm."
"Well, it's not fair for you to have all the fun now, is it?" Robby's fingers curled around the back of your neck, pulling you up and off of him. He guided your mouth to his, the kiss wet this time in a whole different way. His free hand found your neck, bracketing your throat completely between his big hands.
You moaned against his tongue and Robby smiled against your lips.
He pulled away only to instruct, "Why don't you go ahead an' get in the back seat for me, baby."
A grin formed on your face—pretty and submissive and alive with hunger. Robby could get real addicted to this, he thought. Real addicted to you.
He let go of your throat, and watched as you hurriedly did as told. Obedient little thing, so perfect.
Robby followed closely behind. He reached tbeneath the passenger seat to push it forward. The space is too small for him; cramped even when he bends on aching knees to the floor of the back seat.
Kneeling between your thighs, Robby hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and pulled them down, over your high top sneakers. His hands come to feel the softness of your exposed skin, roaming up and beneath your shirt, feeling you this close for the very first time.
Robby palmed your breasts over the fabric of your bra, thumbs running over the subtle swells of your peaked nipples. "You're so pretty," he mused, leaning forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above your navel.
His mouth traveled downward, peppering kisses across your belly until his lips met the fabric of your panties. Robby delighted in the shiver you gave as the warmth of his breath fanned across your cunt. He pressed a kiss right over your clit and grinned to himself as your spine arched.
"Let's take these off, yeah?"
You nodded eagerly, and Robby didn't waste time before pulling your panties away.
"Oh, look at that," Robby muttered. He brought his hand between your legs and slid his fingers gently through your arousal. "So fuckin' wet, isn't she? This all for me, baby?"
"Yes," you breathed out. "Need you, Mikey. So bad."
"I know you do. S'alright, I've got you." Robby took his glasses off and set them on the leather seat beside you, before leaning forward and kissing you right where you needed him most. A shallow breath stuttered out of your chest, but he doesn't give you a moment to gather yourself. His tongue darts out, licking you from your entrance to your clit and then circling.
Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Robby obliged your silent instruction, suckling your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the pulsing nerves.
His heart was beating fast in his chest, his cock aching to be inside you. He had one hand on your breast, and brought the other to your cunt. Robby finds your opening with two gentle fingers and pushed them in.
"Oh god," you cried out. "That's so good. You feel so—fuck."
Robby curled his fingers inside of you, pushing hard against the softest spot."Talk to me, pretty girl," he urged. "Tell me what feels good."
"M-maybe a little…hmm—a little faster?"
He quickened the pace of his fingers and licked at your clit more feverishly, humming when you give a little gasp in response.
"Fuck—yes, yes. Like that. And—your fingers just a little deeper—just—"
Robby listened like a trained dog, heeding your every beck and call. He pressed deeper, thrusting his fingers upwards until—
"Ohmygod, yes—just like that, just like that please. Don't stop, don't stop—"
He doesn't. Robby licked and sucked at your clit until his spit dripped down onto the leather seat below you. He groaned low at the taste of your arousal, ambrosia made just for him. sweet and youthful and delectable.
He didn't deserve it, Robby knew. Your desire, your love, your light. But he'll eat it all up for as long as you continue to give it.
You clenched around his fingers and Robby pulled his mouth away, strings of saliva snapping against his chin. "You about to cum, baby?"
"Yes, yes, please, Mikey I need it—!"
"Nuh-uh," he said with a shake of his head. He pulled back fully, sliding his fingers out of you and rising to his full height. "M'gonna watch the first time you cum for me. Wanna see it on your face. Wanna feel you milk my cock 'til I fill up that sweet little pussy of yours."
A whimper left your mouth, and Robby could do nothing but smile cause he knew. He knew how needy you feel, how frantic that desire made you. He knew because it lived in him, too.
He pressed your legs upwards, setting the soles of your sneakers against the edge of the backseat. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head before picking up his glasses and setting them back on his face. "Take it all off," Robby ordered. "Let me see you."
You do as told, quickly adding your hoodie and bra to the growing pile of discarded clothes.
Robby took a minute just to absorb it all; to memorize the way you looked, spread out for him in the backseat of his car, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. You're the prettiest little thing. Half his age, half his heart.
That four letter L word flitted across his mind, but Robby doesn't give life to it.
Not yet, anyway.
He dragged his hand down the center of your chest instead, but thought you must be able to feel the love in it, manifesting at the very tips of his fingers.
"I want you inside me," you whispered, bringing your hand to his against your chest, holding tight to his knuckles.
Robby nodded and took his cock in his free hand, sliding it through the syrupy wetness between your legs before he lined himself up with your entrance. He pressed his cock in, just the head at first. Enough for him to notch himself there so he can wrap his hand around the back of your neck instead.
He forced you to look at him, eyes locked together as he slowly pushed all the way inside.
You breathed out synchronized sighs of relief the moment he's seated fully inside you, cock pressed right up against your womb.
You're so tight around him, so wet and warm and perfect. Robby began to gently rock his hips, keeping you steady with his heavy hands. One on your chest, the other at the back of your neck. He can feel your heart beating beneath his palm, pulse elevated in the way his likely is.
