feel free to yap away with me whether we both share a f/o or not ! some of my f/o's are shipped with self insert ocs i've made ! i may talk about some of my f/o's more or less depending on the media that i'm brain rotting.
| summary: frank can't sleep so he shows up at your door, but he realises you need him much more than he needs you and basically you cry in his lap and then he comforts you and…. yeahh
I authors note: first piece I'm sharing guys, I hope yall like it because I’ll be honest this whole thing is just Frank talking you through it while he fucks you because he knows you need it.
I content: fem reader, smut, p in v, sad!reader, comfort, praise kink, crying!reader, selfless!frank, pet names, sitting on lap, body worship, talking you through it, thigh riding, angst, frank only has a soft spot for you, frank comforts reader, gentle!frank, lowkey yearning!frank
I word count: 6.7k
It's past midnight, and you're wandering around the kitchen, cleaning up after a long day, your long, soft hair flowing down your shoulders as you stand on your tiptoes to open a cabinet. It seems like the world just has it in for you lately, everything's going wrong, and on top of that, you don't have anyone to talk to.
Well, there's Frank. There's always Frank. It's like he can sense when somethings wrong. At times, he knows you better than you know yourself. But Frank's- well... Frank? Yes, he's there for you but he's never there. Not physically. No, he's always caught up in a fight, always saving someone or hurting himself.
You shake your head, drying your hands on a towel lying on the counter. It's not fair for you to expect anything from him. It's not like he's yours?
There's a knock at the door. You raise your head suddenly, someone's at the door? Confused, you walk towards it, moonlight lighting up the dark hallway of your house through the glass panes on the door. You open it, looking up, and of course it's him. The same comforting, distant man you can't stop thinking about.
"Frank?" you furrow your brows softly, you didn't expect it to genuinely be him at the door. The cold breeze brushed your bare arms as you stand at the door in your shorts and camisole. His eyes flicker up and down, taking your presence in. He doesn't say anything. Still, you're a kind woman, you're understanding, and so without questioning anything you tell him softly, "Come in" with a gentle nod of your head towards inside your house. You gesture him inside, shutting the door with a click behind you. He walks in with his broad figure, hands in his pocket awkwardly as if you're the one who's showed up to his house in the middle of the night. He's looking at the floor like a child being scolded and so you ask him, "Hey, is everything okay?"
He looks up slowly at your kind face, he doesn't want to disappoint you- or for you to think less of him. "I uh-just, couldn't sleep" he finally mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Just- wanted to hear your voice I guess." His voice is low, it's as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a while. You watch him understandingly, not an ounce of judgement in your face, and you just nod. "Come. Sit down for a bit" you tell him, walking towards your couch, your own arms crossed, a natural sort of defence mechanism- though of course, Frank has never hurt you. He'd never dare lay a hand on you.
He sits down on the couch, the whole thing moving slightly lower with his weight. You hover near him, still stood up. "Want something to drink?" you ask him softly, and he shakes his head. Leaning back on the couch, he says softly, "Nah, 's alright, just came to see you."
Of course he says that. And of course your stomach starts doing fucking backflips. You shake your head, walking into the kitchen anyway. He sits there alone for a moment, eyes following you, watching as you work your way through the kitchen like an angel, skin as soft as snow, biting your lip in concentration.
You come back with two glasses and some whiskey, placing them down with a clink. His puppy dog eyes follow your slender fingers as you let go of the glasses. They continue scanning over your body as you finally take a seat opposite him, pressing one of your knees to your chest and resting your chin there. You sigh softly as you watch him.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" you ask softly, watching him carefully.He throws his shoulders up softly, shrugging. It's not the first time he's done something like this. For years it's been obvious to you that he has a soft spot for you, but no action has ever been taken. And you curse yourself endlessly for it, but you feel something for him too-even though you can't tell what exactly. He shakes his head, grunting, "It doesn't matter, I'm used to it".
You continue watching him. Something about his presence as a whole just has a hold on you. You want to be there for him- to help him. So you ask him the only sensible thing in your head, "You wanna talk about it?" He watches you through half lidded eyes, shaking his head silently as he leans forward a little, his forearms on his legs, "Already said, just needed to see you."
You don't know what to do but nod. You breathe out a soft, "Okay" and sit there, still hugging your knee on your seat like a worried child. The truth is you're tired. Tired of begging, of trying to be there for people who clearly don't want you. Tired of being rejected and never understood. Your eyes start to wander around your living room, the warm glow from your fireplace lighting everything up, including Frank's eyes.
He tilts his head the slightest, watching your every move and of course, he knows somethings wrong. You continue sitting there, wondering what to say or what to do. You get chills from the way you can tell he's watching you closely. So why won't he just fucking say something? It's not like he has any trouble in the female department?
Except he doesn't want anyone who isn't you. Most people are shit scared of him, they think he's about to snap any moment. But not you. No, you see him for who he really is. A man in pain, who's always making mistakes to just help what he thinks is right. And you, you're kind and gentle and smart- everything that's the opposite of the world he knows.
After a few minutes of quiet besides the soft crackling of the fire, he chooses to break the silence. He can't watch you just sitting here, disassociating from everything. You're still hugging your knee, sitting in that position on the couch. Finally, he murmurs softly, "What's goin’ on?" And without really moving, your eyes flick to him and you shrug your shoulders. His heart patters softly at your dismissive tone.
He can't sit here and watch you suffer silently. Especially since you would never do that either. He frowns softly and rumbles out, "Hey, talk to me." And as if a light switch suddenly flicks in your head, you gain awareness and turn your head to him. Not entirely convincingly you tell him, "I'm okay, really." and drop your knee from beneath your chin, your feet both on the floor awkwardly.
You realise he's here because he was upset and so you look back up and ask him, "Tell me what's up then, why couldn't you sleep?" He watched you like you just spoke some foreign language and mutters, "That's not fair." You just stare at him confused.
God, why is he like this?
For some reason you're already infuriated, anger bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out. "What do you mean that's not fair? You show up to my door past midnight and you won't even tell me what's wrong?" you spit out. Frank frowns, he hates seeing you like this, hates that he's caused you to feel like this. You see his face soften and instantly feel bad. That's the kind of effect he has on you. So you breathe out, "Look I'm sorry- I've just had a shit day." Which is a lie of course, every day is shit. Everyday that you go on, unsure of your feelings towards Frank, unsure of what you want.
He blinks slowly, giving you space, letting you get your feelings out. “Don't be sorry," he says gruff but softly, shaking his head. A quiet moment passes and he says "C'mere," gesturing to the empty space beside him. Hesitantly you get up, trudging towards him like a dog with a tail between its legs. You sit down next to him, embarrassed now that you raised your voice at him. And the worst thing is that he stayed calm, he let you yell at him. Because that's the kind of man Frank is.
You stare ahead at the floor, Frank looking at nothing but you. His eyes trace over your face, your soft hair- that little figure of yours that's so angry inside, your chest going up and down softly as you breathe. He hesitates, then parts his lips slightly and whispers, "Talk to me." You look up slowly, turning your head to face his weathered face which is full of concern for you, and you protest, "This isn't about me- you're the one who's upset."
Frank lets out a soft breath. "God you're stubborn" he huffs, and you can tell he’s genuinely annoyed. You don't say anything back and he continues watching you. "Just let me be here for you." he whispers, almost begging, like he needs to help you. Like he can't live knowing you're upset. You shake your head, voice shaking as you say, "For Christ's sake Frank, I don't need your help- I don't need you." Except you do. Your eyes begin to glisten as you ramble, threatening to start spilling tears and Frank frowns, repeating, "Hey hey, shhh" as he gently moves his calloused hand onto your forearm.
You shake your head, fighting back tears and trying to get out of his reach, "I'm fine- go away, I'm fine." You pull your arm away, voice quaking. The same way he let you shout at him, he's letting you use physical force on him. You keep spitting out that you're fine-you don't need anyone or anything, and all the while, Franks hand gently moves to the side of your face, holding it in his palm. You croak out once more with glistening eyes, "I'm fine" and then break down at his soft touch.
Tears run down your face as you shake your head, trying to stop crying. Frank watches you heartbroken, his brows are furrowed and it looks like he's only a few moments away from crying too. "Oh poor baby" he whispers, pulling you close to him, his big arms wrapping around you warmly. "Let it out, I'm here" he says, voice barely above a whisper. He wants to protect you from everything, from everything that hurts you, but he can't, and that's what bothers him. He needs you to need him.
You try wiping your tears with the back of your hand, but they continue streaming down your face. You make the mistake of looking up at Frank because as you lift your head slowly- your, big sad doe eyes break him. A soft gasp leaves his lips and he whispers, "Oh, sweet girl," as if he's in pain watching you cry. Effortlessly he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands wrapping around you as if he can shield you from the world. He tilts back his head to get a better look at you, leaning back on the couch and adjusting you to make sure you're comfy. "I know you’re hurtin’, just let it out" he breathes.
His broad chest presses against yours as he holds you, one hand on your back, the other caressing your hair. You cry your endless tears and he gently lifts your head with his hand beneath your chin. "I'm here, just talk to me, please." he says softly, eyebrows knitted together in concern. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears you stutter, "God I'm just so alone. I'm so alone Frank- I don't have anyone." He looks like a sad little puppy at hearing that.
"That's not true baby, you have me" he frowns, tilting his head to get a better look at you, resting his hand on the side of your face. His other hand runs up and down your back soothingly, and you nuzzle your face into his hand. But he’s not yours, you remember. "Don't call me that Frank" you cry, pulling your head back and shaking it.
God, his heart aches watching you cry.
He watches your quivering lip, waiting for you to explain, and you glare at him, your words drowning in tears. At last, your voice breaks when you say, "Not when I'm not yours."
Oh.
He shakes his head silently, sitting up a little more and adjusting you in his lap. "Don't say that." he whispers, taken aback and heartbroken. “Just- don’t-” he mutters, unsure of what to say. He wants to be yours. God knows he does. But it's not that easy, he can't bring you into his life, because he knows that anyone he loves gets hurt.
He moves his palm across both sides of your face gently, wiping off the tears that are leaving salty, hot trails on your skin. Your voice breaks, barely holding together as you try to speak. "Frank," you cry shakily, your breath catching in broken, wet gasps. He barely blinks, just taking in this sight of you- broken and defeated. "Yeah i know, I'm here."
He doesn't bother wiping away the tears that soak his collar, he just needs to be there for you. As he holds you close and roams his hands up and down your back, you hiccup a little, your violent sobs much less now. "That's it, you're okay" he whispers sweetly, his touch gentle and caring. You sniffle in his chest as he reassures you, your stomach fluttering. Oh how you hate the way he makes you feel, as if you're not in control of your own body.
"Frank," you whisper again, breathlessly, the only remnants of your crying being your puffy eyes. "Yeah sweet girl? talk to me" he murmurs, moving a strand of hair that's stuck on your wet face behind your ear. You don't say anything, just let yourself melt back into him, your face in the crook of his neck, legs on either side of him. He lets his hands fall to your sides again, but lower this time- on your hips. He holds them with both hands, as if you'd disappear if he let go.
Your lips part slightly at his touch, you’re aching all over for him. Franks big hands stay there carefully, burning through the fabric of your shorts. Gently he rubs your sides and your breath hitches. Of course, any noise that slips out of your mouth almost kills him. His brows are furrowed as he tries to absorb every reaction you’re giving him. He needs to make you feel good. So, he takes your little gasps as a sign that it’s okay, and gently trails a hand lower, till it meets your thigh. As if his life purpose is to make you feel good, he applies a little more pressure to his touch, watching your face carefully, waiting for another reaction. Waiting for a sign that you want this too.
"This okay sweet girl?" he asks, hands tracing over your thighs reverently. You whine "mhm", leaning back into him. His lips part in awe at your little noises- he needs to hear more. You gasp softly at his hands kneading your hips then moving to your thighs. "Frankk" you whine desperately, core pressing into him a little. This is what you meant, how you can't control yourself when you're with him. He nods understandingly, whispering with his rich voice, "What is it sweet girl?”
Your head lolls to the side, brain turning into mush as your core heats up on his lap. As if doesn’t already make you lose control of your own body- he’s whispering these sweet names in your ear. You can't help it, but your hips rock forward ever so slightly, trying to satisfy that blooming need between your aching thighs.
The moment your hips move, his breath hitches. His entire body goes still as he feels that tiny movement against his lap. He senses your need, and it sends a bolt of desire through him. But he doesn't rush. Instead, his hands stay still for a second on your thighs, then slowly slide up to press against the curve of your waist. The gentle pressure of his palms keeps you right there in his arms, needy and warm. Then his voice drops lower and he whispers against your ear breathily, "Attagirl, let me know how you feel, okay?”
His sweetness is making you melt, and all of your senses are being blinded by pure need right now. You whimper desperately, almost panting as you buck your hips again and Frank says softly, “Take what you need.” You let out a small moan at that, and he realises just how much you need him. You grind your hips against his a few more times, needing to soothe the white hot ache between your legs, but nothings working and you’re getting frustrated. Your eyes begin to water again, but out of desperation now, not sadness. You throw your arms behind his neck, looking for something to hold onto and keep bucking your hips onto his, desperate for anything that will give you friction.
“Frankie,” you moan helplessly, frustrated at yourself, at not being able to feel good. He watches you reverently, as if you’re an angel on his lap, rough hands still moving gently on your sides. “I know baby, dyou need my help?” he coaxes, slipping a hand near the edge of the waistband of your shorts. When he calls you baby again, your heart clenches. He doesn't want to push, or overstep with someone as sweet as you. You lifts your head just slightly, eyes glassy and vulnerable and then nod, slow and shy, but honest, “Please, I need you”. Your eyes start watering again with need, you’ve never felt so alone- so desperate for Frank to just take care you.
“Hey, hey don’t cry doll” he coos, frowning as you pout sadly. You stare into his solemn eyes, desperately waiting for him to take action, but instead, he softly presses his forehead to yours. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” he whispers, his tone as sweet as honey. He moves his head back a little, enough to see you clearly and wipes away another one of your tears with his thumb. “You’re my girl and I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” he reassures as his hand creeps beneath your waistband now.
Of course- he’s still a gentleman with morals and so he asks with the utmost respect, “Can I take these off?” as his fingers creep under your sleep shorts, brushing past the soft lace of your panties. You all but moan, “Yes- please” in desperation, and that’s enough for him. He instructs you firmly, “Lift your hips f’me,” and carefully holds you up with one arm, the other one working at your waist, pulling your shorts down your thighs. “Can I take these off too?” he checks, his pointer finger hooked under the soft lace. You nod your head urgently and with that, the scraps of fabric are at your ankles, then discarded on the floor. He has a job to do.
His breath gets lost in his throat, mouth almost watering at the sight of you, but he tries to be as respectful as possible. “There you go doll, what else dyou need?” he asks adoringly, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck. He stares at your face, all sweet and vulnerable, and has a violent urge to kiss those soft pink lips of yours. You part your mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, Frank leans forward, and presses his lips to yours with such care, you’d think you’re made of glass.