"God, Mikey—"
You don't need to ask him to quicken his pace, not this time. Robby heard it in your voice. And some old dogs could certainly learn new tricks.
He finds a rhythm that has your eyes threatening to roll back. The perfect tempo, filling you up and fucking you deep. "My girl," he muttered. "My pretty girl. So good to me. Fuck."
Your spine arched off the back of the leather seat, chest pressed more firmly against his hand. "That's so good, so'fucking—mmm."
"Touch yourself for me, baby," Robby said.
You find your clit and circle it with deft, practiced fingers. Robby took note of the direction you move, cataloging the information for later. "It's so—so big—"
"I know, sweet girl. But you can take it, hm? Can't you?"
The words are broken in your mouth, overtaken by a wanton moan.
"I know you are," he whispered. "Can feel her squeezing me real tight. You gonna cum for me already?"
He'd said it as a taunt, but in truth Robby was no better. He'd been fighting off his own release from the very moment he'd slid his cock inside you.
"Look at me," he ordered, fingers flexed around the back of your neck. And once you do, a satisfied smile formed on his mouth. "Good. Good. Now cum for me, baby. Give it to me."
Your breath halted, the exhale stuck in your chest. And then Robby could feel your cunt pulse around him, and you let out a ragged whimper as your release rocked through you. "Cum with me, please," you cried. "Want you to cum inside, Mikey."
That's what did him in; the sound of your voice, whining out his name. A moniker he only ever allowed you to call him. So fitting, coming from the soft, bright thing you are. "Shit," he hissed, his own orgasm clouding the edges of his vision. "Takin' it all, huh? Yeah, that's it. That's my girl."
He didn't stop, not until he was well and truly spent. Until he'd fucked all of his release into your cunt, until his cock was sensitive and your breathing evened out beneath his palm.
Robby pressed his mouth to yours tenderly and could feel your smile as it formed. He pulled away, stuffed himself back into his jeans and asked, "What's so funny?"
You shook your head. "Nothing, just…I think Trin is calling me."
It's only when you say it that Robby finally heard the buzzing coming from the front seat. He reached towards it, taking your forgotten phone in his hand and examining the screen to find a photo of Trinity with her head in your lap.
Robby remembered the night he'd taken the photo, some third shift party at John's place you'd insisted on crashing. You'd made friends with Trinity in two seconds flat when she'd confessed her part in his Tinder profile to you, much to Robby's dismay.
He passed the device to you. "Wanna answer it?"
You took your phone, clicked the screen once, and pressed it to your ear. "We're late, I'm sorry, I know," you laughed. "We're on our way. Got stuck in traffic. Order me one of those strawberry lemonades."
Robby helped you find your clothes, tugging your panties back over your legs and righting them around your hips. Your leggings were next, and he tried not to think about his cum that slowly spilled out of you to avoid another stop on the way to the diner.
Robby couldn't fight his grin as he found his shirt to pull it back over his head.
"Trin, no. A shot? It's not even noon—well, yeah, now it is, but—!"
You both climbed to the front of his car, and Robby reached over to buckle you in.
"Well…I mean, if it's a mimosa…"
Robby laughed as he turned the key in the ignition. Knew right then and there he'd probably spend half the afternoon taking care of you, but knew good and well that he'd love every moment of it.
He promised himself he'd give you those rose petals later.
But for now, the vibrancy you've painted in his heart is enough.
i think dennis would be a shh shh shh shusher and not a shhhhhh shusher. especially the first few times he slips into your tight, warm heat… cause he starts talking so fast. he loses all words, all his fantasies and dreams of smooth-talking you through the experience gone because he can’t stop rambling about how good you feel, how cute you look under him.. can barely stop his own hips from jerking forward instinctively as his dripping cock seeks more of your sweet cunt. his hands grab onto the soft flesh on your sides, eyes squeezing shut, willing himself to hold on and not spill inside you just yet.
when he breaks out of his haze to see you letting out soft pants and whimpers from him just resting inside you, throbbing and pulsing with need, he’d coo at you so sweetly…
“shh shh shh, ‘s okay.. i-im here, baby, you’re okay. taking it so well, my sweet girl. mmph- o-oh… feels so good when you squeeze like that. tell me you’re okay, sweets.. i wanna move so bad, please tell me.”
“yeah, yeah im okay… please denny jus’ move already..”
he nods fervently and starts his slow, slow thrusts into you. from here on its almost a competition which one of you is louder, groans and moans getting pulled out of you with every shift of his hips. both of you gripping onto each other for dear life and trying to keep your eyes open so you can see each others face strewn up in pleasure. and soon enough hes rutting against you with reckless abandon, needing more, more, more… but he doesn’t stop talking through all this.
“oh my god, baby, i-i cant… think i’m close already, cant hold it much longer. i gotta slow down, but i dont think i-i… haah, i cant-” he croaks out, hips stuttering.
when he gets like this, it usually ends either with him filling you up and still going for more, using your overstimulated, still spasming hole, or you turning him over and riding him, edging him for hours before he even gets his first orgasm in. your pick !
summary: dr whitaker thinks he has a pretty good handle on his crush on you, until he sees you out of your scrubs for the first time.
pairing: fem!reader x dennis whitaker
warnings/tags: dennis being the little nervous cutie that he is, alcohol consumption, flirting, fluff, swearing, usual medical descriptions that you'd expect from the pitt!
notes: i can't believe it's taken me this long to write for the pitt, I love it sm <3
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
Growing up on a farm, Dennis Whitaker learnt early on the benefits of effectively compartmentalising things.
Like a flick of a switch, he could shut off one part of his brain when he went into work and could switch it back on when he stepped out of the PTMC doors.
It was a skill that served him well as an ER resident. A place where you were literally in sink or swim, life or death situations for 12 hours straight.
Steady hands, steady voice, steady mind. No matter how intense things got, how quickly he needed to react, he handled it.
Which is why his very manageable, very under-control crush on you had never been a problem.
He wasn't completely unaffected of course, he wasn't a total robot.
His heart rate still picked up when you smiled at him from across the pitt, his eyes sometimes lingered just a touch too long when you laughed, his pulse thrummed in his ears when you teased him and said his name coyly - Whitaker - like you knew just how much of an effect you had on him.
He noticed little things too, like the way you pushed your hair back with your wrist when you were gloved up and stressed, how you would bite your lip when you were locked in on charting, or the way you would anonymously (or at least thought you did) leave snacks in the break room for your colleagues.
But it was fine.
You and your radiant smile were completely compartmentalised.
Filed neatly away under do not open - things that will get me fired or someone killed or both if I think about it at work.
Until tonight.
Javadi's 21st birthday - organised by Princess, Perlah and Dana despite her weeks of protesting against it.
He almost hadn't come.
The clinical side of his brain warned him that mixing coworkers with alcohol and personal time was a bad move - teetering way too close to the 'friend' sphere - which would make it all the more harder for him to engage his compartmentalisation switch.
"You literally live with me, I think that ship has sailed Huckleberry." Santos had remarked when he'd confided in her about his doubts.
Amy had texted him that afternoon asking him if he was coming up to the farm. His thumbs had hovered over his phone, willing up the courage to text Javadi to say he wasn't going to be able to make it.
Then, his phone buzzed.
His heart leapt.
A message from you that simply read:
You're coming tonight, right?
An hour later, he was walking to the bar with Santos, trying to keep any thoughts of you shoved firmly in your assigned compartment.
When he stepped inside, he spotted the group instantly. Milling around in a corner clustered around a bunch of high tables, a set of slightly deflated pink balloons numbered '21' floating half heartedly above them.
A chorus of greetings met them as they approached. Dennis tried not to think about how weird it was to see everyone out of uniform, glowing in that post-shift, one drink in kind of buzz.
"Drink?" Santos turned to him.
He nodded, suddenly eager to be on the same level as his colleagues. They had just made their way to the bar when a set of wolf whistles and cheers erupted from their area.
"Watch out Pittsburgh!"
He turned to locate the source of their ruckus.
And then everything - every neatly labelled, meticulously stored thought - came crashing down around him.
You were not in scrubs.
Logically he had known that would be the case. People did not wear scrubs to bars. You were not going to be an exception. He had psyched himself up for this exact sight on the walk over.
But seeing it in person was something he could never have prepared himself for.
Your hair was down and styled, not tied back in that purely practical way he had grown so used to. Your makeup sculpted your features in a way that made you look even more angelic than usual.
Your outfit fit your body perfectly, hugging you in places and curves he had never dared to let himself think about, had trained himself very deliberately never to follow.
He found himself silently thanking the inventor of scrubs for designing them to be so baggy, because if this is how you looked all the time - he wouldn't be able to control himself.
Heck, who was he kidding, how was he ever going to control himself again now that he'd seen you like this?
He watched as you crossed the crowded bar, oblivious to the hungry looks of random men that you passed. A huge grin was on your face as you twirled around to show off your outfit to the group, causing another huge bout of cheers.
There was no clipped efficiency, no fluorescent lighting washing you out, no neat, clinical version he could pretend was easier to ignore.
This was what everyone else outside of the pitt had the privilege of seeing.
It felt almost wrong, like he was seeing a version of you that he hadn't been cleared access for.
"You might want to put your tongue back in your mouth Fuckleberry."
Dennis' cheeks bloomed violent red.
"W-what?" He stammered, finally tearing his eyes away from you.
"Trust me, I have eyes too. I get it." Santos continued, her gaze flickering over to you. "But she is so out of your league."
He huffed. "Gee thanks. Want to tell me something I don't know?" He grumbled before pressing his drink to his lips and downing it in one go.
"Atta boy Fuckleberry." Santos slapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "Drown your sorrows with me."
"Why, Garcia not paying you enough attention?"
Santos shot him a glare. "Watch it or-" She cut herself off as she glanced over Whittaker's shoulder.
"Oh shit - incoming."
Dennis turned to see you making your way towards the bar.
"I gotta pee, good luck farmboy." Before he could protest, Santos pushed off the bar and disappeared into the crowd.
By the time he turned back around, you had spotted him.