You don’t remember your eyes shutting, just him pulling back tenderly from the kiss and your eyes opening to see his. Like you’re the most valuable thing ever, he leans back in and places a kiss beneath your ear. You gasp as he peppers your neck with soft kisses that eventually turn into hot, desperate ones when he can’t control himself. He nibbles at your neck, leaving little marks, then soothes the pain with his tongue, licking at your neck like he’s never felt a woman this sweet before. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, and the heat between your thighs aches as you sit bare on his clothed lap. Your cunt is dripping at the thought of him inside you. His fingers, his dick- anything as long as he’s in you.
You press your hips down on his lap urgently, marking his jeans with a visible wet patch where you’re sat on his thigh. Desperately you start rocking your hips back and forth, searching for the friction you so badly need. Frank groans in awe at how beautiful you are when you’re in need, and he groans, “That’s it, get yourself off on my thigh baby,” as he busies himself with kissing your neck. His hands scramble at the lace of your pyjama top, itching to pull it off. His eyes flick to your scrunched up face as you chase your pleasure, the fabric rubbing on your clit deliciously, and since you don’t protest, he helps you out of your thin top. Hastily, his manly hands search for the clasp of your bra on your back, and with a click, that’s also off and thrown to the floor.
His hands are urgently on your back, covered by your flowing hair as he runs them over your skin desperately. His eyes scan over your angelic body, skin soft and so so beautiful. He has to stop himself from kissing every square inch of your body, but he can’t help himself entirely, so he presses his face between the valley of your breasts and inhales, trying impossibly to be closer to you. Both his arms are wrapped around you protectively, helping you move back and forth to chase your high as he inhales that warm, sweet scent of your skin. He moves his head back to meet yours and pants, “That’s it dollface, keep going f’me.” You let out a lewd moan, signalling how close you are to him and he mewls softly, his dick bulging in his jeans as you ride his thigh. “That’s my girl, you’re almost there.” he praises as you continue writhing back and forth.
Your breathing’s irregular and your vision is blurry from pleasure, and fuck you’ve never needed him so badly. You squirm, so close yet so far, but when his stubble brushes your breast as his lips clasp around your nipple, you’re gone. An obscene moan leaves your mouth as you quiver on his thigh, legs twitching, mouth wide open- and then you can hear Frank praising, “There she is, that’s a good girl.” as you come down from your orgasm, his mouth still pressed to your tit as he holds your body to his. “You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he pants, relieved that you feel good, ignoring the bulging ache in his jeans. You sigh tiredly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “mmm thank you Frank,” you murmur, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes puffy from crying, and he answers, “Anything for you doll.”
You watch his broad figure beneath you, and find it amazing how someone this manly can be so soft with you. You love it about him. As you watch him pant selflessly, not wanting to take anything from you, you almost lunge at him. Quickly, you connect your soft lips to his own, wanting to taste his mouth properly now. His tongue slides between your mouth, your lips clashing as you try desperately to feel eachother even closer. You kiss the corner of his mouth, licking at his stubble, imagining how it’d feel between your thighs- how his warm tongue would work between your folds as you moaned, pushing his head lower in desperation. Frantically, you lean back and moan, “I need you Frankie,” as you move your hands over his shirt, on his chest. It’s not like he isn’t yearning to have you too, because he is. There’s nothing more he needs right now than to feel you sucking him in, to feel your walls flutter around him as you cum for the second time, but he needs to hear you say it.
“Use your words sweetheart, what dyou need?” he coos softly, like he’s talking to a child, rubbing your inner thighs. You fall into him, soft tits pressing into his chest as you whine. “I need you inside me- please.” you beg, and he purrs admiringly, pressing gentle kisses to the underside of your breast. “Is that it baby? You need me to take you?” he coaxes, hand cupping your breast, covering it entirely. He kneads it carefully and you moan, barely able to get out an “uh huh” at his touch. “Good girl, that wasn’t that hard was it?” he teases, tapping you on the side of your thighs, signalling for you to lift them.
As you hold your hips in the air, he undoes his belt, pulls down the zipper of his jeans and swiftly tugs them off. He nudges your hips back down and the soft flesh of your ass meets his muscly thighs again, but without clothes between you this time. Need overflows your senses and you moan as his glistening dick hits the sensitive skin of your thigh. You claw at his shirt, and the side of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he pulls it over his head effortlessly. “You’re so needy ain’t ya sweet girl?” he coos, massaging your hips, moving his hands to the roundness of your ass. “Fuck- so soft” he groans, eyes closing for a second to compose himself.
“Please, Frankiee” you wail, pressing your tits to his broad chest, your nipples like mountain peaks. “Shhh, I know” he murmurs, leaning forward and flicking his tongue under your ear. “I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he whispers into your neck, and that makes you swoon. His chunky fingers trail down between your thighs, and he runs his middle finger through your slick folds, holding it up as a string of wetness hangs from it. “Oh, you’re dripping baby,” he coos with adoration, “Don’t even need my fingers”.
He moves back, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand, the other reaching for his aching dick. He pumps it a few times, face scrunching up in desperation to enter you. His eyes flicker to yours hopelessly and his voice cracks as he says, “Let me make love to you sweetheart.” You nod, a painful need blooming in your body, your heart aching at his softness. As needy as ever, he moves your hips with care, nudging your dripping entrance with his swollen tip. You gasp at the contact, needing more, although he hasn’t even had the chance to enter you fully yet. He groans, eyes closing as he bites his lip, pushing himself deeper inside you. “Oh god- you’re so tight f’me,” he shudders, stretching you out painfully as his breath hitches.
So gently, he pushes your hips down until you sink on him fully, and he bottoms out in you with a shuddering groan. “Ahh fuck, is this okay sweetie, does it feel good?” he asks, considerate of you. You nod rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in despair, needing him to move. You moan, hips twitching, desperate for some friction. “Frankie I need you to fuck me,” you moan, hands on his chest. He growls at the way you say that, hands holding your hips as he whispers “Shit, I know baby- I’m gonna take care of this pussy so well.” You can feel yourself getting even wetter around him, if that’s even possible. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he reassures, pressing another wet kiss to the line of your jaw.
Slowly but surely, he does start moving. He lets out deep groans as he holds your waist, grinding you on his lap. You can’t wait, you start urging your hips back and forth faster and he tuts at you, whispering dirtily, “Oh, I didn’t know my girl was so needy f’me.” But he understands you need it- need him, and so he starts to buck his hips faster for you. He wraps his arms around you like a human shield, and with his hold on you, starts lifting you. You moan, not wanting to leave, you haven’t even had anything near enough and you can already feel his thick cock sliding out of you. But as you’re about to protest, he quickly slams you back down with urgency. A vulgar noise leaves your mouth as your skin slaps back down onto his. He groans, desperate to make you feel good, he wants to be here for you. He needs to show you you’re not alone, show you that he lov-
You gasp, head thrown back in ecstasy, you can’t think about anything but his arms around you, his breathy whispering into your ear. “Frank,” you cry, emotions pouring out of you. He’s like heaven, he’s your heaven. He feels like home, gives you stability, makes you want to live, to start a family even. You wanna be his, to give him everything and love him till you’re dead. You moan as your tits bounce up and down; Frank worshipping your body, unable to say anything with how pussy drunk he is.
He groans as you clench around him, coating him with slick as you move up and down. He feels different when he’s with you. He feels capable of- change? Capable of being soft and sweet unlike how life has treated him the last few years. He wants to love you forever. At every sound of your skin slapping, a different stage of your lives flashes past his eyes. Watching you walk down the aisle with tears in his eyes. Moving into your first home together. Remodelling your kitchen as you laugh, faces covered in paint. Having a baby together.
“I-” Frank gasps, the words he wants to say sticking his mouth together. “Fuck,” he groans, so close to the edge, “baby- fuck, I love you.” Your arms are around his neck while he makes love to you, desperately holding onto him. You’re scared you’ll drown if you let go, especially when those words leave his mouth. Your heart stops, your eyes glisten and you whine out, “I love you too Frank.” He presses gentle kisses to your neck once you say that, scared that he’ll start crying if he looks at you. He holds onto you like you’re his anchor, and finally, tilts your head so his eyes can meet yours.