Your smile widened when you locked eyes.
You slipped through the crowd toward him like it was the most casual thing in the world, like you hadn’t just fundamentally altered his understanding of reality.
"Whitaker!" You called out by way of greeting.
God. It was somehow even worse outside the pitt.
"I was worried you were going to bail." You teased as you slid in beside him at the bar. You were so close he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of mascara painting your lashes, the pink sheen of your lip gloss.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He cleared his throat, motioning for the bartender to try and stop the red from creeping back into his cheeks. "Yeah. I um- yeah. Do you want something to drink?"
Smooth.
"Please, I'll have whatever you're having."
You leant an arm against the bar, angling your body towards him. You tilted your head slightly, your eyes roaming his body as he ordered for you in a way that made his pulse trip over itself.
And then you grinned.
"You know, you scrub off quite well Whitaker."
Dennis was pretty sure there was a full, tangible moment where his brain fully short-circuited.
You had to be teasing him, surely. You'd probably made the same joke to every single one of his colleagues, who had all probably laughed in a way that only you could illicit from them.
He let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's uh.. that's not how that phrase usually goes."
"I know." You said easily. "I'm reinventing it."
"Right."
"I have a theory." You continued. He watched as you twisted around, pressing your back into the wooden edge of the bar.
"You either look way better in scrubs or way better out of scrubs, there's no in between."
You gestured to your table.
"Take Robby for example, can you imagine that man in anything other than scrubs? I saw him out on a run once and I can confirm, it was disturbing."
Dennis let out a genuine chuckle at that.
"Ok, I like this game." He nodded, feeling himself relax slightly without being under your intense gaze. "Javadi's an out of scrubs for sure."
Your grin widened at his willingness to go along with it. "Exactly. I never thought I'd see her part with that purple sweater."
Dennis laughed again, watching out of the corner of his eye at the way your eyes crinkled as you smiled.
"So uh- which one am I then?" He asked sheepishly just as the bartender plonked your drinks down on the sticky surface.
You grabbed your drink before you turned your attention back to him. You took a sip from your straw as your eyes flitted up and down his figure, a smirk forming on your lips.
"I haven't decided yet."
Dennis gulped.
"Thanks for the drink Whitaker."
He watched helplessly as you walked away.
All composure and restraint had flown out the window. He was a man completely undone, like putty in your gentle hands.
"What did I miss?" Santos reappeared at his side, surveying the dance floor with eagle eyes.
"She... she said I scrub off quite well." He murmured, his eyes never leaving your figure as you animatedly chatted with Mohan.
"Huh?"
"She said everyone either suits scrubs or normal clothes more, so I asked her which one I was."
"And?"
"She said she hadn't decided yet."
Santos looked over at him in disbelief. "Oh my fucking god."
Dennis' neck snapped to look at her. "What?"
"Huckleberry, she was fucking flirting with you!"
"What?" He repeated, blinking in a few times. "No she wasn't."
"Uh yeah - she was." Santos insisted. "What you just told me? That's a fucking line. She lined you!"
"No I-" Dennis stammered. "There's- there's no way she was flirting with me. Aren't you the one who said she was way out of my league anyway?"
"I did." Santos nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "But even geniuses can be wrong on the rare occasion."
She turned to face him fully, her face completely serious. "This is your chance."
"What-"
"Go flirt with her! Ask her out! Do something!"
"B-but I-" He cut himself off as he glanced up, watching you twirl Javadi around.
"If you don't Huckleberry, I will."
One look at her face and Dennis knew she was fully serious.
-
As the night wore on, people began siphoning into the 'I have work at 7am tomorrow' and the 'I have a day off tomorrow' camps.
Mohan and Ellis were doing shots off a strangers stomach. Mel and Langdon were animatedly discussion the upcoming renaissance fair. Santos was making a point of flirting with any girl within earshot of Garcia.
Dennis had found himself and you alone, clustered together on stools at one of the high tables. He tried to ignore the way your shoulder casually brushed against his every now and then, sending a shiver up his spine. He couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse.
"I think Javadi is going to have a headache for about a week." You remarked. "I'm also pretty sure I just saw her sneak into the bathroom with Matteo."
"We've all been there."
You raised a brow.
"What, hooking up with co-workers?"
The tips of his ears turned pink. "No-no I-"
"Relax, I'm teasing." You laughed.
He let out a breathless chuckle. "Oh, right."
The thumping bass enveloped the two of you, preventing the possibility of awkward silence.
"You're quieter than usual." You observed after a few moments.
"I-" He cut himself off before he tried to deny it as you looked at him imploringly.
Who was he kidding? You would see right through him, you were way too good at reading people. He saw it everyday at work. It was a skill he'd always admired in you, your ability to coax the truth out of patients, but right now he found himself cursing your keen eye.
"Yeah, sorry." Was what he ended up saying.
You frowned. "You okay?"
He hesitated, then exhaled.
"Yeah I think just seeing everyone and you like this kind of threw me off."
You stilled, just slightly.
"Like what?"
"Like..." He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Like not in clinical grade hospital lighting."
That earned a quiet laugh from you.
He didn't know why he opened his mouth again. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Santos' words from earlier, maybe it was the way you'd ignored every single man in here tonight who had tried to hit on you and only seemed to want to talk to him, and he couldn’t help but hold onto the smallest spark of hope that it meant something.
"You um-" He gestured vaguely to your figure, immediately regretting it. "You just look... different."
He winced as the awkward words rolled off his tongue.
But instead of the teasing look he'd expected, your expression shifted into something gentler.
"Different....good?"
He huffed a small laugh, looking down at his drink for a second before gathering himself.
"Yeah." He looked up at you, his voice quieter. "Different good."
Your smile widened.
The familiar bass of Maneater started thumping through the bar speakers.
The sound of your name being called made the two of you break eye contact.
A slightly dishevelled Javadi, apparently having been summoned from the bathroom by Nelly Furtado, was grinning at you.
“This is our song!”
You and Dennis laughed as she pointed at you, demanding your presence on the dance floor immediately.
“Sorry, duty calls.”
Dennis pressed his two fingers to his head in mock salute. “Good luck soldier.”
You grinned, giving him a salute back before going to join the small dance circle that had started to form.
Dennis’ eyes followed you all the way there.
-
As the night wore on, the herd thinned.
Santos and Garcia had conveniently left at the same time. Abbott had muttered something about sunrise yoga before vanishing. Princess and Perlah were slow dancing in the corner.
It seemed you were next in line for departure. Dennis watched from his chair as you started doing your rounds, handing out obligatory goodbyes.
Dennis turned as Robby cleared his throat this throat beside him.
“You know, she told me she walked here.”
Dennis followed Robby’s gaze, leading directly back to you.
“Lives just a couple of blocks away.”
“Uh… ok.”
“So… she’ll probably walk home.” He spoke slowly, like he was describing some incredibly complex medical term to one of his patients.
“And she’d probably appreciate it if someone were to.. oh I don’t know…” His lips quirked ever so slightly, “… offer to walk her home?”
“Oh.” Dennis balked, jerking his head over to look at you as realisation hit him. “Right yeah- that’s a great idea.” He shot up of his seat so quickly that the table shuddered, half drunk, forgotten drinks sloshed in their glasses.
“Thanks Robby.”
Robby's eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched Dennis hastily make his way towards you.
“Kids.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.
You were rifling through your purse, making sure you had everything as Dennis approached you.
“Hey.” He jerked a thumb towards the door. “You heading home?”
“Yeah.” You sighed. “Figured I should try and get at least four hours sleep before my shift, I don’t think it would be ethical otherwise.”
Dennis chuckled. “Yeah I feel that.”
There was a slight pause before.
“So, how are you getting home?”
“Oh I was just going to walk. I only live a couple blocks that way.” You gestured vaguely behind you.
“Right.” Dennis nodded. A heartbeat passed.
“Would you um- would you like me to walk you home? You can totally say no.”
You smiled softly. “Yeah I’d love that, thanks.”
He shot you a tight lipped smile back as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Great ok, well we can head off whenever you’re ready.”
You glanced over Dennis’ shoulder to see Robby watching the two of you.
“See you tomorrow Robby!”
Robby raised a hand in passive acknowledgment. “Later kiddo.”
The Pittsburgh weather had decided to be kind to the both of you as you spilled out onto the lamplit street. A warm, gentle breeze lapped at the two of you as you began the short walk to your apartment.
You made small talk, mostly about work, giggling about the crazy patients you'd both had recently, until you came to a reluctant stop at your doorstep.
Things felt calmer out here, away from the loud music and the preying eyes of co-workers.
“This is me.” You gestured to your building.
Dennis felt his heart sink. He thought he would have more time. More time to build up the courage to finally say something.
How was it that he could intubate a critical patient without breaking a sweat, but the thought of saying anything remotely risky to you was enough to turn him into a quivering, spiralling mess.
You peered up at him. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Happy to.”
You observed him for a few moments.
Dennis wondered if you could tell exactly what he was thinking. Wondered if you knew the effect that you had on him. If you could tell that he was frantically flicking through a list of things to say that could stop this moment from ever ending.
“You’re giving me that look again.”
“What look?”
Your smile curved. “Like you’re still trying to get used to seeing me not under clinical grade hospital lighting.”
Dennis chuckled weakly. “Sorry for being weird tonight I…” He sighed as he looked at you.
As the soft light of the street lamp hit you, Dennis felt something unfurl beneath his ribs.
You were so beautiful, both in your scrubs and out of them. Neither one was better than the other. One would not exist without the other. Both sides made you whole, culminating in one perfect, sweet, smart person.
And now he had seen both sides, he didn't think that he could ever live without either of them again.
That feeling swelled in him, creating a tidal wave finally ready to knock down those barricades he'd held so stubbornly in place for so long.
He met your eyes then, properly, and whatever nerves he had seemed to settle into something steadier, the realisation grounding him.
"I've spent a long time trying to pretend that you don't exist outside of work." He finally said.
"Why's that?"
There was something so open about your face that made his remaining walls crumble, made him desperately want to spill all of his thoughts at your altar.