“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he whispers emotionally, voice breaking. “You’re my whole life baby” he tells you, every word leaving his mouth dripping with love. He helps you lay on your back on the sofa, still connected with you at the core and continues making love to you. With every thrust of his hips you moan into his neck. He pants in your ear as his chest hovers over you, and he mutters sweet nothings into your ear incoherently. You can tell he’s close because he’s not making sense anymore. “Fuck- I’m so lucky to have you baby,” he grunts, jaw clenching together as he stutters, “mm I’m so close.” Your legs are stiff too, and you realise you need to cum again. Frank sees it too and like the gentleman he is, he makes you his priority. “Oh babydoll,” he coos, moving a hand from your side to the sensitive skin between your legs. He smiles endearingly and says, “Let me see that pretty face,” as he tilts his head.
You meet his gaze, but you’re in despair, needing release. He slips his middle finger just below your dripping folds, feeling his dick slide in and out of your drenched pussy. “I’m g’na make you feel so good.” he utters, pulling his hand away from where you’re connected. Your stomach flips when he brings it to his face, spits into it and lowers it back down to your throbbing cunt. He wipes the glob onto your clit, looking up to see your screwed up face. “You okay sweet girl?” he pants and you nod urgently, trying to urge yourself closer to him as his dick tortures your gummy walls. His saliva drips down your pussy as he checks on you, but once you nod, his hand is right back to work. He moves his thumb over to your sensitive nub and starts rubbing gently.
You shudder, pleasure overflowing out of your body as he rubs your clit, his length still dragging in and out of you. You move your hands onto his back, desperate for something to hold onto, to anchor you. Frank shudders at you clawing at his back- your grasp is so desperate, it makes him feel cherished in a way he's never known. Your breath hitches as your mouth falls open, and Frank starts talking you through it, knowing you’ll fall apart any minute. “That’s it, I’m right here, let go,” he encourages while he continues rubbing quick circles. Your moans become increasingly louder, your breathing irregular and you’re on the verge of coming undone. Franks groans at the sweet sounds you make, struggling but managing to get out the words- “Fuck- I’m g’na cum.”
He hasn’t made a fuss about himself, hasn’t been doing this to make himself feel good. Never- you’re always his first priority, and tonight was about making you feel good. About showing you that you’re not alone- no, you’re cherished and loved by so many people. By him. He groans in short gasps, his breathing uneven as he reaches the edge. “Frankie- I’m so close” you whine, your hands trailing down to the nape of his neck. Your fingers are slipping through his short hair as he moans, both of you looking like a desperate, sweating mess. His cock keeps drilling into you and finally you shriek, hips bucking and thighs shaking as you come apart around his dick.
As your head falls to the side while your drenched pussy convulses around him, he groans into your hair, asking for permission as if you’re his goddess. “Doll, I’m so- mph, fuck- I’m right there,” he starts, unable to get a whole sentence out straight. “Please- umph- please let me fill you up.” he stutters, throbbing as his thrusts become sloppy. You breathe out, “Please,” into his neck and with a vulgar groan, his hips stutter and you shudder at a warmth filling you up.
There’s something about you that makes him want to be good. As he holds you like there’s no tomorrow while his hips twitch into yours, filling you, he realises how much he needs you. You’re his angel, his salvation- and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. Not a single thing, just so he could see you smile, see you feel good. “You’re okay baby, I’m here.” he groans in ragged breaths. He caresses your tits as you both come down from your high, both of you trembling messes. Your breathing steadies slightly as he kisses you, shows you how much he cares. His spend seeps out of your pussy, which is stuffed entirely, and dribbles down his length. Franks eyes trail to where you’re connected, and with a raspy voice he says, “You look so beautiful like this baby.” The corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles softly, rubbing soft circles on your cheek with his thumb. He adores you with his whole heart. He’s in no rush to go or to leave you. Instead, he holds your warm body close, and skims his mouth up and down your neck. Not kissing, not licking, just letting his lip brush over your skin.
He links an arm beneath you, pulling you off your back to sit up straight and straddle him again, still keeping you plugged with his length, all while his rough hands move to your hair and he runs his fingers through the soft, silkiness of it. “You did so good f’me doll, so good” he purrs, nudging his nose against your jaw, “My good girl.” God, everything he does is so intimate, so sensual. Doing this; for Frank anyways, isn’t about fucking. He wants to make love to you. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to fall apart right there in his lap. And fortunately, he succeeded at that, which means you did feel cherished. “Feel okay sweetheart?” he asks, holding you head with his large hand, the other running along your jawline. You nod sheepishly, cheeks flushed as he smiles at you.
“Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about baby.” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You love this about him, the fact that he’s actually taking care of you. “Feel better baby?” he asks, brushing his thumb beneath your eye, as if to catch a tear but you’re not crying. “Mhm, so full.” you whine, glancing down and he nudges your head back up, desperate to see your perfect face. “That right?” he smiles teasingly. “My girl feels all filled up?”. Your cheeks flush pink and he watches you lovingly.
“That’s how I wanna see you baby. Not sad, not talking down on yourself”. He watched you thoughtfully, tone a little more serious then before and you nod. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod, a small smile on your lips, “okay.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, and whispers, “Good girl”. As your heart flips, he leans back and says, “Let me help you clean up baby”, rubbing a hand over your thigh. You nod, knowing he’s gonna have to pull out, and after a few more gentle kisses, he helps you onto your back again, his calloused hand over your stomach as he says, “okay, you ready?” You bite your lip, nodding and he starts to pull out- a grimace on his face. As his dick pulls out with a wet pop, his load oozes out of your hole and onto the couch. “You did so good baby, I’m so proud of my girl.” he says in his raspy voice, moving away from between your legs, standing up. He watches your perfect figure lying back on the couch, and tells you, “I’ll be right back.” before walking out of the living room.
He comes back after a few moments, holding one of your shirts, a glass of water and a cloth. You smile in awe, heart aching at his attempt to give you aftercare. He leans down, sitting on his knees on the cold floor, setting the glass of water onto the coffee table with a clink. “Can I help baby?” he asks softly, holding up the cloth. You smile giddily and say, “Yes, please”, and then his paws are on your legs again and he whispers, “Spread your legs f’me sweetheart”. If he hadn’t already just fucked the life out of you, you would’ve been needy again, but instead you open your legs for him, revealing your glistening cunt. He raises the damp cloth, moving it between your thighs and starts gently rubbing at your pussy. “There you go” he whispers, one hand pushing your thigh down to have access while the other holds the cloth. Carefully he cleans you up, electricity running through you when the cloth rubs on your sensitive nub. He places the cloth to the side, not breaking eye contact as he presses the softest kiss to your clit. You shudder, still having aftershocks from your second orgasm.
“Thank you,” you whisper and smiles, placing his hands on knees, and getting up. He moves back onto the couch, pulling you close to his side and tells you, “Lift your arms for me”. You do as he says, and ever so softly, he pulls a clean shirt over your head, gently pulling your arms through the sleeves. He kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around your waist, breathing softly into your hair. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth and he whispers your name sweetly, before breathing out, “I love you”. You nuzzle your face into him as he holds you and you tell him, “I love you too.” His manly hands stroke your hair as you cuddle and he sighs in content. Somehow, he managed to change your night that started out with tears and despair into a night filled with love.
“I’m sorry you felt alone baby. But just know I’m here for you now. I’m yours, and I’d do anything and everything for you.” You listen to his deep rich voice as he holds you, trusting his every word. “Oh Frank,” you whisper, closing your eyes against him. He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your bare shoulder.
“I’m never going anywhere again baby. You’re my life.”
f/o who knows you aren’t okay. who noticed that you sleep more, eat less, that your feet drag when you walk.
f/o that lets you break down, even when you’re the happy friend. the emotional support friend. the okay friend.
f/o that comes home to find you in the same spot you were in when they left, and goes into the kitchen. they come back with tea and your favourite treat. they sit you up against them and they feed you. they hold the water to your lips.
f/o that doesn’t give up on you.
f/o that isn’t going to let you go, isn’t going to sit and watch you suffer like this. who holds you when you cry, who sits in all the hurt with you. who hates that you feel this way about yourself, about life.
f/o that believes you deserve a life better than this. and stops at nothing to give it to you.
f/o that knows you can do it, just that you need help. they know you don’t like asking for help, so they do it silently.
𖥔 loves cooking for you. long day at work? the smell of your favourite pasta greets you when you get home, matt smiling as he greets you from behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands extremely distracting as he chops garlic for the sauce.
𖥔 loves pet names. sweetheart, darling, honey, pretty girl. drives you insane with them. especially when he's all condescending with it, looking down at you with that fuckass smirk.
𖥔 big physical touch guy. clinging to you any chance he can get. holds onto your arm in public instead of using his cane or his senses, just so he can relax for a bit and focus only on you. (andthenheendsuptrippingonthetiniestrock)
𖥔 obsessed with anything involving your hands in his hair. will rest his head in your lap, talking about his day, voice tapering off into quieter, softer mumbles as your touch soothes him. especially with his heightened senses, the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair, your nails lightly scratching lines down his scalp, is absolute heaven.
when he's too wired from his vigilante duties, restless and unable to relax enough to sleep, you pull his head into your lap, or on your chest, scratching lines down his scalp and the nape of his neck, until he's a puddle, knocking out in seconds.
𖥔 old-fashioned gentleman. extravagant bouquets, holding doors for you, giving you the booth seat, holding your bags, and god forbid you try to pay for anything at all. whether it's a fancy dinner or even just a pretzel at the mall, his card's out before you can open your wallet.
𖥔 when you didn't know about his secret identity, he would hang around on your fire escape after a hard day. honing his hearing in on just you, your heartbeat, your breathing, the way you mumble to yourself whilst cooking, or the soft humming as you clean. he knows its creepy, borderline stalker-ish, but it helps calm him far too much to stop. he's selfish like that.
𖥔 wins you prizes at arcades. need to toss a ring onto a bottle for that massive plushie? suddenly, he doesn't care about pretending to be a helpless blind man. he asks the vendor to clap in the general direction, pretends to miss the first couple of times, and then lands it effortlessly, smiling at your delighted giggles and the vendor's confusion. (ikthisisntsuperrealisticbutshhhhh)
𖥔 loves showing you off. matt is a smug bastard who loves showcasing what's his. an arm constantly around your waist at bars, practically daring anyone to look in your general direction. introducing you as his partner with that smug smirk of his. bringing you to events, showing you off in the pretty silk dress he got you.
a/n: inspired by my lovely aurora @glossiercheek asking for goofy funny bf matt hcs, which somehow i forgot about and my brain filled it in as soft bf matt hcs... hope you like this too though!! and i'm obsessed with this fucker enough to write more hcs, as well as the touching reader's face idea, bc GOD i love that.
it's this sunrise, and those brown eyes ▸ matt murdock x reader
[ao3]
summary: Matt was used to waking up alone. And now that he no longer did, his getting unused to it was only proving that he might just need you to consume every part of his life he'd never thought he'd have. | afab!reader
warnings: matt spilling some kinks in this one, dry humping (the entire premise for this fic!), this is just domestic soft boy matt fluff w/ a dash of softcore smut
wc: 6,253
and as per request, tagging @reisspiecess Hope you enjoy!
Matt was still blinking against the lingering edges of sleep as he leant against the bedroom doorframe, the awareness of the morning in his apartment stitching itself together around him in the taste of sugar and flour and the smell of home.
It had confused him, at first, waking up alone. When the initial rousing of his consciousness began to stir to life with his senses, his first instinct was to lean into you. His thoughts hadn’t been put together enough yet to register the weight missing from the mattress, or the lack of the contact his skin had grown so used to feeling, operating under the assumption of it being there for him. Languid and sleepy, he had pressed his face deeper into the pillowcase to drag in a long breath while his arm groped around mindlessly for whatever part of you he could touch.
It wasn’t until his fingertips had met nothing but the soft silk sheet that an involuntary frown twitched the set of his brows and corners of his mouth. He couldn’t help the cruel swoop of dread that tickled in the depths of his chest and took advantage of the careful consideration he lacked in the early moments of waking—the taut string of tension that had been longing to snap at him in the back of his mind—until he let his palm spread flat against the bed. He searched for you there, first in the moments where he felt the lingering heat of you under his hand, cooling but present, like you hadn’t been out of bed too long. Then with the command of his focus, casting his hearing out through a drowsy haze until he heard the gentle putter of your feet against the kitchen floor. The soft clinking of utensils against a porcelain bowl. The steady, relaxed, easy thrum of your heartbeat.
To say it had been only relief that had pulsed through his veins just then would be an insult toward the love he shared with you. A thrum of satisfaction had braided itself together, rumbling out in the quiet groan that escaped Matt when he stretched and in the surprise he felt at the twitch from between his legs. It was easy getting up after that, a hand running through his hair as he silently slipped to the bathroom when your back was turned. And it was easy to lounge back and pay attention as he settled near the bedroom again, letting the panel of the sliding door ground him as he yielded to the thoughts that crossed his mind in an anticipating familiarity.
Getting out of bed before Matt Murdock was usually the challenge you faced often. A sliding scale that ranged from being trapped in an assortment of limbs; Matt unable to let go of you, even in a state of unconsciousness, forever seeking the comfort of knowing he was holding you close to him, to not even having a chance to sneak away before he was yawning at the first miniscule shift in the bed and hearing the way your breathing signalled to him that you were awake. It was almost unfair, the advantage he had over you. How he could so easily sneak out—and in—bed without so much as brushing your awareness; how more often than not, he’d played this exact role for you, letting you rouse to the smell of coffee or bacon as he prepared a meal to share, already dressed and ready for the day.
But this time, you have done it. The stars had aligned for you that morning with only a single arm slung across your waist, and a Matt Murdock that had been so thoroughly exhausted from the night before, that in your careful ministrations, was too lost in the clutches of sleep to pick up on the way you lifted him off of you, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. The way you shimmied from under the covers without shifting them enough to drag too knowingly against his skin. Or the way you’d stared down at him as he slept, a gentle fondness in your eyes matching in the way your heart had spiked momentarily in that picture of his peace. You had fought the temptation to trace the curve of his cheek, knowing the touch would be the simplest way to fast track your plans to derailment. So instead, giddy and determined, you’d set forth to the kitchen.
Matt never thought he would have this; quiet, simple mornings that didn’t bear the weight of loneliness. He was all too used to rising easily, alone, and after an unfit rest to the sharp edges of the city—his only greeting the rumbling of car engines and honking of horns, the electric buzz of the neon sign right outside his window, and the underlying silence of it all that had always felt too empty. Too heavy. But now he had you, and the presence you brought into his apartment, his life. You had clothes in his dresser. An extra pair of shoes by his front door. He’d just lingered by your toothbrush when he used his. He bought things now, little things like your favorite tea or a few more plates or another hoodie of his for you to wear when your favorite was out in the wash. A small accumulation that with each further purchase cemented the mark you were leaving on him—whether you knew it or not. There was an expectancy now, that he quickly came to crave. Waking up with you in his arms. Coming home to you on his couch, in his bed. It was dangerous, how fast having you in his life became not only something he wanted, but needed. And he felt that now in this moment, in watching you cook for him, a gesture so domestic, so selfless. Unconditional and thoughtless.