"Because... because I knew that you were someone I really, really wanted to know outside of work." He confessed.
"And uh-" He gestured to you. "I don't think I can keep pretending anymore. Actually, I think it might make me go insane if I keep trying."
You smiled softly.
"You know how you asked me earlier whether I thought you were a scrubs or no scrubs type?"
Dennis nodded, thrown off by the sudden change in conversation.
"Well, I've been waiting all night for you to ask me again. I uh- I had this whole thing planned out, I was going to say something lame like, 'I don't know, I think I'd need to see you a few more times not in your scrubs to make an assessment.'"
"Holy shit." Dennis blinked. "You were flirting with me."
That made you burst out into a fit of giggles, relieving some of the tense energy crackling between the two of you.
"Yeah no kidding. Trin said I was going to have to lay it on pretty thick for you to get it, but I didn't realise how thick she meant."
"Wait-" He stared down at you, eyes wide. "Santos knew about this?"
You nodded.
"I'm going to kill her."
"Wait no, don't be mad at her - I swore her to secrecy." You said hastily. "I only asked her for advice after none of my more subtle attempts worked. I figured since you literally live with her, she'd know you pretty well."
Dennis thought his brain was about to implode.
"What... what other subtle attempts?"
For the first time tonight, Dennis finally caught a hint of colour in your cheeks.
You chuckled sheepishly. "I don't know... I always made an excuse to consult with you, or to take a break at the same time. And didn't you think it was weird that I started bringing in your favourite snacks every time you mentioned what you liked?"
"Wait - you don't like Doritos? I thought you said you loved them."
You shrugged. "More of a Fritos girl."
Anyone who walked past them must have thought that Dennis resembled a stunned mullet.
"I'm an idiot." He stated matter-of-factly.
"You're not an idiot." You reassured him. "You're just-"
"Blind? Stupid? A combination of both?" He let out a dramatic groan, burying his face into his hands.
"I'm so sorry I- I was so focused on keeping you off my mind and convincing myself that I didn't like you that I had total tunnel vision at work."
"It's ok, really." You insisted. "I can get so emotional at work." You huffed. "But you...you're always so composed and clinical and precise." You cut yourself off before you started rambling.
Dennis' heart hammered in his chest.
"Really?"
"Really. I wish I was more like you at work."
Dennis' brow furrowed. How could you not see that you were perfect?
"What do you mean? You're a literal ball of sunshine at work. Everyone loves you, you manage to make the grumpiest of patients smile. Jesus Christ I'm pretty sure I even saw Park the Shark crack a smile once-"
"-I think he was just trying not to sneeze."
He glared at you playfully. "It was a smile...by Park's standards anyway." He insisted. "You light up every room you're in. And you just get patients. If anything, I wish I was more like you."
This time, a fully fledged blush flushed your cheeks.
"Well then…I guess we balance each other out."
Dennis smiled, "I guess we do."
"And for the record." Dennis continued, "That's one of the many reasons why I.. you know..." He bit his lip as he glanced down at his feet. "...like you."
He looked up at you shyly, his nerves making his stomach churn. There was a pause. Then you whispered your next words so quietly that Dennis almost missed it.
"I like you too, Whitaker."
You eyed each other for a few moments, like you were both trying to figure out the new energy that swirled between the two of you.
It was uncharted territory, but it was something new and exciting, something that you both wanted to explore.
You only broke your eye contact to glance down at your phone, wincing at the time.
"I really should get to bed." You eventually said reluctantly.
"Yeah, me to." Dennis studied you for a moment. "I guess I'll see you today?"
You chuckled. "I guess you will."
A small silence settled between you.
Not awkward.
Just...comfortable, full.
"Good night Whitaker." You finally said, your eyes bright despite your sleep deprivation.
"Good night." He replied softly.
Dennis waited until you were up the stairs, behind the safety of a locked door and out of sight before he started his walk home.
You didn't need to know that his apartment was in the complete opposite direction of yours, meaning he had to double back past the very bar you had just been in.
As he approached the bar, he noticed a familiar figure standing by the curb.
Robby looked up from his phone as Whitaker approached. He peered over his glasses, observing the biggest grin he had ever seen on Whitaker plastered across his face.
"You get our bundle of sunshine home safely?"
"Delivered without a scratch."
"Alright, well I'll see you bright and early."
Whittaker's grin somehow widened as he patted Robby on the shoulder as he walked past.
"Thanks Robby."
This time, Robby couldn't fight the smile that appeared on his features.
"Anytime kiddo."
-
Five hours later, you shuffled through the ED doors, clinging to a double strength red bull like it was your life blood.
Shen rounded the corner, his eyes lighting up when he spotted you.
"Well well well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
You shot him a weak smile, pressing the can to your lips.
"What? No witty reply?"
"I don't have the brain capacity."
Shen chuckled, twisting around to grab something off one of the nurses desks.
“Here. This might help.”
He watched as your eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning at the sight of an extra large Dunkin iced coffee.
You immediately threw your measly substitute in the bin beside you.
“You are a lifesaver.”
“Actually it’s pronounced doctor.”
You let that joke slide as you eagerly took a sip, resisting the urge to let out a moan. If you could, you would have this stuff injected straight into your veins.
“Thank you. Seriously.”
“Anytime. Oh and good luck today, it’s a shit show.” He called out after you.
“As opposed to what?” You called back, giving him one final wave before making your way to your locker.
You went to keypad in your code, only to realise the door was slightly ajar. You were the worst offender when it came to leaving your locker unlocked, much to Dana's despair.
You froze when you yanked open the door.
Placed unassumingly on top of your things, was a packet of Fritos.
Upon closer inspection, you realised there was a small note attached to it, fastened with what appeared to be surgical floss contorted into a delicate looking bow.
You glanced around to make sure no one was in sight before leaning forward and carefully unfolding the note, revealing scrawling handwriting.
Figured you would need some sustenance to get you through this shift.
P.S I've completed my initial assessment. My findings are that you scrub up just as well as you scrub off.
P.P.S To really make sure, I think I need to run some further observations. Dinner this Saturday?
You bit your lip, unable to contain the wide grin that spread across your face.
Unbeknownst to you, Dennis was peaking through the glass, scrutinising every micro expression that appeared on your features.
A smile just as wide as yours spread across his face as he watched you fold the note back up neatly and tuck it into the front pocket of your scrubs.
Dennis subconsciously filed you under a different tab.
Except this time, it was labelled something far more dangerous.
High risk, once in a lifetime opportunity - proceed anyway.
He allowed himself to stare at you for moment before making his way towards the centre of the pitt for the day shift handover.
"Whitaker!"
He turned around, his heart rate increasing at the sight of you making your way towards him.
"Morning."
"Good morning."
The two of you naturally fell into step with one another.
"Ready for another day in paradise?"
He glanced over at you to see you peering up at him.
"With you? Always."
Both your smiles widened.
Then, very deliberately, he turned off the switch.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
cw ﹏ ( +18 ) mdni / smut blurb!!! afab!reader. medical roleplay. reader calling dennis doctor. use of medical instruments (gloves, stethoscope). fingering. praise.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
"I think everything is alright here. Can you remind me where the pain is?" Dennis' gloved hands were cold on your burning skin; fingers tracing down as he took the stethoscope away from your bare chest, not giving any attention to your perky nipples. The view of your boyfriend so deep into the roleplay was making wetness pool between your thighs, damping your panties.
His eyes lifted to your face, a little confident smile decorating his lips. He knew how you were feeling; it's like he could read your body just by giving it a look. His hands caressed down to your curled legs, parting them by the knees.
"Yes, doctor, the pain is right here. It's a throbbing pain," you replied to him, sighing just at the thought of Dennis touching you.
He hummed, licking his lips before one of his gloved fingers hooked into the fabric of your underwear to push it to the side; baring your soaked and waiting pussy to his eyes. "I see that, you're oozing. I'll have to inspect that, is it okay?" He looked up at your face once more, and you nodded your head at him. "Of course, doctor." His gloved hands traced the skin from your knees to your inner-thighs with care, taking his time until you were squirming under his touch.
A sigh escaped past your lips when Dennis' thumbs parted your folds apart and his eyes focused on what he was seeing; your hole clenching around air for attention, your clit throbbing, your pussy glistening with your juices.
His observation was making your squirm with embarrassment, but he stopped you with just a look of his eyes. "Stop moving, please, I need to make sure you are alright." You only nodded in answer. His fingers moved to inspect your cunt with a medical care.
Your hole clenched around nothing when he sighed. "I'll have to do a better inspection, alright?" Dennis looked up at you, but one of his thumbs started to rub circles around your clit. You gasped.
"Alright, if that's really necessary, doctor." You could see the little smile on your boyfriend's face before he shifted back into the roleplay, and nodded his head. "It is." His thumb moved away from your clit before you felt a pressure against your oozing hole, and something cold entering you. Dennis pushed both his index and middle fingers deeper inside you, sliding in like butter with how wet you were.
He didn't move for a second as you melted against the headboard of the bed, but his digits slowly curled to rub against your walls. He moved his hand, gloved palm hitting your clit each time he pulled his fingers in and out of your hole. His second hand moved to grab at your knee, keeping your leg open for him. Dennis didn't speak, eyebrows furrowed as if he was searching for something; like a doctor trying to find what was wrong.
When the tip of his fingers finally hit your g-spot, rubbing against the gummy walls again and again, you gasped at him. He sighed. "Yes, right here, right? I think I found what I was searching for. Just be good and relax for me." He nodded his head at you, licking his lips.
He didn't stop there, hitting that spot once more while your body trembled. Only then, his thumb came back to rub onto your slick clit.
The tip of his fingers kept rubbing and hitting that one special spot inside your hole, until your legs twitched and your back arched from the mattress. You gasped loudly, hands grabbing at the pillow under your head. You came like that, with Dennis fingering you, slowly circling your clit.
Your walls clenched around his fingers before he slowly took them out of your hole; his glove soaked with your wetness. He smiled before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
inexperienced!reader and frank who just goes along with literally anything he says !!! Frank uses it to get reader to do some of his disgusting fantasies and reader allows it bc he’s the doctor and he knows all about this stuff!!