Matt took a moment to think, realizing that he didn’t think anyone had ever…done this for him. Cooked a meal not out of necessity, or obligation, but simply because they wanted something to share with him in. Because they wanted to do something nice. And now here you were, in his apartment, using his food, his kitchenware. You woke up in his bed that you’d decided to stay in. You…chose him. He stood there, taking in the way you guided a sharp blade through fresh fruit, whisked milk in with flour and baking powder, hefted the skillet up onto the burner. All with a gentle ease and with familiarity as you floated on light feet through his kitchen like it was yours. Something in his gut curled tight and protective, and a wash of heat sent an excited shiver through him, his chest hitching on a breath caught in his throat and the sudden awareness in his boxers.
And that desire was so new, even now, even when he had time to get used to it. Matt parted his lips as if to drink it in, as if swallowing the taste of butter sizzling against cast iron and the pleasant heat that carried your ease in the air could quell how he felt although he knew damn well it would make it worse. It was when your gaze had locked onto him, finally spotting him in his wait across the room—an excited skip of your heart that had you humming contently to yourself—that his inhibitions wisped away and he wanted nothing more than to indulge in that new desire. One that didn’t race through him, furious and untamed, that wanted to pant into your mouth, strip the both of you as fast as he could, and not stop until the both of you were spent; needy and ravenous. No, this desire was slower. Sweeter. It dripped through him at a honeying pace, warming him from head to toe as he set forth to meet you in the kitchen. It cradled the swell of his heart and licked contentment down his spine, and he knew then that this morning would be something to take his time with.
Anticipation like this was new, a flutter in his stomach and a haze of security clouding his mind. And distantly, Matt realized he felt safe enough to welcome the bearing of you to consume him, to feed the fire that had his blood rushing through him, a gentle flood of invigorating overwhelm that began to thrum under his skin so insistent that he knew he needed you close to him if only in not wanting to find out what it felt like if he didn’t listen to his body's call.
You were expecting it, when Matt came up behind you, but it did nothing to stop the trickle of content that enveloped you whole as he started to settle. You let out another quiet hum as his arms wrapped warm and steadying around your waist. As you leant into the familiar comfort of the warmth of him against your back as the blaze of his body heat enveloped you in the press of his chest. You shared in his deep sigh as his chin slid against you, the soft scrape of his stubble well met and welcomed before he slotted his head upon your shoulder, fitting as if he had always been meant to be there.
Matt shuddered at the contact, feeling comforted and safe and whole. It reverberated through him, and he inhaled in preparation for another sigh, deep and steady and against your shirt only to be reminded that you were in fact, wearing his shirt; one that he’d pulled off his very back just the night before, and the same one that you’d picked up off the floor and slid on just as you were climbing back into bed. And that surged another roar of consistent, throbbing want through him, a soft gratification blossoming inside as he charted just how the scent of him had seeped from the fabric into your skin throughout the night, mingling with your own and creating something that now had the unique, innate ability to render him pliant and willing to give, to take, and to share.
It was natural at this point to predict his movements—knowing him—as you felt Matt’s head lift from you. You had already begun to meet him, willing to grant what he was seeking and turning your head over your shoulder to where he was already leaning in. The press of his lips were soft, and he kissed you with a sleepy slowness that almost made you think he had been testing if you were even real or a vivid dream. And upon greeting the former, chasing after the sensation as if he had been stunned by you, rendered shocked like he couldn’t believe he had you to hold.
Your voice was a murmur of quiet admiration as you spoke against him, a smile curving beside the shape of him. “Good morning,”
You let yourself brush against him again before the spatula in your hand demanded your attention back to the food in front of you. But Matt had been so quick, you barely registered his movement as an arm left your waist and two of his fingers were pressed against your jaw, lingering for a moment before gently guiding your face back toward him with a precise slowness and a firm pressure.
This kiss was lazy as he moved with you again. Different. There was barely time for the surprised giggle that bubbled from the shape of your throat before you met him in stride and you dove with him deeper. Determined, and insistent.
He kissed you then with the indulgence of a man of whom, if you hadn’t known any better, you’d think he’d gone without—kissing with a fervor that immediately keyed you in to his unspoken intent, and with an essence of a hunger that whispered at the edges, low and tempting yet interestingly docile. And with it, an intensity that made it very clear he was of no interest in the food you were preparing. The arm he still rested around your waist shifted down until his hand found your hip, dipping under the hem of your shirt to feel your skin under the weight of his palm, his fingers sliding against the waistband of your underwear playfully before stilling his hold into something chaste and content and stable.
“Good morning.” Matt breathed back, a pleased noise passing through the shape of his growing smile, voice low and still slightly rough from its early morning disuse, and like he hadn’t just made your knees go weak as your jaw hung open from the unexpected—but far from unwanted—affection. You rolled your eyes as Matt let you go back to cooking, the weight of his head yet again finding its home in your shoulder as he pressed his face against the crook of your neck. He adapted quickly to the sway of your body, relaxing into you as you flipped a pancake before leaning back against him.
Matt knew you felt it as he licked his lips, unable to help it, nor the way he teased himself on the taste of your skin, pulling you in alongside the faintness of the soap you used to wash your face and the juice of a fresh cut strawberry. The building pleasure in him reveled in the shiver he felt roll gradually through you, the easy reciprocation in your response, silent but inviting as you rolled your head further to allow him room. “What’re you making?” The question came out in a comfortable hum as he graciously accepted the space to press a proper kiss to your neck.
You chuckled, letting out a short breath at the sensation. “Like you even need to ask.”
“Tell me. Please.” And he truly had wanted you too. The thought of you vocalizing your plans, giving detail to how you were going to surprise him, only leant itself to the growing need that ballooned in his chest and instigating another twitch of his cock between his thighs. He was half hard now on nothing but the thought of how you’ve permeated into the crevices of his life and how he wanted nothing more than to keep finding you in his clothes. To keep you sharing in his space. To have you mix with him so intrinsically that he wouldn’t know where he began and you ended. “Wanna hear you.”
Your breath faltered at that, the earnestness of his voice that trickled out of his inflection and into your bones, swirling through you until it stirred up a lazy heat that brought a flush to rise just under your skin. “Well, there’s a strawberry compote staying chilled in the fridge. And I’ve got a bowl…bowl of pancake batter that—Matt,” You breathed out his name at his blatant show, dragging his cheek slowly against the juncture where your neck met shoulder as he pressed more of his scent into you. And your reaction had been immediate, the knowledge of what he was doing skyrocketed you forward until you nearly met him on the same page of this book. It was almost embarrassing in how fast your own want gathered to match his, this unhurried desire that seemed almost electric as it emanated from him in waves and introduced itself in the curling heat it nurtured in your core.
“Keep going,” Matt sighed again as his other hand mirrored his grasp on your hip, holding you tight. It took you a moment, eyes fluttering as his lips brushed just above your shoulder blade and you felt his breath, hot and eager, against your skin.
“I…just started cooking. The skillet’s on the stove. Was gonna…was gonna set the table for us to-to—” You lost your words as a gasp hitched on a soft moan when Matt pulled your hips back to meet his. You felt him then, hard and burning against you, the thin fabric of the sleep clothes the both of you wore doing nothing to mitigate the shape of him as he pressed into your ass. He didn’t move, didn’t shift or grind in search of any friction just yet. It was as if he was just showing you, wanting you to know in a silent display just what you were doing to him. What you have done simply, it seems, by just existing. “You’re not wondering when it’ll be time to eat, are you?”
“Nope.” Your head fell forward as he nuzzled against the back of your neck. “That pancake’s nearly done. Can I turn the burner off?”
“Yes.”