18+ mdni cnc (maybe?) UGGGH he’s such a pervert but he makes it sound soooo normal!! “Spit in my mouth, pretty girl, c’mon”
“Frankie…” You whimper, hesitating, “isn’t that, like, gross?”
And he chuckles, a sweat-slick strand of hair flopping down across his forehead as he shakes his head. “Gross? No, baby. It’s so fuckin’ hot.” He reaches up n cups your face as you ride him. “It’s the same as kissing, yeah? It’s just saliva. Same exact thing.”
You blink at him. He grips your hips and grinds you down on his cock, and the sharp pressure against your g-spot makes your response come out stuttered “y-yeah, I guess so.”
So you lean over him, gathering saliva in your mouth… you almost hesitate as you stare down at his grinning face, but then he urges “Go on, good girl.” and your decision is made.
you push the spit past your lips and it drops down in a slow, stringy drip… frank opens his mouth and lets his tongue lull out to catch, and he lets out a low groan at the taste. his eyes are wild as he smirks.
“Fuck. you’re so fucking sexy.”
after that he seems so pleased, and he fucks you so good, that the next night when he’s balls deep and looming over you n he tells you to open your mouth for him, you know exactly what’s coming… and you barely hesitate for a second. your lips part and he spits hard n messy right into your mouth <3 he laughs at the sight of you swallowing his saliva with splatters of it still littering your lower face “That’s my dirty girl. Such a little freak for me.”
Summary: Jack Abbot loves his wife. That's it, that's the whole story.
🐾 - Petplay/Puppyboy Abbot
Ω - A/B/O didn’t know whether to put have it in the masterlist bc it’s also listed in the posts themselves so like whatever
🔥- Smut (Placeholders)
👅- Suggestive
Young and Wild and Free (pre-kids)
The First Post
Peacocking by Juggling
Jack’s Not Subtle
But Neither Are You
How a Real Man Treats You 👅
Bra Clasp Virgin 👅
Cumming in Pants
Munch
Omar Finds Out About Jack and Reader 👅
Spice Tolerance
The Hotel Date 👅
Food Porn 👅
Jack’s Sex Bucket List 🐾(tiny bit at the end)
Jack Loves a Mean Woman
Always Look Both Ways Before You Grab Ass
Go Sit in The Corner! 👅
Puppy Humping 🐾
All Puppies Need Training🐾
Puppy’s First Thigh Job
Toy Shopping for Puppy 🐾
Jack Riding A Dildo 🔥
“It Won’t Suck Itself” 👅
“Lucky You”
Pegging Virginity 👅
Size Queen!Jack
Wearing Her Panties
Piss Kink 🔥
Bush Ω
Jack is Determined
Jack’s Cute Little Birthmark on His Cute LIttle Butt
Jack’s Pussy 🔥
Old and Tame and Restricted (Post Kids)
Lactation Kink
Jack Gets a Tummy
Jack Going Gray
Pregnant at 44👅
TEMS Talk
Edging Older Jack🐾
Smashing a Watermelon With His Thighs
Happy Giggly Drunk Jack
Puppies Eventually Grow Up
Jack’s “Trophy” Wife
Robby’s Suicide Ideation
MILF!Reader SMAU
Parent Stories
Children Thoughts
Every Little Girl Needs a Cat
Coming Home From Date Night
Zayne’s Hot Ass Parents
Don’t Snoop Through Your Parents Stuff
Various Ramblings (Absolutely no organization here)
I hate the mischaracterisation of Dennis Whitaker.
Dennis Whitaker isn’t a fragile baby. That man is such a secret dom. Friendly and sweet to everyone else. Yet, to you he is authoritative and demanding. In a sense that he knows what he wants.
He’s so domestic and would also do anything for you. Cooking, cleaning, handywork. You don’t even have to lift a finger when he is around. When he isn’t, it painfully frustrates him that you have to ‘get your hands dirty’
He loves bringing you everywhere he is. You both have that kind of love where you are best friends too. Both of you are suckers for a routine. You listen to all his farm stories and watch multiple animal documentaries together. Multiple exchanged baby animal TikToks.
“Awe den look at this one!” You squeal
He looks and it’s a small kitten falling into milk crying. He smiles. You frown staring at the screen. You quickly look at him then back to the whining kitten. “Kind of looks like you! I’m sending this to Trin”
His coworkers adore you and always want you around for work parties and get togethers. You constantly hear new stories of Dennis on shift. You smile knowing you have the most perfect and caring boyfriend.
Dennis Whitaker is a munch. He loves going down on you. Kissing your stomach and trailing love bites up your inner thighs. His tongue focuses on your clit while he listens to how you react to each lick, suck and nibble he takes. Gently, he circles your clit with his thumb. Pushing his tongue into you and fucking you like that. He loves tasting you.
Often he picks you up and throws you around into any position he wants you in. Making sure to leave gentle kisses on your body and caress your curves. As he wraps his hand around your throat - “sweetheart, you are so pretty”
That midwestern charm brings you to your climax every-time. Dennis Whitaker, your strong dominant farm boy.