The curve of his smile at the nape of your neck grew wide and sappy.
Matt was swift as a flick of his wrist had him reaching out to turn off the gas, his hand back on you before you knew it to guide you with him as he pulled you along, sidestepping until the both of you were away from the stove. You placed the spatula down with a clatter against the counter before you turned under the grasp of his palms, gulping down a rising anticipation as you came to face him for the first time that morning.
The early morning sun might have been diffused through the cloudy stained glass panes of the apartment windows, but it was bright enough as it filtered in to more than light your surroundings when you had begun to gather ingredients earlier. And it was bright enough now, the red-orange beams of the dawn having turned into a pale, muted golden glow as you blinked up at the man in front of you. Matt was all gentle lines and sleep-tousled. His features hung slack and relaxed, hair messy and fluffy from bed, and his eyes…Matt hadn’t put on his glasses, and you were met with the sight of his unfocused gaze slowly mapping the shape of your face. There was a weighted reverence behind the action, behind the lazy droop of his lids and pupils blown so wide it almost obscured the beautiful warm brown of his irises.
You couldn’t help it when you raised a hand to cradle the side of his face, fulfilling the want you had to do it since you’d woken up, passing a thumb over the apple of his cheek. His smile drew wider then, the corners of his lips lifting and the crinkles besides his eyes deepening as he stared at you ardently, leaning into your touch. Your breath caught, wanting to savor this sight in subconscious knowledge. Because Matt was smiling at you like you’d hung the moon; all tenderness and love and utterly unguarded in a way you knew he didn’t give up easily. And you’d be damned if you didn’t try to commit it to memory.
Matt wasn’t hiding his intention any longer as he kissed you again. And he found you easily, mouth moulding to his in a rhythm that crooned both of familiarity and something new. Something yet to be explored. Matt made it obvious with how slow he set the pace, gentle and shy, like he was discovering you for the first time.
And in a way he was, Matt thought. You were different like this, open and relaxed and more than willing to let him have this. He could taste it as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, searching for more and finding the sweet notes of anticipation, the lazy draw of satisfaction as you let him in. You moved with him like a gradual stream, kissing him tenderly as you cupped his face in both hands.
“Wanna tell me what’s got you like this?” You spoke gingerly when Matt pulled away, leaning his forehead to yours as you both shared in the same air. “Good dream?”
“Mm, no,” He shook his head once before pressing forward again. He kissed now with a yearning insistence. “You.”
“Me?” You couldn’t help but to laugh between each pass of his lips, Matt swallowing half the sound away with him as he shifted, hips pinning you to the counter as he took the moment of opportunity.
“Mhm. You.” He stated again. Like the explanation was that simple. To him, it was. “You’re here. And you want me, this. Want me despite everything. The late nights, the stress, Daredevil. You want me, and-and you were cooking for me, and,” A groan tore from his throat, but it wasn’t from frustration. More of a culmination of emotion he never thought he’d be granted. A mercy he thought he’d never see. You were the one to lean forward and kiss him that time as you met the sound with a conviction unique only to you, an equally vulnerable reply to his fragile admission. Matt’s hands left your hips to travel down, leisurely gliding over the curve of your ass until he landed firmly against the backs of your thighs. He hummed into your mouth, index tapping quickly to indicate what he was asking. “And I…want you too.”
You hopped at his signal, the motion helping as he grabbed you just enough to slide you onto the kitchen counter. It was natural instinct and blooming arousal that had you parting your legs before he could even ask, and Matt glided himself neatly into place within the room you gave him, hand curling under your knee to tug you closer until you sat precariously on the edge of the countertop, held up between the hand you shot down to balance your weight, and the firm solidity of the man in front of you.
There was a restrained desperation to him now, as you melted into his touch, his kiss. And with the gentle scrape of your nails at the base of his skull, you chased the way he whined into you with a pass over his tongue, the sensation enough to stir a quiet moan from your chest, and you hadn’t expected Matt’s reaction to be an involuntary buck of his hips. Except he wasn’t quite in the right position, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth as his cock caught more of the hard surface of the counter than you.
“Here,” And you tried to shimmy further forward, tilting down the best you could and spreading your legs wider. Matt adjusted with you, hiking your leg up higher and holding you tight against the blaze of him that so deliciously threatened to burn.
Your head fell back at the first tentative roll of his hips against you, and Matt took advantage of the access, stealing his lips away to move against your neck as he pressed a wet kiss to the column of your throat. He’d moaned then too, a soft thing that vibrated against your skin and it shot straight south, feeling the throb between your legs grow stronger, hotter, as Matt kept consistent pressure when he dragged back down. He tested again as you fisted a hand against the strands of his hair, and in response, he pulled skin between his lips, coaxing a mark to bloom on the underside of your jaw as he ground against you harder.
The layers between you now seemed almost inconsequential; the silk of his boxers just as thin as the fabric of your underwear. Especially with the gathering wetness between the both of you; the sight that was the growing patch of precome leaking dark against it. But it served a purpose, offering a dizzying friction in the drag and clash of material. The heat was electrifying, and Matt couldn’t help but to grin as you shared in the offer to quell this new ache.
It was when Matt found an unhurried rhythm that you both dove in fully. He’d paused just before, pulling his face up to kiss you gently, reverently. And you mirrored him until his motions became a steady thrusting; a slow sinful drag acted with every intention to have you feel all of him as the kiss became needy and bruising. And you did, the full size of him rutting up against you firm enough to press enough pressure to your clit with every pass. A pulsing relief flooded through Matt as he moved, a giddiness riding alongside the pleasure as he gathered your shirt in his hands, bunching the fabric tightly in his grip as he moved to steady himself along your waist.
At first you’d tugged on it too, thinking he had wanted it off and more than happy to indulge. But Matt protested quickly, mumbling between kisses. “Want it on,” The glide of his hips was measured and controlled as he rocked up into you. “You smell like me. Wanna keep it that way.”
He was helpless against the need that burned through him, the feel of you against him, the way your hand shot up to cling, squeezing against his bicep. He licked into your mouth, unashamedly reaching to drag out as many moans and delicious sounds from you as he could. He glutted on them, high off the achievement of having you like this, off knowing that you didn’t mind at all that your very existence, your choice to stay, your choice to love him, could spur him so easily into an all-consuming desire to claim and protect.
“Oh god,” you pressed your cheek against the side of his head when Matt dipped back to your shoulder. He needed to taste you, drag you into his throat until it was all he could breathe in. You couldn’t help but to try and grind against him, attempting to meet his hips with yours when his tongue swiped hot and slow and filthy at the base of your neck, and Matt’s eyes fluttered shut as he worked it over in his mouth, clean skin and clean sweat. Him and you. But even coasting off the friction and the moans, it still wasn’t enough. And Matt found himself panting out soft little noises into you as he rocked faster, one of his hands leaving your side to cradle the back of your neck, trying to pull you closer.
He knew it wasn’t any use, that the only way to feel you any closer than he already was—your legs had wrapped around him some bit ago, ankles crossed and heels digging into the flesh of his ass as you tried to help guide his movements, your chests flush, and hands roaming to map every inch of skin you could feasibly encounter—was to be inside of you. But he wanted to drag this out as long as possible, make it feel good for as long as he could. So he instead opted to catch the collar of your shirt between his teeth, biting down on the fabric as he lapped with his tongue, drawing in the taste that was you blending with him after you had the night to soak into it. It was something heady and intoxicating, his copper and cinnamon and your quiet savor. If this were another time, if he didn’t want to last in this experience—if he let a different side of him loose and he were to be needier, rougher—he would have caught skin instead, biting to leave a mark, a claim that he could then soothe and admire under his touch.
Both of you shared in the broken moan that rang out across the apartment, and Matt shoved his face back against your neck if only to hear the rush of your blood, to feel the thrum of your life beat beneath your skin against his. He mouthed at your pulsepoint then, letting his teeth graze against the delicate skin before nipping lightly and delighting in the way you scrabbled for purchase against him. That was when he encouraged you to do the same, presenting the fact that he wanted nothing more than to have you mix with him until he couldn’t differentiate the nuances anymore. In wanting you to know that you have all of him, as much as you give him all of you.
Matt’s touch was soft as he slowed down, and you hadn’t known what he wanted until he slid his hand over yours. You watched as he pulled back, letting him move you how he wanted as the blush against the pale skin of his face grew deeper. “Want you…need you too…” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze where he held it, before coaxing the spread of your fingers to rest against the column of his neck. “You have me.”
A profoundness struck you from the heavens then, strong and consuming only in a way that was reminiscent to you of a mortal devotion to a higher power; an awe, a disbelief in which the both of you experienced. Matt in his pledge to you, this display of intimacy, this trust he gave in you wholly and explicitly.
Your mouth parted in the admiration that ravaged through you, and in a quiet voice, you urged Matt to slow further until the movement between you nearly stopped. You held him in your hand for a moment, considering the vulnerability laid bare against your palm, before your fingers traced around the line of his throat. They dragged over his skin in no rush, feeling in the prickle of his scruff and the heat that flushed warm and flooding just underneath. Matt rolled against you in such a slow grind you could barely feel him shifting, focusing more on the pressure that pleasured you both. His breath hitched in his chest when your fingertips found his pulse, pressing down until you could feel the beat of him, his heart fluttering erratically under your touch.
Trusting in Matt’s anchor to you, you pulled him in with both your hands. And when your lips met his, you hoped it came across as you poured your thanks, your love, your soul into him, sighing deeply and breathing him in like you could trap a part of him inside you if you kissed him hard enough, held him tight enough. Your fingers danced along the line of his jaw, before you tightened your grip mildly.
“I have you,” you whispered against his mouth, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you swallowed heavily. “Want you too, Matt. As long as you'll have me.”
And Matt couldn't think straight, thoughts trapped under the security you blanketed over him. He couldn't tell if he replied to you, if the words worked past his tongue or if they were overshadowed by the feel of your firm kiss at the base of his throat, sound hitching out of him broken and ragged. And you continued to pull him apart as your every touch pressed brands against his very being, and he shuddered against you. He wanted this. He didn't deserve it, but you thought he did, and you gave it to him anyway. And Matt would never find it in him to turn down such a gift. Not with you. And if this was what it took for him to allow himself to give in to something so pure, then he'd indulge with you even at—despite—the cost his other life took from you. Because you've more than proven willing to stay with him through it all, and Matt couldn't understand who could have possibly spared him this grace, but he hoped his gratitude echoed in his overwhelm, in the way you buried your face against him, answering in his silent prayer as you reciprocated, marking him as equally yours.
Helpless little sounds tumbled from Matt, springing from and rumbling in his chest as you worked your way against him. Your nails dragged down his bare chest slowly as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. It was easy there, to breathe hot against him, to respond in how he arched into you in earnest as you begun to kiss up the delicateness of his neck, swipe your hand over his ribs as you sucked little lovebites, tenderly trace the scar on his waist as you pulled back to look at him in a weighted bliss.
He slurred your name out in a whine, his hips stuttering as the time you’ve spent here worked him to a point where he desperately wanted more stimulation. You knew he could come like this if he wanted too, grinding over clothes and kissing slow, and in the back of your mind you thought maybe he would. But his ministrations came to a close as he panted over you, and the flat of his hand pressed firm against your back, helping you sit up and slide you back until you more comfortably sat upon the counter.
You made a noise of gentle confusion, a smile quirking your lips as you waited patiently for Matt to make what he was planning known to you, taking the moment of pause as a chance to drag your fingertips down the side of his face. His eyes were shut as he leant into the touch, nuzzling against your hand and turning his head to press a kiss against your knuckles as they slid close enough to his mouth. A comfortability sustained then, and you giggled at the easy smile that spread over his lips.
“This is bad, you know,” He began, his voice nothing but teasing and adoration. “Next thing I know, you’ll just be reading a book on the couch and I’m gonna want to bury my face between your thighs.”
“I’m not so sure I see what’s wrong with that,” You laughed easily, lacing your arms around Matt’s shoulders and tugging him close enough for you to capture his lips again.
“No surface in this place will be sacred.” He said, almost solemnly, sharing in your humor as he kissed you back. “You think me stopping you from making breakfast is bad, wait until it’s laundry. Or cleaning. Or making the bed—”
“Matt,” You sighed deeply, content, as your fingers lazily scratched at the back of his skull. Matt keened into the touch, lips parting on a silent moan. “What do you need, baby?”
“Need you.” He admitted earnestly and without hesitation, tilting into you. “Need to be in you. Need to feel it. Need you in our bed.”
Your heart flipped, expectancy coming easier now that this first wave from him was ebbing. Puzzle pieces were clicking in your head, and elation had you feeling light and airy inside. “Our bed?” You poke, the shape of the word alongside its meaning made you feel like you were floating and loved and wanted.
“Our bed,” he repeated, a hint of hesitation to his tone as a sheepish grin split his face, and he grinded himself against the inside of your thigh as if for emphasis. “Our kitchen. Our apartment.” He slid his arms around you, holding your waist loosely as he hung his head in front of you. This moment felt like the two of you were stripped bare, more naked than if you even lost your clothes. It was an ask long in the making, and somehow, the realization that he was ready had hit among you cooking breakfast for him in his shirt. The realization that a lifetime of this domesticity could be his. That Matt didn’t have to choose. Didn’t have to give up a part of him. Didn’t have to pretend. Because you knew all of him, loved all of him. And you didn’t run. You weren’t afraid. And he could find salvation in you waiting up for him with pain meds and a first aid kit just as easily as you offered your heartbeat, patience and time. Matt stood expectantly, sightless eyes searching back and forth over the map he had of your face, waiting. “If you want it.”
“Of course I do.” You had barely finished the statement before Matt was stealing your breath in another kiss. You suddenly felt yourself go weightless, and you were happy you had already been hanging on as he easily lifted you from the counter, your legs wrapping around his torso as his grip held you comfortably, fingers pressing into your thighs.
“Yeah?” And you’ve never felt so happy that Matt didn’t need to see to navigate as you held his face in your palms, peppering kisses over the shape of his grin as you nodded your head as enthusiastically as you could, breathing a longing ‘yes’ into his skin as you distantly saw the both of you pass through the doorway to the bedroom in your peripheral. “Good. Because getting my tongue in you sounds exactly like the best way to officially celebrate, now that I’m thinking of it.”
Matt had joined you in breakfast, after. After he’d been satisfied with the amount of devotion he’d breathed into your skin. After he’d committed how every inch of you, every breath, every touch responded to him in each one of his senses to memory. After he let himself fall apart against and inside you, pressing as close as he could possibly be without having the ability to become one. After letting the world around him fade away until the both of you were all that remained in quiet reverence under the feel of the radiant early morning sun. He’d joined you in breakfast, easy smiles and contentment filling the air as he flipped pancakes, as you set the table, and as you both sat down together in this life he shared.
You've dozed off on the couch while watching a movie with your f/o. Your f/o quickly covers you with a blanket, then pauses, looking at your face, then quietly murmurs to themselves, "I really wanna kiss him/her.."
romantic f/o(s) always making sure to ask if it's okay to hug you. romantic f/o(s) asking if it's okay to kiss you. f/o(s) who do not wish to startle or scare you. f/o(s) who make their presence(s) noticeable in a room and would never dare spook you. f/o(s) who know you don't like surprises and always plan things ahead so you are more comfortable.
izzy806
jacobvanloon
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jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
